Kanin Fyre - Chapter 3 - Simora

From the number of scarves and heavy coats that have begun to adorn the citizens of Harrowood, a hint of winter seems to be in the air, but Caecius's workshop glows with warmth.

 “It's about time,” the dracid says as I let myself in. “I was beginning to think that you'd gone on another suicidal mission.” She doesn't even look up from the piece she's shaping over her forge.

“No, I save those for after your visits.” I grab a pair of tongs and move to help her. 

Caecius grumbles in amusement. The glow of her forge’s runes and the molten glass held above it light Caecius’s blue scales in an orange hue. “The piece we were working on is over there.” She nods to the bench behind us. I send some glass over to take a look. “Pretty soon that body of yours will be practically invincible.”

“That's the idea.” The design is etched on a pane of glass; it's more complicated than any of the designs we've made before. This one is supposed to work no matter what shape my glass is in—no more having to tailor the spell circle to each limb I put it on. Zyneth helped me sketch out the concept, but I can see Caecius has made some adjustments. It's not as invincible as she's claiming it to be, as it can still be scratched or melted in a furnace, but similar to bulletproof glass, it should be able to withstand some incredibly powerful blunt forces. Which, to be fair, is really all I'm worried about. As long as my torso can protect my core, everything else is icing on the cake.

Though I won't object to strengthening all my glass to this level—especially if I might have gods to contend with.

"I'll be going away for a while," I tell her. "Again."

"What now?" she asks, rotating the rod as she lifts it off the forge. "Stealing an egg from a dragon? Surfing the lava flows of Mount Shale? Go open the annealer.” 

I cross the room and hinge open the shimmering compartment. Working in Caecius’s shop is a good reminder that heat is something I can actually still feel. “I’m headed to Simora, actually. I’d like to find someone that can help me grow my void abilities like you’ve helped me with glass. Wait, do people actually surf lava?”

Caecius heads over to me and knocks the bowl from the rod with a sharp rap. I catch it with my bare hands and quickly move it into the annealer. Temperature might be fainter for me, but holding onto that too long will start to hurt. 

The dracid plants a hand on her hip, giving me an impressed look. “Look at you. Quite the studious bookworm.” Not even a year ago, I would have laughed at the idea. “Good. That shadow stuff isn’t my domain.” She wiggles her fingers as she says this.

I’ve told Caecius a bit about the void and Ink—it was sort of impossible to hide when Zyneth and I showed up at her shop trailing a ball of shattered glass and a shadow with a mind of its own. She doesn’t know about it being a remnant, or my encounter with a god, or even that Ink sort of used to be a murder machine not that long ago. (And might still be one, but at least with significantly more restraint and self-reflection.) But she’d taken it all in stride and helped me get back on my feet—literally. 

“You don’t happen to know anyone who might be able to help me with void magic, do you?” I ask her. I don’t really expect her to say yes, but it can’t hurt to try. “I’m going to start at the Academy of the Arcane, but I’ll just be knocking on doors.”

“Hmm.” She rests the rod against a tools rack and wanders over to the workbench, rubbing her chin as she looks at our glass circle design. “Maybe. I don’t know anyone at the Academy, but back in my school days, I had a friend who was interested in void magic. Brilliant mind. He left because the apprenticeships were too boring for him.” She grins, showing off her crocodile teeth. “Of course, I did, too, but that’s because I had already learned all I needed to start my business.”

An acquaintance from a couple decades ago is not a promising lead, but it’s more than I’ve currently got. “Any idea where I could find him?”

Caecius hums to herself as she pulls off her gloves and tosses them on her workbench. “Maybe. I think he actually worked at Simora for a time, but I doubt he’s still there now. Doesn’t have the attention span to stay anywhere more than a few years.” She chuckles to herself as she turns away and heads through the door to the front of the shop, which is her way of inviting me to follow.

All the pieces she has for sale are displayed here, but Caecius stops at the sales counter and goes rooting around for something underneath. After a moment, she pulls out a large and messy stack of papers. 

“We sent each other letters for a couple years,” she says, leafing through the pages. “Should have his address around here somewhere. Haven’t chatted in a while, but I doubt he minds. Both of us tend to bury ourselves in our work. Ah, here’s one.” She holds out a creased and weathered piece of parchment. 

I gingerly take it from her. It looks even more frayed up close.“What, did he send this to you two hundred years ago?” 

She scoffs. “It came all the way from Dunmora. I think it’s allowed a little wear and tear.” 

“Dunmora?” I flip the paper over, looking for an address, but all I find is a spell circle. I’m pleased to realize I can recognize a couple runes and line structures. Something to do with wind arcana, and it’s got bits I recognize from my Locate spell. “Your friend lives on a different continent?”

Caecius doesn’t bother answering; she doesn’t like to restate the obvious. “His name is Siqi. Tell him I sent you and he’ll be willing to help. Probably.” She pauses. “Just be careful not to get on his bad side.” 

“What does that mean?” I can’t imagine Caecius being intimidated by very many people; she’s six feet of scales and muscle. The only person I know more physically imposing than her is Rezira, and that’s because orcs are just naturally bigger. 

Well, technically Yedzaquib was even taller than Rezira, given the reach his spider legs gave him, but we don’t talk about Yedzaquib. 

Once more Caecius refuses to repeat herself by answering my question. Instead, she juts a claw at the spell circle. “His address is somewhere in there. You can get someone in the delivery business to pull it out.”

“Thank you,” I say, folding the paper up to tuck into my satchel. Hopefully this friend of hers really is still working at Simora. Finding a void mentor just one telepad away would be much preferable to traveling to another continent—one that doesn’t have such a telepad network set up, and would require a lot more travel time.

