"Tell me, Thunderer, have you ever noticed that this city has no center?" Orik asked, and he was jovial as always, but to Theodore's dread, he sensed it to be a non-rhetorical question.
"I've never really paid much attention, but I find that hard to believe."
"Same, same. I was telling Darga the same thing, but it's the most curious thing. I can't seem to find the center either. I was walking through the city after a particularly annoying clan meeting. I walked the entire length of the crossroad that should lead to the center before suddenly realizing I must have walked to the city's edge. It was almost like magic."
"Well, that certainly is quite something. Would you like me to investigate? Perhaps it is magic of some sort. I am an expert of that sort of thing," Theodore boasted, but the dwarf's attention all too quickly shifted to another topic.
"Yes, I was wondering about that too. Some of the other Grimstboriths have been asking me about what you all can do. Something about a house you transformed on the outskirts of the city?"
Theodore couldn't help but think that was put mildly. The castle he made could likely be seen from the palace because of its excessive size, but that wasn't what interested the wizard; what interested Theodore was that Orik had said his castle lay on the city's outskirts. It was at the center's edge. 'Well, that answers the question of what a Fidelius charm does when surrounded by interested parties on literally every side.'
Still, that left the wizard curious about what would happen if a dwarf tried to go somewhere on the other side of town.
Some psychological fog seemed to ensnare dwarves when they heard crossroads. Would something similar guide them around the center to wherever they needed to go?
Then, there were the dwarves that had been at the center and had run away in fear. The king and other dwarves must have somehow noticed a sudden rash of homelessness.
"Yes, and I'm sure you've seen it."
"Have I mentioned the dwarven remodeling tax?" Orik asked with blatant greed.
That made Theodore chuckle, "seen the front path too, huh?"
"Aye," The dwarf drank deeply from his teacup, "What made you think such an open display of gold, and amongst dwarves no less, was a good idea? I'll have you know Thunderer, Clans have ended for less. Have you ever heard of Khazad of foul greed?"
"No, but I imagine you're going to tell me" Theodore said.
"Aye, and I'll tell you there is good reason no one remembers his name! I had to beat several Grimstboriths away from funny ideas about 'Declaring the human a traitor and seizing their property.'"
"You should have let them try," Theodore said, and his malicious smile gave Orik a cold shiver.
Orik and Theodore sat in the royal tea room, and the tea, to the wizard's unexpected delight, tasted better here amongst the dwarves than whatever abomination Arya had stewed him.
That was to say, dwarves were at least better than elves in one thing, or at least they were better than one elf, even if they did steep mushrooms for tea.
Leaning back into the velvet chair, Orik seemed to become one with his padding both soft and pliant and the same shade of royal red. Both extended similarly soft lumps. The dwarf's hair was a speckled grey absent a crown. A crown, which gleamed incandescent as truly valuable things did when placed under candlelight, sat as it was by the still-steaming teapot.
Orik hadn't worn rings before he was king, but now, each finger was coated in gaudy armor. Gold and gems, all holding enchanted protections, including those against a dagger in the gut, poisoned food, and anything else dwarves could think of. The dwarves, it seemed, were determined not to lose their new king.
When the king wasn't in the palace, he was watched like a hawk, tailed by guards as loyal as they were constricting.
Theodore only had to look at Orik to feel slightly tired. The dwarf was still young and absent of any wrinkles, but pale heavy bags drooped under each eye. That face reminded him of a time when he played the game of politics day and night. When day in and day out, he dealt with petty nobles and their petty games.
With wizards, it was different. He could simply kill those that annoyed him, but even Theodore eventually tired of killing, and that melancholy thought made him rest his attention on his teacup instead of the king's face.
He noticed how the glazed clay, almost machine-shaped for its perfection, was both smooth and cylindrical, but it wasn't delicate like most tea cups. It was instead more like a beer mug made of thick clay glazed and then blasted to perfection. Instead of a handle, it had bunching striations for good gripping, and it felt organic in his hand—candy for the eyes.
When Theodore held the cup, it felt as if it had been molded for his hand. The delicate warmth of the liquid inside pressing against his hand was entrancing. In a way, this was a representation of life itself. A vessel that held liquid inside that in itself was inherently worthless. It is only appreciated when experienced and only valued when it is scarce. The tea desperately tried to maintain its equilibrium as it was pushed and pulled. The water resisted change as if it had a will of its own. However, the end destination was predetermined by forces outside of the tea's ken. The hand moved the cup in the same way fate and time moved a person.
