Arc 9. "Lost (Little) Prince."
Corvis Eralith
I sat behind my desk in my room in the Royal Palace, the light of the day bathing its surface in warm gold.
The large window behind my bed was open, and a pleasant gust of fresh wind entered, making the curtains flutter like pale ghosts. Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of Zestier, it was a peaceful morning.
The first thing I did when I was freed from the Royal Hospital was using REmould. I pressed my left hand against the stump of my right wrist, closed my eyes, and tried to shape a new hand from the raw material of my existence.
I concentrated until sweat beaded on my forehead, until my core ached, until the room seemed to spin around me. Nothing happened.
For reasons Fate did not see fit to explain—no wave of Insight from the river, no hint of why the Arbiter's power over Vivum could not restore what I had lost—the magic would not work.
So I had retreated to my room.
With my first plan failed, I relied now on Avicenna's wisdom. I held the Vaultlamp in my hands and I reached out with my mind.
Avicenna, I called. Did the folk of calm currents have prosthetics? A way to replace lost limbs?
'I will not comment on the dark nature of this question, Justiciar, for I worry what might have happened to you to ask it.' The Djinn's voice was gentle, almost tender. 'But Djinnkind... no, we did not have replacements for lost limbs. A shame, truly. But that had to do with the philosophy of my people.'
You mean seeking Insight with the mind rather than the body? I asked. The novel had mentioned how the Djinn, unable to achieve communion with aether through their bodies like the Dragons, had sought a kind of asceticism.
They had turned inward, seeking understanding through meditation and study rather than physical prowess.
'That is correct. However, we still had artificial limbs,' Avicenna said.
I frowned, confusion threading through the fog of my thoughts. That is exactly what I asked... I do not understand what you meant before.
'Oh, then I apologize, Justiciar. I thought you wanted a real replacement. One that would be like your hand: functioning, feeling, alive.'
What is the difference?
'Magic, Justiciar.' Avicenna's voice was patient, as if he were explaining something to a child who was trying very hard to understand. 'An artificial limb does not have mana channels or mana veins. Even when crafted with materials used in Manatech, it remains lesser than a body. It cannot channel magic. It cannot grow. It cannot heal.'
I stared at the stump of my wrist, at the bandages wrapped around the raw flesh, at the place where my hand should have been. I had not thought about that detail.
I had been too focused on Earth anatomy, on the memories of a world where limbs could be replaced with metal and plastic, where function was the only goal.
I had forgotten the great difference between this world and Earth: mana.
I suppose that is also the reason why artificial mana cores do not exist, I said.
'Exactly.' Avicenna's voice was heavy with centuries of resignation. 'Despite centuries of Manatech and Aetherology, never were we able to match the greatness of Mordain when it came to mana. That was also the reason, I fear, why my people were never a match for the Asuras.'
Mordain? I asked, latching onto the name. You considered the sun the god of nature as well?
'Mordain was a god of many things, Justiciar.' Avicenna's voice took on a reverent tone, the tone of someone speaking of something sacred. 'The god of the sun was merely the most superficial aspect. He was the giver of life, the caretaker of nature, the symbol of Peace—and many, many more.'
I sat in silence, turning his words over in my mind.
Were we sure that Mordain the sun and Mordain the Phoenix were truly two different beings? When I had asked Soleil, she had told me that Mordain Asclepius had revealed to her that he had taken his name—Mordain—after the god of the Djinn, changing it from a previous, unknown, one.
But Mordain Asclepius must have been older than the folk of calm currents. Damn, Soleil herself was older than Djinnic civilization—she had told me that much herself. So what was the truth behind the name?
I shook my head, filing the question away for later. There would be time for mysteries. Right now, I needed solutions.
So, I continued, could you tell me about these artificial limbs?
'With great pleasure, Justiciar,' Avicenna replied. And so he began to explain.
—
"Grandpa!" I called as I walked through the white corridors of the Royal Palace, my voice echoing off the stone walls. "I need your help!"
