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TRAS Chapter 110: The Company of Deft Hands
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 06:05:41 +0000 UTCAs he walked through corridors of rooms reserved for visiting nobility, Ailn briefly considered retiring to the barracks instead of the suite prepared for him. His eyes were still throbbing, the pain about as bad as a lingering migraine.
If Ailn had trust issues before, getting burned by Ashton certainly didn’t help. As much as he wished to blame naivete for his failure, however, he’d simply been outsmarted.
“Jewel pollution, huh?” Ailn muttered irritatedly, remembering the teen god’s off-hand advice before he’d been pushed into this world.
‘By the way, if you manifest your eyes on someone who isn't reincarnated, you'll pollute your jewel. Be careful not to shatter it!’
The heir apparent to ark-Chelon was, in all likelihood, not actually a reincarnator. He’d pretended to be one, baiting Ailn with fake tells. Then, once he’d determined Ailn’s intentions, he offered false confirmation, in the form of reincarnator-specific knowledge he’d somehow acquired.
Either Ashton had a reincarnator on his side, or he’d taken a reincarnator’s secrets by force. For all Ailn knew, more than one could be involved.
…Of course, this all went out the window if there were reincarnators with ‘anti-emerald powers.’
“Even I would’ve told you about that, you know,” a familiar voice called, muffled. One of the rooms ahead in the corridor opened up, and the teen god came shuffling backward pulling what looked like a room service cart.
He wore a red surcoat with brass buttons, and rather modern looking pants.
“Is the temp job really necessary?” Ailn asked, eyeing his uniform. “You could’ve just knocked on my door.”
“I do other things than just come visit you,” the teen god shrugged. “Taking care of this world’s a full-time job—”
“What exactly happens if the emerald eyes shatter?” Ailn interrupted. After his recent experience, he didn’t have the patience for divine small talk. “Would that destroy part of the world soul?”
The teen god’s hands fidgeted on the cart’s push bar.
“...Just to be clear, it’s your soul that would shatter first,” the teen god said. He gave a nervous, weedy smile. “So, you’ll want to be careful with that.” He cleared his throat. “You know, like Ashton said. A teaching moment, right? I’d say it was an important lesson.”
Acutely feeling the throb in his eye, Ailn took a deep breath and stifled the urge to throttle his cagey teen employer.
“...Okay then,” Ailn said, his grimace deepening. “What else have you got for me?”
“Well, I just wanted to let you know I’d be around here for a couple of days,” the teen god replied. “There are things I’m… checking out.”
“Do they involve me?” Ailn asked.
“It depends who I find,” the teen god said. Then, seeing the expression on Ailn’s face, he flinched. “I’ll let you know more if I find something important! Promise!”
While Ailn was quietly considering quitting his job, Bea was a few hallways down looking for a place to sleep.
“We gotta hide… just tonight…” Bea said sleepily. It was well past her bedtime. Getting up on her tiptoes, she barely managed to pull the handle open to an empty room.
But after a minute of staring into it, she shook her head.
“Not this one…” Bea said. She gathered up her stuffed animals and walked over to the next room, opening it just the same.
Then she looked inside, her eyes seeming to trace something. With a nod, she brought her stuffed animals along, closed the door behind her, and climbed into the bed.
It had been a long day.
“We need to sleep now, okay?” Bea murmured drowsily, as she tucked Cant, Aristurtle, and Bent Ham into bed. “Or… we’ll be tired tomorrow.”
But there was no one to tuck her in after. So, she slipped into the blankets, clutching her stuffed animals close as she curled up, reminding herself—very sleepily—that finding her father was the best way to make all of her small philosophical friends proud.
“If I’m brave, then Aristurtle says I’ll be virtual…” Bea declared quietly, even as her lids began to get heavy. “And if… I bring papa back, even Cant will say I did a moral duty…” She yawned. “And if… mama and papa are together… then we’ll all be the most happy, Bent Ham…”
Even as she spoke to herself, though, all she could think of was how cold a bed was without her mother’s warmth.
“I hope mama’s okay…” Bea whispered, unable to stop a few tears from slipping out. A tiny hiccup escaped and she hugged her friends tighter, telling herself it was alright—because soon she’d meet the man who’d given her all her friends in the first place.
And then she’d bring him back home.
Outside the room, a few maids came into the corridor pushing a cleaning cart. One of the maids checked a list, as she stared at the room Bea was sleeping in.
“This one’s tomorrow,” she said. Then she pointed at the next room. “It’s that one.”
The two maids pushed the cart in, starting a deep clean of the room which Bea had moments before rejected.
_________________
Despite Bea’s quiet wishes so far from home, Ciel was not okay.
“Ciel, please! I’m beggin’ ye, wait ‘til there’s so much as a speck o’ light out!” Gorwin said, reluctantly blocking her way.
When Iain told his father his theory that Bea stowed away from the knights, Gorwin had reacted skeptically.