The tea would cool just as blood did when a man died. Each person was, in a way, an exothermic reaction preserved over decades, slowly cooling with time just as this cup did. As warm tea gripped the cup's walls, droplets pooled together and slowly slid down to rejoin the whole. Theodore lifted the cup to his mouth to let the taste of mild and sweet liquid linger on his tongue, and he cupped and molded it to the roof of his mouth; to truly appreciate it, he let it steep against his mouth's flesh. He allowed himself to enjoy the sensation of the liquid as it slid down his throat. He was satisfied as he felt it strike his stomach.
"What do you think, Theodore?" Orik asked.
Theodore had no idea what the dwarf had said. However, he realized it was time to brew another elixir of life.
His mind was starting to wander as it often did before the mind began to go. His mind, not meant for the long centuries he'd lived, was filled with years of thoughts, and Thoughts, usually, such innocuous things, tended to compound. The mind always aged faster than the rest of the body, and with the time that godling had stolen from him, the wizard knew it wouldn't be long before his sharp intellect would saw his mind into bloody bits.
"Can you repeat it?"
"I was saying, don't you think it's curious all that commotion that seemed to happen on the same night you went to see Az Sweldn rak Anhûin? I find it curious how that Grimstborith has changed. "
"Orik?"
"Yes, wizard?"
"Just be glad you were elected, and let this matter rest." the wizard said sharply.
Theodore could see a stubborn set in the dwarf's Jaw. He'd not been convincing, but Orik moved on to more interesting things like logistics, and Theodore tried to pretend other things didn't occupy his mind. Wars were dangerous and exciting, but planning them was tedious and tremendously dull.
Theodore began the only genuine part of the conversation he had any interest in.
"I have need of materials."
Orik's brows arched wryly. "Yes, I imagined you would be." The dwarf sighed. What do you need, Theo?"
The wizard and the dwarf had taken to meetings like this often. As a result, Orik had long begun to understand how Theodore's mind worked. The wizard often tried to be polite, but he frequently didn't care much about formality. In many ways, the metamorphmagus despised the necessity and concept of etiquette, so the dwarven king occasionally tried out new nicknames. 'Theo?' Theodore found he did not much mind the sound of it. It was certainly better than 'Mr. Door', 'Teddy,' 'Loopy,' and certainly much better than 'Edward.'
"I'll need enormous quantities of salt."
"Salt?"
"Sea salt specifically."
"I'm afraid that is impossible, wizard." Orik sighed..
"Why?" Theodore asked confused.
"Thunderer, even you should know there is no salt in the ocean, and there has never been. The ocean tastes of salt, but dwarves and elves have indeed tested it. Something neither alchemy nor magic can easily reveal. We dwarves have always believed in the blood of our sea god. It can not be taken from its source. Just like the divine's minds, it is unknowable."
'Well, that's a problem.'
"You must be pulling my leg."
Orik gave a laugh, which told Theodore he wasn't joking.
"Do the dwarves eat fish from the sea? Can that water even support fish?" Theodore asked, and Orik was confused by the question.
He said, "Of course, Thunderer, Orthiad has huge exports of fish. Fish is good meat, whether it is for dwarves or humans. Why do you ask? Do you not like fish?"
"It has nothing to do with fish, Orik. It only concerns the fact that some fish require saltwater to live." Theodore said, his eyes glinting with silent horror.
Orik smiled, still confused, "Yes, and why would that be a problem?"
Theodore's stare made Orik shudder, as it seemed to pierce his very soul. It was only then that the dwarf began to take things seriously.
"Theo, don't tell me that where you come from has salt in the water?" the dwarven king wondered, not for the first time, what distant lands the wizard came from.
"Bring me a fish from the fish market," the wizard paused, gulping air as if it might disappear if he didn't fill his lungs with it first. "Bring me salt if you have it."
"You want me to bring you salt? …Pure salt?" As he finished his second question, a fog seemed to cloud the king's eyes. He stared off into space for a second before returning to himself.