But I do appreciate that she trusts me enough to send me to a friend—and vouch for me. I feel oddly proud. 

“Keep up on your studies,” Caecius tells me as we head back into the workshop. She passes me the pane of glass containing the durability spell design. “I bet you can still make some tweaks to this.” 

I’m not sure I agree; the circle is already way more advanced than other spells I use. But I’ve got Zyneth to help, and plenty of glass to experiment with. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe there will be some glass mages in Simora who can help improve the design, too.” 

Caecius grins, but it looks more like a threat than a smile. “I’d like to see them try.” 

As we leave, Ink stirs in my mind, which is a rarity for when I work with Caecius. While it likes the way our glass and void synergize, it isn't able to wield it without my help, and so tends to keep to itself while I’m focused on glasswork. Also, Caecius froze my body a couple months ago, and Ink has never quite forgiven her for that. 

Ink gives a mental shrug. It did not like that she froze us. But it can respect such power. 

I cast it a skeptical glance, wondering where this about-face has come from. 

Also, it enjoys her confident and threatening smile. It seems like she would be a worthy opponent. 

We’re not going to spar with her, I tell it firmly. 

Unperturbed, Ink stretches out and then curls up again in my mind, returning to its doze. Maybe tomorrow, then. 

Deciding it best to not correct it, I shake my head and depart for the Dainty Drake.

#

The next couple of time slots for Simora are already booked up, so we have to wait a couple days before departing. Noli has already sent a letter ahead to Murrok and the rest of her host family on the south coast, letting them know she won’t be far if they want to meet up. She’s been bouncing with excitement since we decided to make the trip, and even Rezira seems to be in higher spirits. Probably because this is the first trip they’ve accompanied us on that doesn’t involve a high probability of mortal danger. 

When we finally arrive in Simora, I find we’ve appeared in an enormous open-air and domed pavilion. A dozen other telepads are spread around us, with people coming and going from those even as we step down from our dais. Miasmere was the only other city I’ve seen with multiple telepads in its square, and this is bigger still. 

I immediately note the shift in diversity of species here. There are more lamia than anything else, with nereids and dracid not far behind. There are fewer dwarves and elves here than up north, and about the same amount of halflings and felis. As with other cities I’ve visited, dhampyrs, orcs, cambions, humans, and arachnoids seem to be a rarity. Cambions make sense, from what I’ve learned from Attiru and Zyneth speaking about the seclusive nature of their nation, but I wonder about the other rare species. 

The next thing I notice is all the sign language. People waiting in line—the telepad operators—vendors selling finger food to those waiting for their time slot. Everyone is signing.

Well, not everyone. Some people are speaking, and most of those have strange flashes of light appearing in front of them. I watch for a moment before realizing that the light is forming signs with ethereal hands. These people are wearing pendants that illuminate when they speak; I Check one, and confirm it's the sign language version of my translator, changing spoken into signs.

“Zyneth!” I cry. “We have to get you one of those.”

“I can sign!” he objects in sign language. “Just because I don't have as lots of…”

“Shit,” he says after a moment. “What's the word for ‘practice’?”

“Uh huh,” I sign, still speaking with the translation stone for his benefit. “Don't need help at all.”

He gives my shoulder a good natured flick.

“Don't get too cocky,” Rezira signs, watching us in amusement as we slowly weave our way toward the nearest exit. “It wasn't too long ago you could barely string a sentence together. And you still mess things up.”

“Rezira, please, I only get to be better than Zyneth at so many things.”

Noli laughs. “One should not blame the young hunter for an empty net, Rezira.”

Rezira’s face flushes a darker shade of green, and she doesn't interpret this for Zyneth. 

“Wait, what's that mean?” I ask. “Rezira, spill!”

The orc grumbles, glancing away. “I was still finishing my last year of language studies when we first met.”

I’m still trying to think of a clever way to turn that into a burn (though I think she was already sufficiently humbled by Noli) when we step outside. We emerge on a steep slope that runs quickly down to the shore, providing us a breathtaking view of the city’s design. 

Miasmere and Simora are both coastal cities, but they couldn’t be more different. While Miasmere was built around the Atheneum and merchant districts, with several main roads leading out to the harbor, Simora feels like the opposite. 

Our portion of the city is built on land, as if Simora had originally started on the shores of the delta before gradually spreading over the water. Concentric canals loop through the bay, and more cut directly across, as if someone laid a giant spider web over the water. Each section of land is connected by elaborate bridges, and at its center are a series of impressive domed buildings that I strongly suspect belong to the Academy.  The buildings are all made of white stone, with oceanic shades of blue, green, and purple rippling over the rooftops. It might be the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. 

Zyneth also pauses to take in the view, while Rezira and Noli use the opportunity to strip off their heavy coats. It must be a lot warmer here. I think we’re close to the equator—actually, we might even be in the southern hemisphere, meaning we’re now in late spring rather than late autumn. 

“How come you never visited before now?” I ask as Zyneth finally remembers to pull his cloak off as well. 

“Never really had the time.” He tears his gaze away as he packs up his layers. “Besides, my employers prefer… different sorts of cities.” 

I can’t imagine there’s no organized crime in Simora, but it does seem like it would be a lot harder to hide in such a meticulously structured city. Maybe it’s not worth the effort when there’s plenty of other more suitable cities just a telepad away. 

I glance at Zyneth’s arm, which is currently covered, but I can imagine the tattoos underneath. He hasn’t been called for any jobs since the debt Yedzaquib bought. I’m not naive enough to think it won’t happen again anytime soon, but I will be relieved when they’re all resolved. 

“Well?” Noli looks at us, her eyes bright. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

And we do.