Loremaster - A Progression Fantasy Adventure, page 39
Was there really nothing he could do? The thought struck Rowan, his eyes losing focus as he considered just what else he could put his precious time towards. As he did, a glint of light on metal caught his eye, the sunlight reflecting from the brass bracelet on his wrist.
Darm. The man who had given him the bracelet, and not just the bracelet, but something else too: a book. To be quite honest, Rowan had completely forgotten about the spellbook Darm had given him before his departure. Although he had held high hopes for it, those hopes had been thoroughly dashed the moment he had first opened the book and realized he understood exactly none of the scribbles on the first page, or any of the pages after it for that matter.
However, that was then and this was now. The him of back then was hardly comparable to the him of now, especially in terms of magical understanding. Perhaps now he would be able to parse the many pages of research Darm had left behind?
Eyes brightening, Rowan rolled out of bed, checking to make sure he was alone before dropping to his knees beside it. Darm’s book was one of his most treasured possessions. It would not do to let anyone know where it was hidden.
Reaching under his bed, Rowan’s hand searched for a familiar feeling, his fingers probing for the indent that marked where he had cut the hole in his mattress that he used to hide his most valuable items. Currently, those items were Darm’s book, the Girscaw’s dagger, and the Fenraith’s bracers. Though, that last one was there more to wait for a good opportunity to arise for him to pass the bracers off as a legitimate acquisition than because of its value.
Fingers sinking into a familiar groove, Rowan’s arm disappeared beneath the bed, emerging a minute later with the leather-bound spellbook that Darm had given him as a parting gift. Brushing off a few stray bits of mattress stuffing, Rowan sat back down on his bed, tugging the book open as he settled into a comfortable position.
Darm’s book was old, not as old as some of those in the Faebrook library, but old enough for the leather cover to be worn and wrinkled from age and sun. The last time he had looked at its contents, he had been a mere novice in the magic arts. Now, with four months’ worth of training and dungeon-diving under his belt, his hopes were high that his mana paths and control over the arcane were now sufficient to cast the spells contained within.
Glancing at the contents of the first page, Rowan let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. After a semester of tutelage, the formulae and diagrams that had so confused him a few months prior now looked much more familiar. Although he could not say that he understood all of them, he recognized a few and could make educated guesses about the purposes of most of the others.
The same was true for the second and third pages, but by the fourth page, the little squiggles and ink marks on the page made no more sense to Rowan than they had the last time he had attempted to look at the spellbook.
If this book contained his observations on magic, then it stood to reason that the easiest stuff would be at the beginning. And as Darm’s talents had increased in level, so too had the contents of the book.
Turning the pages back, Rowan stared at the first page. From what he could make out, the diagrams were a rune formation, and the formulae were mana formulae designed to show how best to conduct mana from his mana pool into the rune formation.
Rowan tilted his head. From the looks of it, it was a… barrier spell? He frowned. Barrier spells were not something they had been taught yet, though he had seen them mentioned in his textbooks. Supposedly, they were much more complex than regular combat magics due to the way the mana had to be shaped. Without proper control, the barrier would be weak and ineffectual, not exactly the outcome one wanted when relying on it to stop an incoming blow.
Still, it was not as if he had anything better to do, and Rowan looked back down at the book, carefully observing the diagrams and formulae within. He was fairly certain that it was a barrier spell, but it paid to be sure, especially when the formulae for barrier spells were so similar to force spells, and he did not want to have to explain to the other boys when they came back why it was that he had blown up their dormitory.
Twenty minutes later, Rowan nodded in satisfaction, closing the textbook that he had been using to double check the makeup of barrier spells with. He was ninety-nine percent sure that the spell contained on the first page of Darm’s notebook was indeed a barrier spell, and there was no time like the present to find out.
His eyes flickering from side to side, Rowan again checked to make sure that the room was empty before starting. Although practicing magic was not forbidden in the dormitories, he did not want the existence of Darm’s spellbook to become known, nor did he feel like performing for an audience today. Satisfied that he was indeed alone, he turned his attention back to the first page, paying close attention to the formulae and rune formation drawn there.
The formulae used to show the proper flow of mana were crudely drawn but serviceable. Although Darm’s skill at drawing was not the greatest, it was sufficient for Rowan to make out what was what, and each diagram was also accompanied by arrows and helpful notes about how to best circulate the mana and coax it into the rune formation, scribbled into the margins like the afterthoughts they had once been.
Coax. If there was one lesson that Rowan had taken away from Kanna and Typh’s teachings this semester, it was that his initial approach of forcing the mana to obey was not the correct one. The mana within him was not his enemy, and it did not need to be forced along like a prisoner escorted by guards. The more a mage forced, the more their mana would resist, making it difficult to shape into the complex patterns demanded by most rune formations.
Instead, it was best to treat it as an extension of himself, one that was sad to see him go. Like a clingy child, mana preferred to remain within the confines of its owner’s mana pool, but it could be coaxed out with proper techniques. For children, those techniques generally involved promises of candy. For mana, it was a little more difficult.