"What was that you wanted, Theo? I seem to have forgotten what we were talking about. It's all the stress, you understand. The Grimstboriths and their ambitions are difficult to manage." Orik paused as if remembering a horrible politicking disaster before looking at Theodore expectantly, and Theodore, for his part, looked at the dwarven king like Eragon might his puzzle ring.
This fog that captured the dwarf was not dissimilar to what ensnared the dwarf when he thought of the capital's crossroads that the wizard had hidden. As he thought about why salt might be a taboo word in this land, he couldn't help but remember what the godling had told him before, 'I hope you have more luck than the Greyfolk that came before.'
Something was very wrong here, but there was no need to distress his friend.
Theodore's tea had cooled, and both their cups lay on the king's stone table, long forgotten. With the comfortable ambiance ruined, Theodore could not bring himself to remain any longer. The wizard made his excuses and left.
Once out of sight, he apparated to the Dwarven market just west of the city center and just outside the fear exclusion zone. All that used to reside in the city center had come here after 'The Great Scare' as the dwarves had taken to naming it.
Theodore still wondered at the fact more people didn't suspect him of being the cause. He was the only one in the city that wielded strange magic. The event happened almost the second of his arrival, and yet not many dwarves seemed to care. Many seemed to accept it at face value and move on. Even Orik, despite his questions, didn't push as he expected him to. That wasn't to say Theodore wasn't glad things had ended up this way, but the wizard had come to expect more of his little dwarven friend.
With a silent pop, no one noticed Theodore arriving amid people rushing about in the marketplace.
Merchants filled the wide, straight roads like exotic books on a library shelf with banners in all the different colors needed to represent what they sold: linen cloth, red powdered saffron, and colorful jewelry dangled from wooden displays, among other goods.
One of those other goods found an appreciative home in dwarven bellies. A group of drunken dwarves pushed and shoved, swearing as the sweat from their drunken stupors glistened upon their brows.
The wizard ignored almost all the dwarves aside from those in his way. He intently focused on two goals: to acquire fish from the ocean and to find salt. If salt did exist as it did in Theodore's world, deposits of it could only be left behind by a receding ocean, and the absence of salt in the ocean's water hid apocalyptic secrets.
A square-jawed dwarven fish monger of stockier build than what Theodore had come to expect among dwarves stood ramrod straight and stiff at his stall, unwilling to hawk as other merchants did. Though like a shepherd with a well-trained flock, Dwarves crowded his stall.
The wizard pushed his way through, and the crowd, with looks of annoyance and recognition, made way for him.
"What is it you need, Thunderer?" The stocky dwarf asked in a gruff pipe-worn voice
"Five saltwater fish and salt if you have it."
Without pause or consideration, the dwarf set a bucket of fish before the wizard, and with it leaned a bag. A bag that Theodore opened to find ample salt.
Theodore paid the man and thanked him before asking how he'd come by it, and the man shrugged.
"It tastes good with fish."
The wizard asked even more specific and targeted questions and found the fisherman had no idea how he'd come by the bag, but he found it ordinary and of little concern. He even went so far as to ask Theodore why he wondered about such things, and Theodore could only give a helpless shrug. Just as it was impossible to explain color to a blind man, it was impossible to correct established norms based on reality; there was nothing he could really say.
The fish looked somewhat similar to cod, with smooth, slimy skin and yellow eyes that bulged wide and had over-large pupils. Its gills protruded outwards and were more prominent than the fish of Theodore's world, but otherwise looked to function the same. There were no easy ways to test the osmoregulation of the fish to see if its wetware was more adapted to a salty environment, with the fish dead, and seeing as that was Theodore's primary concern, a possible answer to his question, he had to find a way around that.
That was for later; for now, he had a dragon's visit to prepare for. With another silent pop, Theodore disappeared from the dwarven streets.
—-----------------------------------------
It turned out Saphira Fit comfortably in Theodore's vast halls. She could even walk and turn her long serpentine neck comfortably. That was to say, Theodore was glad he made modifications to his home, or one particular sapphire dragon would have already ruined it.
The dragoness almost idly let her sword-sharp claws drag against his wall. With the application of her weight, she made an unpleasant screeching but left no marks. The dragon's spiked tail twitched with annoyance. It wanted to mar the smooth black surface. It was angry it hadn't managed.
Theodore, who was slowly learning to read the dragon, guessed as to why.
