Two templars flanked the twin doors to the rune forge. As Galyan's party approached, the one on the right shifted his position to block the doorway.
"Mages are restricted to the left door," he said.
"Yes, yes," Galyan acknowledged. "I've been here before."
"Of course, senior enchanter," the templar replied civilly. "Do you plan to accompany your apprentices past this point? The overseer is out at the moment, so I cannot allow unattended apprentices to enter."
"I'll be with them today, yes," Galyan said. "This is their first day in the forge, so I thought I'd give them the tour before we begin. Is there a full house this morning?"
"You're the first to arrive," said the templar. "I've never seen the forge so deserted, but I suppose the last few days have been trying. Please be sure to explain why the right door is forbidden."
"Of course, ser templar," Galyan said, shaking his head at the courtesy they encountered. Inside the White Spire proper, it would have been unthinkable. Mages were a commodity, and gracious behavior made as much sense as bowing at the arrival of a bale of wool. In the rune forge, things were different. Here, mages made money for the Circle and the templars who guarded it. Money that bought their lyrium. Here, templars remembered why they needed to protect their charges. Few motivations were as powerful as self-interest.
"We're standing outside the rune forge," Galyan said to his apprentices. "This is where the Circle makes enchanted items, which provide the Circle with its wealth."
"Is the Circle wealthy?" Evard asked.
"I've always had enough to eat," Galyan said. "Even during times of famine, the Circle has always been able to feed itself and provide for the templars stationed here. Few communities in Orlais can say the same. We haven't had much in the way of luxuries recently, but I remember a time when adult mages had wine with every dinner, and each mage was granted an allowance to spend on excursions outside the tower." He eyed the templars warily before continuing. "Of course, civil unrest in the capital at the moment prevents us from leaving the grounds, making an allowance unnecessary, but I have every reason to believe that once things stabilize, our leaders will reevaluate the situation and act as their wisdom directs."
He was satisfied with that answer. He hoped the templars would be, too.
"The rune forge has two doors," he continued. "Mages use the left door only. Tranquil may use either, but most of the time, they use the right. There are always two or more templars here to direct you, but you should never, under any circumstances, open the right door. It leads into the lyrium smithy, and raw lyrium is deadly to those with magical talent. Both doors lead to the same place, but open on different floors. The left door opens onto a kind of gallery. Everything that happens below is visible through the gratings in the floor, so you aren't missing out on anything. There are no secrets here save recipes, and you'll be privy to those soon enough. What can you tell me about lyrium, Evard?"
"It's a metal, Master Regalyan," the boy answered. "The dwarves mine it."
"That's right," Galyan said. He did not expect a more detailed answer from a boy of twelve. "The dwarves mine it, and only dwarves or Tranquil can handle it in its raw form. They're immune to the worst of its effects, but if non-Tranquil humans or elves are exposed to it, they go mad. The dwarves of Orzammar process it into an alloy that's safer for mundanes to handle before it arrives here, but even processed lyrium will kill mages outright, so we divide the workroom into two areas to prevent mages from accidentally coming in contact with it."
"What's in lyrium to make it so poisonous," Stephanie asked.
"It isn't so much what's in it as what it is," Galyan said. "It's magic in its raw form, an unshielded channel to the Fade. Dwarves and the Tranquil have no connection to the Fade, so lyrium has less of an effect on them, but beings who are more attuned - humans and elves, and especially mages - experience a dangerous and potentially lethal reaction to it. They seem to exist between worlds, unable to differentiate between reality and the dream realm. Mages become so disconnected from either world that they die instantly. There is no cure for lyrium poisoning."
"Have you ever encountered a case of lyrium poisoning?" Kerian asked.
