Halmuth is more of a trading post than an established city, but it’s still nearly as large as my hometown of Silaraon. For some reason, that detail catches me off guard and takes me out of my usual element as we survey the town from Totten’s tower. Initially, we want to explore the night market while Mikko works on the gates, but the [Hunters] stop us until Mikko’s able to prove his competency. They take Totten’s words quite literally, apparently; there’s a reason he’s the boss in Halmuth. Now that I see the full scope of the trading town, I’m starting to think that he’s more influential than I realized.
After the four of us from the Silaraon Glass Works backed up our boast and remade the broken window, Totten seems to expect a similar miracle at the gates. Unfortunately, Mikko can’t melt down the entire thing and rebuild it in one go. Blacksmithing is a more physical, hands-on affair than our brand of magical glassworking, and even with his incredible strength, pounding that mana-infused metal back into place will be a tough slog.
I offer to go with my brother and let the rest of the team rest. They split off downstairs, heading to an inn Totten recommended. I’d prefer to join them to rest up after our night’s frantic march and impromptu crafting session, but my brother comes first. Always will.
Escorted by the stony-faced [Hunter], Camryn, Mikko and I retrace our steps to the front gate. We make good time through the maze of vendors, since the crowd parts in front of the [Hunter] to allow us to pass on official business.
“The sooner you finish the work, the sooner you’ll be able to meet back up with your team. They’re in the residential district,” Camryn tells us stiffly.
“Where are we now?” I ask.
Camryn huffs. “What am I, your tour guide?” After a strained sigh, she tells us anyway. “Halmuth is divided into a few main areas: the market district, which you passed through on the way in, the residential district—where your friends are waiting for you—and my favorite of the three, which is where we are now: the martial district.”
Knowledge is a strange gift. A lens through which to see the world. Now that I know the name of the oddly-titled martial district, where Totten’s administration building is located, I take a more discriminating look at the offices, and its purpose immediately becomes obvious to me now that I know what to look for.
Office is the wrong word. The tower is fortress-like in appearance: the black stone walls end in harsh crenelations, from which shine the ghostly flare of mana lanterns, while the rest of the town is orange and dun earthen walls with bright blue, terracotta-tiled roofs. Towering nearly ninety feet higher than the three or four stories of the surrounding homes and structures, Totten’s [Hunter]’s administration building dominates the Halmuth’s skyline. The tower looks like a hulking beast surveying its demesne.
After weeks of clear night skies in the wilderness, it’s disorienting to no longer see stars when I look up. The glare of city lights obscures the constellations, leaving me feeling adrift. How will we know where we’re going next without the stars to guide us? I turn the thought over in my mind while we walk, eventually settling for a helpless shrug. As much as it galls me to admit an area of incompetence, I have to be honest with myself: I wouldn’t know the difference, anyway. Getting our bearings is Azariah’s problem, not mine.
Regardless of the district, there’s an astonishing amount of foot traffic considering our remote locale. No one ever told me there were this many travelers and [Traders] out here in the Barrens, although I suppose it makes sense given the exotic mana beasts. Likely, there are also pockets of rich natural resources hidden deep under the salt and sand. Halmuth must be at the confluence of several trade routes across the country, which allows it to flourish despite the bleak surroundings.
From what Camryn says, the martial district cuts straight through the center of Halmuth, and the height of the building allows them to spy—er, keep watch—on the traders and citizens. As if to underscore the unique configuration of the town, we pass by an obstacle course on my right. The course is made of oddly slanted metal bars, swinging chains, and tall pillars too far apart for me to jump between.
We’re halfway past the course when a chorus of applause and whoops breaks through the susurrus of trade. A pair of [Hunters] sprint from one end to the other, each stride covering the length of two wagons end-to-end—empowered by body-enhancing Skills, no doubt. [Hunter] is a fascinating Class, but they pass by too quickly for me to practice my Viewing. The racing duo is well matched. They’re light on their feet, their steps never faltering as they soar above our heads, weaving between the weighted chains and obstacles. I can barely tell who crosses the finish line first.
Ragged cheers interspersed with furious booing burst out from the group that kicked off the clapping. I turn toward Camryn. “Bets on the winner, huh?”
She nods brusquely in confirmation. Although she still doesn’t seem to like me much, her obvious pride in Halmuth’s [Hunter] brigade shines through. “Always. We take training extremely seriously. Someone’s got to keep the ‘vanners safe.”
“Caravans often see trouble?” Mikko asks.