"Eragon is free to leave whenever he wants. I do not need slaves," and it was true. Theodore found slavery filled him with almost irrational revulsion.
A vast consciousness reached for the wizard's mind. He let the needle of thought prick his defenses.
'That is good to know, Thunderer, but know this: no matter your power, Eragon will be more important to this land and its people. Know that if you truly care about the Varden's cause, you must preserve my rider's life.' Saphira's mind was alien to him, but he sensed within it not anger or fear but a determination to rip him limb from limb if he dared touch her rider.
The wizard gave a polite nod, and that gesture of deference was enough for the dragon. It let out a satisfied purr, not dissimilar to a well-fed cat.
Theodore only wished other people could be so easily satisfied.
Three Grimstboriths had begun their investigations into him. He'd have to find some way to divert their attention. Perhaps it was time for the betrayal of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin to come to light. Theodore had investigated Vermund's son, and as expected of the sour man, there was nothing good about him. Murder and rape had been among his lesser crimes. If Theodore was careful, it was possible to make a story that would not ruin the Varden's morale. In the end, one traitor sold better than a clan betrayal, and people loved villains.
"Come with me, and we can begin testing."
The dragon glared, but the creature followed.
He led the dragon to his sky-capped courtyard. A sliver of the evening sun, red and giving off heat, as a real sun would, peeked from behind bruised clouds—occasionally, a flock of birds played across the evening sky. It was all part of a layered illusion. This was not some image laid against a flat plane. If someone were to take a broom up to watch the birds, they would be separate from the sky and fully formed. And the same actually went for the clouds.
The dragon seemed impressed, though the wizard was sure the creature could just as easily be watching for the places where the illusion broke—from what Theodore had read, Dragons had sharp eyes.
"Try not to fly. The sky isn't real, and you would quickly hit your head against the cavern ceiling."
Saphira's slitted eyes narrowed at the wizard, but Theodore didn't let himself be bothered by the mansion-sized fire-breather.
"I think you are brilliant gemmed-one, but oftentimes, my magic is too incredible. People think it can do things it can't. "
'Understood Thunderer.' The dragon thought at him dismissively as she craned her blue serpentine neck once again to look out at the illusory sky in appreciation.
Several moments passed before her mind reached for him again.
'Where is my rider, wizard? Why hasn't Eragon come to meet me? I can feel him close, but for some reason, my mind won't reach his. There was genuine concern in her words. Enough concern that Theodore could be sure and glad at least one of his precautions against this world's magicians had worked.
This mental deflection was a result of a test he was trying with his djinn. As the djin's mind bound Theodore's enchanted castle, he'd thought perhaps, given the correct instruction, it might be able to do something special, and it had—his djin adopted a mental image of a mirror for its mind shield, and now only two minds in the same room could touch.
Still, the rider's bond bypassed some of that measure because it ran more deeply than the mind. It has something to do with the soul if Theodore had his guess right.
"I'll have Mipsy fetch him. He and Murtagh have been quite busy in the training yard recently, and with the magic running through my walls, he no doubt missed your arrival."
Mipsy, in total obedience, not even paying Saphira much mind besides a wondering glance at her size, popped off to bring Eragon to him.
"While we wait, Eragon has told you what I want from you."
He received silence in return, but the dragon's enormous slitted eyes watched him.
Theodore nodded, "I want to test whether your magic can alchemically compound. It's quite rare, but that ability is the key to Magic's Deep. If I am successful, you may be able to share your magic with your rider. You might protect him from all the harm that could be found in this land. That is something you want more than anything else, yes?" The dragon still didn't answer so the wizard clarified, "The power to protect your rider totally and completely."
The dragon growled at Theodore, 'Do not patronize me, wizard.'
"I am right, aren't I?"
'Yes.' the dragon reluctantly admitted.
"Good. Now I'll need to ask you some questions. You've used magic before, yes?"
'Yes'
"You were emotional when it happened, yes?
'yes'
"When?"
The dragon seemed somewhat reluctant to share.
"I'll need to understand what triggers dragon magic if we want to replicate it."
The dragon seemed to acknowledge this, giving the slightest nod, 'When my rider's mentor died, I turned stone to diamond as I felt his grief.'
