Grae stepped through the door and into a different space. The air changed. Magic changed. It was a moment of total disorientation, like missing a step in the dark.

When that moment passed he was in a room of hard-packed earth. A basement cellar. Lining the walls were shelf after shelf packed with shining metal boxes. They oozed the sour smell of lightning and the sickly-sweetness of oil.

Grae sniffed at them.

“Oh, those?” The witch turned back from climbing the narrow stairs out of the cellar. “A long time ago, a very clever fellow found a way to seal things into cans, keeping them fresh nearly forever. Useful for jams and meats and all sorts of things.”

“My predecessor figured out how to store mana in them. It’s quite handy. Magic in a tin.”

And she continued up.

Grae followed, ducking his head to make it under the doorway at the top.

He entered into a round, comfortable room. Cushioned and aging furniture packed the floor. Tapestries hung from the wall. Light came in through circular windows, beams of sun slashing across the air and picking out a fine fall of dust coming from the ceiling. Nets slung to the rafters were stuffed with tools and trinkets, while hanging pots contained green waterfalls of growing herbs.

There was a beautifully overpacked air to the place. Every portion, from the walls to the ceiling, was filled in. The windows were tinted blue and pink, shading the light.

It felt lived in.

It reminded Grae of his dungeonhome.

“Make yourself at home. I have your kobolds out doing gardening.” She gestured to a heavy couch. As Grae sat down, the entire thing groaned and spiders escaped from the cushions. Briefly vanishing into a side room, the witch came back with a bundle of midnight in her hands.

She unrolled it across the table. It was Heidrich’s possessions; his cloak, which was darker than night and seemed to take on the colors of everything around it. His sword, which gleamed a pale white-green shade. His armor, perfectly unharmed. And finally, a trio of brass rings joined by chains. Two of the rings were set with the heavy gemstones of Stars, while the third contained a glass ampoule.

“We come to the matter of payment. For providing you with sanctuary, healing, and food, I will take either the spell-shaper or the knife and cloak.”

Grae paused. “I made no such bargain.”

“You were unconscious. I doubt you would’ve chose death.” She waved his complaint away.

But Grae’s eyes narrowed. “That is very human logic.”

The witch ceased trying to dismiss him, and met his eyes. Underneath her mask the woman’s gaze was a striking and almost luminescent shade of green. “It is the logic of a witch. None of our magic can be given for free. Even if I asked nothing from you, the magic would find a way to extract it’s own price.”

“Even in the old days, my predecessors could not walk the world, fixing all problems and healing all ills. For every good they did with magic, an evil would be born.”

“The magic of our realm is a delicate balance. That balance must be paid.”

Grae could only lower his head.

There were things in this world he did not yet understand, and the witch was a ferocious figure. If anything, Grae should’ve been less reluctant to pay the price…

The friendship of someone who knew magic, as few humans seemed to anymore, was precious enough.

He lifted the cloak in to his hand. It felt liquid-smooth.

“Inspect…”

[ Fellgaunt Cloak ]

242 Motes

Order

Once worn by executioners in a lawless time, these cloaks are manufactured of a midnight fabric that disguises the wearer in all but bright light.

Next he lifted the blade. As he brought it into the light, streaks of fiery, opalescent orange emerged within the beetle-shell emerald of the blade. They ran in wavering lines of fire across the edge. It was a beautiful piece.

[ Viriconite Blade ]

65 Motes

Technologia

Created by the craftsmen of an ancient city, viriconite was refined by unknown sorcery. To this day coinage and jewelry made from the metal fetch a high price from smiths who recast them as blades, razor sharp and able to slice through enchantments.

Finally he examined the joined rings. They were a spell-shaper, of course. A very small one that only held a single combination of rune-words.

The Huntsman’s Star…

And the Star of Sight.

A tracking spell. No wonder he’d found them so easily. And no wonder Oriole had sought him out to help track the escaped slaves. If he had asked Oriole, perhaps Grae would have known to expect the ambush…

His fangs ground together.

One mistake, and a life lost.

This world was cruel and exacted the highest price for even small errors.

With a sigh, he held out the rings. “Take them.” He already had one Constellation filled, and the other was pushing the limits of his mana to use even twice; more Stars wouldn’t help him until he solved the dual limits of mana and Constellation slots.

As for the device itself, while Grae could see some utility there, he also couldn’t use it on his own. The rings were much too small for his brute fingers.

As for the cloak and blade, the cloak was useful to him personally, the dagger a powerful tool to give to a follower. Sarcer would have made great and terrible use of it, Grae thought bitterly.

She nodded. Taking the rings from his hand, she drew a kitchen knife from her belt and pried them apart one by one, peeling the Stars from their gold-lined sockets. She took the glass vial out as well, full of a condensed, almost-liquid mana.

That she offered back to Grae. “Useless to me.”

He nodded. It was a valuable object to him, with his growing collection of spell-shapers.

“There is one more thing. You have many questions about magic. I can tell you’ve already taken steps on the path of wizardry…”

“I cannot mentor you on this path. But I can answer some of your questions.”

Grae asked without hesitation. “For what price?”