"Twice," Galyan said. The first time, one of the Tranquil was folding the processed ore into a rune blank - we'll observe that step in a moment - when a flaw in the ore caused a sliver to break off and fly into the woman's eye. She was Tranquil, but even they cannot tolerate direct introduction to the blood. You might think a mad Tranquil might be a curious thing to behold, but you would be wrong. She withdrew into her mind, speaking to no one and taking no food or water. She survived only four days. I did not witness the first incident personally, but I was a newly-Harrowed mage at the time and serving my first posting in the infirmary. I tended her before she slipped away. I was present at the time of the second accident. A formari mage - a craftsman of the Circle - allowed himself to become distracted and failed to secure the rune blank he was working with before striking it with the tracing. Worse luck, he failed to direct his spell properly, so the rune blank shot off the bench and went down the overseer's tunic. Rune blanks are coated in wax to prevent accidents, but the impact cracked the coating, and the overseer was exposed. He screamed once, stared into infinity for a moment and fell dead on the spot. Which is why we will exercise caution at all times and secure our work before gathering our supplies to begin. You'll see in a moment."
He placed his hand on the door latch.
"The left door opens to the galleries on the ground floor," he said. "The lyrium smithy is housed in a kind of cellar below, but the floor between them is made up of iron gratings to allow visual and verbal communication between floors. Ages ago, I'm told that the floor was wooden, but the mages who enchanted the runes were curious about what transpired in the smity. They kept trying to bypass the templars at the door to steal in and have a look around. After a few tragic accidents, it was decided that the best way to prevent more fatalities was to remove the mystery. They replaced the wooden floor with gratings, and now, nothing is hidden. It had a secondary benefit. Lyrium releases vapors while it's being worked. The Tranquil gain neither benefit nor harm from them, but to mages, it's like drinking a lyrium potion -"
"To templars, too," the chattier of the two templars interrupted. "This post may not be the warmest in the White spire, but it does have its perks."
"What use is lyrium to a templar?" Stephanie asked him.
"It gives us the ability to neutralize your magic," the templar said, then turned his helmeted head toward Galyan. "Care to give them a demonstration?"
"Ah… I'm rather out of favor with your Lord Seeker at the moment," he said. "I'm reluctant to incur his wrath through unauthorized spell-casting."
"I'm Knight-Lieutenant Vanard," the templar said. "I authorize you to create a glow sphere. For educational purposes. Why don't you set it on top of that hitching post in the yard? It's far enough away so you won't catch the backlash."
"Thank you, Knight-Lieutenant!" Galyan said, surprised at the templar's willingness to participate in non-essential communication. "I'll need all of you to keep back. Templar abilities disrupt mana. If you're caught in the area of effect, it's rather disorienting."
He conjured the glowing ball of light on the specified post, making it red so it would be more visible in the mid-morning sunlight and waited for the templar to dispel it. The templar braced himself dramatically, posing as if he were about to sprint across the yard, and thrust his gauntleted palm toward the orb of light.
"Hnnf!" the templar exclaimed. The light flared briefly before winking out of existence.
"And that's that," he said, assuming a more natural posture.
"That's it?" Evard remarked dismissively.
The templar removed his helmet and stuffed it under his arm. He was younger than Galyan expected, only few years past twenty. He was not an ugly man, exactly, but his lean face and narrow jaw gave him a rather vulpine appearance which was not offset by the shaggy ginger hair that stood out from his head in all directions. Something about his face was familiar, but Galyan could not identify what it was.
"It may not look like much," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said, "but you have to understand what you just saw: a mundane negating the spell of a powerful senior enchanter."
"Powerful?" Evard snorted. "Master 'Galyan? You must be new here!"
"That's enough out of you!" Kerian interjected, clamping a hand over Evard's mouth and pulling him away from the templar, her ivory cheeks flushed scarlet. "I'm sure he meant to thank you for the demonstration, Knight-Lieutenant."
The templar laughed, his face softening into affability.
"I am new here, as a matter of fact," he said, blushing more violently than Kerian. "Or newer than most of the templars stationed here. I came down from Kirkwall about two years ago. But I'm sure he intends no disrespect to your mentor, miss. And the spell I requested was no test of ability."
"Kirkwall, you say?" Galyan asked. "Any relation to the Hightown Vanards?"
"Y-yes, senior," he stammered, looking at his boots.