Each mage had to discover what worked best for them personally, and Rowan was no different. Much of his practice in Typh’s class involved figuring out how best to lure the mana from within his mana pool, and how to entice it into forming the runes and patterns he desired. Although he still could not control it to the degree required for more complex runes, the runes in Darm’s spellbook should be manageable for him.
Taking one last good look at the book, Rowan turned his attention inwards, drawing the mana through his mana pool in the manner described on the page. The formula Darm had written was not too difficult to follow, but it required his mana pathways to be capable of accepting an amount of mana that was too much for low-Brass-tier mana paths to take.
Now, months of running dungeons as a porter had strengthened his mana paths, and it only took Rowan three tries before he had the mana circulating in accordance with the diagram. From there, he directed it into his focus, the mana flowing into the rose gold ring where he once more began to circulate it in the manner he had practiced a moment earlier.
Happy with the circulation of the mana, Rowan glanced at the page once more, committing the rune formation upon it to memory. The runes for the spell on the first page of Darm’s book were a pair of crossed lines—one straight and one curved in a semi-circle—that intersected near the top and bottom of both lines. This formation was repeated twice, with both copies mirroring each other diagonally, connected at the base where the two straight lines met. The two semi-circles were angled away from each other, their open ends facing towards the bottom of the formation, and the bits at the top slightly overlapping the straight lines.
The rune formation memorized, Rowan concentrated as he reached for the mana, circulating it a little while longer before directing it into the beginnings of the rune formation. For a few moments, it looked like he might succeed, but with a sudden jolt, Rowan felt the mana escape his clutches, splashing outside the lines of the formation like a puddle disturbed by a passing carriage, showering the innocent sidewalk with its contents and ruining his first attempt at the spell.
Resisting the urge to grit his teeth as the mana broke free of his control, Rowan spent a few moments recapturing the errant mana and integrating it back into the rest, making sure to remove all traces of mana from the rune formation before starting again. The visual he used was that of a large stream, circulating broadly in the air above the formation, its azure edges flickering with arcane power.
The formation itself was a series of channels that he had carved deeply into the ‘ground’ of his focus space. For this spell, the channels were a pair of deep grooves in the shape of the runes, above which the stream of mana floated, all contained within the golden confines of his focus.
This visualization technique was another of Kanna’s techniques, a way in which to control the layering of mana into a rune formation through relatable imagery. For Rowan, who viewed his mana as being like a stream of water, she had suggested that he imagine his rune formations as grooves or ditches which he could then fill with the ‘water’ of his magic.
Twice, thrice... Again and again the spellcasting failed, the mana flowing out from the channels he had carved for it. However, Rowan did not despair. Regathering the mana, he allowed it to circulate in the manner described in the spellbook, before attempting to cast it once more.
Slowly, he controlled the stream to descend, the mana flowing gently into the first of the channels. Carefully regulating the flow, Rowan filled the channel, his magic pulsing as the rune formation began to take shape.
Careful… Rowan’s brow beaded with perspiration, sweat dripping down his face as he focused upon the runes. The spell was nearly complete, but he had failed at this point many times in the past few months with other spells. Sometimes, the result was only a feeling of disappointment. Other times, it was full on mana backlash, his mana paths screaming in protest as pain coursed through his body.
Face scrunched in concentration, Rowan poured the last of the mana into the channel he had envisioned, careful not to let it overflow.
A brief flash filled the space within the focus, the mana within the channels taking on a slight glow, signifying that it had successfully been shaped into a rune formation. With a smile of relief, Rowan aimed his hand at the window and cast the spell, the formation and the mana within disappearing as a small golden circle appeared in midair.
To call the object hanging in the air before him a circle was being very geometrically generous. The edges were ragged, like an apple with bites taken out of it, and the shape as a whole seemed less than solid. But it was vaguely circular, and that was a start.
Golden in color, the circle was no larger than the width of Rowan’s palm, and for what he assumed to be a shield, it did not appear very durable. Hesitantly poking it, Rowan’s assumption was proved correct as his finger met only the slightest resistance before the spell shattered; small motes of golden light falling as the would-be shield disintegrated into nothingness.
Still, Rowan could not help but smile. Despite the terrible size and efficacy of the ‘shield’ he had summoned, the spell had worked. It had summoned a barrier, however terrible, and the barrier had functioned as a barrier should. With time and practice, he was sure that he could turn the spell into a proper defensive tool in his arsenal, and the thought pleased him.
What pleased him more though was the fact that he had been able to cast the spell in the first place. For Rowan, this was the clearest sign of his growth that he had received since he had first arrived at Faebrook. In all likelihood, it was a combination of his increased understanding of magic along with the strengthening of his mana paths through mana absorption, but it was nice to see concrete evidence of his progress.
Four months ago, he had not even been aware that he possessed mana, let alone dreamt of harnessing it, and the formulae and diagrams of mages served only to confuse and bewilder him. Now he had succeeded in casting a spell that Darm himself had once used, and for a moment, Rowan allowed himself to feel pride.