"You've managed to transfigure diamonds?" Theodore's eyes narrowed, but he kept his sly smile, "Impressive," and it was. Paupers diamonds, temporary worthless things that faded to nothing quickly, could be made by wizards casually, but genuine diamonds were something that usually required alchemy to make properly. "How did you manage that? I assume you can't always use your magic," This, in fact, wasn't a guess. Books of dragon lore written long ago by the dwarves had said as much, seeing as they were written in a time when dwarves fought dragons for land, and much of it was consistent, Theodore could only assume it was accurate.
'I felt sad at Brom's death, and the power welled up inside me, and with the touch of my snout, it simply happened. I know little more. We dragons are of magic, but not even the dragons of old could control it.'
Theodore paused, frowning, "I was told by Orik you planned to fix Isidar Mithrim. How did you plan to do that if you have no control over your magic?"
'I would have sat over the fragmented pieces of the gem until inspiration struck me.'
The books Theodore had read said that dragons did not often have strong emotions, but when they felt something, things tended to go up in flames. It was something he would need to evoke to see draconic magic. Only that was much easier said than done. Physical pain meant nothing for such a creature. Pride made it easy to stimulate anger in dragons, but the wizard suspected this wasn't quite enough.
There was another component involved. Desperation, perhaps? Most wouldn't think that it fits with Saphira's story about connecting to Eragon's grief over losing his mentor, but there was a certain desperation in a sudden loss—a desire to do something, anything, to stop the pain that memories of times long gone caused.
The dragon's method of simply waiting might have worked magic, evoked by her desperation to leave eventually—to do something else besides stare at the fractured pieces of the dwarves' greatest treasure.
"Was there any other time?"
The dragon seemed to stare at him, unsure of what he wanted.
"Was there any other time that you worked magic that didn't involve grief?"
The dragon thoughtfully looked into the sky once more, and her thoughts felt wistful, 'Eragon blessed a fledgling not long after joining the Varden. I touched my snout to her brow, and a Gedwëy ignasia appeared on her forehead.'
Theodore had heard of blessing before. It was one of the curious things about this world. The magic was so nebulous that even Eobard was unsure of its effect. Theodore had pondered for a long time whether this magic touched fate because if it did, it would likely be the most potent magic this planet had to offer, but that was only if it worked. Theodore had already tried to bless objects using an ancient language runic script, and the wizard had seen little to no effect.
"What did you feel when you touched that magic?"
'Inspiration. Hope perhaps that the dragons and their riders were not quite done yet.'
With that, Theodore was more sure. Hope was almost, by definition, desperate. It shone brightest when the odds stacked against you. It was the torch soldiers held as they dove into a sea of blood, sweat, and sharp metal.
It was then that Eragon, his hair matted with sweat, walked into the room, and the rider, gladdened by the sight of his dragon and, despite his seeming exhaustion, ran to Saphira's side. Translucent blue dragon wings parted to envelop him, and the rider, smiling, hugged his dragon with enough force to meld pink skin and gemmed scales.
Their joy was so pure that it made Theodore, centuries-old though he was, want to stop what he had planned next. Both rider and dragon would suffer. It would be brief but no less traumatizing for it. In the end, Theodore knew the one thing that might make stoic dragons desperate. The wizard managed to steel his heart, and Eragon flew across the room, summoned to Theodore's waiting hand.
In an instant, the wizard conjured himself a sword of infernal flames, and in the next, those Vermillion flames blazed into the rider's chest as Theodore thrust the blade into the rider's heart. Even as Eragon began his pained screaming, obsidian chains grew from the floor to bind his shocked dragon.
Every nerve in the rider's body was set aflame. Yet no blood dripped from where the sword exited his back.
Theodore, with practiced carelessness, let the rider fall to the floor, where he tumbled and spasmed.
"Save him, Saphira." Theodore let himself a glance at the dragon as he gripped the handle of the still flaming sword and, with it, maneuvered the rider onto his back, causing another bolt of pain to wrack his body. Gripping the handle tightly, he pushed down, driving the blade further, impaling stone to pin the rider into position. "Save him, Saphira, or I will kill him."
The dragon growled and strained against her chains. He could feel the claws of her mind fighting toward the void of his mind, accomplishing nothing but psychic echoes through space.