"I apologize if I've caused offense," Galyan said. "Mattie Vanard was a playmate of mine when I was a boy. I meant only to enquire after her well being."
"She's well," Knight-Lieutenant Vanard said, exhaling with relief. "She is my cousin, as a matter of fact. She's married, of course, and the mother of three daughters. Forgive my evasive answer. My uncle's family suffered an unfortunate reversal of fortune recently in connection with my cousin, Mattie's youngest brother. You would probably not know him. He would have been very young indeed when you joined the Circle, if he was even born. Fortunately, Mattie was already married by that point and unaffected. Shall I give her your regards in my next letter?"
Galyan weighed that thought for a moment. He was being offered the opportunity to connect with a childhood playmate and through her, perhaps with his family, but would they welcome the contact? His mother would want to know that he was alive and healthy - he still had all his teeth, and his hair - but he was still a mage. If she had felt any shame at bearing a son with magic, she had hidden it from him, but he was sent to a Circle far removed from Kirkwall at her insistence. She said that she was trying to protect him, but in twenty-five years, she had never written to him or asked about him. She would not have forgotten her youngest child… but would she want to if she could?
"Thank you for the offer, but I should probably decline," he said. "You would not happen to know if Reyline D'Marcall is still alive, perchance? Or any others of that family?"
"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the name," the templar said, his eyes drifting to Kerian's face. "My father married into a lesser house, although he may still have friends among the nobility. Shall I ask him?"
"No, thank you. Perhaps it's best to leave the past where it belongs."
"I'm cold," Evard complained.
"Thank you for the lesson, Knight-Lieutenant Vanard," Galyan said, "but I should probably take my apprentices out of the wind. We have a full day of crafting ahead, and I don't want them distracted by sniffles."
"Maker guide you," the templar said formally. He glanced once more at Kerian before lifting his helmet into its more usual position.
Galyan opened the door and ushered his apprentices into the warm darkness.
"You have an admirer," he whispered to Kerian as she passed.
"He was just being polite," she insisted. Galyan let it go. He decided that he liked this Knight-Lieutenant Vanard, but it was not a relationship he wished to encourage. The young man seemed more respectful than any templar he had met in recent years, but he would not trust him alone with the girl.
The rune forge was dark compared to the sunny brilliance of the courtyard, windowless and lit only by low oil lamps, and it took their eyes several moments to adjust. It was also oppressively hot.
They stood on a fine metal grating supported by stout wooden beams set into the stone. They could not go far before they were confronted by a set of iron bars that stretched from floor to ceiling. The fence was pierced by a gate tied closed with a vivid yellow strap, but Galyan did not reach for it. Instead, he gestured to the view between their feet. The room below them was more brightly lit, both by the orange light of the furnaces and the blue glow from the lyrium. Grey-aproned Tranquil moved between forge and anvil, and the blows of their hammers echoed in the stone chamber.
Once Galyan's eyes were fully acclimated to the dim light, he began to point out the smithy's features to his apprentices.
"As you can see, there are the stairs leading up to the courtyard down and to the right. There is no part of the smithy that you can't see from above. Further along the wall, you can see the crates of processed ore. They're small, but incredibly heavy. Each of them weighs almost as much as Evard, and is worth more than any of us will see in our lifetimes."
"How much, exactly?" Stephanie asked.
"The Circle pays sixty sovereigns for each crate of processed ore," Galyan said. "They're worth ten times that amount to the Carta - a dwarven crime guild - but you don't want to get involved with those people. And there, you can see a Tranquil smith scoop lyrium dust into a crucible. The crucible is heated to melt the dust and some of the impurities are burned away. After that, they pour the molten ore into molds to make ingots. You can see the spare molds on the racks near the furnace."
"I expected them to be bigger," Evard observed. The ingots were about the size of acorns.
"Runes aren't very large," Galyan said. "Each ingot makes four rune blanks, but the ore has to be alloyed before the blanks are cut. To our left, you can see a smith working an ingot."
"Where?" Kerian asked. "I can't see."
"There, just to the right of the pillar. The tall, dark-haired man."