Servants stepped aside as I passed, bowing, murmuring greetings that I did not hear. Berna padded behind me, her claws clicking on the marble floor, her presence a steady warmth at my back.
I eventually arrived at Grandpa's study, the door slightly ajar, and I pushed it open without knocking.
The former king of Elenoir was speaking with someone. An old dwarf with a grey beard and one good eye, his hands folded on his lap, his posture relaxed, but alert. Elder Rahdeas.
What was he doing here? The Darffest was not meant to start until the end of autumn, and that would not happen for another month.
"Corvis, kid, what are you doing?" Grandpa asked, his conversation with Elder Rahdeas stopping mid-sentence. The old dwarf turned on his chair to look at me, his one good eye landing on my missing arm. He frowned.
I needed to make an artificial limb as soon as possible. Otherwise, Finn Warend's cover too would begin to crack. With a single glance, Elder Rahdeas seemed to understand.
"I will return later," I said, already turning to leave.
"There is no problem," Elder Rahdeas said, standing up. "I was on my way anyway, Prince. Thank you for the pleasant conversation, Virion."
"Thank you for visiting, Rahdeas," Grandpa waved back.
When the old dwarf left, I sat in the chair he had vacated, facing my grandfather across his cluttered desk.
"What were you and Elder Rahdeas talking about?" I asked.
"Nothing too important," Grandpa said with a casual wave of his hand. "History and diplomacy, mainly."
"Diplomacy?" I asked, my interest piqued.
Did Elder Rahdeas speak to Grandpa about the competition for the Throneholder? That did not make sense. Grandpa knew I was Finn Warend, and I was fairly sure he would not be very positive about what I was doing.
One thing was risking my life in Elenoir or the Beast Glades, where Alea or Aya or even Grandpa himself could come to rescue me.
An entirely other thing was doing so in Darv, where a diplomatic incident unlike any other in the history of the elven and dwarven kingdoms could start if I misstepped.
"Yes. We were planning a peaceful meeting between representatives from all three races for the first time in Dicathian history," Grandpa said.
"First time? Really?" I asked, dumbfounded.
I knew that the relationships between the Dicathian kingdoms were much colder in this world than in the canon timeline, but this cold?
"Yes. The closest thing to such a gathering in recent history was the opening of the Grand Nectary to dwarven commerce. And before that, the Sehz Pact—the commercial alliance between dwarves and humans—some five hundred years ago," Grandpa explained. He waved his hand, dismissing history. "Bah. Stop with the past. What do you need me for?"
"I was thinking of a solution to my... problem," I said, gesturing to my missing hand.
Grandpa's expression softened, his eyes growing tender with a grandfather's love. "Tell me, I am all ears."
"Okay. I need an expert woodcarver and an artisan proficient with metal," I said. Then I slapped my forehead. "I should have asked Elder Rahdeas! Wait here!"
I stood up from the chair and ran, ignoring Grandpa's startled call, chasing after the old dwarf before he could leave the palace.
—
Burim. I had read somewhere that its name was given because of the sound of hammers against the stone of this area of Dicathen.
The second city of Darv welcomed me again with its usual cacophony: the clang of metal, the rumble of machinery, the shouts of merchants hawking their wares.
I followed Elder Rahdeas in the disguise of Finn Warend, careful to hide my right hand, keeping the stump tucked into my sleeve.
As we walked it was clear Elder Rahdeas was the most famous face in this city.
When he passed through the narrow streets of Burim, the crowds seemed to part like water before a ship, making space to let him and his grandnephew pass. I saw the respect in their eyes, the gratitude, the hope.
"Finn Warend for king!" someone shouted.
I turned my head, completely taken aback by the sudden call. A dwarf I had never seen before waved energetically at me, his face split by a wide grin.
"People love their Throneholder," Elder Rahdeas chuckled, his hands folded behind his back.
"You and Olfred have a bad habit of saying things that bring bad luck," I said, keeping my voice low, but the old dwarf heard me nonetheless.
"You believe in Fate, Prince?" Elder Rahdeas asked as we continued to walk.
