Soranus’s PoV - Aegina - Paláti of Apollo


    Letting the door shut behind him, Soranus walked along each of the four rows of workbenches. At each station, he checked the piece being worked on with a glance. A few he gave instructions for minor corrections, but most he ordered destroyed if he spotted the slightest fault at all.


    When he finally reached Argyro, where she sat at the supervisor’s workbench, he didn’t disturb her but sat and waited. Fatigue from the delicate work of the summoning chamber eating at his bones, he suppressed a sigh and just watched his daughter work. Her focus didn’t shift from the diamond she’d cut and polished into a perfectly symmetrical form. He hadn’t seen her cut it in two, but the same judgement he applied to his work in the chamber told him she had flawlessly executed the work.


    In mirrored patterns, cut by cut, she set the runes into place in the diamond’s interior, working against the rate the embedded Mana would decay from the incomplete runes. Only when each mirror pair was complete was a slight pause allowed without destroying the work. Yet even then she didn’t hesitate and tripped the arms holding them to rotate to the next position starting on the next runes. The last of the journeymen had left for dinner hours before she was finally done. With veins of tiny runes set in place decorating the inside of each half, she exhaled and looked up from the work.


    “Father. How did today go?” asked Argyro, carefully setting her tools back in the desk drawers, and cases.


    The question rubbed against suppressed frustration and his grimace curled his lips. “All the circles and foundation pieces are now marked out. But here is the adamantine shipment they promised me today.”


    Dipping his hand into his apron pocket, he set a single silvery ingot on the workbench’s edge.


    “Perhaps you can use the lack of materials as a valid reason to withdraw from the commission. You should have turned it down, father. I’ve done some research of my own, beyond what the elders told you,” cautioned Argyro.


    “Turn down an opportunity to test the strength of my skill?” sputtered Soranus.


    Argyro shifted her tool case and reached out to rest her hand on his. “Father, this is treading on dangerous ground, and not just for the Prince. We should make sure it doesn’t work.”


    “Is the diamond complete?” Soranus enquired, leaning forward to check the runes, and Argyro blocked sight of it with her hand.


    “Is this for the chamber?”


    “No, it’s not, and apparently keeping you from any involvement with it is now required,” grumbled Soranus suspiciously, fixing his daughter with a fierce look.


    “Father you can’t go-”


    Soranus cut her off, with a cutting motion of his hand that he pulled away from her. “You’ve made enquires, you said. I hope you didn’t speak about the work?”


    “No, I asked about Amdirlain among some travellers. You vented to me about your conversation with the Elders after all—I knew who to ask about,” stated Argyro.


    “What did you find out then that causes you such concern?” asked Soranus and caught the edge of the temper she’d inherited from him in Argyro’ glare.


    The drawers and cases closed up with a series of sharp snapping motions, yet the frustration in the glare she fixed him with went unabated. “She and her followers help people to gain choices. Though I don’t understand why they find slavery offensive, I’ve heard they take risks to free captives, including many that once belonged to Set’s Church. There have been far more accounts of slave caravans going missing since her faith’s establishment.”


    “What, and next you’re going to tell me the destruction of Set was her followers’ doing?” Soranus asked, his sarcastic tone almost caustic.


    Argyro ground her teeth, and Soranus could see his own demanding temper clear as day in her expression. “Father, they seized thousands of Egyptian slaves in a single night and moved them to Eyrarháls. The border of the township suddenly had grain silos standing where none had been before—with Egyptian markings on them. Without a fuss, her followers then took charge of the slaves.”


    “Took charge of? Stole you mean,” argued Soranus. “If those accounts are authentic, her followers are thieves that disregard the rule of law.”


    Argyro huffed in frustration and waved off his argument. “Father, I don’t care about the slaves, though the Norse travellers I spoke with had ridiculous views about their status. Combined with the amount of power required to undertake such a relocation effort, Amdirlain’s followers are apparently closely involved with someone having that power. It wasn’t just slaves seized, they moved complete buildings, including foundations.”


    “Another faction might have undertaken it and arranged for her followers to be burdened with the work. I know there was an Elven Wizard that worked for Eyrarháls’s Jarl. Perhaps the Elves finally did more than waving their lips and claim distress that old treaties are no longer followed,” asserted Soranus. When his daughter’s glare grew hotter, his arms crossed as if bracing himself for his daughter’s next outburst.


    “Potentially over thirty thousand slaves, along with storehouses of food, and grain silos moved in a single night, father. Do you really believe a single Elf could achieve that? Even if it was a gathering of them, then it’s still clear they have some sort of arrangement with Amdirlain’s followers. Followers who provided many wizards that drove off the Sahuagin tide before their attacks came this far east,” snapped Argyro. Her words dropped to a low warning hiss when she took care to ensure they wouldn’t overcome the workshop protections.


    “A single Wizard? Certainly not, unless he’s also an Artificer and spent years preparing. Likely the tale is overblown, and he took advantage of the confusion to steal six hundred, maybe even as low as sixty. Certainly, a single Gate spell would handle shifting sixty about. The way tales grow that is far more likely than a ridiculous claim to have moved thirty thousand in a night.”