Ciel, however, sat in quiet thought for more than a few minutes, her eyes trembling all the while. And eventually, she came to a conclusion: she was certain that Iain was right.
That led to the current situation. None in the village owned a horse, and the nearest town with stables was a day away.
The sun had long set.
“Goin’ down the mountain in the dark’s a fool’s errand. It’s a day’s walk to Smercraig and ye’ll need what strength ye’ve got!” Gorwin desperately reasoned.
Behind him stood the trio of kids, their gazes pleading at Ciel, yet not quite able to look her in the eye. Even though it was ultimately Iain’s responsibility to watch Bea, Johann and Katalin had both convinced him it’d be fine to go for a short swim.
“If I secure a horse in Smercraig by noon, I can reach Calum by tomorrow night,” Ciel said coldly. “I will pay for it myself. Please move.”
“An’ do ye think it’s wise to be carryin’ enough coin for a horse, travelin’ along a mountain’s pass?” Gorwin asked.
“What happens to me is of no consequence—!” Ciel shouted. She cut herself short, her whole body trembling. Then, without another word she brushed past Gorwin.
But Iain stepped in front of her, and finally met her gaze. His eyes were wet with shame and remorse, and his voice shook terribly.
“Miss Ciel, I…” Iain swallowed hard. “I’ve done a right terrible thing, not watchin’ Bea proper. I’m the last boy who should be stoppin’ ye.” He took a shaky breath. “But letting ye go down the mountain now, knowin’ ye’ll likely hurt yerself—that wouldn’t be right either.”
He brought his hands together in a gesture of supplication, and dipped his head. “Please, just rest a few hours ‘til dawn. Bea loves ye—she’d never want to see ye come to harm.”
“S-she’s probably safe with the knights by now, aye?” Katalin jumped in with a stammer. “If ye think on it, a knight could be bringin’ her back by first light.”
Seeing that Ciel was beginning to waver, Gorwin gently placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just think… if somethin’ happened to ye, and Bea had no ma to come back to."
After a long moment’s thought, Ciel merely gave a small nod, her expression faltering before it crumpled.
_________________
The next morning, Camille accompanied Ailn, as she knew Calum fairly well.
The guild hall whose stairwells they were ascending belonged to The Company of Deft Hands—the black marble building with silver arcs and diamond motifs.
Aesthetically, the interior matched the facade. But it was more bustling than Ailn had expected, and as he glanced into the workspaces on every floor, he caught glimpses of the artificers toiling at rows and rows of metal tables.
“The Company of Deft Hands is something of an upstart,” Camille said. “Though the guild owns none of Calum’s mines, its membership contains the majority of Calum’s artificers.”
“Makes sense. But I’m more curious about all the mages running around,” Ailn said.
As if on cue, a man sprinted past them down the stairwell, nearly tripping over his own glyph-covered robe. Count Fleuve’s retinue of mages numbered maybe two dozen total, but even at a glance, Ailn guessed that The Company of Deft Hands alone had well over a hundred.
“This enterprise was established through the reluctant partnership between Calum’s foremost artificers and the Magic Tower,” Camille explained. “Lacking ownership of mines, they wield influence through the near-monopolization of artifact development.”
“Mages are necessary for artificing?” Ailn asked.
“There are a number of more sophisticated artifacts that require a mage to properly operate, yes,” Camille replied.
Among the mages, Ailn counted around twenty elves, a handful of therianthropes, and even a few dwarves. The rest were human.
Every artificer, it seemed, was a dwarf. But mages came in all kinds.
“By contrast, The Miner’s Guild is more or less a false moniker,” Camille said dryly. “It is but the conglomerate of noble houses, who banded together to check the power of the ducal house of ark-Chelon.” Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes seemed rather cold. “They are only the Miner’s Guild insofar as they own the slim majority of the mines.”
They owned the wavy building with the rose-gold coronets. Which meant the august building with the pillars and frieze belonged to the last guild: Calum Trading House.
“Calum Trading House is the oldest and has managed to maintain its supremacy,” Camille went on. “Backed by the ducal house of ark-Chelon itself, they still own the largest plurality of mines, have their fair share of artificers, and have the strongest ties to merchants.”
After a moment’s thought she added, “They also manage the city’s education.”
Now that she mentioned it, didn’t Father Ciecout receive his education in ark-Chelon? Ailn idly wondered how the irascible priest was doing.
Unsurprisingly, in The Company of Deft Hands, hierarchy and workfloor went hand-in-hand. The open workspaces gave way to corridors of rooms, presumably containing offices.
At the top, a mage seated at a reception desk greeted them, the glyphwork on her robes particularly elaborate in their embroidery—at a glance, Ailn guessed they were traced in orichalcum filigree. The shimmering scripts wove across the fabric chaotically like dense gold veins through dark stone.
