52nd Winter, 511 A.V.
It had been a long time in planning, and Hadrian knew it wouldn't take but a week to craft now that he had everything in order. Between materials and tools and space requirements, he had spent something along the lines of three thousand golden mizas, but it would be worth it as his pay would be handsome and both Queen Morwen and her people of Avanthal would esteem him highly, his magic seen as a help to the city rather than a danger. But she had paved the way by claiming he had Iceglaze blood, and those of the Hold seemed immediately to welcome him, though he had not moved into the Hold as they had offered, preferring to stay with Kendall and Ethan where they were, but he would most certainly avail himself of their workspace.
What they lent him was a rather bare, utilitarian space, but what he needed had already been placed in the storage locker. Oh, right. Some of that load of gold had gone to pay for good help. He might have been able to persuade the goddess and her people to supply him with what he needed, but then he would not have made any money, and while he was certainly respectful of the gods, he was also respectful of his belly being full and having shelter and the like.
But ah...
On a circular table in the center of the room sat a rough hewn rectangular block of icestone. He walked around it, his senses reaching out to analyze the structure of the block, the ambient djed in the room, planning out things anew now that he was in the actual space. Braziers were lit in the corners of the room, barely smoking, but emanating plenty of heat to keep the Winter chill at bay.
First he prepared some simple black paint, and then walked the perimeter of the room, murmuring a sonorous chant of binding as he spilled out a chain of runes to surround the entire room, the focus on the opposite end of the room from the door. Next he laid out the intricate enchantment sigil on the very surface of the table, a ring of glyphs around its edge, an oval around the block of icestone, two smaller circles on either side of it, and then the webwork of channels and blocks, links and transmuting glyphs that grew ever more complex, filling the majority of the table and actually taking over an hour to complete.
That done, he put the paint away, rubbed his eyes and stretched his fingers. He had expended no magical energy, but the concentration level was taxing, even if he was brimming with excited energy just below the surface. After a brief break, however, it was back to work.
He went to stand in front of the focus glyph on the far wall, standing before it with his hands held in front of him, one hand twisted into a mudra of power, the other of energizing. Breathing in, he prepared, and then, as he breathed out, Shield energy poured out of his hand and into the focus. His energies were slightly more controlled than they had been; he was getting better, but it was still an uneven flow, requiring too much concentration to control. Luckily with the help of these glyphs, all he had to do was provide the energy, which was the easy part. The focus filled with Shield energy, and then quickly bled along the chain to surround the entire room, and then expanded up and down along walls, covering ceiling and floor. He didn't task the energy, which would have required more effort, but merely let it close off the flow of outside djed, which might disrupt things. The reactions of his enchantment would keep the magic within from growing stale, sickly.
Then he stood over the table itself, gathering himself and holding both hands over one of the smaller circles. Out of one hand, a rope of blue res came, and from the other, green. The two twined together like the snakes of a caduceus before energizing that circle with icy power, flashing a pale blue-white as it began to light up the rest of the glyphs save that last little circle. That done, he took a deep breath and knelt before the table as if it were an altar.
The majority of his enchantments only required pure energies, the glyphs doing the rest of the work, but this would require two actual magical exercises, and he had just poured out a good deal of energy over the past half hour or so. He had always found that meditation allowed his body to more efficiently recharge itself, and that he made a more efficient use of magic for everyday things soon after calming and ordering his mind. Just so, he had entered a light trance, his breath under control and the rest of him following suit.
In that state, aware but somewhat removed emotionally from everything, he could feel how the room was gradually filling with his power. The air tasted familiar, felt like his own skin touching his skin. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped just seeing auras and began to experience them with all five of his mundane senses as well as others for which the words were lost. Once he felt serene, he pulled himself out of it and took his little work meal out of his satchel. There was dried meat for longer burning energy, a sweet biscuit for a faster burst of energy, and a skin of water because as a hydromancer, he knew just how much of the human body was water.
After that brief repast, recharged, a bit renewed, he walked back to the table for the first and easiest of the two tricks. Though Voiding was not his forte, all he had to do was provide the spark, the initial space of nothingness that would open the portal, and then he could set it within the circle and the glyphs would support it. It became a matter of concentration, his fingers a clawed cage over the little circle, his imagination pulling all matter and energy away from an imagined spot within until he felt something open, commanded a slight Pull. Then he released his control and the glyphs began to regulate it, opening up that tiny portal into the Void to the proper size and holding it there, preventing it from opening too wide, pulling too hard.
"Now for the most interesting part."
He took a long breath in, then out, and then in again. Holding his hands over the block of icestone, strands of green res spooled out, wrapping around it, cocooning it until it was sheathed in his energy. Then and only then, he began to warp the icestone's shape, thinner, longer, but, more than that, denser, the internal structure growing more complex to make room for his enchantment. He laid glyphs down within that structure, preparing it for the energy that would come, glyphs to augment and alter, hold and imbue that icestone rod to do what Hadrian willed.
When he was done, his hands came down to grip the edge of the table for support, glad that the paint was dry, his brow bespangled with the sweat of intense effort. His knees buckled and he tried to ease himself down gently. Since nobody was there to witness his weakness, he laid himself down, curled in upon himself. He could feel his stomach burning with the effort to break down his meal faster, to supply his body with the energy to create more djed.
Apparently having Clyde as an assistant had made him soft. This hadn't happened since he was a novice.
Time passed. He wasn't sure how long. But finally, he recovered enough to sit up slowly, and then to stand. Only one thing remained to do that day, and that was simple. He took out a small hammer of silver etched with runes and chimed it thrice along the length of the icestone. The hammer pulled a minor chord out of it, so he put the hammer away and pulled out his ashwood flute, upon which he played the major triad toward which the icestone's resonance should shift over the course of the next day.
And then he was finally done for the day. Blessed be. |
