“Oh?” He grinned. “What more would you ask?”

  “Your father was quite…vague in explaining to us how they work. We want lessons.”

  His grin stretched to his ears. “You have learned well. Consider the pact sealed.”

  “So where are you sending us tomorrow?” asked Oswald as he stuffed a piece of roasted root in his mouth.

  Did he snatch that off his plate when we left?

  “A small town to the east. It’s really just a pile of junk.” He chuckled. “They called it Junktown.” He grinned, waiting for us to get the joke. When we didn’t, he continued. “You leave in the morning.”

  I nodded. “Sounds simple enough.”

  “Indeed,” he said. “Oh, I nearly forgot. There may also be the opportunity to get some new equipment. The Dwarves in Junktown are fairly ingenious and handy.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

  “More food,” said Oswald.

  Sigurd laughed. “Indeed.” He gestured at the door. “Shall we?”

  After a few hours of partying and trading stories with the villagers, we retired to our room and enjoyed the heated tub once more. When we woke, we headed downstairs and grabbed some food for the road.

  It took most of the day to reach Junktown. The town wall was made of hunks of metal cobbled together with wood and rope. The evening sun gleamed off several shiny panels. Dwarves patrolled the tops of the walls.

  “Now I get it,” said Oswald. “It’s literally made of junk.”

  I chuckled. “It’s funnier now that we’ve seen it. I had no idea what Sigurd was talking about.”

  “Who goes there?” bellowed a Dwarf.

  I looked up at the bearded burly face staring down at us. “I’m Cristof. Sigurd sent us to trade in his place.”

  “Aye?” He turned away. “Open the gates!”

  The old steel doors creaked open. We walked in under the watchful gaze of ten Dwarves wielding all manner of makeshift weapons.

  Like the walls, Junktown was a mishmash of buildings made from whatever scraps they could find. Some buildings were half made of wood and sandstone bricks. Others of metal. And others completely made of sandstone. There seemed to be no discernable pattern to the chaos. Still, I did notice a homey feeling. It was a town that survived by being unified against danger.

  Like most small towns and villages, all paths led to the town square and the tavern. The square wasn’t much more than an empty bulletin board. The tavern wasn’t much different than the rest of the buildings and had sandstone blocks accented with wood and steel. Torches hung in sconces on either side of the front door. We pushed the door open and stepped inside. Torches flickered, bathing the room in a warm light. The floors were made of sandstone. The tables of steel. The bar top itself was the only thing that really stood out. The polished mahogany surface gleamed in the torchlight. Several patrons looked up at us, dismissed us as irrelevant or uninteresting, and returned to their drinks.

  “What’ll it be?” asked the barkeep.

  “Got any cactus berry juice?” asked Oswald.

  The barkeep nodded and gestured at two empty stools. We sat as he pulled a large pitcher out from below the bar and poured two glasses. He arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh, right,” I said. “How much?”

  “Four silver,” he said without hesitation.

  Four silver? Holy crap. I reached into my money pouch and pulled out four silver coins and put them on the bar. He nodded once and slid the drinks over to us.

  I looked down at the cup and noticed a cool mist billowing out of the glass. I arched an eyebrow. Oswald was also staring at his glass. I grabbed it and took a sip. Frozen fire caught my taste buds by surprise.

  “Whoa,” said Oswald. He coughed.

  I could feel the icy fire spreading down my chest. “That’s different.”

  “Good?” asked the barkeep.

  I nodded. “A lot stronger than what we’re used to.”

  The barkeep laughed. “Still think it was too pricey?”

  “I never said—”

  He put up a hand. “I saw ye flinch when I told ye the price.” He shrugged. “Whaddaya think?”

  “Definitely worth four silver,” said Oswald. “I don’t think I should have a second glass.”

  I nodded. “Likely not.”

  “I wouldnae suggest it,” said the barkeep. “Yer a bit young tae be handlin’ that much liquor.” A commotion outside got his attention. “What in the hells is goin’ on now?”

  27

  Jack

  Count Broan’s home stood out like a beacon in the middle of the city. With red bricks and being at least four stories tall, it was hard to miss. The doors were made of dark wood, maybe mahogany. Wrought iron flourishes covered the surface. I could feel the magic radiating from them. They were definitely not decorative.

  I reached out and knocked. A spark of static jumped from my knuckle to the door but did no harm. A few moments later, the door swung open on silent hinges.

  “Yes?” A man with heavy red robes with yellow flames embroidered into it looked down at me.

  “Hello, I’m Jack. I have a package for you.” I handed him the burlap-wrapped staff.

  “Oh!” He grinned and reached out like a kid on Christmas. “It has been completed at last!” He unwrapped the staff. The moment his skin touched the wood, a brilliant blue flame engulfed him and blasted me clear of the house. The door slammed in its frame, shaking dust from the awnings overhead.

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “I do apologize. I had not expected that.”

  I stood and dusted myself off. “No worries. I think I was just as shocked as you were.”

  He grinned again. “Thank you. Please give Mrs. Lennard my thanks as well.”

  I bowed slightly. “You’re most welcome. Please take care.” Lennard? I wonder if she’s related to Burt. I’ll have to ask at some point.

