LCoT chapter 39

Penrin was an enchanter by all rights. He was good enough to make a living in Fordgehold, where the city is for crafters and competition with rival enchanters is high. Not to say that anything about the enchanters who study in the magical school…

His innate magic, [Arcane Claws], was not restricted as long as he used it to carve runes in the works he did—a process harder than the normal folks thought it was.

And with his access to most of the affinities, he could create enchantments of all sorts, for all kinds of people.

And as an arcane enchanter, his grimoire was filled with spells like [Mage Sight], [Force Mold], and [Arcane Needle] that helped him in his work.

For many a time in his life, he had come across gifted arcane magicians, arcane tricksters, and warriors who used the arcane to do feats of magic that even he thought impossible. He had once seen a man fold space, the world around him bending for the briefest moment as he moved. He had heard of the Seven Portal Gates, which were a miracle of the arcane. And now, he felt he was witnessing something just as great—for all those who were gifted with the arcane.

The boy’s Mage Sight had seen through him, and despite all the enchantments he wore to prevent such things, the boy had read his aether so easily. The feeling he got—like a cold wind on his neck—had only served to solidify the proof in his mind.

And when he had gotten into the broken manor and tried to use his Mage Sight again, all he got back was a foggy reading of the boy’s affinity. The boy’s arcane aether was greater than his, and it felt as if a small stream had tried to influence a racing river.

As soon as he did, the boy turned and faced him directly before looking down at the grimoire.

“Did you sense me cast the spell?” Penrin asked, holding his grimoire closed.

“Yes. I felt someone was there, and I looked.”

“Interesting. You can tell the direction of it. Fascinating.”

He turned to Ivor. “You should have told me he was this good an arcane mage.”

“And that [Mage Sight] of yours—you said it was your innate?”

“I can see the use for it in the academy or in the enchanter’s shop. I can use you.”

“Sorry, in case you forgot, we are starting a house, and I can’t go with you.”

“Bahh. Judging by the strength of your arcane—you must be—Bahh, we can do some—You can use magical constructs.”

He walked over to the boy, setting himself between Ivor and Marcus.

“Bahh. Boy, if you ever have a change of heart, you come find me.”

“The enchantments on the sword of the Goliath Lord—do you know who made it?”

“Ohh, that’s an ancient blade. And you’re telling me you got to see it?”

“Yes.”

“Can you make a sword like that?”

“Me? No. Everyone has tried making a sword similar to the Seven Swords, but they all fail.”

“When I looked at the sword, I saw its magic.” He looked at him. “Did you know what it looked like?”

“Not like Ivor’s dagger or the rings you or I wear. It felt like it was casting.”

“Casting a spell?” the old enchanter repeated.

“All enchantments are forms of spell casting.”

“Not like this. I watched all the aether be drawn to that sword.”

Like his Shadow Sun spell, he thought—he had gotten that same feeling of his magic being stripped away. He suspected that the sword—

“You watched aether be drawn to the sword? What else did you see? Could you show me?”

He placed a sheet of paper onto one of the tables where Marcus often kept his drawing materials.

“The spell I saw had the circles—one running from the top to the bottom.”

He drew a circle vertically.

“Then, there were bloodline runes running from the left to the right.”

He drew circles horizontally.

“Never seen anything like this. And you say the runes were moving like this?” he said, chewing on what he was looking at.

“Yes. I think it has something to do with dimensionality.”

Marcus suspected that when spell formations were made, the space around the runic core only accounted for two-dimensional space, and the set of runes that surrounded the core could only be so potent.

The runic core took up the center, and all the other runes circled around it, seemingly attracted toward the center. This could be a single set of runes telling the aether what to do.

The difference between these spell forms and the ones of innate magic was that innate magic spell forms looked more jumbled and unordered. But this was what gave them their strength. Scholars often wondered why some runic letters would appear small and others bigger.

Well, Marcus thought they were looking at it the wrong way. The spell formations were not circles but spheres. If you looked at a sphere from the top, the letters closest to you seemed much bigger than those farther away at the bottom of the sphere. They would lay over each other—similar to the people’s note of Da Vinci.

“Dimensionality, you say? Never heard of such a thing—buhh.” He waved his hand. “Interesting, but that’s not how spell forms work. I came to teach you on behalf of my old friend. These wonderings of yours—could they happen at another time?”

“Right.” Marcus paused. “So how does enchanting magic work exactly?”

“Good. We are done with this nonsense,” he said and pushed the paper to the side, pulling the enchanting kit right in front of him.

“Ivor, this is the kit you got for the boy?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Marcus, have you tried creating anything with it, or have you been looking at runes like scholars?” He pointed to the walls filled with incomplete runes.

Marcus did not answer the question. He wasn’t sure he could without being overly condescending to the man.

“Let’s forget all that,” Penrin said. “First, using tools like this is all good and well, but a true enchanter should know how to use magical constructs.”

