After five hours, the researchers had provisionally approved him as a rune evaluator and taught him the paperwork required for even a Strike rune. It came with a migraine but also with a rune-stamp that was keyed to him, his mana, his word and careful instructions on how to advise when aspects weren’t clear. The worst test had been a rune stone that made his skin crawl. It physically hurt to look at and his hand unconsciously drew back. A corrupted rune, they said. Those came with a different reward, one paid by Ariloch for returning it to the Armory.

  Even more valuable had been the experience. The runes they brought defied his efforts and forced Declan to work at them the same way Storm Charge had done. Now, for the second day, he sat in the commons at House Perth, doing the fast sort. The ones he knew, he wrote up quickly. So many Storm Shriek runes. Three of the remaining ones weren’t known but he was able to categorize two and identify one with confidence. The other two needed analysis. “The Storm Shield is good to go, paperwork’s done. The other two are actively fighting me. Like a stealth ability. Maybe a rune that blocks insight?” The moment he said it, it felt right. “They’re for duelists. I bet it’s a pair rune, hides another one or disguises. Yes, that’s got to be it. Blinding Storm? I can check at the archives and maybe get Insight to work.”

  Eden pursed her lips. “I want to go private market with these. No paperwork. If there’s paperwork, it’s worth less to the right people.”

  The last rune was broken. Just broken. It didn’t activate. It didn’t accept mana. “I don’t think this is even a rune. It looks like someone tried to make it with an awl. There’s no root rune. The lines look a lot like a real one but looks like and are? Harris could probably tell you for certain.”

  She put it in a separate box and whispered to the guards, both tier three arcanists. “Sorry to waste your time. It won’t happen again, you have my word. I need a message sent to Harris Harding, please.”

  Then the runes changed. Ones that had obviously been hoarded since the blood mist spiders, ones that didn’t match any monster Declan had seen before. And one that crawled and made him want to vomit. “That’s corrupt. Call ArCore right now.”

  “They’re gone,” Eden said. Then she stopped, covering her mouth. “I mean, they’re in training and will be back in the next few days.”

  Declan sent a different message and worked on others until a quartet of breathless researchers rushed through, confirmed his feeling and sealed it in a crystal jar. “Where did you get that?”

  The arcanist who had brought it looked trapped. “At home, in Mazal. We don’t get many blazed beasts that far out. It was stumbling and I killed it with Claw over the course of an hour.”

  By late evening, he was done as in exhausted and done as in out of runes. Dinner had been excellent, damn near decadent but he needed to sleep and he wanted his own bed.

  Eden looked to the different tier three arcanists. “Agreed?”

  “Hell yes. It’s worth a lot of shards but saved us even more,” said one.

  Eden took out a rune. “It’s tier two, natural.”

  Declan knew it by feel, the burning, agonizing feeling. Pierce. “Perfect. Can I trouble you for a walk home? I’m carrying more rin in rock form than my family will ever make.”

  All four walked him to House Ariloch, where dim coals burned. Tomorrow he’d work on House Ariloch’s runes but for now, he locked and barred his apartment and fell into a blissful slumber, dreaming of runes in a thousand forms.

  ###

  It wasn’t Haydn’s breakfast day and that made it a bad morning by definiton, but Declan spent the morning practicing his mana channel forms, then working the mana bearing to ease the pain. He’d broken the plaster in four more places and come to accept it as the price of progress.

  Then he met Lake and Chen and walked with her toward Dueling Theory, which was about as much theory as ‘woodcutting theory’ with an axe in a forest. Most of their time was spent in carefully arbitrated matches and many, curiously, ended with yielding before runes launched.

  “If you know you’re beat, surrender,” Lake said when he asked.

  As they approached, he slowed. “I need a moment somewhere private. Got a moment?”

  She followed him to one of the study chambers. “I feel required to say you’re sweet but not my type. It’s just required. Every time someone asks to go some place private they’re either going to try to kill me or kiss me and if you were going to kill me you’d have done it.”

  Declan drew the rune from its pocket. “Our payment from House Drevond. It’s for you.”

  She took it with trembling hands. “You know what this is. You know what I use. This is worth more to me than any storm charge. It’s natural, too. Not some force-up shit.”

  Lake closed her eyes, focused, teeth gritted. “Fuck, that’s hard. I’ve got so many others and every one you add makes it harder. But now, we do this.” A rune manifested from her arcsoul, and Lake plucked it from the air. The moment she did, the two began to blurr, shaking, vibrating. “This is the hard part, raising the tier on a rune.”

  She began to force them together, sheer will making the runes overlap.

  “Stop!” Declan said. “They’re not lined up right. Turn that one thirty degrees. A little more. Just a little more. Ok. Now try.”