  I watched as Count Broan quickly closed the door. Several muffled explosions echoed back to me through the door. I shook my head and chuckled. I grabbed dinner on the way back to Burt’s toolshed. When I’d finished eating, I filled a bucket from the well and brought it back with me. After washing my face, I washed my shirt and hung it to dry. Exhaustion quickly took me, and I decided to hit the hay.

  I woke up before the sun. I washed my face and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The food shops were already bustling with customers. I got in line and waited patiently. After a while, armed with two plates of eggs, bacon, sausage, and potatoes, I headed for Mrs. Lennard’s.

  “The issue is that you are thinking of the runes as if they are on a piece of parchment. You need to think of them as being interconnected even with runes on the other side.”

  I blinked. We’d been at this for hours already. “You’re saying that they connected through the wood? Not just on the surface?”

  She nodded. “Exactly. Just as tree roots below the ground interconnect, so do the pathways of the connections between the runes. Everything is connected as if it is one living thing.” She jabbed a finger at my shoulder. “That is where your blockage is. You just have to look deeper into the grain of the wood.”

  I nodded. I pushed my senses deeper into the totem. I was just about to give up when I thought I noticed a thin line. Determined, I pushed even deeper. Miniature pathways thinner than strands of hair began to glow beneath the surface of the wood. Each rune had several of the hairs just dangling in the middle of the totem. It was just as she said. They weren’t connected.

  I nodded. “I see now.” I wasn’t sure what order they should connect in, but after a while, it became obvious, almost as if the rune was guiding me. But that’s just silly, right? I put the thought aside and concentrated on connecting the pathways. Some connections went in series. Others in parallel. When it was finished, the runes all connected to each other like origami.

  The last connection triggered a spiral of energies between the runes. They glowed brightly for a moment as a blast of air cleared off the top of the workbench. Tools and supplies went flying in every direction.

  “What the hell?” I looked around at the mess that’d been created. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  She burst out in a fit of laughter. “Look at your totem, my dear.”

  I picked it up and felt that same familiar thrum of power I had felt in Count Broan’s staff. “No way!”

  She laughed again. “You seem surprised. Why?”

  “I’m not sure. I guess I didn’t expect it to make that big of a difference.”

  She nodded. “Sometimes it’s the smallest things in life that make the biggest difference. Anything from saying please and thank you to giving a dog something to eat to taking in a child with no home to call their own.” She glanced at me. “Or letting a stranger stay in their tool shed.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “You know Burt?”

  “Of course.” She grinned. “He’s my son.”

  “Ahh,” I said. “So, when you said doing his own thing, that’s what you meant.”

  She nodded. “Exactly. He’s started his own business. He changed his life around after a chance meeting with a remarkable young boy who came down the mountainside. I could not be more proud of him.”

  “Darius?”

  Her face lit up. “You know him?”

  “No, Burt asked about him. But if I ever meet him, I’ll let him know to come find you.”

  “That would be wonderful. I owe him so much thanks.” She wiped a stray tear from her eye and smiled. “All right. How about we get back to business.”

  I nodded. “Of course.”

  “There’s a practice area just inside the front gate if you’d like to go test your new equipment.”

  “The scarecrow-looking things?” I asked.

  She grinned. “The very same. Be wary though… Count Broan enchanted them not only to take a beating and survive but also to fight back.”

  “Huh?” My eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious?”

  “Quite, my dear.” She smiled. “Off you go!”

  I focused on the shield totem in my pocket. Its energy matrix instantly became an extension of my will. Wow…that was so much smoother than normal. It took no effort at all. I grinned and extended my left hand. A shimmering blue slab of energy appeared at my command. I thrust it forward, and it blurred forward with ten times the force it normally would have. Dirt and leaves flew up in the backdraft created by the speed and force of it. Damn!

  “Okay,” I said. “Time to try the new stuff.” I focused my will and imagined a dome of energy around me. I was about to fortify my will when I noticed everything had a blue tint to it. I looked around, realizing the half-sphere of energy had already enveloped me without the need to actually focus. The totem hummed in my pocket. I checked its energy reserves. I’d barely used anything.

  “Well, okay then!” I brought my wrists together, visualized the outcome, and thrust them apart. The energy dome surged out and exploded in all directions creating a blast wave of wind, dust, and debris. The practice dummies must have taken some damage because all five of them creepily turned to me, eyes glowing an angry red. Oops. I instinctively brought up another dome just in time for five flaming balls of fire to collide against it. I felt the tingle in my skin with each blast. The totem vibrated and grew warmer.

  I dismissed the dome and ran at the nearest dummy. I blasted it point-blank with a shield. Parts of it flew all over the practice arena. A blast of energy pegged me in the side. I turned to fire back when something solid nailed me between the shoulder blades. Pain spread through my back and my nose as I hit the packed dirt face-first.

  I groaned and tried to stand, but everything hurt. I looked to the side, past the large rock I had been hit with, and saw the dummies had returned to their normal state—staring off into the distance with dead eyes.

  “Not bad,” said a man. Well-manicured sandaled toes came into view. I looked up, following the billowing red robes to the noble’s smiling face.

