B5 Chapter 43 – Realm Travel

“I still think we should do this with cores,” Annita said.

Master Willhem, floating nearby, nodded in agreement.

“In this instance, I’m afraid I must respectfully disagree with the two masters,” Tyron said.

They’d been needling him about the power mechanism for the last hour. First with hinting, then with suggestions. When those hadn’t worked, the two had turned to asking more directly, asserting their shared opinion with supporting technical details in an attempt to persuade him. Despite being less experienced, and less skillful, Tyron remained unmoved.

“There is no need to make something more complicated and demand more resources than we need,” Tyron continued, undeterred. “The crystal will suffice for what we need.”

Annita rolled her eyes, and though he didn’t move, Tyron knew Master Willhem didn’t approve. The air around them was so similar that Tyron nearly laughed out loud. They were perfectionists, with extremely strong opinions on how their work should be done. In this instance, they wanted the gate to be completed ‘properly’, which meant creating a proper array of cores in order to power it.

There was an abundance of cores available after all the hunting the Slayers had done through the wasteland, though many were needed for equipment. Creating armour and weapons powerful enough to be fitting for gold-ranked Slayers wasn’t an easy task and demanded fine materials, workshops and, most importantly, cores.

Most of those weren’t available, but Tyron didn’t want to be any more of a drain on those resources than he had to be. As strong as he was, he couldn’t do everything himself. The Slayers would always be needed to fight the kin and protect the people. The Necromancer had other priorities.

Rather than do the work ‘properly’ with a truly enormous array of powerful cores, all linked to store the massive amount of magick required to power the gateway, Tyron was happy to simply use the abundant crystal instead.

It might be a ‘dirtier’ and ‘more crude’ solution, but that didn’t matter. He knew it would work exactly the same.

The crystal, basically huge chunks of mage candy, was everywhere in the wasteland, after hundreds of years of magick storms. It would all be consumed when the gate was activated, making it a non-reusable power source, but it wasn’t like it would be hard to find more.

“There are ways these things are meant to be done,” Willhem rasped softly.

“We aren’t in the city, with a workshop full of Arcanists and a warehouse full of supplies,” Tyron said, not looking up from his work. “We have to make allowances where we can.”

He wasn’t frustrated, or even mildly annoyed at the two masters. They wanted everything they worked on to be perfect and without flaw, especially a large project such as this. He could tell the two of them already took a measure of pride in what they had created, as well they should. The gateway was an incredible example of the Arcanist’s craft. The sigils were carved into the stone with such rigid precision it shocked Tyron every time he ran his hand over the rock.

Putting his own marks into the stone, Tyron had felt an unusual pressure—pressure to make sure his own work lived up to their standard. It wasn’t a feeling he ran into all that often.

Once the sigils were completed, they were filled with a mixture of ground crystal and mortar, to help them hold their form under the strain of power running through the gate. At the moment, Tyron was working with his pliance, making tiny and precise indentations into the stone. Before every scrape, he had to calculate the positioning of the sigil he wanted to place, how it related to those around it, the angle, the flow of magick, even the unevenness in the surface of the stone itself.

It was demanding, tiring work, but he enjoyed it.

He continued to scrape away, careful to make sure his sigils were each of the same depth. Even the slightest lack of balance would have an impact on the function of each array, something that clearly wouldn’t be tolerated on a project like this.

With Annita and Master Willhem hovering over his shoulder, Tyron continued to work at a slow but steady pace, moving with confidence as he continued to make his calculations, then carve his sigils. After completing the array he was working on, he inspected the whole piece one final time before nodding to himself and turning, one brow raised.

“How is that? Satisfactory?”

Master Halfshard glared at him, and at his work, looking for even the slightest flaw. The demi-lich studied the sigils carefully, extending his skeletal hand to trace over the carving.

“Yes, it looks good,” Willhem said.

“It’s fine,” Annita conceded begrudgingly. “It shouldn’t have any negative impact on the overall function of the structure.”

Despite his confidence, Tyron was pleased to have his work approved by two such demanding masters. Even if Master Halfshard may not like him, she would never lie about enchanting. If it was good enough, she would say so, no matter how much she may disapprove of him. He may not hold a candle to these two in the broader craft, but when it came to his speciality, Tyron knew he was more than accomplished.

“It’s amazing how many small efficiencies you can find when you go looking for them,” Tyron said. “This transference array is a more robust version of my latest design. I’ve been experimenting with it on some of my constructs, but they won’t need to handle anything like the power throughput of this arch.”

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“It’s efficient and well balanced,” Master Willhem approved. “Your positioning of the ‘Solu’ sigil isn’t something I’ve seen before. Will it stabilise properly?”

“It will,” Tyron confirmed. “I’ve tested it extensively.”

Annita Halfshard leant closer to inspect the sigil in question.

“It’s a shame you were never a full Arcanist,” she observed, focused on the array. When she realised what she’d said, she grew red and glared at him again. “Well, it is a shame! You could have achieved a lot in the field.”

The Necromancer shrugged one shoulder.

“It wasn’t up to me,” he said simply.

His initial Class was determined by the gods, and his path in life had been chosen by them also. There was no need to say as much, both were well aware of his circumstances. Besides, as much as Tyron enjoyed enchanting, it wasn’t his real passion. Forming sigils into arrays, managing the flow of power, it was a complex and rewarding craft, but Tyron’s first love was spellcraft, the Words of Power, feeling the magick thunder through him as he bent the world to his will.

Without the same dedication to the craft as the two masters with him, he never would have been able to reach the same heights they had.