He earns a perfunctory smile—it’s a polished, professional response, not to be mistaken for anything approaching friendliness. It’s still a step up from Camryn’s frosty responses toward me. She seems to hate me for accidentally causing a fluctuation with the mana barrier.
“Monsters do not rest. Why should we?” Camryn replies gravely. Then her composure cracks for a brief moment, and her lips twitch into a wry smile. “Besides, as often as not, it’s the [Traders] causing problems, like that troublesome little [Mage] with you. Someone has to keep them in line.”
“Yep. Nuri’s a real handful,” Mikko says agreeably. “Making him behave is a full time job.”
“Traitor!” I accuse, laughing.
“Flux-brained brother,” he says affably.
Camyrn doesn’t seem amused, and we soon drop the affectionate banter and pay more attention to our surroundings. We pass the edge of the martial district, which ends abruptly in a spiked wall with signs warning off wanderers, and re-enter the engrossing night market. Located in the largest of the three districts, the market seems self explanatory at first. Less obvious than the multitude of stalls and colorful blankets spread out across the ground are the warehouses and caravan rentals. In addition to the trading stations, the market district is a full service, one shop stop for the [Caravan Leaders] and [Traders].
Nearest to Halmuth’s main gates, the market makes up a tangled maze that requires a native-born citizen to navigate, Camyrn explains. Travelers regularly hire guides when they hit the trading post; the cost is fairly insignificant compared with the lost profits of getting lost and wandering about for hours without selling anything.
The last and smallest area of Halmuth is the residential district. Aside from the handful of inns for stays during the day, it’s also where most of the housing is located for the trading town’s small permanent population. Most travelers elect to move on during non-market nights, but over the years, a few people have stayed and put down roots in Halmuth—and it’s always worked out to their benefit. A note of defensiveness creeps into Camryn’s voice when she tells us that part. It’s almost endearing how much she loves her hometown.
Walking through the city to the inn, I’m struck by how clean everything looks—no peeling paint, no crumbling bricks, no raw sewage in the gutters, no tenacious weeds pushing through the cracks, no beggars on the street corners. A small and remote town, Halmuth is nonetheless brimming with civic pride. The entire trading post is well maintained, and although people are boisterous, they aren’t disorderly.
When we reach the gates, Mikko reaches up and touches the metal again, eyes closed as he senses its composition. With a grunt, Mikko breaks off the connection, shaking his big, shaggy head. He lays out his tools one by one, withdrawing them from the oversized pack he always carries on his back. Lastly, he sets up his anvil off to the side, so it won’t impede traffic, and he strips off his outer robes, swapping them with his thick leather apron.
“This is worse than anticipated,” Mikko murmurs. He’s already forgotten that I came with him, it seems, lost in his own world of metal. He twirls a ball-peen hammer in his fingers as he walks the length of the gate, still muttering to himself. Occasionally, he stops to tap the hammer on the gate, listening to the sound it makes, a magnificent frown on his face.
“Need a hand?” I call.
“Nah, you don’t have an extra to spare,” Mikko replies without missing a beat. Maybe he’s not as lost as I thought. He flashes a bright smile in my direction. “Besides, I need fire, not your fake heat. Leave this job to the real professional, little bro. Might be a few days.”
“Fine. I’m gonna go get some sleep. I’ll see about food delivery while you work. Might as well drop by to keep you company now and again. You’re a lost puppy when you get in a mood like this. Can’t have you waste away to nothing on the job. Mama would never forgive me.”
“You’re actually brothers? Your poor mother,” Camryn interrupts, a look of disbelief on her face. Then she snaps back into her aloof [Hunter] persona, with her leaf-bladed spear at the ready, and turns her gaze toward the darkness of the wilds. The Barrens are a dangerous place, and doubly so at night; even our interruption doesn’t pull her away from her duties for long.
I pry directions to the inn from Camryn, wave goodbye to my brother, and set out for the residential district to catch up on rest. Time to let the team know we’re turning this stopover into an unexpected extended stay.
Absent the usual guidance of my Domain’s mapping feature, I’m forced to hire a guide after taking a few wrong turns. I’m still terrified of breaking Halmuth’s mana barrier—or worse, accidentally contesting it and losing in the battle of wills. Who knows what dire ramifications that might have for my already-damaged channels and core?
So. No Domain.
I shudder, put aside the terrifying possibilities, and follow the cheerful, surprisingly chatty young guide I hired through the twisted warrens. True to his word, he leads me at last to the rather unimaginatively-named [Hunter]’s Lodge, where I’m reunited with the rest of my team.
