“The elves are all over the palace, asking about you and your wife. Making noises about wanting her handed back to them.” My friend, prince Barion, complained. "I´m worried," he added, leaning forward over his beer mug for emphasis. "You should really consider accepting a security detail, Grant. I'm starting to think you two need one."

  “Why now,” I ask, shaking my head in annoyance, “It’s been twelve years since they chased her away. I married her to make her a citizen, that and some fast talking made her pursuers leave in peace twelve years ago. Why would they suddenly want her now, when our work is so close to bearing fruit?” I ask.

  “I still can’t believe you married her. You knew her for a week, and you popped the question rather than let her escape? I’ve known you for half a century, Grant, never saw you interested in any of the fine respectable dwarven women that all but threw themselves at you, and a homeless elven enchantress you’d just met was your choice? This was why you did it? To make her a citizen and nothing else?” Barion asks me in a teasing voice, that was at odds with the concern that lingered in his eyes. But dwarves were stubborn, I'd said no to a security detail, and I couldn't back down now without feeling like a coward. Barion knew that by failing to respond to his suggestion, I was simply trying to avoid having to tell him no. He wouldn't press the issue.

  “Of course not,” I said with a frown, “You know me better than that, I was in love after the first day. But she wanted to keep running, I had to convince her to stay, so I did everything I could to make her safe. Now it feels like that’s coming undone, right when we should be celebrating our discoveries, we’ll have to be worrying about those damn elves.” I complain.

  “Don’t be naive,” Barian says with a snort, “It’s because of your work that they want her. The thing is, they don’t know it's cooperative work. To them, you’re just a muscle-bound meathead who hammers metals, so if they take her away, they think you’d not be able to finish without her. They plan to keep the new magi-tech for themselves.”

  I give Barion a sharp look, wondering if he’s thinking about handing her back in the hopes I could continue to do my work without her. “It’s not that easy, Barion, first off, I’ll not let her go that easily, I do love her after all, and she loves me. I’d be a failure as a man if I let anyone take my wife away for whatever reason, to face charges for things she did over a decade ago. They’ll lock her up and make her tell them everything she knows until they’re ready to dispose of her. I’d rather die than let that happen.”

  I pause, gathering my thoughts to find a persuasive argument that would appeal to a prince who has to put the good of his people above the good of one elf and dwarf couple. “But even if she simply dropped dead tomorrow, of natural causes, it wouldn’t mean I could finish without her. I’m not a mage, none of us dwarves are.” It was the curse of our race, to be physically sturdy and naturally resistant, but unable to use non-divine magic.

  “Our work aims to fix that, to make magic available to anyone, not just mages, but it still needs her magic to continue. And before you ask, no I can’t replace her with a team of gnomish enchanters, we need her brain too. She’s the smartest person I know, a genius. You give me too much credit, I build the machines, sure, but she’s the one who invents the new glyphs and runic formulas. Without her, we’d just have chunks of crystal mana and no way to properly put them to use. Maybe the gnomes can find uses, but will they truly be willing to share? More like they’ll keep their secrets and just sell us the results at ruinous prices. We’ll be little more than laborers for a new magical gnomish golden age, with no say in how the new technology is used. Face it, the only path forward for dwarven kind is with her help. You have to help me protect her.” I tell Barion, earnestly.

  Barion sighs, “I know, it’s just... The elves aren’t going to take no for an answer. I’ve been talking to their ambassadors and they are convinced that they are entitled to everything she’s helped build, just because she happens to have been born an elf.” Then he turns to give me a look, “But I think you sell yourself short, your machines are just as important as her theories. That new mana compression engine you built? Would anyone else have come up with that design? You’re the best engineer I know, don’t pretend she’s the only one making brand new inventions in that workshop of yours.”

  “We’re both pretty good at both things. She might not be able to craft the machines with her soft hands, but she helps me with the blueprints. I might not be able to cast magic, but I help her with her runic formulas. I’m better at the math involved, fixing her mistakes, finding the right paths for the mana to follow. She’s a lot more creative than I am, comes up with brilliant ideas, but I’m more methodical, better at the details. We’re the perfect team.” I say, “Even if I didn’t love her, I would have been a fool to have let her get away twelve years ago. I could see how well we’d work together back then, and I wasn’t wrong about that.” I take a long pull on my tankard.