Galyan studied the smith more intently. He was bent over his work, his broad, pale back shirtless in the heat of the forge. He straightened to speak to another and Galyan was able to see his face. It was Gabriel, his handsome features expressionless and the brand fresh and raw-looking on his forehead. The intake of Galyan's breath was audible.
"Is something wrong, master?" Kerian asked.
"No, just a passing shiver," he said as casually as he could. "The chill of the courtyard leaving, that's all."
"But you will tell me if you start to feel unwell?" she asked.
"Of course," he lied. "And it seems we aren't the only new formari in Master Dunne's care. Today is that man's first day, too."
"I thought the formari were mages," Stephanie said.
"They are," Galyan replied. "A formari is any mage who crafts for the Circle, regardless of their ability to cast spells. The Tranquil are still mages and they're still part of the Circle, even if their link to the Fade has been severed."
"But they aren't even people anymore!" Stephanie retorted in a voice far too loud for an enclosed, stone-walled space. Every head in the smithy lifted to see who was speaking.
"Never say that again in my presence!" Galyan said quietly, but sternly, involuntarily looming over his apprentice. He made a conscious effort to avoid intimidation in his teaching, but the entry vestibule was not large, and the subject of Tranquility was a poignant one for any enchanter with apprentices. "The Tranquil are different from mages, just as one mage is different from another. They have been stripped of their emotions, but you must be out of touch with yours to say such a callous, insensitive thing."
"I meant only…" Stephanie withdrew, shrinking away from her mentor's disapproval.
"I know what you meant," Galyan said, more calmly. "And now you must learn my meaning. Courtesy is not for the benefit of the listener, apprentice. It serves the speaker and preserves our humanity. Without it, we're no better than beasts, or the weapons the Chantry takes us for. They place little value on our lives as it is. I will not have you cheapen us further by belittling a cherished part of our brethren. Each Tranquil mage is someone's friend, someone's former apprentice. That bond is not severed with their connection to the Fade."
"How strong is your bond with Adelais?" Stephanie countered, growing defiant in the face of his continued rebuke.
He hesitated, wavering between renewed anger and profound shame.
"Meet me in the small chapel after dinner, Stephanie," he said carefully. "I seem to have neglected part of your education."
The tableau ended, and the smiths returned to their tasks. Galyan exhaled, willing his nausea to subside. His confrontation with Stephanie had roused his temper. He could feel the poison of his wounds pumping through his veins with every heartbeat. Blood brings cleansing, he thought, and prayed that the exertion spread healing rather than contagion.
"As I was saying," he attempted to resume the interrupted tour, "the ingots are refined further by the smith. They are beaten into disks and enriched with magically sensitive substances such as silverite dust. The lyrium is folded over the inclusions and beaten again, incorporating the additions into the rune matrix. The process is repeated until a homogenous mixture is attained. At that point, the disk is cut into four pieces and each is shaped into an individual rune blank."
He gestured toward a set of shelves beside the door.
"Before we go any further into the forge, we need to put on some protective gear," he said. "No one passes through the gate unless they're wearing gloves and an apron. The smaller sizes are on the bottom shelves, and the larger sizes are on the top."
He donned an apron and a pair of supple leather gloves and waited until his apprentices were similarly attired. The fitting was protracted because the gloves Evard selected were comically large and had to be exchanged for a smaller pair. Galyan had to stifle a laugh, remembering how eager he was at Evard's age to assume responsibilities too big for him. The distraction did calm him, however. He had not realized how deeply his confrontation with Stephanie had upset him until he tried to recover from it.
Once everyone was fitted appropriately, he opened the gate and led them across the floor to a group of clustered workbenches. Cauldrons of brilliantly colored liquid were positioned below them. The smell of wax was strong in the air.
"This is the coating area," he said. "Naked rune blanks are just as dangerous as raw lyrium, so they are coated with molten wax and allowed to cool. The cooled, coated blanks are placed in a basket and raised to the workshop area."
He selected a wax-covered rune blank from a bin and held it up for their inspection.