In my absence, they’ve taken initiative and rented four rooms in the inn. It’s not a large lodge, so four rooms turns out to be an entire wing on the second floor. Azariah gets his own room, but the rest of us are forced to share accommodations. The Linas are boarding together in the second room and have already retired to sleep for the day. Lionel and Rakesh are sharing the third room, and have likewise turned in to catch up on sleep. That leaves the last room at the end of the hall for me. And Mikko, if my brother ever shows up; more likely, he’ll work night and day to finish the gates, abusing his [Greater Endurance] to forego sleep.
I wince at that. He’ll pay for it later, this constant overreliance on his Skill. He gets results like this, though. I can’t exactly blame him. Besides, I’ve made the same choice in his situation. We’re each driven to excel in our own way. Now that I think about it, I’ve also paid far higher costs, if I’m honest. Consequences haven’t stopped me yet, although I’m trying to become more circumspect now that I’m responsible for an entire team.
I knock on the first door in our wing of the inn. No response. I knock again, louder and insistently, and Azariah lets me inside with a scowl. The room is sparsely appointed, but clean. Nothing looks broken or out of place. It’s not exactly a posh hotel, but it’s surprisingly cozy. I see why Totten sent us here with a good recommendation.
Azariah takes one look at my face and swears under his breath, his ever-present scowl deepening further. “Bad news, huh? Well. Lay it on me, kid.”
I shrug. “Not really, unless you hate staying in one place for longer than a couple days. Mikko says the gate repair is more complicated than he thought, but he’s not going back on his word. Guess we’ll get a chance to see the local sights.”
“Stuck for three days in Totten’s little playground? Rubbish!” Azariah flings his pipe at me in disgust just to drive home his displeasure.
My laughter comes out sounding more like an amused yelp as I dodge the half-hearted attack, stepping to the side and allowing the pipe to pass by me harmlessly. With a twist of his fingers, his preternaturally dexterous smoke delivers it back into his hands.
I’m as eager to get back on the road as anyone, but I didn’t expect our guide to react so violently to the news that repairs are more complicated than Mikko anticipated. I cross my arms and stare down the [Pathfinder]. “Look on the bright side. We’re here for another night market cycle. More chances for us to sell glass—and for you to buy wine.”
Azariah scowls. “Already got what I need.”
“Drunk that fast, huh?” I deadpan.
His grimace grows deeper. “Hardly. My Class is all about two things, and survivin is right up there. Second on the list, in fact. Alcohol’s about the pleasant burn and relaxation. I can’t get incapacitated anymore. Resistances are too high."
“Sounds boring. My condolences.”
Azariah shifts in his seat, lounging back and resting his boots on the cheaply laminated, artificially-constructed end table—real wood is too rare to import to the Barrens for furniture in a joint like this. He sniffs. “No regrets. Keeps me alive. But ain’t ya gonna ask?”
I scratch my jaw, idly wondering if I can find a [Barber] in Halmuth. My beard is getting too unruly for life on the road. “Ask what? I haven’t heard anything interesting yet.”
“Peh! You’re a real pest, ain’t ya? Fine, I’ll spell it out so yer puny mind can understand me. The first thing that [Pathfinder] is good at it is findin a way forward. I’ll give ya a pass, on account of yer feeble wits, for assumin that it only works for physical pathways. See, I ain’t limited to wayfindin through the wilderness. I always find the best way to navigate a situation. Tonight, while you lot played patty cakes with Totten’s window, I got the real work done. That’s right. I put my Skills to good use on yer behalf. You’re welcome.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve seen how impressively you navigate social situations,” I reply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I’m more intrigued by his potential discovery than I let on, but there’s no sense stoking Azariah’s already-enormous ego. I figure I’ll get further if I force him to defend himself, anyway, so I throw out a wild boast.
I quirk an eyebrow, leaning forward to loom over Azariah. “Y’know, I’m starting to think we can get by just fine without you. We’re capable fighters, as you saw with the White-Banded Stoats, and Rakesh is a genius at learning new things. He can navigate for us.”
“As long as ya pay what ya promised, be my guest. You’re welcome to get yourselves killed in the Barrens,” Azariah says happily.
“We’re pretty tough,” I start to say.
“Could be rid of ya at last,” Azariah interrupts. He leers at me with an expression that’s all teeth and no smile. “Most annoyin clients I ever took on.”
“Sounds like your vaunted ‘way forward’ Skill deceived you when it came time to accept our request for a guide,” I needle. He doesn’t reply, staring back at me stony faced. Too tired to deal with his games, I decide that I’m too impatient to pry the information out of him the hard way. Trying and failing to put a smile in my voice, I give him the satisfaction of begging for the information. “Fine, fine. I’m listening. What did you find that’s so fascinating?”