I gazed at the ceiling of Burim's cave, where hundreds of crystals gave the city its peculiar lighting. For a second, instead of those crystals, I saw the strings of Fate. Instead of the sound of industry, I heard the sound of the river's waves.
"Yes," I said. It was not that I believed in Fate. Fate had made me. Ignoring its existence was folly. "You do not?"
"No," Elder Rahdeas replied. "I believe only that we and the others around us can influence our destiny. And to me, Darv is the perfect example of that."
We took a secondary alley, leaving the main thoroughfare behind. We were going to the Company's headquarters here in Burim so I could have the gears for my artificial hand made.
Grandpa had already asked a woodcarver to craft the hand itself. Now, I only needed the gears that would act as muscles, as tendons, as the mechanism that would bring the dead wood to life.
"Did your master teach you that?" I asked.
"Master Hythlodaeus also did not have a great opinion of Fate," Elder Rahdeas answered. "But I came to this conclusion alone."
Hythlodaeus. The name echoed in my mind, a thread waiting to be pulled. He had not believed in Fate. Did that support or disprove my theory that Rahdeas's master was a Djinn? A thought for later.
We arrived at the forge of the Company. It was a large foundry, the largest I had ever seen, but compared to those in Zestier, even the smallest dwarven forge seemed enormous.
The two races simply worked with completely different materials, most of the time.
If I were here as Corvis Eralith, I would feel quite uncomfortable, longing for the green silence of the Elshire Forest. But as Finn Warend? REmould erased all of my elven instincts. I felt at ease in front of a forge, the heat welcome, the noise familiar.
I ordered the gears to be made while Elder Rahdeas returned to his duties. Then, while I waited for my order to be forged, I entered the Company proper, where the Unravelers prepared for their missions.
"Look who it is!"
As soon as I stepped inside, I was welcomed by the noisy dwarves within. I greeted them politely, keeping my missing hand hidden, answering their questions with practiced ease.
After the novelty of my appearance waned, I was left in peace, and I took the opportunity to explore the building.
The inside was actually quite similar to the Company's headquarters in Zestier. It was the outside that showed the difference—the rough stone, the dark wood, the sense of being carved from the cave itself.
On a wall, I saw a map of Burim, its peculiar circular shape around the portal at its center in full view.
I had never bought a map of Burim, I realized. Now I studied it, committing its details to memory.
Burim was divided into five ringed districts—the Bands—whose count started from the innermost and went up to the fifth, the most external. The Company's headquarters was located in the second Band, the Band of Two, while Beer & Stone was in the fourth.
Wait; Beer & Stone was marked on the map? A pub did not seem like a very useful point of interest for an organization like the Company.
"Finn Warend!" I heard a young voice calling. I turned to see a dwarven boy with long sideburns, who bowed slightly as he approached. "Gilbert Hammerfell at your service. I hope you remember me."
"Oh, yes," I said. "I have not seen you during the other challenges of the competition."
Gilbert of House Hammerfell. I had met him during the Gem Banquet five months ago. He, like the Oreguards, was from a House that had been saved from ruin by Elder Rahdeas. But unlike the Oreguards, he had maintained his noble title.
Gilbert nodded. "Right," he said. "I dropped out of the race for the Throneholder."
He said it like he had not given up a competition that, if won, would make him royalty. Something I had learned was that royalty in Dicathen was somehow a hundred times more important than any royalty had ever been on Earth.
That was because on Earth, there had been hundreds of royal houses across history. In Dicathen? Just three, across more or less two thousand years of recorded history.
"Yes, I understand that might sound shocking," Gilbert said without needing me to prompt him. "But that was for the better. I am much more needed here in Burim. And honestly, I am convinced you will do better than I would have."
"...Thanks," I said.
Gilbert leaned in, looking at the map. "Studying Burim?"
"I wondered why Beer & Stone was marked on the map," I admitted. "I mean, taverns are important and all, but there are plenty of other taverns marked, too."