"Each color represents a different grade of rune," he said. "Novice runes are coated in blue wax, journeyman in yellow, expert in red, and master in green. Conveniently, the colors match the piping on our robes. You are all apprentices, novices to rune crafting, so you will be using blue-coated blanks. You must be absolutely certain that you examine each blank carefully before you touch it. If the coating is chipped, cracked, or imperfect in any way, do not touch it. Cover the basket with its lid and call me, Master Dunne, or another formari immediately. If all are engaged, call a Tranquil. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ser," Evard and Kerian said promptly.
"Do you understand, Steph?" Galyan asked, bending to peer at her face. "Lyrium is dangerous, and you are all very dear to me."
She looked away.
He took a step closer and began to reach for her elbows before he remembered that even casual touch distressed her.
"I'm sorry I made light of your feelings, Steph," he said gently. "I know you have a good heart, and I was wrong to imply otherwise. That's why I care about you so much, and that's why I want you to be safe. We will talk this evening, just you and me, and you can say whatever's on your mind, but we're learning crafting right now. Do you want to join us, or would you rather be excused for today?"
"And it's alright with you if I say I want to leave?" she asked, raising her eyes to his face.
"I want you to be safe," he said. "If you're upset and I can't make it right, you shouldn't be here. Tomorrow is another day."
Inexplicably she grinned.
"Then I'll stay," she said, releasing him and pushing her hair out of her eyes.
He smiled at her volatility and allowed himself to relax. Including Janelle, he had mentored fifteen apprentices since his Harrowing. Each apprentice was unique, and the memory of each would stay with him always, but none had ever exhibited Stephanie's changeable moods. She reminded him of Cassandra in that, but that memory, at least, caused him no pain.
"Very well," he said. "Let's inform Master Dunne that we're here. He's the senior enchanter in charge of rune crafting, and you will refer to him as Master Dunne even though he is not your mentor."
"Is that usual, ser?" Kerian asked.
"It used to be," Galyan said. "The senior who headed each department was styled Master or Mistress So-And-So, but that hasn't been common practice since First Enchanter Edmonde was an apprentice. Even then, if you called Mistress Aislin that, she'd have you scrubbing bedpans before you got through her given name. She only lets me get away with it because I was her apprentice, back when rocks were soft. Master Dunne is more traditional and prefers more formal nomenclature."
"I should have been more precise," Kerian said. "I meant, is it usual that you should have to inform him of our arrival? We're the only ones here."
"Ah, I see," Galyan said. "Forge rules state that no mage may begin work without first informing the Master Runecrafter of his or her arrival. In the afternoons, that's usually only a matter of waving to him across the forge, but he spends his mornings doing paperwork. Come we'll find him in his office at the back of the forge."
"We could wait here," Kerian said.
"Not a chance," Galyan said. "No apprentices in the forge unless an enchanter is present. House rules."
"Since when have you been such an enthusiast for rules?" Kerian whispered as they wove their way between the workbenches.
"Since we entered a building which houses enough lyrium to kill every mage in Thedas," Galyan said. "Besides, I want to introduce you personally."
Galyan paused as he crossed the threshold into Master Dunne's sanctuary, unsure what he would find, but time stood still in the rune forge, it seemed. Galyan had aged in the twenty-five years since his first visit, becoming more weathered, more scarred, and more gaunt, but Master Dunne had not. His hair was just as black as it had always been, and his eyes were just as blue. His skin was just as luminous and just as unmarred by line or wrinkle. To all outward appearances, he looked the same at fifty-five as he had at thirty. Nor had he moved in that time, if his quarters were any indication. His charts and scrolls were still filed in tidy racks, and the books stacked beside his crisply-made bed were still arranged according to size and the points of the compass. The only thing even remotely changed about his surroundings was the game board set out on the table under the window. Its patina had faded with use over the years, even if its owner had not.
"How many years has it been this time?" Master Dunne said without preamble in his clipped, strangely monotone voice. He was not Tranquil, but he was not what many would call ordinary, either.