  Barion gives me a smile, then reaches to pat me on one shoulder. “Alright, I’ll talk to my father, the king, again. I’ll make sure he understands how important she is. I already knew of course, but I wanted to hear your arguments so I could use them myself. I’ll do my best to firm up his spine so he doesn’t do something foolish like caving into the elvish court’s demands.”

  He finishes his beer in one long gulp then stands to leave, but then pauses. “Oh by the way, how goes that new war golem I commissioned? Just because the two of you are inventing whole new fields of magic doesn’t mean we still don’t need you two to do your day job. Where else will the royal guard get its golems from? It wouldn’t hurt to have that ready soon so I can remind my father of how important your regular work is.”

  “It’s pretty much done,” I admit, “on my end, everything is finished, a real beauty, the best golem frame I’ve ever built. I’m only waiting on her to get the enchanting done, but she’s so excited about the experiment tonight that I can’t get her to sit down and focus on the task.”

  “Ah, well, I know you can be persuasive. Maybe tell her no sex until it's done?” Barion asks mischievously. “I hear she’s a lusty one who likes a good tumble,” he adds.

  “Barion!” I exclaim, blushing slightly under my beard, “That’s an inappropriate thing to say to your friend! Besides which, every time I try that, she just takes it as a challenge and seduces me. You know I can’t win that game, I’m weak-willed and my body always betrays me.”

  Barion laughs loudly, startling some of the other patrons at the expensive bar we’d decided to meet at. But recognizing him, they look away without comment. Not that an uproarious dwarf who’s had a few drinks in him and makes a commotion is a rare sight, but since he’s the prince, no one wanders over asking to be let in on the joke; they keep a respectful distance.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

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  “So how did your meeting with Barion go,” Layla asked me, after leaning down to give me a kiss on my bearded lips.

  “The elves want you back,” I told her, “but I wouldn’t worry about it, the two of us build more golems for the dwarven army than any dozen gnomish enchanters or dwarven engineers combined. Barion knows that he’s not going to give you up.” Not to mention that if our research succeeded, we could revolutionize the whole field of magi-tech, the dwarven race could ill afford to give up such an advantage.

  Layla frowned, “Yeah, well, I hope not. Elves have long memories, and I might have killed a few inquisitors when they tried to bring me in on necromancy charges. Idiots. Imagine not knowing the difference between enchanting a flesh golem and true necromancy. They’ll not treat me well if they get their hands on me.”

  “You know,” I said, arching an eyebrow at her, “I am not sure what the difference is between necromancy and flesh golems.”

  “Please, it’s a totally different set of runic magic. It’s like comparing a wind-based flight spell with an earth repelling levitation spell, they’re based on different principles entirely.“

  “But they both have the same overall effect, sort of, yeah?”

  “A corpse brought back to undeath through necromancy is fundamentally infused with anti-life, a cursed existence that can be easily destroyed with holy magic, a mockery of life. A flesh golem is just bone and tissue forced to move. The material is inert, lifeless, no more vulnerable to holy magic than any other dead tissue. It’s just moving under the force of magic. Really I made the bones move, the flesh was just there to hold the bones together...”

  I shake my head in disbelief. This wasn’t the first time I’d heard some variation of this story, of course. But I still liked to tease her for dabbling in necromancy, because she was always quick to explain how it was all a misunderstanding. Sometimes I worried about her though, because I’m still not sure I’ve heard the full story. But I trusted her with my life, and I was willing to accept her arguments on the topic. So long as she doesn’t do it again, of course. “No more flesh golems, though right honey? Don’t want to have to see your delicate hands digging through corpses to write runes on bones, ok?” I told her sweetly.

  “Hmm.” She said with a huff. “People should be free to explore the magic they want to explore,” she argued, “I mean, I never said I don’t know necromancy, it just so happens that I was caught with a flesh golem, not an undead bugbear. It still annoys me that the inquisitors weren’t smart enough to tell the difference. But don’t worry about that, sweetie, I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t ever want to have to do that again. It took me months to feel like I’d gotten the undersides of my nails clean afterward. Not an experience I’d be willing to repeat.”

  “But enough about that,” she added, changing the topic, “are you ready for tonight’s experiment?”