  “Good morning, Count Broan.”

  “Good morning, Jack.” He grinned and chuckled. “Are we having fun with my combat dummies?”

  I stood and brushed the dust from my leathers. “I was, at least until they ganged up on me and started throwing rocks.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, well, they tend to do that when they find a good challenge. Sore losers, that lot.”

  “Yeah, no kidding.” I glared at the nearest dummy. It didn’t look back.

  “That was some impressive shield work. Have you been practicing magic long?”

  “A few years,” I said. “Although I’ve apparently learned some new etching tricks, thanks to Mrs. Lennard.”

  He grinned. “She’s an artist when it comes to magical foci. May I see yours?”

  “Sure,” I said. I pulled my shield totem from my pocket and handed it to him.

  He nodded. “Hmm… You made this?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Not bad…not bad at all. The sub-connection synapses are a little crude but effective, nonetheless. How long have you been etching your own foci?”

  “About the same time I’ve been practicing magic. Those sub-connections you mentioned though? I learned that earlier this morning.”

  He gasped then chuckled. “Then you have a natural affinity for it. The work you did on this, although crude as I called it, would take a couple of years for most students to pull off. And you did it in a few hours. Astounding.” He locked eyes with me. “Whatever you do, do not ever stop working on your skills. You could easily master your rune crafting in a few years where it takes many practitioners most of their lives. You truly have a gift. Do not waste it.” He handed the totem back to me.

  “Thank you.” I put the totem back in my pocket. “Her teachings definitely have given me a lot of things to think about.”

  “No doubt,” he said. “She, too, is quite gifted.”

  I stood, knees shaking.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just a little dazed is all. I’ve had worse.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He turned to walk away but stopped. “Oh, Jack?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Would you care to join me for supper tonight? I have a proposition I wish to discuss with you.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” I said.

  “Most excellent. Meet me at my home around sunset.” He nodded once. “Fare thee well.”

  “Goodbye,” I said.

  Well, if the shield totem worked this well, I wonder what else I can do? A new fire totem would probably be a good idea.

  I grinned. “And I know just the guy to ask for help…”

  “Hey, Burt?”

  “Heya, Jack. What’s going on?”

  “I was wondering if you could make me something.”

  His eyes lit up. “Oh! What is it? Do you want a plate set? A bowl? Maybe a pitcher?”

  I laughed. “No, nothing like that. I was wondering if you could make me a few charms I could use as totems.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Out of clay? Wouldn’t Mum’s staff wood be better?”

  I nodded. “Normally, yes. However, I’m thinking of doing some stuff with fire, and I thought perhaps if I etched the clay before you baked it, I could maybe make a stronger spell.”

  Burt thought about that for a moment. He shrugged. “Could be interesting. Why don’t we try an experiment before we spend a bunch of time on it.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like let’s make us a small one and see if your idea works.” He grabbed a fresh handful of clay. “And I’ma teach ya how to make your own so I can keep helpin’ the paying customers.” He grinned and plopped down a piece of clay. It hit the table with a wet splat. “Make this into whatever shape ya like. Then carve whatever ya want into it an’ gimme a holler.”

  He left the room in a hurry. “Hello! How can I help ya?” he bellowed as the door shut. The rest of the conversation was a mumble through the closed door.

  I chuckled and got to work shaping the clay into a cylinder. I wasn’t sure what design I should use, so for now, I kept it simple. After all, it was the runes I wanted to test out. I used one of Burt’s clay knives to etch the flame rune into the damp clay. I focused my will into the rune as I carved it. Slowly but surely, the pattern began to take shape. To my senses, it was an intricate spiderweb of tiny wisps of power flowing to and fro. A grin stretched across my face.

  “Ready?” asked Burt. I had been so focused on the etching I hadn’t heard him come back in.

  “Ready,” I said.

  He nodded. “Lemme see.” He looked the piece over, careful not to smudge the rune. “That’s pretty good. But won’t the baking kill it?”

  “I’m hoping not. If this works, I’ll have a much more durable totem that can handle a larger amount of magical fire for longer than the wood totems I’m used to using. Fire totems always seem to burn out quick if you push them too hard.”

  “If it works.” Burt frowned. “Usually, fire would burn off the magic.”

  I shook my head. “I thought about that. A spell would mess with it, sure. But I think a good old-fashioned wood-fired kiln and some focused will would make it work.”

  “All right,” said Burt. “Go gather what ya need. We’ll bake it tonight.”

  “You up for working late?” I asked.

  Burt arched an eyebrow. “Got a date?”

  “No, not exactly. But Count Broan did invite me for supper. Said he had something he wished to discuss.”

  “I see.” He shrugged. “I got no plans. Sure, why not? Get your stuff together, and take care of your business. When ya get back, we’ll put it all together and see if it goes boom.”

  I laughed. “Let’s hope it doesn’t.”

  “We should test it outside. That’s for sure.”

  “Agreed. So, what do I need to gather?”

  “Another basket of clay—which I’m not paying you for this one, by the way.” He winked at me. “And a boatload of wood. Probably four or five armloads.”