As he said this, his hands glowed with arcane runes and a claw of arcane aether formed on his fingertips.

That happened in his right hand. And in his left, Marcus saw a concentration of elemental aether.

He lifted his right arm. “This arcane claw is to create a path for the magic to flow.” He lifted his other arm. “This elemental aether molds it into the carving—and you can have enchanted equipment.”

“What about the box?” Marcus asked, pointing at the enchanting kit.

“It’s good for someone without the spell. And the ink quills are for marking out the lines before you work.”

“Can I use the spell, then?”

“Sure, if you can master it,” he said with a raised eyebrow and placed a paper of the runes needed to create the construct spell [Arcane Claws].

“If you can create this spell in a short time, perhaps then your Mage Sight isn’t wasted on someone like you.”

“Use it.”

“What?”

Marcus looked at Ivor, trying to understand how he would react to what he was about to do next—then back at Penrin.

“Use your arcane innate magic.”

Mage sights don’t work like that, boy. Even if you watched me cast the spell all day, you would still need months, at least, to replicate it.
“The boy thinks he can do it—let him try it,” Ivor said.
“Fine, but if he fails, he will do things my way.” He turned to Marcus. “Is that acceptable?”

Ever since Ivor had pointed out to him the difference between casting spells with cores and runes, it had opened his eyes to other avenues when he used his arcane sight—innate magic.
Instances where he had been looking at aether simply as it was—telling apart its general affinity and strength.

After his encounter with the sword of the Goliath lord, his eyes had been opened a bit wider—or clearer.
It was like before, he was looking at a leaf and could tell it was so by its shape and colour, ignoring all the little details that would bog up the senses. But if he paid close attention to the details, he would see that a leaf was more than its shape.

So Marcus watched him cast the spell. He didn’t merely look at the twisting aether.
No, he focused until he saw the runes that the spell followed in its workings. Then, as if—
He watched, and when Penrin was done showing him the spell, Marcus moved over to the sheet the old enchanter had placed on the table. In silence, he began working, placing the runes in order around the arcane core. But since what he saw was not a circle, he accounted for this as well and placed runes in descending sets in his mind.

With more space to work with—a sphere instead of a circle—it took him less than ten minutes to stand back up and turn toward the two waiting men. He cast the spell, and all Penrin could do was sputter for words.

Ivor was confused, his eyes furrowing as doubt and fear played on his face.
The spell was not a full iteration of the arcane claw spell, but they could see it. A few more tries and he would have the spell.

A knock came on the door, and two girls entered the room. One was large and—
“Clara told us you were learning magic with Ivor and a wizard from High Walls.”
“Wizard? I am no wizard, girl. I’m an enchanter.”

He turned back and looked at Marcus, still not believing what he had just seen.
“We came to learn with Marcus.”
“Come in, take a seat,” Marcus instructed, since Ivor was also still stunned.

Ethne was there, and after that night, she had seen how the others looked at him—ever especially Gabe.
When she had asked the half-Goliath girl, she said they were talking about some special things.

When they had walked into the room, they had found the two older men dumbstruck, looks on their faces.
She had come to learn magic, but she wasn’t sure anymore.
“Ethne and I wanted to borrow your grimoire,” Geneve said. “Of course, Clara sent us.”
“Sure,” Marcus said, walking past the two standing and bewildered men and placed the book in front of them.

As the only grimoire in their new noble house, it meant they had to share it.
“Is there a way of adding spells in a grimoire?”
He shook his head, coming back to his senses. “Of course there is,” he said. His voice was much calmer as he tried to understand what had just happened. “Leave the grimoire open. Let the magic fade.”

“Marcus, can I speak to you?” Ivor said. And instead of the tired or weary look he had on his face—
“What is it? What spell are you looking to learn?”
“Marcus, we must speak,” the old half-Goliath said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
He looked up at him, and he saw the half-Goliath’s golden eyes—serious.
“Sure,” that’s all he could say as he left the girls with the serpent grimoire.

“Do you have Katch paper on you?” he asked as they stood in one corner of the room.
“Yes, I do,” he said, pulling it out of his new tunic and placing it in Ivor’s waiting hand.
“Look,” Ivor said and pushed his aether into the paper.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because I need to know, Marcus.”
“Know what?” Marcus asked, relaxing in his posture.

The old man didn’t deem the question with a response. He simply handed him back the Katch paper.
“Here. Show me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. What you did is not something that happens every day.” He gestured and pushed the paper forward.

Marcus grabbed the paper, and his eyes did not leave the old man’s eyes. He pushed aether into the Katch paper, and he watched the old man’s eyes go wide.
Ivor looked in disbelief, and before he could say another word, another knock came on the door.

“Guys—a Goliath Lord going by Arlath wants to see us all,” Gabe said, clear panic in his voice.