“Peh. We’re here at the right time. For all my complainin, we needed to wait an extra day, anyway. Big-time [Merchant] is coming through tomorrow, during an off day for the night market—don’t even think about makin a dumb joke about having an ‘off day’ when the market’s nocturnal—and Totten invited us to a private meetin. So, once again: you’re welcome.”
“That’s . . . kind of you,” I admit, strangely touched. Then my suspicious nature kicks in; after Scalpel, I’m no longer as trusting as I used to be. “What do you get out of it?”
“Dunno yet.”
My eyebrows creep up my forehead. “So you’re just hoping it works out? What kind of pathfinding is that?”
“The kind that’s kept me alive for decades before you were even born,” Azariah snaps. “This is good for me, even if I hate the delay of stickin around with that daft old coot, Totten.”
“Prove it.”
Azariah shrugs. “My Skill hasn’t led me wrong yet. Just get your glass going. Sell cheap wares in town if you want, but keep your best stuff for the [Merchant].”
“Like what? What do you think he wants?”
“She. And I’ve got no clue, other than a vague impression you’ve been holdin out on me. What’s that around yer neck, anyway?”
I clutch my glass pseudo cores, taking a step back and readying my mana to unleash a blistering wave with [Greater Heat Manipulation] in case I need to fight him off. If it comes down to him or me, I’ll use my [Arcane Domain], too, no longer caring about what happens with the mana barrier.
When Azariah simply leans back in the seat winks at me, I realize he’s led me around by the nose. His face is calm, not twisted into an antagonistic grimace. He’s sitting there watching me like I’m an interesting specimen, and I fell right into his trap.
With a jolt, it occurs to me that his gruff ways are an act as much as the truth of his nature. His bluster put me off my game, and just like that, he’s fooled me into revealing how valuable the cores are to me.
I swallow. “Not for sale.”
He snorts. “Everything is, for a price.”
I slip out of the room without a reply, shutting the door behind me. I sag against a wall in the hallway, mulling over everything he’s told me. Thanks to Mikko’s offer to repair the gates, we’ll be stuck in town until the metal’s true again. What if I didn’t push back on the mana barrier with my Domain, though, and hadn’t forced us into owing a debt? We would have left Halmuth as soon as we finished with the night market and never needed to smooth things over with Totten. Did Azariah’s Skills account for that?
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
No use digging into the hidden realms of fate, I tell myself as I find my room and fumble with the keys to unlock the door. Just deal with what’s right in front of you.
I set an alarm using the water clock near the bed so I won’t oversleep, close my eyes for a brief nap, and run through our glass inventory in my mind. I hadn’t planned to offer too many imbued items, for fear of crashing a delicate market, but if Azariah’s right, then I might as well get to work. But first, time to sleep.
=+=
No one is happy with the two-day delay before we’ll be able to sell at the night market. We’re all experienced workers, however, so put our unexpected free time to good use. Without the proper ingredients, I spend a few hours using [Vitrification] to prepare glass batches for shaping after my all-too-brief nap. The [Hunter]’s Lodge agrees to comp one of our rooms in exchange for an order for plates and cups for their common room, and we score a few preliminary orders from the other guests, but it’s less than I hoped.
The rest of the day flies by in a blur. When I’m bored of creating more glass batches, and I realize how hungry I’ve gotten, I gather up dinner—or is it breakfast, I ask myself?—flag down a passing street kid for hire, and head off to see Mikko as promised. My guides leads me out of the residential district, down a narrow bypass underneath the martial district, and weaves right through the market district to the front gates. I bring Mikko food and a canteen of water, since I know he hasn’t fed himself all day.
He gives me a guilty look, confirmation that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, and I force him to take a quick break from repairing the gates. The generous platter of food vanishes in a few bites, devoured so fast that I wonder if my brother can even taste the savory flavor of the spicy lamb wrapped in flatbread and drenched in yogurt.
“Better?” I ask, teasing.
“Learned how to focus from you.”
I grin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
There’s not much else I can do to help Mikko directly. I lack the strength and Skills to bend the metal, so I take my leave, promising to return later with twice as much food next time.
Mikko doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s already banging away on the gates again, pouring mana into his strength-enhancing Skill with every bone-rattling blow. It’s still barely enough to budge the twisted metal back into place, which has me uneasy. Just how powerful is that stray beast? I’m not sure I want to find out.