“Duke eum-Creid, Lady Gren. Your presence is appreciated," she said, her tone a touch too bright and her smile somewhat simpering.
On her desk sat a sleek white stone, perfectly round save for a knob. The knob apparently functioned as a button as well, because she momentarily pressed it. “Havrek, your guests have arrived.”
Havrek’s voice could be heard from the stone. “Please escort them, Nisé.”
“Of course,” Nisé replied. She addressed Ailn and Camille. “Please follow me.”
Havrek, as the head artificer, apparently had half a floor to himself. The other half of the top floor belonged to the senior mage, whose office lay in the opposite direction.
As they walked, Camille saw fit to correct Nisé’s form of address.
“I am not here in the capacity of my father’s house,” Camille informed her. “Dame Camille would be more suitable.”
"Certainly, Dame Camille," the mage replied, her chipper tone unwavering.
Between Camille’s always-serene politeness, and this woman’s ingratiating cheer, Ailn couldn’t help but wonder if there was something about Calum that bred insincerity.
The mage gave off the impression of an overachieving intern stuck at an internship that was more prestigious than interesting. She walked gracefully and kept her hands clasped just a little too demurely—as if she’d be cracking her knuckles otherwise.
“So, is the glyphwork fashion or functionality?” Ailn asked.
“The glyphwork is recapitulation,” Nisé replied, a glimmer of genuine interest entering her voice for the first time as she gracefully lifted her arm, allowing Ailn to examine the sleeve. “If the naked eye could perceive leylines, this is how they’d appear. And what’s more alluring than the natural flow of mana through the land?”
“Didn’t know leylines were a thing,” Ailn shrugged.
And with that little bit of ignorance expressed, all of Nisé’s interest seemed to promptly vanish, her hands resuming their tight clasp in front as she led them through the corridor.
When they entered Havrek’s office, he seemed to be deep in thought, hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at the city through his office’s floor-to-ceiling windows. He slowly turned their way upon hearing their entry.
“Duke eum-Creid. If you will permit me a demonstration,” Havrek said. He was the type to get right to business it seemed. He gestured with his hand to his office’s left wall, which seemed to function as a personal lab.
Along its entire length ran a metal counter, its texture dark and matte. Shelves and shelves of the same material covered the wall, holding miscellaneous artifacts. Was this all adamantine?
They approached, but Havrek signalled for them to stop while still ten feet away. From here, Ailn noticed The Dragon’s Promise sitting on the metal counter in its ringbox.
“Nisé, if you would. Steady, just as before,” Havrek instructed her.
The ring slowly floated out of the box, though Nisé didn’t so much as unclasp her hands. At the same time, an artifact floated off the shelves. At a glance, it almost looked like a fountain pen—Ailn assumed it was the pyrelance.
“And for our safety,” Nisé said, a little too pleasantly, as what looked like four knights’ helmets rose off the shelves as well—the same dark, matte metal. They floated over, for all the observers to don including Nisé herself.
Meanwhile, the pyrelance hovered just under The Dragon’s Promise, both a couple of feet off the wall. A thin beam of white light flickered a few times. Seemingly nothing happened, save for a soft hissing sound—until the tip of the pyrelance began to melt, and promptly cease functioning.
“It seems the ring you’ve brought endures heat beyond even our finest pyrelance’s reach,” Havrek said somberly, as they all removed their helmets. “Nisé, see to the pyrelance.”
Mid-air, the half-melted pyrelance disassembled itself, before its constituent parts dropped into a jar of scrap.
Then, the ring came floating over and dropped promptly into Havrek’s hand. Ailn’s brow furrowed at the sight.
“The tip of the pyrelance was forged from adamantine and mythril both,” Havrek continued. “Yet still, the ring sits perfectly cool.”
“...The heat was powerful enough to melt adamantine?” Camille winced.
Ailn winced too. And both of them stole a glance at the jar of scrap parts, the deformed pyrelance tip still visible. In retrospect their safety precautions seemed a little threadbare.
“Aye. This is beyond what I expected,” Havrek said, turning the ring between his index finger and thumb, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. “Whatever its origin… it is certainly extraordinary.”
He met Ailn with a serious gaze. “Enough to lend weight to extraordinary claims—and to tip the scales in the fray of imperial succession. I do not envy the man who holds it.”
With that, Nisé carefully floated the ring box over so that it landed on Ailn’s palm, still open, whereupon Havrek carefully placed The Dragon’s Promise within. His demeanor subtly relaxed. “I suggest you see to it that the ring is placed in a vault at once. The imperial family has already been informed as to the outcome of our tests.”
“...You mean a courier was already sent galloping,” Ailn probed. “And it’ll take a week for anyone to arrive.”
“I’m afraid not,” Havrek replied. “The imperial family was reached through an echo stone.” He looked somewhat apologetic, as if his hand were forced. “I expect the crown prince should be here by tonight.”