"Eight or nine, I think," Galyan said. "It was before Avril's Harrowing."
"It has been ten years, four months, and three days," Master Dunne informed him. "I protested that Claude was too young to satisfy his crafting requirement. You did not wear a Circle robe on that occasion, but a green tunic that matched your eyes, which is to say that it had faded and grown splotchy over too many washings."
"You always did remember everything," Galyan said. "I'd like to introduce you to my apprentices. We'll be doing a turn in the rune forge, by your leave."
"The boy is too young," Master Dunne said after barely a glance. "I will admit no apprentice who has not attained his twelfth year."
"Evard is twelve years old," Galyan said. "The girls are Stephanie and Kerian."
"Only three this time? Last time, you had six, four boys and two girls. I refused to admit the youngest, and you sent him with another enchanter four years, seven months, and two days later. Very irresponsible of you, and uncivil."
"I had my hands full at the time, Master Dunne," Galyan replied, hoping that Stephanie would not do the math. "I was unwell."
"You had been dosed nigh unto death with poppy juice and smothered with a pillow," Master Dunne said, rendering the math unnecessary. "You were recovering in the infirmary both from the effects of the drug and from the pneumonia you contracted following the assault. You lead an exciting life, Regalyan. The consequence of having disregarded so many of the Chantry's commandments, no doubt."
Galyan cleared his throat, eager to end the interview.
"I've already given them the tour, Runemaster," he said. "With your leave, I'd like them to begin."
"You will accompany them in the afternoons? I no longer admit apprentices unless their mentor is present."
"They will be joining me here," Galyan said. "I've been assigned to the rune forge for the time being. First Enchanter Edmonde said that he'd have a word with you."
"Have you now! Your arrival has preceded the First Enchanter's. Now leave me. It is time for my morning devotions."
Galyan bowed and led his apprentices from the office.
"Well, he seems to be a few templars short of an Exalted March," Stephanie said once the door was closed.
"He's eccentric," Galyan said more diplomatically. "He is very particular and very precise, and I would not advise challenging him to a game of chess."
"It sounds as if you two have a history," Kerian observed.
"Of course," Galyan said. "We're both senior enchanters. We've known each other for a long time. He seldom leaves the rune forge, even for meals, so you will probably not have seen him."
"A romantic history," she said in a softer voice.
"Oh, no," Galyan said, shaking his head at her temerity. "That is not a conversation I will have with my apprentice."
She stammered something that sounded like an apology, her lower lip trembling.
"There's nothing wrong with curiosity, Kerian, but as close as the four of us are, some things must remain private. But, just this once, I will elaborate by saying that when you come back here in several years with your first apprentice, Master Dunne will tell you precisely how long it has been since the last time he has seen you and what you were wearing at the time. And your apprentice will probably ask you the same questions that you're asking me. Now, if your curiosity is sated, let's proceed to the workbenches. Pick four together. I don't want to have to sprint between benches if one of you drops a rune blank."
To Galyan's relief, they chose some benches near the gate, as far from Master Dunne's office as possible. He did not dislike the master runecrafter, but even after an acquaintance of twenty-five years, he was no more at ease with the man's idiosyncrasies than Kerian was.
Once they were settled, he selected a yellow-coated rune from the basket of blanks and held it up for his apprentices to see.
"If I drop this rune blank, it's gone," he said. "I don't try to catch it in my hand. I don't try to catch it in my apron. I don't try to bounce it with my knee or my foot or any other part of my body. I let it hit the floor. The grating will catch it. That's what it's supposed to do."
He spent the next quarter hour going over preparation: placing the rune blank in the depression carved into the bench, securing the cover that would prevent it from slipping, and selecting the appropriate rune tracing. Periodically, he would stop the lecture to quiz them on previous steps, returning to safety precautions again and again. The rules of the rune forge provided redundancy such as the need for wearing gloves while handling a wax-coated rune blank, but with the consequence of error as grim as it was, excessive caution was impossible. Galyan had never lost an apprentice to the rune forge, but Alte had, and after helping his friend learn to live with the guilt, he was certain he never wanted to endure it himself.