Theodore drew his ritual blade and showed the dragon the blade, which screamed danger and nibbled light, and he gave his most wicked smile, "Stop me, dragon, or I will slit the throat of the only thing you care about."
This had an effect. The dragon, still chained to the floor, spewed great gouts of dragon fire, burning her own scales as she fought desperately to escape. Those gem-like scales split under the head, and violet blood hissed as it touched the stone.
Slowly, deliberately, Theodore took his ritual knife and brought it to the rider's throat. Now, it would only take a feather's pressure to sink the blade into Eragon's throat. Carefully, the wizard held the rider's head still so he would not jerk into the blade's monomolecular edge, but to Saphira, he was sure it looked as if he would torture her rider before he killed him.
Theodore waited. The wizard began to fear he was wrong. He almost withdrew the blade, willing to call the test to an end, when something happened.
An incredible force of wind bowled into him. Flesh-rending power pulled him and his flaming blade and threw them both into the obsidian wall, managing to crack the carbon-dense, nigh unbreakable stone.
As if waking from a dream, Eragon stood up and touched his chest. It no longer had a sword impaled through it, and he wasn't bleeding.
Saphira, whose chains had broken at some point, rushed to his side, her wings surrounding him protectively.
Theodore, uninjured, managed to push himself out of his crater, "Good, it seems I was correct about how your magic manifests. There is a desperation factor involved. Saphira, would you mind telling me why it took you so long to use your magic? You were sufficiently motivated, but it seemed as if there was a time component involved. Did you feel power building in you?"
"Lord Lupin, you just stabbed me through the chest." Eragon interrupted, still in shock.
"Yes, that was part of the experiment. I apologize, rider. It wouldn't have been nearly as effective if either of you had known. Is there any lingering pain? I have potions that might settle the mind."
Eragon's eyes seemed to narrow, and instead of answering, he stared at the sword with its vermilion flames lapping stone; he looked in horror at Saphira's cracked scales, an animalistic growl seeming to build in his throat as he found pools of blood beneath his dragon.
Saphira seemed almost gentle as she looked into Eragon's eyes, which seemed to calm the rider.
"What was the experiment?" Eragon choked out, but still, he didn't turn to face the wizard.
"Dragon magic. You've seen for yourself the miraculous things that Saphira has done. Don't you wonder if there is not some way for her to access that power consciously? This, of course, is the first step of many, but it has proved successful. This is the path to greater power. The path to Magic's Deep. You need only allow me to continue my experiment, and I will make you the greatest dragon rider ever to live."
And that seemed the wrong thing to say. The rider's white knuckles gripped his sword as if itching to draw it and spill blood.
It had taken time to explain the test to the rider, but when he did, Theodore could plainly see that the rider would not be willing to undergo further experimentation.
The wizard, for his part, understood that he'd been overeager. The boy didn't have the same drive for power Theodore had come to expect of magical practitioners, and he would not force more of his experiments on either of them. The wizard saw no need to invite resentment.
Murtagh would be more willing. The red dragon's rider was made of sterner stuff, and Theodore needed willing participants anyway.
The test was still useful, however. Theodore had asked his djin to record the interaction, and it managed to capture the spontaneity instant.
A golden light formed into the holographic shape of a dragon on Theodore's large oak desk as he sat in his study.
Theodore watched as the dragon's magic collected around what he assumed was its heart. When he held the dagger to her rider's throat, the magic seemed to slush in its container almost like liquid; it was only when the magic completely filled an oddly shaped heart that the pool of energy was released. Theodore watched as ambient magic bent its nature to join the wave of intent.
The effect had been so specific and so targeted. The power that should have brushed against Eragon's body, eviscerating it, seemed to funnel around him. It came at Theodore like a wave that reached him in nanoseconds, more akin to the magic of this world with its quick or instantaneous effects rather than the charms and curses of the wizarding world that required a bit of time to travel.
None of that information was useful yet, but the wizard was interested. This magic would change things for wizards. Theodore had manipulated ambient magic before, but it always required leverage—something of immense power ritualistically exchanged for nature's help. Even then, the result was rarely precise unless done by practiced hands.
The orange simulacrum played again and again, and Theodore found himself wishing for a dragon of his own. So much potential wasted with most anyone else would find a home with him. The wizard pondered if there was some way to steal a dragon's bond. However, Theodore remembered the Black King and his Shruiken. The Varden talked of their twisted bond, which Theodore could only assume resulted from a similar effort.