Back at the [Hunter]’s Lodge just before twilight, which is the start of the workday to most in the Barrens, I catch up with Azariah. He’s stamping about outside the inn, puffing away on his pipe, wreathed in smoke. Dressed in his usual boots and leathers, the [Pathfinder] looks out of place even in the meager civilization of Halmuth. He’s suited for the wilderness, not a center of trade and commerce. When he sees me, his forehead furrows into grooves so deep that I almost toss out a wisecrack about planting seeds in the dirt that’s accumulated there. Something about his demeanor warns me off.
“Late. Crap first impression.”
Without any further comments, he spits to the side and stomps off toward Totten’s tower, not waiting to see if I’m coming along. I yell for him to wait for me to run upstairs and collect the glass I created earlier, but he doesn’t slow down. Indecision only wastes time; I can’t very well sell glass items if I don’t have a batch to work from, so I don’t have much of a choice, not matter how annoyed I am by the turn of events.
I dash inside the [Hunter]’s Lodge to grab the two remaining balls of glass I transmuted earlier in the day, rattled by the lack of time. I thought we were meeting with the [Merchant] during the night, but apparently she doesn’t keep to the usual traveling hours of the Barrens like everyone else. Just my luck!
By the time I fumble with the key to my room to unlock the door, barge inside in a panic, stuff the glass and a blowpipe into my travel pack, and run back outside, Azariah has already disappeared into the maze of street corners and shops. I grind my teeth at his impatience, but there’s no sense haranguing him since he’s not here. I take off after him, using the tower as a guide post. I don’t have time to look for an available guide for hire, and as long as I keep the tower in my sightlines, I should be able to find my way.
Three dead ends and a few hopped fences later, I’m cursing the lack of street planning in Halmuth, but I’m where I need to be. I jog up to the tower at last, annoyed at my impatience. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, and just searched for a moment, I probably could have found one of the many guides.
Done is done, Nuri. Focus.
No sign of Azariah, but that’s to be expected by now. He’s as difficult to pin down as the smoke he always wields. I’m starting to suspect he enjoys watching the chaos he creates.
Taj is outside the tower, keeping watch with his spear. Against all odds, somehow the big [Hunter] manages to look menacing even while slouching against the cold black stone of the tower’s rugged exterior. He waves me over. “The boss says you’re supposed to follow me. Try to keep up; they’re not happy about the delay.”
“No one told me when we’re meeting,” I protest, but without much heat. The [Hunter] has no share of the blame, so it would be rude to take out my frustration on him. Still, I feel the need to defend my character. “I don’t blow off responsibilities or stand up my clients. Make sure Totten knows that.”
“Not your messenger boys,” Taj replies. A huge grin splits his burnished bronze face. “He gets funny when he’s mad, though. Looking forward to the show since it’s not my fault this time.”
Over the next few minutes, while we travel to the meeting location, I rack my brain for a suitable apology for our host. An unassuming warehouse is our rather unexpected destination, and we’re ushered inside a few minutes later. Despite all the build-up, Totten barely spares me a word when I arrive at the expansive storage area where he’s set up a cobbled-together auction.
I’m not sure whether to be relieved or insulted that he’s got more things on his agenda than berating me for my tardiness. He’s shaking hands and offering slight bows to a variety of bejeweled buyers and sellers. Yellow vests and off-white robes seem to predominate, although I’m hopelessly out of date on fashion and have no idea from where the style originates. Most of the people wear a broad-brimmed hat to keep off the sun.
The [Merchant] Azariah mentioned to me immediately stands out, looking ravishing in her deep purple dress with silver trim. A thick, pale band set with mother-of-pearl inlay glitters around her neck, and a lacy veil halfway obscures her face. If she is as rich as I suspect, then the necklace is made of platinum, not silver.
I stifle a low whistle at that realization. Her jewelry alone is probably worth more than I’ve made in my entire life.
Next to the cluster of sellers and buyers, built up along the back middle of the room, a pair of wide tables rest on a stack of empty packing crates. Instead of a stage, it looks like the [Auctioneer] will use the makeshift raised platform as the stage for the festivities. Which aren’t yet underway, I notice with a rush of irritation.
From across the room, Azariah catches my eye and frowns, his lips pressed together in disapproval. I’m not even late, but I suppose he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t perpetually walk around with a scowl on his face. I wave at him and give him my most brilliant smile, which only makes him scowl more, and saunter toward him.
