Chapter 2 #2
“We’ve got a light ale or red wine left tonight,” the waiter said. “Also some lavender water, if you’re not wanting alcohol. I’m afraid the kitchen is in the process of closing. Running out of food.”
“I’d like a wine, please.”
“It’ll be a silver. Night like tonight, I take payment with each round.” The waiter nodded toward the back of the space, to what looked like a corner. Durae leaned over and saw that the building kept going. “There are some spare seats off that way. I won’t have any trouble finding you, m’lord.”
Before Durae could ask why he wouldn’t when the tavern was so full, the waiter was moving again, gathering empty plates and pitchers as he went.
Durae headed in the direction the waiter had gestured and found that the tavern had several back rooms. They were filled with groups that seemed to know one another well.
How could he intrude and take one of those rare seats?
“It’s got to run on earth magic!” a voice declared loudly.
Durae followed the voice around another corner and peeked through a doorway into a smaller room. The group within had similar rough clothing, and each wore an orange sash with a golden cart stitched onto it. Most had it around their arm, but a couple had it tied around their heads.
“It can’t run on that,” a different elf said. She sloshed ale as she gestured with her tankard. “All the basic craftwork is in cosmomancy. Trying to set it in elemental will fuck this cart the rest of the way.”
“Just proves that those pointy heads in Dun Steorra are wrong! The stars are not a magic source!” the first elf argued loudly.
The group of eight descended into cacophony.
They hadn’t spotted Durae, but even if they had, he couldn’t barge into the room, no matter how much he longed to reprimand the first elf for his narrow-minded thinking.
Elemental magic had many aspects in common with cosmomancy, and only a fool would hold them at odds with one another.
Besides that, Dun Steorra had a rich history of magic that went back thousands of years.
His ancestors had pioneered cosmomantic enchantments!
“The cart did work,” an elf said as he rose from his seat.
He strode to one wall with a confidence that spoke to comfort in the subject.
He had a flush in his cheeks, which could have had more to do with ale than excitement, and his complexion was like the cool earth deep in a mountain cave.
His short, curly hair was tinted light brown at the ends.
On the back of his neck was a spot of grease that he’d wiped at, but he’d missed cleaning away the grime of his work.
Even at a distance, his dark eyes flashed with passion and intelligence.
Flicking his wrist and murmuring a word, he cast a spell so he could write in an illusory script on the wall. It glowed gold against the wood, but it would fade when he was done. He began to write in an arcane language.
In cosmomancy, Durae realized. The elf was writing complex enchantments from memory.
The longer he wrote, the more Durae recognized them.
And he saw what was wrong. He rolled his eyes, but not at the elves gathered.
The pathetic Aulage family of Tunbrae had been attempting to rip off his family for ages.
This cart was another bastardization of Navisora work.
“Can we help you, sir?” one of the elves demanded.
Durae wasn’t sure he deserved that tone until, oops, he realized that he had crossed the threshold while admiring the handsome elf’s handiwork. A flush raced up his spine and across his forehead. He hadn’t had a sip of wine yet, but heat coursed through him like he’d drunk half a bottle.
The rest turned toward him, including the one who was writing. Durae’s mouth was locked shut. Nothing was coming out. He ought to apologize and back away.
Except he knew how to fix the flaw.
This was his first chance to live in the world instead of in a tower high above it. He had to be courageous.
Yet he felt anything but brave or sensible as he blurted, “It’s anchored to the sun.”
The handsome elf gave an amused smile. “Well spotted. Unless you happened to overhear that part?”
“I didn’t. I’m familiar with cosmomancy.” Durae gestured at the illusory script. “How this spell draws power from the sun is the source of your problem.”
“How’s that?” an elf with copper skin and goggles pushed up into his hair asked.
“Rather than absorbing the power of the sun, it’s using the strength of its relationship to it,” Durae said.
“It has no place to store excess magic if it can’t rely on the intrinsic power of sunlight because it would lose power the moment a cloud covered.
So they tied it to the relationship instead.
” The handsome elf tapped his chin, leaving little bits of golden light behind.
“I don’t understand how that’s causing the malfunction. ”
“It might be simpler if I wrote what I’m thinking?” Durae said.
The handsome elf motioned him over and offered his palm when Durae neared.
Gently, Durae put his hand on the elf’s.
His touch was warm, and his fingertips had a comforting roughness to them.