    “One traveller I spoke to was a merchant’s guard who had been there. The thirty thousand was at the bottom range of his estimates. He had the look of a Legionnaire scout, one who’d survived hard seasons in the field. It’s what he believed, father; his words didn’t stir any reaction from my truth broach; even when his fellow guards tried to inflate the story, he held firm.”


    “I’ve already accepted the commission, daughter, and I always complete them to the utmost of my skill. Since you’ve objections to the chamber, I’ll not ask you to be involved in the work. There are other things I need to make, and the chamber will take up much of my time. Though if you believe there are those among them with access to greater teleportation magics, I’ll include additional protections against teleportation and planar incursions. The diamond is for linking to a simulacrum.”


    “Why do you need a simulacrum that requires something on this scale?” asked Argyro and motioned to the gem; glad for a reason to set their argument aside.


    “There was a talented earth Wizard and his apprentices that I heard did some work for the priests, perhaps even the Prince himself. Now they’ve moved west, and no one knows where they’ve gone,” remarked Soranus, his snort echoed by his daughter.


    “If you believe he’ll attempt to dispose of you, why did you bother accepting this?” asked Argyro, her voice tight with worry.


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    “Learnt about their disappearance after I accepted. Whether he attempts to kill me is beside the point. I’ve no desire to be in that chamber if the summoning goes wrong. Though truthfully, given the motif of her symbol, most especially if it goes right; if they mess it up, all involved in the summoning will be dead and I’d be able to walk away. However, I’d still like to see what happens. The simulacrum will serve two purposes: first, to allow me to watch from a distance, second, in case he has any other purpose for requesting my attendance. I doubt he’ll look beyond the surface of its appearance in his arrogance.”


    “I’ll make sure it’s perfect then, even if I’d prefer you walk away. Take care you don’t get caught up in your own arrogance, father. Every Priest of Set, lay or not, and thousands of his followers died in a single night. Whether that was the work of Amdirlain’s followers or merely forces they associate with, that isn’t something to disregard.”


    “I will stay well clear on the day I promise,” Soranus declared, placing his hand over his heart.


    “I just hope that is enough, father.”


    “I’ll have my agent contact Duskstone, hopefully that Dwarven white-beard has finished his construct.”


    “There are other challenges you can set your strength of craft against. Perhaps see if you can get out of the commission first father. After all, it’s not your skill in question if the materials just aren’t available, and there are other projects the King wants to be completed. Let the Prince blame others for their failure to gain the materials, and don’t let him know you’re trying yourself,” insisted Argyro.


    Soranus scrubbed his face with both hands and grumbled. “You’re not going to just let this go, are you?”


    “Not a chance, but I won’t take action to endanger you. Outside of bending your ear that is,” teased Argyro, before her look turned concerned. “The seeress saw a bloodstained apron in your future father.”


    “All men die, Argyro.”


    Feeling more tired than when the conversation had started, Soranus headed for his rooms with his daughter’s final warning niggling at the back of his mind. Within his private workroom, he activated a series of runes to project a false image to any scrying. The room secure, he retrieved an old and battered stone ornament of a serpent eating its own tail—an object plain and drab even to Mana Sense. Bracing himself he tapped it on his palm and kept his eyes from the book he could feel resting on his hand. When he set the book upon his desk, he pushed his focus past the runes that tried to drive his attention away and opened the age-greyed tome.


    The first sheet of fine vellum within contained but a single wordy phrase in Draconic.


    A study on the methodologies, benefits, and drawbacks of various phylactery constructions to preserve Souls, and enablement of life after physical death.


    The ancient pages creaked when he carefully opened them to the silk ribbon he had placed within it years prior. Carefully working his way through the pages that followed, he reviewed yet again the materials and rune work required to transform into a Lich.


    * * *


    Soranus carefully rechecked the circle’s line before he shifted, checked it with a tiny spirit level—barely a hand-span wide—seeking any deviation in the floor. A twitch of the bubble drew a frown that had him lift the spirit level. Wiping the metal’s underside methodically, he checked it again. The stability of the bubble this time had him give a pleased nod, and he started marking out the last location for the dimensional shielding.


    “Your report last week said you were done with the marking work. Why aren’t you engraving?” yelled Charilaos.


    The tantrum came within a hair’s breadth of breaking his focus, but Soranus finished setting the rune in place before he lifted his hand away. A slight twitch at the edge of a rune had him lift a cloth and clean an hour’s work from the stone. Shrugging aside Argyro’ warnings that continued to linger in the back of his mind, he turned towards the Prince and surrounded by easily damaged markings, reined his temper in. “The next time you come into this chamber without first asking is the last time I will enter it. Is that clear?”


    Charilaos ground his teeth in a fashion that made Soranus wish he could slap him from half the room away. “You accepted the commission.”