A server intercepts me along the way, offering a platter of finger foods and spiced wine, so I settle for stuffing my face while smirking at my dour guide. In between bites, he slips away, hidden by a passing gaggle of traders.
“Ah, just the man I’m looking for.”
I turn to my right at the sudden voice. A tall man, as thin as drawn cane glass, extends his hand for a shake. I awkwardly balance my tiny plate of pastries on my left forearm so that I can return his greeting. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You seem to know me, but I’ve not been introduced.”
The master of ceremonies—I assume—is dressed in a formal black suit with a cut so sharp that I suspect it would impress even the [Viceroy]. His smile is severe, but not nasty; he’s simply dignified, or at least attempting to project the air of dignity. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Rigney, the [Chief Broker] in charge of Totten’s affairs, and your host for today’s auction and fundraiser. And you are the young [Glassworker] who’s caused such a stir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” I reply without conviction.
His officious smile grows brittle. “Nuri, you’re fifth on the list. Please provide your items to our [Assessor] ahead of time for proper inspection and evaluation. He will set the price floor for the opening bid, although naturally we hope there’s no ceiling to the bidding.”
“Naturally. Look, Rigney, I’m flattered to be here, but I prefer to make my items to order,” I reply slowly, unsure of what I’ve gotten myself into exactly.
“Highly unusual,” Rigney murmurs.
I take my time to savor a pastry, fortifying myself for the bartering to come. “I imagine it’s good enough to announce that a master [Glassworker] will create an imbued item live for the crowd’s viewing pleasure. Most Masters enforce strict vows of silence and refuse to let anyone observe the process. Trade secrets, and all that.”
Avarice glints in Rigney’s eyes, but like a true professional, he smothers his greed as soon as it appears. “Only a single item, master Nuri? I was promised three.”
I chew on my final pastry, making it last an obnoxiously long time, and let out a regretful sigh. “Alas, anyone who said three is sadly misinformed. Out here, I only have enough glass for two pieces. At best. I can’t exactly place a rush order with a glass supplier in the middle of the Barrens, so I’ve had to create the batches from scratch.”
“Two it is,” Rigney replies in a tone that brooks no argument. “What are the effects, if I may ask? At least provide that much information. Else we may not be able to proceed; vague promises are tenuous bets.”
I’ve dealt with far more convincing negotiators. Compared with Xharrote, chief of all the [Inquisitor], or even that little brat of an [Adjutant] who wasted so much of my time, Rigney is a two-bit counterfeit. Still, I manage to bite my tongue before I let loose a scathing insult. “I’ll offer two options: sharpness or unbreakable imbued into an item. They will not be very large, due to insufficient quantity of glass, unless someone wants to purchase both orders and combine the material. Note that I cannot layer the effect, however. It’s still just one or the other.”
Rigney’s eyes widen ever so slightly at the mention of higher-order concepts. Hearing a Master can latch onto something profound and use it to fuel the craft is one thing, but seeing it in person is quite another. Not many have a chance to touch upon the ideals that underpin the universe. Even watching the crafting process without any knowledge of glass-making may be enough to push one of his Skills up a rank, assuming there’s any affinity or similarity between the concepts and his particular path.
It’s extremely rare, but not impossible. Certainly never worked for me, I complain, and I had the pleasure of observing a true Master of glass in Melidandri’s studio in the capital. Still, he exudes barely-restrained hope. [Broker] may be a lucrative Class, but Halmuth is hardly a seat of power. He’s probably been capped out for a while.
I resist the urge to cheerfully inform him that he’s never going to make a breakthrough to the Second Threshold. A quick Viewing confirms my suspicion: he’s stagnant, content to rest on his mediocre foundations. There’s no true fire in his soul, only the small, lukewarm embers of petty ambitions. No wonder he aggravates me.
“Well. That will do nicely,” Rigney lies, but he manages to sound amiable. He gestures toward the main support post in the center of the warehouse. “In case you’d like to bid yourself, please note that you can find a list of the wares the other sellers will present posted on that pillar. I bid you farewell. Good luck, Master Nuri.”
“You too,” I reply lamely, not knowing how to comport myself around his faux-politeness. I don’t feel too bad about it, though, since he departs without so much as a bow or smile.
I wander over to the list after a detour to snag another one of the delicious pastries. I’m not so gauche as to rush over and gawk at all the goodies for sale. All right, I totally am, I admit to myself with a laugh. I’m practically dying of curiosity to see what my competition is selling, but I don’t want to come off like I’m out of place here.