"The raised silverite blades of the rune tracing will pierce the wax and transmit the energy of the spell into the lyrium matrix," he said, "but it needs an etching agent to achieve permanence. Each apprentice takes a turn making etching agent, but for now, we'll use some other apprentices have prepared."
"Are these the recipes you were talking about?" Kerian asked.
"Yes," Galyan said. "The recipes are straightforward and the preparation is as simple as mixing two parts of reagent A with five parts of reagent B, so we will not be spending any time on that until it's your turn to make a batch. For now, the important thing to remember is not to get any of the etching agent on your skin."
"Is it poison?" Evard asked.
"Some of them do contain acid, but that isn't the biggest hazard. Etching agent is made of magically sensitive materials, and they may act like potions on the body, especially if you've got it on your hands when you stop for lunch."
"Potions are worse than acid?" Evard was skeptical. "Since when?"
"There are potions that can strip you of mana completely," Galyan said. "Some also prevent magical effects, which would probably not be an issue, except that they are usually administered on the edge of a blade. A wounded mage who cannot cast spells and cannot be healed is in dire straits indeed. We won't be working with anything like that here. And then there's orichalcum, which we will work with nearly every day. It's a liquid metal like lyrium, but it has none of lyrium's lethal properties. It mixes freely with water, so if you get some on your hands, you won't die, but that doesn't mean it won't have unpleasant effects."
"What kind of effects?" Evard was nothing if not persistent, especially when the potential for mayhem was present. Galyan made a note to himself to watch the boy.
"It's been known to stir ill-advised passions," he said. "And it's potent. One drop in a pitcher of wine will give everyone who drinks it a wretchedly uncomfortable night."
"What kind of passions?" Evard pushed his luck.
"The kind you think about when you're trying to get to sleep," Galyan said as obliquely as he could. "And that is absolutely the last I will say about that. If you have any further questions about it, see me after lunch. I'm sure I can find something more productive to occupy your mind. Now, are we going to make a rune or not?"
He did not wait for them to answer.
"Defensive spells are my forte," he said, "so I've selected an armor rune tracing. I check to be sure that the cover is in place over the rune blank and that the latch is secure, then I center the rune tracing in the hole in the cover. You will notice that the knob on the rune tracing is the same size and shape as the hole? That makes it easier. I press down gently on the knob as the tracing bites into the wax. When I feel resistance, the tracing is seated. We're ready to cast a spell. Mage Armor, I think, to make an armor rune. Usually, if I were casting Mage Armor for defensive purposes, I'd focus my will and cast the spell on myself, but in this case, I'm going to cast it on the rune blank."
Galyan cast the spell.
"I didn't see anything," Kerian said. "Shouldn't there be some kind of nimbus around it or something?"
"No," Galyan said, "because all of the energy from the spell was directed into the rune."
He tapped the wooden knob that had formerly provided a handle for the rune tracing and it toppled, rolling across the workbench. The silverite foil of the tracing had been absorbed by the lyrium.
"Should the knob not come away from the rune immediately, don't force it," he said. "If the tracing is still embedded in the wax or still attached to the knob in any way, the spell failed and you need to recoat the rune. What do you think you should do if that happens?"
"Call you?" Stephanie suggested.
"Precisely," he said. "Sometimes, a more advanced caster can save a rune by repeating the final steps, but more often, the rune blank needs to be melted down to start again. I'm not worried about that with you three. That usually happens when mages are afraid of the spells they're casting, and you three are more confident than that."
Galyan lifted the cover and removed the new rune from the recessed well. He held it aloft and broke the wax that contained the rune. The apprentices gasped, but grey metal glinted back at them.
"If you are certain that the spell took, you must remove the wax from the rune," he said. "You're still wearing gloves and will continue to do so, but once the spell is set and the rune is finished, even mages can handle the rune without harm. We break off the wax to avoid confusing completed runes from rune blanks. Finished runes are sorted by grade and type in those bins over there."
