Medea

The images I had of hidden Arcanic laboratories or secluded mountain top academies were quickly shattered when my would-be new tutor declared that the dilapidated, rusting warehouse would be where we would learn this supposed “Real Magic”.

The cracked concrete floor was damp and splattered with rust-coloured puddles and clumps of gently writhing green moss that occasionally spat out a small glowing mote of ether. The corrugated steel walls rattled with the wind, and I could make out the lights of the city from the holes in the roof. There wasn’t much light in here, except what filtered in through the grimy windows along the western wall of the building, and the glowing lanterns that hung from long metal staves on a rack by the opposite wall. There were a dozen or so of them, and considering there were only two other students here I wondered if more were invited but, perhaps wisely, declined the invitation.

The other two students, standing awkwardly in the warehouse with nowhere to sit, didn’t leave much of an impression. The taller one looked like he hadn’t brushed his hair or shaved… ever. Which was a strange contrast to his neatly pressed white shirt and tie emblazoned with a Horizon nametag. He looked the least comfortable here, casting wary glances at me and the other student while his hand fidgeted with a long wand hanging from his belt.

My other new classmate was another human, poking at some of the moss with his boot. I noticed that on his neck his brown skin twisted into an angry red burn that seemed to extend below the collar of his baggy hoodie. He wore leather gloves which struck me as strange considering the warm summer night air. Maybe he has something going on with his hands too, since he keeps flexing his hand into a fist and moving his fingers as if he’s still figuring out to. I can relate to that, I suppose.

I was never really one to wait around twiddling my thumbs, so I walked up to the taller one.

“You. What’s your name?” He flinched a bit when I walked up to him, despite being a couple heads taller.

“Uh, Arryn Tarlow. I’m a junior scribe at Horizon in the Shape Stone department”. He spoke as if reciting a script, and held out a hand. “I haven’t met many elves, do you shake hands in the Scarlet Woods?”

I smirked and lifted the edge of my cloak with Lefty to reveal my lack of arms. “I don’t.”

I enjoyed his stuttered apology that followed. I didn’t blame him for assuming I’m from the Woods. There weren’t many elves in Danmer, and those that were spent little time outside of their mansions. I barely remembered the red leaves of that forest, so as far as I’m concerned I’m a Danmian through and through.

“Relax, you didn’t cause any offence.” I ruffled his hair with Righty, being careful not to knock his head too hard. He didn’t look like he could take a light tap. “I’m Medea Baninyet, Well of Wonders senior Runewright, armour division, yadda yadda. Mostly I box, though.”

He looked like he wanted to ask about that, but instead leaned in conspiratorially and whispered “Do you know the other guy?”

I looked over at the other human, looking like he was trying not to eavesdrop.

“Hey, other guy.” I yelled. “C’mere.”

He took a moment to look about as if he thought I could have been speaking to anyone else before marching over.

“Ah, the name’s Wyll Darter, new recruit of Brimstone’s Artillery division. Are you with the… guy?”

“Oh my god, I’ve been dying to ask about him.” blurted out Arryn. “What’s his deal?”

“I don’t know.” I said. “He offered to teach me some tricks that will help me with some matches I have coming up.”

“He’s giving you boxing advice? He implied to me he had some kind of huge secret magic thing to show us.” said Wyll.

“Might be bullshit. Honestly, I was half expecting to get jumped when I saw where we were meeting. But I reckon I can take on you two and him and still walk away the victor” I gave them a sly smile.

Arryn looked reflective for a moment. “I’m not so sure about that. He seemed to be crazy talented. When we met, he-”

“Sorry I’m late!” came a voice from the wide metal doors on the far end of the warehouse. Stepping through was that strange man again, this time with a staff over his shoulder with a Manamart plastic bag hanging from it like a bindle. “Just had to get some supplies.”

He jogged across to us, dropped the staff and bag on the floor. Something clinked from inside the bag.

“Listen, guy. I agreed to hear you out but so far I’m not impressed. I don’t see any training circles, crystals, tomes, scrolls, or training dummies.” I said. “Hell, as far as I can tell the leyline alignment here is terrible. What’s your game here?”

“Yes, those are certainly things you would normally need. Good thing we won’t.”