Most of the guests are already seated, so I don’t have to jostle for position to read the list. Everything is high-end from what I can tell: rare spices sourced from the far, far south that provide a boost to the vitality of food; soft leather boots lined with the fur of a snow lynx, heavily enchanted with extra grip so the wearer can run across ice without slipping; a satchel filled with glowing sapphire vials containing an elixir that restores mana at ten times the usual harvesting rate—or so they claim; and, of course, a box of spiced wines that Azariah will likely buy.
“Aged in the Grotto of the [Guardians] itself!” the flyer proclaims. I try to hold back a snort at the ridiculous declaration, but I can’t help myself. It’s patently absurd that anyone other than the [Royal Vintner] himself could gain access to the sacred grotto.
Totten heaves himself up on stage and claps twice, instantly killing the low drone of half a dozen separate discussions. The clap is so loud and concussive that I’m certain he’s using a Skill, and I find myself staring in rapt anticipation. “Welcome to the third-annual Halmuth gala. Got some beauts for you fine folks today. Let the wine flow free—and the money even freer!”
A smattering of courteous laughter greets his announcement. He winks at me, then hops off the table with far more spryness than I’d credited him. Rigney, his [Chief Broker], climbs onto the stage considerably more stiffly. He probably thinks he’s being dignified, moving so slowly.
“As usual, the [Purveyor]-in-chief himself, Totten, has something special planned for you. After the usual fine assortment of artifacts and curios, you’re in for an exquisite treat!” Rigney pauses dramatically to allow suspense to build as the audience buzzes with excitement.
“No doubt you’ve heard the rumors by now. Well, rest assured, they are true: you’ll get a rare chance to bid for an imbued masterwork. Never one to disappoint, Totten has procured the exclusive services of a young Master [Glassworker], who will provide a live demonstration of his crafting process once the winners are determined. That’s right! Two winning bids, two imbued items. The enhancements are sharpness or unbreakable. Custom orders welcome, within the limits of the available material.”
The auction begins shortly thereafter, but barely pay the proceedings any mind. Two or three times, I place a safe, early bid, certain I’ll be outdone by an impatient or drunk patron, just so that I look engaged in the auction. Mentally, however, I’m far away from the bidding wars. I’m going over the best options in my mind, hoping I have enough glass to deliver. Maybe I should have put more limitations on what I’m selling.
All too soon, my turn is up. I dip my head in acknowledgement when I’m invited onto the stage, and vault up to stand between Rigney and the [Auctioneer].
I make a show of withdrawing the first of the glass globes from my travel pack. Holding it up so that it glints in the light of the mana lamps, I smile and incline my head, then tuck it away with a flourish. Polite applause greets my theatrics.
Rigney reminds the crowd of the terms, then turns things over to the [Auctioneer]. I settle back, ready for a long and boring bidding war, but the [Merchant] makes things interesting. She raises her paddle and whispers something to an [Attendant], who announces the bid. She jumps in with an offer three times higher than the starting bid. No one seems willing to go against her, so just like that, I owe the first item.
It seems like a foregone formality. Based on what Azariah told me, I expected a private sale, anyway, so I’m happy to be done with the song and dance. It’s time to make glass.
Communicating her requests solely through the [Attendants], the [Merchant] submits an order for a shield with unbreakable imbued. As promised, I begin work immediately, drawing on my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to melt the glass. Once it’s malleable enough, I affix the globe of glowing glass to the end of my blowpipe. I flip the pipe, blow to expand the globe, and begin the slow, familiar spin to keep the glass centered. I can’t let it fall off the side of the metal blowpipe during a demonstration. I’d die from embarrassment.
I’m glad I topped off my glass cores after using [Vitrification] so often earlier, since I have no furnace or glory hole to reheat the glass. Working without jacks or a paddle, not to mention no marver to assist with shaping, I rely on tucking the blowpipe under my arm to hold it in place. Using only my hand, I gently flatten the end of the balloon-like ball so that the glass looks more like a half dome now, with the curved end still attached to the blowpipe. Without the protection of a high-end Skill like [Greater Heat Manipulation], I’d have burned myself a thousand times over.
Alternating between shaping, spinning, and blowing calls to mind a juggler at work. If I still had my second hand—I cut off that thought, forcing myself to focus on what is, rather than what I want to be. Thankfully, I can work more quickly than if I had to take breaks to heat the glass back up with a furnace, so it balances out the loss. Before long, I brace the pipe to hold the expanded glass ball in place, close my hand and bring my straightened fingers together to make a point, and plunge my fist into the flat end of the glass half dome.