  She still grunted as she forced them to overlap, but they didn’t shake and jitter. Mana surged and the two locked together. Two runes had become one, and now the arcite ore didn’t just glitter, it shone. “One more and this will be ready to go to tier` three. One more.”

  “So you don’t have to carry a stack of runes just to raise the tier?”

  Lake wiped sweat from her forehead. “Yes, but there’s no going back. A lot of people keep them separate because if they need to change runes, they’re not locked with a 2.2 rune. I know what I use. I’m good.” She stopped him as he headed for the door. “This? This is the thing you remember. I’ll remember. The academy isn’t the world, it’s the start. When I’m done with the ArCore, I can go on to anything I want with the Crown’s blessing and support. I won’t forget this, Declan.”

  He wouldn’t forget that it was Lake who actually killed the storm walker. “Tonight, we’ll handle Ariloch’s. See you this afternoon.”

  He quickly added ten energy runes to his list, choosing the most basic ones over more interesting ones, and then headed to the library, only to be denied. Instructor Skinner had returned and wanted him to meet down at the world wound, deep in the scab.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The only problem with that was that the appearance of a blazed beast was almost guaranteed there. Declan checked the building and map and circled all the way to House Domine before sprinting down the hill. A heavy stone dome waited with a single double door and Declan dashed inside, slamming it shut as something hit the wood behind him.

  He stood in an alcove.

  And he wasn’t alone.

  Instructor Skinner leaned against the wall, tapping his cane. “Declan. Change in that room, I need you as an actual assistant. I’m not permitted inside and we need two staff representatives. Quickly, the Sullivans have been waiting all morning.”

  Inside, he found a set of the same dull white clothing that messengers wore, with a black trim on the cloak and squeaky new boots. He slung his pack under the cloak and emerged. “Ready. Why aren’t you allowed in there?”

  “No one with an active arcsoul can assist, and yet we owe the Sullivans this. Their son was prepared yesterday, the daughter is the older twin and cannot be allowed to lag. Keep silent, watch, stay clear. Give me that, you’re representing the academy. This is a first-orbit ceremony for the youngest heirs.”

  Declan reluctantly handed over his rune.

  Skinner dropped it, not anticipating the weight, but quickly opened the door and ushed Declan through.

  The interior didn’t match the blocky outside, it was smooth and round, polished stone that glittered like arcite ore. The floor wasn’t just smooth, it was buffed until Declan’s reflection showed like a dim mirror. More interesting was the polished groove in the center of the room, the width of a rin coin and the glimmering silver of purest arcite.

  In the center of the circle, a young girl lay back in a chair, her wrists tied with wide leather bands. Her simple gown was plain cotton, not even bleached white and so thin Declan wasn’t sure of the point.

  “You may begin,” said a man across from Declan. He gave a subtle nod to Declan, indicating he should stay close to the door, giving the two adults the space. “We will bear witness.”

  One of the teachers produced a marble the size of her pinky nail, arcite ore with a few glittering flecks, and placed it in the girls’ hand. “Just like we practiced, let your will flood downward. This isn’t a race, I don’t want you thinking about ‘how long,’ just focus on filling it the way you did the practice ones.”

  The girl nodded. “I can do it.”

  Her voice echoed in the emptiness.

  Moments drained into minutes, minutes into hours. Three times, they stopped the procedure and gave the girl water and encouragement. Perhaps four hours into it, she gasped and dropped the marble. “I did it. I did it. I can feel it.”

  Both teachers applauded, and Declan joined in when his counterpart did. Now they polished the track again and crawled the length of the circle, spraying and cleaning before setting it in the track at her foot.

  “Reach out with your will. Remember, you aren’t pushing, you’re guiding. The force is constant, the only thing that changes is direction. Witnesses, prepare.”

  The marble rocked. It rocketed backwards, out of the groove and bounced to strike the wall. Again they polished and prepared. “Guide it. You are not pushing, you’re guiding it with a firm hand. Remember the ball? It’s like the ball, except with your mind. The closer you come to a single touch, the more pure the mana will be.”

  “I know.” The girl closed her eyes again. “I know. I know. I…” The marble rocked back and forth twice, a third time. Then with a click, it began to roll, slowly orbiting, slowly rising into the air until it matched her eye level. As it came back around, it spun slightly, wobbling.

  Her scream startled everyone, as did the gush of blood from her mouth. She’d bitten deep into her tongue, but the girl’s eyes had rolled back in her head and she convulsed, unable to even groan, until at last she sank back into the chair.

  Her teachers worked quickly, wiping the blood and undoing the straps. “Bear witness, Rayne Sullivan the fifth has achieved first orbit.”

  “I do,” said Declan’s counterpart, and he repeated it.

  With a precision he hadn’t expected, they moved the chair to the corner and lay the girl down, dribbling a potion into her mouth.