I was even more skeptical now. Everyone knows that in order to learn magecraft, you need facilities to properly strengthen the heart, mind, and soul of the mage. Heart to build a body sturdy enough for channeling, mind to memorise the specific gestures and incantations, and soul to not be consumed by the spell for having a weak will or wicked intentions. I could never learn without proper arms to make gestures, but the runes helped mitigate that.

I would understand this unconventional environment if I were already a mage, but I could see nothing here that would help my runework.

The man was whistling what sounded like an off-key version of “Mana Imperium”, a Danmian war song, while he pulled out three bottles, three candles, and three apples from his plastic bag.

“I don’t want to speak for the group here.” Wyll said, “But I think we’d all feel a bit more comfortable if we knew more about you. I don’t even know your name.”

The man stopped his whistling, and looked up thoughtfully. “Yes, you’re absolutely right. My apologies, I’ve been rather busy of late and have been neglecting my social etiquette.”

He stood and gave a deep, exaggerated bow.

“It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Fyron Hotaniyer, and I am the most powerful mage alive. Please call me Ron.”

There was an extended silence. The first to get their words together was Wyll.

“That is a bold claim to make… Ron. You surely understand if we can’t take that at face value.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I noted that Arryn was the only one here who didn’t seem so surprised.

“Oh, well, I suppose there’s not really a way to quantify it or anything. But I can confidently say I can do everything better than anyone else.”

“Bull.” I said. “The Archmages of the Big Three and the High Druids of the Scarlet Woods are the biggest mages around here and everyone knows it.”

Fyron just laughed, and seemed to think about it more because it made him laugh harder. The sound bounced around the room, echoing in the empty space. After a while, he stopped, and wiped a tear away from his eye.

“I’m sorry my dear, but-”

“I’m not your dear.” I interjected, not bothering to hide the frustration from my voice.

“Right. I’m sorry Medea, but that’s ridiculous. If someone said that a soggy cabbage leaf could beat you in a boxing match, you’d laugh too.”

“This is ridiculous, you’re obviously off your rocker and wasting my time here. Goodbye.”

I turned to walk away and found Fyron standing right behind me. When did he..? I looked back and saw no one standing by the bag on the floor anymore.

“It seems I might have to prove myself a bit. Sorry, folks. Again, social skills are not my forté. Feel free to propose any test you like so I can show you what you stand to gain.”

Wyll and Arynn seemed to be seriously thinking about what to ask. I decided to take matters into my own hands. Fyron seemed to have some level of ability, so I -at a very reduced speed- sent Righty flying towards the side of his head. Maybe my temper was getting the better of me, because it rocketed towards him a lot faster than I’d planned. I tried to slow it down, but before I could send the mental command to the propulsion runes the solid steel gauntlet exploded into silver sand. I felt the connection to the runes I’d spent hours carving into the plates instantly sever. The sand didn’t even reach Fyron’s head, instead flowing around it in a stream before slowly forming into a sphere swirling around his hand.

“There, I hope that-”

Lefty flew up at top speed, with an uppercut that once knocked the head off an iron golem. It had about reached Fyron’s navel when the punch was blocked by two- no, three identical gauntlets. I didn’t even see them fly in from anywhere, but they didn’t budge an inch as I pushed against them. Completely overpowered.

Fyron wasn’t even looking, instead running his fingers through the floating ball of sand that was once my life’s work. His gauntlets, which looked identical to Lefty down to the scuffs and scratches, also dissolved into sand and joined the sphere around his hand. I called back the real Lefty before it was destroyed too.

“Have I proven my point yet?”

Arryn spoke up from the back. “That’s it again - how did you cast a spell with no verbal or somatic components? Such a specific one too - seemed like one of the spells from Well of Wonders, maybe?”

“Not one of ours.” I said. My eyes didn’t leave the twisting sand.

“He wasn’t even looking or aiming an evoker.” Said Wyll. “Some kind of runework on his clothes maybe?”

“Not that either. If I could make my gauntlets with some fancy stitching on my cloak, I wouldn’t need to spend so much time at the forge.”

“Ah, yes, Sorry about that.” said Fyron “You can have your glove back.”

The sand sphere compacted, morphed, and deformed until it resembled a vague hand shape, then the dust suddenly cleared until Righty was once again floating in the air. I felt my mental connections to the runes snap back into place, not clearer than before but exactly the same.