"Can I see?" Evard asked eagerly at the same moment as Stephanie asked, "What's a finished rune worth?"
"By itself, not a lot," Galyan said. "Depending on the grade and the rarity of the spell used to create it, between five silver and two sovereigns. The most anyone has paid for a rune I've made has been fifty silver. It doesn't become valuable until it's set into a weapon or armor."
"Will you be teaching us how to do that?" Stephanie asked.
"Not I!" Galyan chuckled. "Nor can any mage learn that skill. Setting runes is as much of an art as manufacturing the rune blanks, and like the rune blanks, only Tranquil or dwarves can do it. They use raw, liquid lyrium to provide adhesion. Why are you so interested in coin all of a sudden? Were you thinking about going into business?"
"No," Stephanie said, "it's just that Mother Charise is always harping on how expensive we are to keep and how gracious the Chantry is to shelter us despite the magic that damns our souls."
"Mother Charise has been saying that since I was an apprentice," Galyan said. "You could present her with a ledger and she would continue to say the same thing. She believes that the people of Val Royeaux empty their coffers into the Chantry donation box every rent day, and that the pittance we provide is not enough to put robes on our backs."
"Do they? The people of Val Royeaux, I mean."
"I don't know," Galyan said. "I've always attended services in the Circle chantry, but I don't see how that could be possible. Your average laborer makes five silver a month and needs all of it just to live. Even an apprentice seldom makes less than five runes a day. Even at five silver per rune, that's six sovereigns a month. Since mages are never paid for the runes they make, every copper bit goes to the Chantry. Had Evard not skipped his class on sums, he might tell you where the line is drawn on the balance sheet."
"The average laborer does not have to pay a standing army to leer at him," Stephanie said bitterly.
Galyan's head snapped around at her quiet remark.
"Is someone bothering you?" he asked around the lump in his throat. Of the eight female apprentices he had mentored, three had been molested by templars to varying degrees, including Stephanie herself, and that was three too many.
"No one specific," she said quickly. "Not anymore. But I see how they stare. All of them. They hide behind their helmets and they think we don't notice. Kerian has it even worse. Even the templar outside was gawking at her."
"I know," he sighed. "I wish there was some way I could shield you from that. All of you."
"Would it be any worse outside?" Kerian shrugged. "Soldiers stare at girls in the streets all the time."
"The girls in the streets can say no," Stephanie shot back, annoyance curling at her lips. "And if it goes past staring and the girl can prove it, the soldier gets hanged. Here, they don't even get a reprimand."
"Do they really hang them?" Kerian asked, disbelieving.
"That's what Renee said," Stephanie insisted. "She didn't come here until she was sixteen, and before that, her mother kept a shop in Rue Grandvert. Ask her yourself if you don't believe me."
"What would she know?" Kerian sniffed. "She was an apostate!"
"She's a Harrowed mage now," Galyan said in defense of his former apprentice, "and a good one. None of us had any control over the circumstances which brought us to the Circle - or those which kept us out of it - and we're all equal once we don an apprentice's robe. I intend no disrespect to the Circle when I say that life in Val Royeaux is very different from life within these walls. It is a fact, neither good nor bad. Renee had no reason to lie to you."
"Do we have to talk about this now?" Evard interrupted. "I'm hungry!"
"This is probably a good place to stop," Galyan agreed. "But one last word before we go. If someone - anyone, mage or templar - does something that makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me at once. I know there are evils we can't overcome, but I can exert pressure where you cannot."
He knew as he said it that he had uttered a lie. He would tell First Enchanter Edmonde, and First Enchanter Edmonde would tell him that there was nothing anyone could do, apart from moving the apprentice to a different Circle, but it was the only solace he could offer his apprentices.
Most days, he enjoyed the purpose he found in helping to shape young minds and nurture growth. Most days, he took more pleasure in his role as a mentor than he had ever felt as a scholar. Most days, he found pride in the knowledge that his apprentices sought his counsel and looked to him for guidance and protection. But after his words with Stephanie, both now and earlier, today would not be one of those days.