    “My acceptance of your commission included my standard terms, two of which you just broke. Do so again and your coin will be returned as will all the materials. I’ve requests your father would prefer my attention applied to rather than Argyro’ skill,” stated Soranus. Cleaning the marking tool’s nib he doubled checked the pouch strapped over his heart hadn’t shifted with a discrete stretch. A movement that caught the attention of the mousey looking assistant who’d followed Charilaos into the room, her delicate hands dipped lightly into the folds of her robe.


    “Take another step in here and I will walk away. You’ve both crossed three circle’s lines and dozens of runes, now I’ll have to check every one of them.”


    “I had expected progress and you’re back to drawing more runes,” declared Charilaos, the veins pulsing in his neck


    “And I’d expected materials delivered to set at least some runes by now. Since there isn’t a sufficient quantity, the only activity I can progress with is including additional measures so we survive the summoning.”


    “Adamantine arrived yesterday,” growled Charilaos.


    The fit of temper had Soranus change his mind about contacting Duskstone for this project. His next personal projects would be the only ones to benefit from his contacts there.


    “One bar of Adamantine. Perhaps you can come back to scream at me when someone bothers to deliver at least a few hundred more. I will not set up the equipment for smelting and pouring for that pittance of material. Plus, doing the etching too far in advance is asking for trouble, unless you’d like to carve a new chamber if something goes wrong as we could end up with the chamber contaminated. Would you like to discuss with the Wizard who prepared this one about setting up some additional chambers?”


    Charilaos turned his glare towards his assistant, but she didn’t look away from Soranus. “I was told they had fulfilled the order, your Highness.”


    “They delivered a single bar to me. Wherever the supply problem lies isn’t something I’m spending time on. Have someone figure it out, and let me ensure you survive the summoning,” stated Soranus, not taking his gaze from the Prince, deliberately not bothering to show concern for anyone else.


    “I’ll make some enquires your Highness, and ensure this doesn’t reoccur,” the mousey woman said, her expression perfectly composed.


    Taking exaggerated steps that made a mockery of Soranus’ annoyance, Charilaos stalked from the chamber.


    “I’m sorry Artificer Soranus, I was careful to avoid my robes coming in contact with your markings,” the assistant stated, her gaze demurely downcast, but Soranus didn’t bother to reply.


    Instead, his attention returned to the stone cleaned a short time earlier and with steady hands marked the runes again. He possessed no desire to extend any conversation with the Prince’s empty-eyed pet killer. While he’d never learnt her name, that situation wasn’t one he intended to change—ever.


    After he finished, he rose and moved across to where the Prince and his pet had stood. A mark on a rune’s edge set his skin to itching, and he stepped into the circle’s interior. Once settled to the floor, he set about erasing every trace of that circle and three supporting ones closer to the door. Only when the floor they’d crossed and all the connecting runes were clear did he begin again.


    By the time it was re-done an incensed Soranus set various objects in place to deter, with increasing violence, anyone else seeking to enter. The presence of one sets a hungry barrier in the outer corridor. Leaving the Wraiths to settle into the bedrock beyond the chamber’s dedication to Apollo he headed for his rooms. The meal left for him was stone cold, and at nearly midnight he ate it regardless before turning in for the night.


    * * *


    Aches and pains from the extra hours greeted him the next morning and Soranus forced himself upright as the rooster crowed again. In the half-hour, it took for the morning prayers to Apollo to reach their mid-point he was already sitting at his workbench carefully packing a rune shrouded mirror away.


    “Did you waste your contact’s time?” asked Argyro when she came close enough to see him packing it away.


    “I’ve not asked them for anything regarding the chamber, but they’ll start sending deliveries within a month. Make sure no one opens them. Some materials in the shipments will be volatile.”


    Argyro fixed him with a suspicious look for the lack of details, but when he waved her off she tried a different approach. Reaching out she touched a gem set on the desk, and let her expression relax. “He annoyed you, didn’t he?”


    “From mid-afternoon to near midnight wasted because he wanted to chuck a tantrum that I was back adding more symbols.”


    “Are you going to add protections against intrusion?”


    “Already done. Stay clear of it until I’ve completed the etching. The exclusion I’ve applied to block their appetites can’t be extendable to anyone else.”


    Argyro shuddered but didn’t pale this time and Soranus gave her a nod of approval before she spoke up. “I can’t believe you’d place those under a Temple, no matter how far down into the bedrock that chamber sits. What if he visits again?”


    “Then either the situation will resolve itself or I’ll be able to levy a large breach of commission fees. Either way, I’ll have some restitution for my annoyance,” smiled Soranus. “You wanted me to walk away, remember?”


    “Why let a grudge die of old age when you can beat it to death first?”


    Argyro’s rhetorical question caused Soranus’ relaxed smile to turn edged. “He damaged some of my preparations.”


    “Did you warn him at least?”


    “About entering the chamber, indeed I had. As for the protections, no, but they escalate. If he’s too stupid to understand ‘go away’ before he gets to the wraiths, well, it’s not my problem.”


    Argyro gave him a look of disbelief before she sighed. “I’ll send a messenger, father.”


    “Why?” asked Soranus. “Is there someone you wanted dead? His little pet was acting all meek yesterday, I bet she’s hungry for blood.”