It would be best for the bond to happen naturally.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Beneath the Dwarven City not much later
Metal dragged sparks against the rocks to the beat of a metronome, and rocks went rolling as they were broken from cover. There was the sound of shifting metal as an armored foot kicked away debris.
Occasionally, something glinted in the torchlight, and armored automatons, with machine precision, pulled gems from stone and collected them in mine carts. The carts then drove themselves down metal tracks as if pushed by ghosts, unloading heaps of material into collection hoppers designated for each track.
Theodore watched after having popped into one of his designated cleared spots, satisfied that his magic had settled into a machine-like perpetual motion. The wizard was somewhat worried his rushed job would fall to pieces when he wasn't looking, but as the wizard walked down his tracks, looking for a break or blemish on his enchanted rails, he found them still pristine.
Reaching the end of the tracks, he came to a wide-open tunnel with a sizable shack. The end of the track was filled from left to right with stalls of collection hoppers.
If a dwarf were to ever lay their eyes on Theodore's shack they might wonder at it being made completely of dull Iron. Its spartan structure pulled from a time when muggles still roamed the Prime Merlinian Plane. It filled the tunnel's width, its roof extending pillars of iron to ensure that this part of the tunnel remained structurally sound even if everything else should fall.
Metal creaked as unoiled hinges unfolded. Theodore, unbothered by the disgusting screech, looked into his collection hopper to find it filled to the brim with precious gems. Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and quartz were all sorted into their respective categories.
Though Diamonds were all that Theodore truly needed.
Uncut, they gleamed like eternal ice in enchanted light, seeming to have their kind of visual magic.
Theodore picked up a particularly odd one, smoky with excess carbon, and noticed the unfortunate fracture that made it split light just like a prism. It was beautiful in a way, unique even, but ultimately useless.
An unfortunate number had similar blemishes, Flaws that made them useless for building a Stygian gate.
Flaws were, in part, why it had taken Theodore so long to collect the requisite material for his ritual, and it was only due to the tireless nature of enchanted armor that he'd been able to fulfill his quota to build even one stygian gate.
It was true that he had enough to make one gate, but it was not wise to start quite yet.
He collected more because it was never wise to build just one gate. Building just one gate had cost the Dominion more wars than almost anything else in the past.
In those times when wizards had committed to rampant invasions of other worlds. Wizards powerful and resourceful were made to swim the chaotic sea to make the initial bonds between worlds, but because of the dangerous nature of the chaotic sea, which cared little for things like numbers. No large contingent or army could be sent as scouts. To send an excess of troops of lower quality than a scout, which was almost always an archmage or an Oracle, would result in almost all of them dying on the journey, leaving the scout abandoned as if they had traveled alone.
This was because no matter how powerful the Archmage or Oracle was, they would value their lives more than the company sent to protect them. In a sea of nonetropy zones, strange gravitational arrangements, and odd and suddenly changing conditions and distances, it was impossible to keep large companies together at all times, even with magic. In fact, it was partially their reliance on magic that made it impossible, as even that was subject to exhaustive change.
So, the one or two scouts sent to find suitable worlds had to establish a bond and build a stygian gate independently.
This would have been fine if the ritual to make a stygian gate was simple. Sadly, this was not the case. Forming a stygian gate required not only exhaustive resource collection but also the ability to kill thousands to fuel its ritual requirements.
In other words, it took time to collect resources for instantaneous travel between worlds, and the ritual murder of many people in a noticeable fashion, which would almost certainly alert the natives of trouble coming. Besides all of that, Stygian gates were delicate and easily broken even by muggle means.
Even with a small army sent to secure the veil, it took too long to build more gates while defending it, especially after all the murder and commotion it caused. Seeing as most conquests are overseen by a few noble families at a time, a small army of wizards is usually all that can be mustered. However, ways have been found to avoid these inconveniences. Criteria were made for what worlds made viable targets. It was long found out that for an invasion to be feasible, Materials would have to be easy to gather, stygian gates would have to have space away from settled regions, and most importantly, war would have to take place, whether incited by wizards or naturally occurring.