  I didn’t know she did actually know necromancy, that was new information. But, did I want to bring up necromancy again? Shuddering, I decided that no, I did not. “Of course, dear, the machines are all recalibrated, fixed the short on the fourth runic ring, and patched the leak on the leftmost liquid mana injector. We’re good to start… as soon as you give me another kiss, of course.” I told her cheerfully.

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  The sound was halfway between that of a waterfall and endless thunder. The whole room vibrated with it, the air heavy and thick with the throb of magic. Layla was squinting, her mage sight tested to the limit just by the leakage as the compressor struggled to compress the liquid mana even further. A high-pitched hum filled the air as the second and third runic circles engaged, further reducing the room available for the enormous quantity of liquid mana being forced into ever tighter confines.

  “The pressure valves are all in the red!” I yelled, “The compression matrix is 170% more effective with the new runic formation modifications! But the mithril intake pipes are near their limit! I’m worried something might pop! Should we abort?!” I ask nervously, yelling to be heard over the roar of the straining pumps.

  “No!” Layla yelled, “We’re almost there! It will work this time!”

  The fourth and final runic circle lit up, filling the room with a blue-tinged glare. I watched the inlaid gold inscriptions like a hawk, if the gold melted, the whole process could be undone. “We should have set up a cooling system!” I yelled. I had argued for such a system, that would use mana to divert waste heat away from the massive machine, but Layla had claimed her thermal recapture enchantment, which could convert heat back into magic, would be enough.

  “It’ll hold! We’ve almost got it! If your calculations are correct, this should be the moment!” Layla yelled back.

  Then there was a sudden whoosh of air, as the sudden drop in pressure drew air from the entire workshop inwards towards the compression machine. And a loud crack as some glassworks inside cracked under the strain. For a second, I thought the experiment had been a failure. But then I heard Layla’s exclamation. “It worked! Look, Grant, a Mana Crystal!” She yelled.

  There inside the compression chamber’s heart, a single faintly glowing blue crystal lay, visible through the cracked glass viewing port. She gestured at me to turn the heavy wheel that would open the heavy pressurized lid.

  Obligingly I cracked the wheel and lifted the lid with a grunt of effort so that Layla could reach in and grab the crystal. “It’s perfect!” She exclaimed, “Super-condensed mana in the crystalline form! Grant, this changes everything! I’m not even sure what can be done with this, but the only naturally forming thing that comes close is a dragon’s heart, and we didn’t have to kill a dragon to make this!”

  I knew that a dragon’s heart could be used to manufacture legendary artifacts, one of the most prized things an enchanter could own. Kingdoms had gone to war for a single one of the rare gems known as dragon hearts. They were, as the name implied, harvested from the hearts of full-grown dragons, and thus were extremely rare. We’d just made something similar? Up until now, I’d always just thought about mana crystals as this theoretical thing that might be possible to manufacture, but never really considered how valuable such a process could be.

  Belatedly, I understood why the elves were so desperate to get their hands on this research. What legendary artifacts would we be able to mass-produce, if we ran the compression process once a day? Within a few years, we could have an army of dwarves all equipped with legendary weapons built around mana crystals. What exactly had we created, I wondered, concerned.

  Layla ran over to me and hugged me with one arm as she held the crystal with the other. “We did it! I’d never have done it without you, Grant!” She told me, squeezing me tightly. I grinned at her, trying to set aside my newfound concern and just be happy at our success.

  “Excellent work,” A dry voice interrupted before I could find the words to express my feelings.

  Layla and I whirled to face the speaker. It was an elf, dressed in a robe that distorted the light, blending him into his surroundings, making it hard to see him, if not for the fact that he’d drawn back his hood. On the older elf’s head, a tiara of sorts, that bore the symbol of the Inquisition on his forehead. The elf was a high priest, I realized, for his headband was made of mithril, and he radiated divine power.

  “How did you get in!?” Layla asked, furious. “I warded this place in layer upon layer of defenses!”

  “Well, funny you should ask, but this robe is made from a dragon’s heart. It’s a divine artifact that bypasses any detection magic. I suppose we might make a few more of these robes now that I’ll be taking you back. You can build more of those infernal-looking machines, and let us figure out how to use those mana crystals in the interest of the Elven Kingdom and the Elven Goddess. I’ll have to learn to tolerate the noise if it gives us access to an unlimited supply of high-quality enchanting materials.” The elf explained with a sneer.

  “Now, come quietly necromancer, we’ll let you live for so long as you cooperate.”