Chapter 168 – The Soulbound Spellbook

Mirian tried to stay calm, but for once, as the apocalypse approached, she had something to lose. The alchemists she’d hired were good, but they’d still fucked up distilling the titan catalyst twice, which had caused unacceptable delays. The third try, they’d finally gotten it using a fifteen-step process involving at least twenty magichemicals. While they worked, Mirian had restored the glaciavore-skin leather and its protection glyphs, as well as added new glyphs of her own. The titan catalyst was now properly integrated into the spine of the spellbook, and she’d transmuted the titanium alloy to mythril, but the half-assed glyph-forge here wasn’t capable of reaching high enough temperatures for the alloy they’d need for the adamantium. When she’d used spells to increase the temperature, she’d accidentally destroyed the glyph-forge.

They were nearly out of time. It was noon of the 4th, and the Divir moon would be falling soon. She cursed Troytin again for stealing those precious two days from her. At least her maneuver in Alkazaria seemed to have cut one of his networks of agents off. They trusted Adria more than him. She only found two Deeps hiding in Normarg, both of whom were easily disposed of because their soul-disguises made them stand out like signal flares to her.

Over the past few days, hunters and Praetorians had started trickling back into the village. Torres had made it back. She’d suffered pretty bad burns when the leyline had finally destabilized, but Lecne had healed her. Most of the casualties had been the first group of hunters to rout. Regrettably, she didn’t even know their names.

When she’d told Lecne that, he’d said, “Then the faithful of Zomalator will mourn them. We relieve you of that burden. Go do what you need to do.”

She didn’t really have words for how much she appreciated Lecne, and had told him as much.

“Then actions will suffice,” he’d said.

Voran had said little since his return. Only things like, “I wish there was something I could do now. Really do. Something important. I don’t like….”

He didn’t say precisely what that was, but Mirian understood.

Normarg itself was ablaze with rumors. The hunters had started talking about the battle with the titan, and they had pieces of it to prove their tale. That, and the arcane eruptions were a near-constant thing now, so everyone had started to understand something had gone terribly wrong.

From those eruptions, she could see that killing the titan hadn’t stopped anything. Either it wasn’t the cause of the destabilization, or the damage was already done this late in the cycle. It would be interesting to see how the beast reacted in the next loop. If she understood how it worked, once she bound the titan catalyst to her soul, Apophagorga wouldn’t have it anymore. Or rather, the vast majority of it would be gone. They’d had to discard a few ruined pieces already. She wondered if missing that much catalyst would kill it outright.

As for the Holy Pages, Mirian was quite sure that binding them to the catalyst itself and completely enclosing them would keep them with the rest of the spellbook. She still had no idea how Elder time magic worked, but her study of the Luminate’s holy texts and experiments with relicarium and bindings had at least taught her how the rules worked for the Prophet’s artifact.

Mirian was preparing the mold for the relicarium when she felt a presence behind her. At first she thought it was Voran, but then she realized the aura was too strong.

“I believe you have something of mine,” came a tired, slightly annoyed voice. Archmage Luspire.

Mirian looked up from her work. Sure enough, it was the Archmage. Voran was just behind him, looking twitchy. A quick calculation told her there was no way she could protect the entire workshop from the Archmage. She needed a peaceful resolution here. “I do,” she said, and cut the spellbook from her belt. “You can have it back.”

Luspire took the book from her. His face didn’t seem to know whether it was supposed to look surprised or sneer.

Mirian went back to the mold. “Did Troytin tell you where to find me? He was probably going by ‘Sulvorath.’ Bratty Akanan with masculinity issues? Likes to boss around Tyrcast? He detonated the Divine Monument while you were gone.”

Luspire opened his mouth. If she knew him—and she knew him pretty well—he had prepared a very indignant speech full of subtle insults, but she hadn’t reacted the way he’d expected, so now he didn’t know what to say.

She turned to look at him again. His skin was discolored in several places, the scars making lighting patterns around his face. A Luminate priest had obviously seen to him, but he hadn’t been able to completely heal him. “You took the train from Cairnmouth to Alkazaria on the 23rd,” she said. The same one Nicolus and I took so long ago. “What was it like, seeing a leyline breach? Seeing the very Labyrinth protrude from the earth?”

Luspire turned to Voran. “You were right,” he said, and flipped the Praetorian a gold doubloon.

Mirian measured the mold’s depth. Perfect, she decided, and stopped channeling her shape stone spell. She gave the Archmage her full attention. “I apologize for the theft, but it was the only way. As you can see, we’re down to the final few hours. But when I tell the story of this, when this is all over, I’ll credit you. It’s your mentorship that got me this far. It was your spellbook I needed to finally put down the cataclysm beast.” He loved the flattery, she knew. And right now, she needed his help.

Voran looked at Luspire, and Luspire raised an eyebrow. Voran sighed, and flipped Luspire the gold coin back. Apparently, the two knew each other better than she’d thought if they were making ridiculous bets with each other about what she’d say. “It was Sulvorath,” Luspire finally said. “He didn’t tell me the leyline would explode. I should have gone back. But then I got too curious.”

“He probably didn’t know,” Mirian said. “Once he gets to Torrviol, he stays. What’s he been up to?”

“Meddling in everything,” Luspire said with a slight sneer in his lip.

“The Monument?”

“Of course. Though I doubt they learned anything. As soon as I left, they lost their last expert. Tyrcast may know how to pay people to make engines, but he’s no researcher. Neither is his fool apprentice.” Luspire chortled, a rather unnerving sound coming from him. “He said you were an undercover Persaman mage sent to sabotage the Monument.”

And at first, you believed him, Mirian thought. But then he would have changed his mind. Lies, no matter how oft repeated, were difficult to believe when reality contradicted them in so many ways. There was the other issue. Tyrcast’s apprentice. Troytin finally figured out how bad he’s been outclassed in arcane power. He’s too late, though.

“I need your help,” Mirian said. “And then the world will know you helped a Prophet forge the adamantium of her spellbook.”

“Adamantium?” Luspire said, raising an eyebrow. He looked at Voran.

Stolen novel; please report.

“The Prophets are above the law,” Voran said.

“I need someone who can keep this metal at a very high, very precise temperature, then raise and lower it by exact increments while I work the soul energy,” Mirian said. She gestured at the glyph-forge. “Even with Torres’s help, that thing can’t do it.”