The brush of his magic flowed upward and caused Durae’s hand to tingle.
He’d given Durae permission to interact with his writing spell.
Now all Durae had to do was make his point without embarrassing himself.
As he worked, he said, “You’re right that this must remain a cosmomantic enchantment.
Otherwise, you’d have to rework the entire cart, even tangential enchantments to keep wheels sound and whatnot.
Am I right in guessing this is the work of the Aulage family? ”
“You are.”
Durae snorted. “Knew I spotted their cheap work. They think the sun is the highest source of mystical power simply because it’s closest to our planet. There are better celestial bodies, especially for this.”
The elf watched Durae write, and his smile brightened as Durae made progress in showing his idea. “Ah, that’s it! And what a clever workaround!”
“Care to inform the rest of us?” the snottier of the elves asked.
“He—sorry to assume, but he?” the handsome elf said.
“Yes, he. I’m Durae Nav—een,” Durae said. He had to hope no one stumbled on giving a fake last name. If the Aulage family discovered he was altering what was likely a proprietary enchantment, then he would rekindle a feud that was hopefully in its last embers.
“I’m Blaze Levimist, also he.” Blaze turned to his friends.
“The problem is that the enchantments act as if the cart’s relationship to the sun is fixed rather than variable.
It’s like reaching for an apple from a barrel while leaning out of a carriage.
You can snag one if you get the timing right, but not if your carriage is too far in either direction.
The cart’s too far from the relationship point. ”
“So what did our noble friend do that’s so clever?” the goggle-wearing elf said.
“I picked a barrel that remains in moving relationship with the carriage.” Durae scrunched his nose. “I’m not fond of the analogy.”
“This level of craft is hard to describe without a thousand other explanations,” Blaze replied.
“I’m impressed with your mastery. Writing this much from memory is difficult.” Durae dared to slide his gaze over to Blaze.
However, Blaze was examining what Durae had written, and he began to make corrections to other areas in the enchantment formula. His brows knitted together in concentration, and then he cackled under his breath as he adjusted another rune.
The goggle-wearing elf dragged a stool out from under the table and pushed it toward Durae. “What’re you using for a power source?”
“A planet within the wheel of our star.”
“What, in all the gods, is a planet?” the snotty elf demanded.
“Don’t mind Greyun. An aristocrat screamed at him for an hour, and he’s decided to make that everyone else’s problem.” The goggle-wearing elf glanced into the cups near him. “Shaina, do we have an empty? Let’s share with our new friend.”
“I actually ordered—oh, there he is.” Durae started to stand to gain the waiter’s attention, but he was already moving toward him.
“Then we’ll cover the drink,” the elf said as he dug coins from a pocket.
“Nonsense,” Durae replied. He handed the waiter a gold. That had to be more than enough to cover a few pitchers of ale along with his wine, but he wasn’t certain. His parents had handled all the payments in inns during their travels. “In fact, your next two rounds are on me.”
“We don’t need your fucking charity.” Greyun glared daggers at Durae.
“Time to put him to bed.” An elf slapped her hands onto Greyun’s shoulders and pulled him up. “Come on, let’s go.”
“What, just ’cause I’m not willing to suck the pretty noble’s cock?” Greyun’s words slurred, but he wasn’t fighting his friend’s insistence that they needed to leave.
“It’s because you’re too drunk to keep your rudeness to yourself.”
“I’m Kidd, by the way.” The goggle-wearing elf held out his hand while the other two left. Once Durae held his out in return, Kidd grabbed his and shook it. It was a strange custom, but not unpleasant. “Please forgive our friend. He takes stabs at what he can’t have.”
Durae smiled politely while he sipped his wine because he had no clue what to say.
He couldn’t suddenly uplift every commoner he met to his status.
He didn’t have that sort of money or power.
Assuming that was what Kidd was even referring to.
His tone implied something else, but what else he could mean was even more of a mystery.
One of the remaining elves slid into the seat Greyun had vacated. “What’s a noble like you doing out on the Glaesflod anyway? Shouldn’t you be at some hoity-toity party?”
“I wanted to explore everything the market has to offer,” Durae replied primly.
The elf gave a mischievous grin. “So you were looking for the brothel?”
The next sip of Durae’s admittedly too-sweet wine caught in his throat. He coughed. “Why would you guess that?”