The result was still shit though. Moment over, Rowan began the process anew. Progress was one thing, but what he thirsted for was power, and the ragged golden circle had certainly possessed none of that. Books forgotten, he cast the spell over and over again, humming gently to himself in the solitude of the dorm room as the sky outside slowly darkened.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sound of wood striking wood rang out through the training facility, echoing off its empty walls. Normally, the place would be full of students, all looking to gain strength in order to win places on powerful parties or obtain better grades. Currently, however, it was nearly empty, the lateness of the hour and the festivity of the season discouraging its use.
This, of course, was exactly the reason that Rowan was here at this hour, taking advantage of the abandoned training facility to get some sparring in. Swords aloft, he and Droon circled each other, both wearing sparring leathers and carrying wooden practice weapons, their expressions drawn as each sought an opening in their opposite’s stance.
Wooden sword met shield as Rowan pressed forward, his sword pounding repeatedly against the slatted defense offered by his opponent.
Wearing a panicked expression, Droon gave ground, his shield raised in front of him as he was slowly forced into a corner. As his back met the wall, he bounced off, his shield lowering slightly. This was all the opening Rowan needed, and the tip of his sword was soon reflected in the glasses of the shieldbearer.
“You got me again,” Droon said defeatedly.
“It’s not that hard when you never fight back,” Rowan replied. It was true. The way in which Droon fought allowed even a less technically skilled fighter such as himself to feel like a martial master, wielding his sword to devastating effect to the detriment of his lesser skilled foe.
Obviously, this was not what Droon wanted, but as the results of the last two nights had shown, he was powerless to do otherwise. Although in terms of technique Rowan was not considered strong among the elites of Faebrook, he had still spent most of his life on the streets, fighting over scraps and petty squabbles. His time spent wielding a sword might have been short, but his accumulated combat experience was by no means small, and it was not something Droon could compete against.
And then there was the mana absorption. Months of portering had paid off. Now comfortably within the middle of Brass-tier, Rowan was far stronger than he had been three months previous. Even if he did not use that power, suppressing himself down to the level Droon was at, it was impossible not to feel the power that coursed through his body.
“Again?” Droon asked.
Rowan nodded, lifting his sword into a ready position as they squared off.
This time, it was Droon who seized the initiative, launching himself towards Rowan with a quick stab. A short step to the right took Rowan out of harm’s way, and he counter-attacked, his blade bouncing off of Droon’s hastily raised shield with a hefty thwock.
Not letting up, Rowan followed up his attack with a shoulder tackle, using Droon’s raised shield to hide his intentions. Unable to see through his defensive screen, Droon was sent flying backwards by the ramming attack.
With quick movements, Rowan pursued his opponent, his sword raining down blows on Droon’s upturned shield as Droon scrambled to his feet. Returning to a standing position, Droon circled cautiously, seeking an opening in Rowan’s guard.
Since he’s looking for one, I might as well be nice and give him one. Lifting his blade as if to attack, Rowan feinted an opening. Naturally, Droon would not miss this crack in Rowan’s guard. While the spectacled boy may not have been a great fighter, he was nothing if not studious, and the various basic positions and forms were something Egil had spent the last three months drilling into them. With an eager look, Droon moved his shield aside and attacked.
Seeing this, Rowan made his move, darting forward and sending out a punch. The fist arrived first, slamming into Droon’s solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him. With an audible exhale, Droon stumbled backwards, but Rowan was not letting him go that easily.
A quick step forward brought him into Droon’s hurriedly raised guard, the boy not forgetting his fundamentals even with the wind knocked out of him. Unfortunately, Rowan had never intended to use his sword for this attack in the first place.
Lifting his leg, Rowan delivered a short kick to Droon’s rear leg, striking just as Droon was stepping backwards in an attempt to put some distance between them. Unable to keep his balance, Droon went down like a pile of bricks, slamming hard into the soft floor of the training room. By the time he had figured out where he was, Rowan’s sword was once again in front of his face.
With a frustrated sigh, Droon leaned backwards, his weapons forgotten as he stared at the ceiling in disbelief.
“Another win for me,” Rowan said lightly.
“I thought I had you there for sure,” Droon replied, raising his head forward a bit to look at Rowan. “You messed up your stance, so I went in, thinking I could hit you before you fixed your stance, but then you beat me anyways.”
“I messed up on purpose. Getting past your shield the normal way wasn’t working, so I gave you an opening in order to create an opening of my own. There was an opening for you to take advantage of; it’s just that I knew what you were going to do since I’m the one who created it in the first place.”
Droon let out a low groan of frustration. “Even with an opening, I couldn’t win. Great.”
Rowan scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Don’t look at it like that. Yes, there was an opening, but it wasn’t a normal opening.”
“What do you mean?”
“A normal opening is a hole left in your opponent’s guard or stance that you can take advantage of, right?”
“Technically, yes,” Droon replied. “To be precise, it’s actually a moment in the battle in which you can seize control of the flow of combat, turning the situation from neutral into an advantage state in which you are the one in control.”