I expand my fingers until I’ve opened my hand wide, which hollows out the shape of the glass, and go back to spinning. I hold the pipe at different angles to allow the glass to spread in an even shape. The longer I spin, the flatter the glass becomes. No longer a dome, the glass is now closer to the shape of a saucer, or perhaps an extremely shallow bowl.
I chose to use a rondell technique to spin the glass, since it seems like the easiest way to ensure a flat shape. Now that it’s a wide, round plate big enough to cover my torso, I take a deep breath and move on to the part of the demonstration that will prove me a Master in truth.
Drawing on my small assortment of successful past imbuings, I channel unbreakable into the glass shield. The mana in the air shivers, and gasps rise from the crowd, but soon the energy of the world swirls around me, drawn to the strength of my conviction, and it surges into the shield, transforming its nature into something utterly new.
“Behold! A shield even the [Heroes] of Densmore would be proud of!” I boast, lifting the finished work high above my head while the crowd roars in approval.
Truthfully, I’m laying on the hyperbole a bit too thick. It’s a crude thing, in the end, lacking even a handhold or handle, but no one can deny what they saw and felt; the mana responded to my urgings.
I explain that it’s up to the buyer to mount a grip on the shield, which I advise they hire an [Armorer] to accomplish. Everyone wants a demonstration. Usually, hitting even tempered glass is a bad idea before annealing—which I advise is necessary before the bearer handles the shield, assuming the [Merchant]’s bodyguard wants to avoid burns—but magic changes things. The glass is imbued with an ideal, changed on a fundamental level.
The [Merchant]’s guards hit the shield as hard as they can, attacking three times each with their wicked half-moon poleaxes. Their attacks don’t even leave a scratch, proving my work is highly effective, if lacking elegance. The buyers burst into furious applause at the evidence, although it irks me that they need verification. I have to admit, though, that it’s nice when they give me a standing ovation.
I could get used to this.
After making arrangements to deliver the shield, I take suck in air, trying to recover my equilibrium before making the second item. The pressure of performing combined with the mana drain is making me feel light-headed.
My glass pseudo cores are only about forty percent full after the imubing, based on my rough estimation. I hide my consternation, but I know that I’ll have to manage my Skills far more efficiently for the second go around. I’ve been feeling the limitation of my glass cores lately; they put a hard limit on my capacity that’s holding me back.
All too soon, the bidding resumes. I barely pay it any mind, focusing on harvesting mana and feeding it into the pseudo cores. I barely make any progress in the ten minutes it takes for a winner to emerge, but my mind feels clearer. C’mon, Nuri. You’ve got this, man, I tell myself, more determined than ever to turn hope into reality.
The second winner is a fierce-eyed [Caravanner] with a craggy face that looks like old, weathered leather darkened by decades of oiling. He’s unbent by the ravages of time, despite a wild shock of pure-white hair. He gives no name, just like the [Merchant], but merely stalks up to the stage and throws down his money bag. In exchange, he demands a curved talwar imbued with sharpness.
A fight nearly breaks out when I explain that I don’t have enough glass left to make the full sized weapon. I ready my Domain as he screams at me, calling me a thief and charlatan. I demand fealty from the mana in the air around the [Caravanner]. If he moves against me, I have no qualms about turning him into mincemeat with a violent application of sharpness. Thankfully, his grand-nephew, a [Trader] in his own right, talks him down, and the [Caravanner] changes his order to a dozen arrowheads.
The thought of providing such a bloodthirsty man with an entire quiver full of unstoppable arrows, easily capable of piercing through a sturdy suit of plate mail armor, or anything short of stone wall, really, gives me pause. Death unseen, delivered from afar, all at the whim of an unhinged old man. All the same, a bid is a bid. Gold is gold. I won’t go back on my word, and I don’t have time to thoroughly vet my customers, so I shrug and get to work.
By the time I’m done with the order, most of the crowd has left. Shaping the first three or four arrowheads may have been fascinating, and I’ve proven that I’m a Master, but apparently the novelty wears off quickly. Or maybe they don’t like the [Caravanner]. I don’t really care, as long as I’m getting paid.
In the end, neither product is quite a masterwork—I didn’t have enough time to decorate the shield boss, or shape the glass more elegantly—but they’ll do the job. The demonstration of the shield surviving mighty blows, or the arrows cutting through a stone, convinces the audience members that my status is well earned. After today, my reputation will spread. That bodes well for sales. What I made and sold this evening is more than functional, and the two imbued items easily bring in as much as I spent for my personal passage with Azariah.
So why can’t I shake the niggling feeling that I got the short end of the bargain?