  “Keep your hands on the floor. Let the mana overflow your arcsoul and down into the earth,” one of them said. “Skin on stone, I know it’s cold, Feel it flowing out and down. When your arcsoul isn’t burning, raise your hand.”

  Now the worthless gown made sense. The goal was reduction of agony, not any form of modesty. At last, she raised a trembling hand. “Please.”

  In moments, her teachers had her off the floor and wrapped in a fur, bubbling with praise and admiration for how powerful an arcanist she would be when her arcsoul healed, just a few years.

  Declan let out a heavy sigh. “That…that’s what they do?”

  Skinner stepped in, dragging the pack. “That’s what they do. That’s how you are supposed to start. Is it any wonder you couldn’t just take a rune and orbit it? Jennings, could I have a moment?”

  “Of course.” The man left them, closing the door.

  Skinner tapped the pack. “Humor me. Why are you carrying sixty pounds of metal everywhere? I’ve seen you running with it. The theory is that it’s some sort of Foundrytown cult.”

  “First, there’s this.” Declan gripped the strap and raised it, then repeated. “I’ve done it so long it’s not even like weight unless I’m exhausted. Or hurt. Or being chased.”

  “I approve!” Skinner whacked him on the back with his cane. “That’s the spirit. That’s what will keep you alive.”

  “Then there’s this.” Declan drew the complete mana bearing from his bag and set it down, nudging it over to the track. “Stay back. I’ve broken the wall a few times.”

  Then he began to focus. Guide. It wasn’t that easy. It wasn’t easy at all. There was no ‘nudge,’ it took force to get the bearing to wobble, then slide in a grating, rumbling, rocking circle around until at last it completed the circle, still nailed to the floor. This time, Declan was ready and dropped to his knees, pressing his hands to the floor as he channeled mana downward until he wasn’t gasping for air. “I wanted to be an arcanist. Dad couldn’t afford a real mana stone.”

  “Arcite is expensive, polished, finished ore requires an artisan,” Skinner said, slowly easing onto the bloody chair. “I have a request. I think it will help you, but I won’t order, just ask.”

  “Sir?” Declan rose, slightly unsteady, and slipped the bearing back into his pack. “I have two more, but one of them is still spongy when I push mana into it. The other I haven’t even started.”

  Skinner nodded. “They’re not training tools. They’re not…I don’t know what I’d call it You will come to my classroom every morning at second change. I heard about your certification and approve. You’re finding those opportunities. My ask is that you leave these with me a few days. This was meant as a kindness but you need a reset to learn properly. I swear I’ll return them and I think you’ll feel better. If not, come at any time. I’ll hand them over.”

  It made Declan uncomfortable, but he knew an opportunity. “If I do, I need you to do something for me. House Ariloch harvest a Storm Charge rune. Roland Farwen wants to broker a deal with Lord Taylor. He said to ask staff to handle the transfer.”

  Skinner offered him a hand. “It will be done, on my honor. I’ll send an ArCore member to collect it. And these, since I don’t want you handling them and I certainly can’t carry them. You may feel a bit odd for the next few days. We’ll start next week, for this week, rest. And keep the clothing. That is the uniform you are to wear to my class. This is the uniform you wear from now on.”

  “Will do.” Declan slipped out and sprinted away before anything could spawn.

  ###

  Keel Skinner was a tired man. A worn man, a defiant, sometimes angry man. The young spoke of glorious battles and those who had endured, those who survived knew the true costs. Even smiling took effort.

  He still smiled. The world still brought him new wonders to match the new horrors. Declan Thorn was man by every measure and yet a boy, so young. Shaped by his childhood, still growing in every way. The boy had accepted fifty rin with an eagerness that made Keel sad. Foundry work was dangerous, hard work and pocket change was payment for him.

  With only a thought, he manifested a rune and plucked it from orbit. One of his. Made for him by the Crown’s best inscriptionists, after bounties that collected the perfect runes. Carried by him in a thousand battles. Tuned by Inscribers so it was no longer pure but it matched Keel’s style perfectly. It was still silver, though dulled, and the rune that would manifest as Heaven’s Dream Walk didn’t light up. It took half his mana to activate.

  With both hands, he drew one bearing, then slowly lifted another. He was old, not dead, and with every muscle groaning, he slammed the bearing down, wincing as a wave of mana blasted out and the two screamed as the metal rang.

  How did one explain?

  How would he tell Declan that there was more pure arcite in one of his ‘bearings’ than the entire rune set he’d taken to war against the Defiler? The bearings were conductors for the runes in the foundry floor, and though they were covered in specs of slag from a thousand castings, the heart remained. The boy had bound one, and was working on another, though he’d need to begin again.

  Declan Thorn would be interesting.

  No, Declan Thorn would be terrifying.

  It made him smile more.