It was long found that the only quiet way to reap thousands of souls without a trace was either war or the targeting of very isolated groups. As truly isolated groups of people were rare, war was seen as the most favorable condition when selecting a world.
It was rare for a Dominion scout to have it easy as Theodore did now.
Tronjheim, to Theodore's astonishment, had thousands of tunnels beneath it. All well mined and all abandoned. It was as if one generation of dwarves after another arduously carved paths in stone for no purpose, only for the next generation to do the same again.
Curiously, the modern dwarves didn't seem to wonder in the least about exploring the tunnels that they'd left behind.
It was impossible to find maps of the vast labyrinth beneath, and it was no use asking Orik as he, too, was dismissive of what the dwarves of old mined.
When Theodore brought up the subject, Orik seemed to compare the tunnels to generational pride, shrines to the vanity of those who had come before.
Each significant dwarven era left its mark on the place, and that was only normal in the place all dwarves called home. Theodore couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't something more.
Curiosity had paid off, and Theodore managed to quietly claim a set of tunnels for himself. Marking a part of the tunnel system that sat almost directly beneath his house. Tunnels that, by pure happenstance, were filled to the brim with all the gems, coal, and iron he would ever need.
Theodore wiped the sweat from his brow as he exited his iron shack on the opposite side he'd entered, stepping closer to the goal of his visit to the tunnels beneath.
Despite the environmental charms, the wizard could feel a sweaty heat smothering him like fire burning all around him, and he knew its source.
Magma flowed thickly beneath him, and despite the rock, it flowed beneath it was not a closed system. The Magma's heat easily passed through the stone to envelop the surface tunnels. Within this particular vein of magma, Theodore planned to gather all the obsidian needed for the physical form of his stygian gates, though there was still time before he began that process.
The cavern widened beyond the dull metal shack. The stone was rough and bouldered to naturally form a vast open space. In the wall of the natural cavern, Theodore found six tunnels of dwarven make by pure circumstance. Each had been illuminated by gubraithian fire.
Of those
six tunnels, there were endless intersecting paths. Theodore had come from the second entrance to the left. He'd initially entered the deep road that way, leaving marks as he went so that he could find his way through.
He'd travel through a mine that seemed to be on the verge of crumbling from years of strain to reach the natural cavern he stood now. When he went exploring, each step Theodore took echoed a dozen times before it made its way back to his ear. The air was much colder out there than here above the magma vein.
Theodore remembered slipping between tunnel entrances, some narrower, some rounder, and some wider.
He'd noticed Centuries of overlaying construction, and it set the wizards' imagination ablaze with questions: Why were these tunnels built? When they were built, each one seemed different; some were cruder and unmarked, and others had ornate carvings depicting dwarven gods. Theodore couldn't help but wonder why each new set of dwarven tunnels seemed to build further and further in such an unorganized fashion. The tunnels made a patchwork slanting grid that appeared to branch and stretch into an endless maze.
Theodore wondered if he had time to slake his curiosity. The wizard still had many more reagents he'd have to collect to build stygian gates, but for now, it wasn't urgent. He needed more diamonds before he started building anything, and the lives he would need would come from a battle that was still weeks away. Murtagh had made significant progress with magic, but having given him a grimoire and told him the rules of magic of this world, there was not much else He could do. It would take time and self-study for him to improve now.
Eragon did not much want to see him after the minor torture Theodore had put him through. Mipsy could take care of his needs if he had any.
It wasn't as if the Varden had an urgent need for him, and if they did, Nasuada still held his cloud pine branch. All she would need to do was snap it, and he would be by her side.
Theodore trusted her despite her dislike of him, and that was because she was predictable. She cared for the Varden, and that devotion was plain to see. 'Why else would she allow Eragon to leave her service? Why else would she allow Urgal to enter her army when those same creatures butchered her father?'
'Trianna,' he still thought of her often, but she had gone against his commands, and despite his lingering lust for her, he saw no reason to seek her freedom. The woman was a loose cannon, so it was better that she stayed comfortably imprisoned and safe.
With everything accounted for, Theodore decided he had a few days to explore this endless maze.
The wizard entered the tunnel third from the left, and he didn't go far when suddenly, his adventure was over. Theodore realized he no longer needed to explore these tunnels, and as he passed a patch of black moss he had found in his less than hour-long trek, he disappeared with a silent pop.