There were fifteen taverns on the map, one for each sub-sector of the city. Each Band was divided into multiple parts—Wedges, they were called—with the number of Wedges equal to the number of the Band itself.
One for the first Band, two for the second, and so on up to the fifth.
"That is because of your Water Generator!" Gilbert exclaimed, clasping his hands together. "One tavern for every Wedge is tasked with distributing water by the Greysunders themselves. King Dawsid really likes your invention."
If by "likes" he meant "likes taking credit for almost completely resolving the drought problems of Darv," then I agreed. The Water Generators were still expensive, and they required water to start.
But compared to the previous situation? No one died of thirst in Darv's main cities anymore. The Greysunders did not risk revolts as often as before, now that their people did not perish daily from the lack of the most basic necessity.
"I enjoyed talking with you again, Gilbert," I said. "We should do it again sometime."
The dwarven teenager grinned. "It would be my pleasure. Whenever you want."
—
I used REmould—with my left hand—and changed back into Corvis Eralith as I sat in my office in the Zestian headquarters of the Company. It was late. Very late.
The sun had sunk beneath the trees, and those who worked at the Company had left to return home, leaving the usually noisy building totally silent.
Totally still.
Save for me and Berna lying down in her favorite corner to nap. I was probably going to spend the night here, working.
I placed Avicenna's Vaultlamp on the desk, next to the wooden hand—handcrafted with care for me, designed to suit my size—and the gears I had ordered forged in Burim. The only light came from a couple of candles and the blue shine of the Vaultlamp, casting flickering shadows across the walls.
It took many hours of careful, silent night work to craft a satisfactory artificial limb. All work under the scrutiny of Inner Current. I attached the gears to the wooden hand, fitting them into place with painstaking precision.
I used mana to weld the connections, to strengthen the joints, to make the whole thing more than the sum of its parts. The gears would act as ligaments, and mana would act as muscles, flowing through the mechanism and making it move.
Finally, I wore the artificial wooden hand over my stump, securing it to the bone with a lace. The wood felt strange and slightly rough against my skin, the gears heavy on my wrist.
I flexed my arm, testing the fit. It was not perfect, but it was a start.
I did it, Avicenna, I said mentally, exhaustion seeping into my thoughts. I made an artificial hand.
'Good work, Justiciar,' Avicenna said. 'Now try to move it.'
I did as the Djinn instructed. I fed mana into the artificial hand, the way I fed mana into my wand-cane, and I tried to lift a finger.
The gears turned. They creaked, slightly, the sound loud in the silence of the empty building. The finger lifted, slowly, agonizingly slowly, the motion jerky and mechanical. I clicked my tongue in frustration.
But I did not have the technology or the materials to make a prosthetic on the level of Earth. I had wood and metals and the knowledge of a civilization that had been dead for millennia. I had to work with what I had.
I tried to use magic with my newly crafted hand. I formed an empty Bubblespell, calling on Ars Aquamorph.
The little sphere of water magic was conjured immediately, hovering above my palm. But I felt that it was different. I had not cast it so easily because this prosthetic hand was good—I had cast it so easily because I was now a silver core mage.
To prove my theory, I repeated the same spell with my left hand. As I thought, the Bubblespell came sooner, and less unstable. The difference was not the hand. The difference was me.
I looked at the Vaultlamp. "Avicenna," I said aloud, my voice rough from hours of silence. "You know what?"
'Yes, Justiciar?'
"I believe I know what my Lifework is going to be," I declared. I leaned back in my armchair, folding my arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling. "I am going to create true artificial limbs. And I am going to make them as good as a mage's own body at channeling magic."
Avicenna was silent for a long moment, and then I felt his voice warm with something that might have been pride.
'That is a worthy goal, Justiciar,' he said. 'I wish you the best of luck.'
I smiled. It was a small smile, tired and worn, but it was real. I had lost a hand, but alongside it I had also gained a purpose.
A purpose that was scientific, a purpose that didn't have anything to do with saving the world.
A purpose untethered from Fate.