“Now that is impossible.” I said, which only elicited a smile from the now rather smug looking Fyron. “I had to paint those runes with my own blood to get them to respond to my mental commands. There is not a chance you’re able to restore that.”

“And yet, I did.” he walked back over to the plastic bag on the floor. “So, are you still planning on leaving?”

I considered still doing so, but swallowed my pride and rejoined the group. Fyron was smart enough not to make a comment. Wyll gave me an awkward smile, and Arynn was looking intently at Fyron. Neither looked like they needed to challenge our new mentor any more than I had.

“Now, let me start by asking what you think is needed to use magic. Wyll?”

“Discipline, practice, control?” Wyll recited. Was that some kind of mantra?

“Nope. Arryn?”

“Knowledge of a spell, usually written on a scroll or spellbook, specific words or movements to shape the spell, and a good source of mana to use in it?”

“Closer, but still no. Medea, you’re our last hope.”

“Can we just get to the part where you tell us the real answer? You’ve obviously picked three people who can’t do conventional magic.”

Wyll and Arynn looked shocked, and Fyron let out another one of his hearty laughs.

I turned to the other two. “Surely you noticed? Wyll, you seem like you’re recovering from some kind of spell-gone wrong situation. Shitty discipline, practice, or control maybe. Arryn, you seem well read but that wand is a fake. Looks too heavy to be filled with blood or aether, too cheap to be lined with crystal, and the runework is an absolute mess. It’s just a baton in case this little pow-wow goes south, am I right?”

Both looked a bit uncomfortable at that. Maybe I went too far. I was still wound up after my scrap with Fyron, if you can even call it that.

“And of course, I’m missing my arms. I can make mental links to certain runes, but I can’t prestidigitate to save my life.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Arryn. “I’ve got no talent for magic at all. Ron here said he had some way to teach me.”

“Correction.” said Fyron “You are not faulty or dysfunctional at all, dear students. It is your understanding of magic that is at fault.”

The three of us gave him our full attention. Obviously, this weirdo wasn’t all talk. If he really had some kind of secret knowledge, and was willing to give it away freely… Actually, was he?

“What do you get out of this?” I asked.” I can’t pay you, but if that was your goal you’re better off selling your secrets to one of the Big Three.”

“Well, I never really wanted to be a teacher” Fyron scratched the back of his head, tipping the wide brim of his hat over his eyes. “But after recent discoveries about the world at large I felt compelled to test a couple hypotheses.”

“Those hypotheses being..?”

“I might share those another time. You came to learn real magic, yes? Rest assured that I won’t charge you a copper for my tutelage, nor will I try to blackmail or extort you afterwards.”

That didn’t feel very reassuring, but I was too invested in this now.

“Now, let me introduce you to The Artifact.”

Fyron reached down into his linen shirt, and pulled out a necklace. It was a strange ring of teal crystal, that glowed faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. It had been fastened with a thin leather cord, and as he lifted it up it started to slowly float over his hand, spinning slightly. There was a sudden clink as the ring suddenly snapped in three places, and three identical segments now floated in a lazy orbit.

The thing reeked of magic, but nothing I recognised. It was made of crystal, obviously, which is a stable if slow-releasing type of mana. But as for its function, I had no idea. Aside from its unusual shape, I could see no rune markings on it anywhere. It’s form didn’t quiver like an illusion might under scrutiny. Any theory I had about it went out the window when it was split in three, which in most cases would destroy any internal workings completely. Best I could guess, this was some kind of hyper-condensed mana source. I’ve heard the ancient elves used to compact crystals with geomancy to make them more valuable, but that’s not my area of expertise.

Also, it was crucial to remember that Fyron seemed to completely ignore most limitations of spellcraft somehow, so all my theories go out the window for that reason too.

“This ancient dwarven device allows its bearer to cast a spell without the normal required movements or chants.” Fyron spoke in a sombre tone. “You simply need the requisite mana and a very clear image of the effect that you want. This is how I have become so powerful, and now I give it to you.”

Arryn and Wyll gasped in awe as the one of the crystalline segments floated over to each of the three students. I didn’t pluck it from the air straight away as they did, instead taking a closer look at The Artifact as it floated in front of my face.

Maybe I was being overly cautious, but with closer examination two things became very clear. This crystal didn’t seem to do anything but glow and float, and Fyron was lying through his teeth.