Baneck held Tungstil, his magnificent sword that had cut through a red dragon’s scales without magical assistance, and set it unceremoniously on the Lichner family table in front of him.

“Try as I might, I haven’t been able to carve any of these runes again.”

Nepta quickly answered him, “A mysterious power like Wintermore must have its secrets.  It’s the job of the user to find them out.”

“Well said, pupil,” Powerlave said.  “But remember how he cast the holding spell by the runes on his sword and shield?  His Wintermore magic has ways that are similar and at the same time different than what we’re used to.”

“Is the Mark now hiding from your eyes?” Granholm asked.

“No.  I can still see all of it.”

The old wizard picked up the sword.  “And you can’t recreate these,” he tapped a fingertip on the blade, “as they sit right in front of you?”

Baneck shook his head.  “I tried to carve them again, more than once.  But they hide from me!  Or from my ability to see them!  I etched the steel anyway, and a different mark came out.”  He nodded at another sword, lying broken in two pieces on the table.  “You can see they’re different.  Those new marks were useless.”

He pulled up his shirt, to reveal his tattoo.  “I can’t find the originals in the Mark anymore, either.”

“Then the blessing of Wintermore isn’t without limit,” Granholm said.  “Once you use a rune, you can’t use it again.  You need to find a new rune to do the same job.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.  We carve the same Starpool Chalice runes on weapons all the time.”

“It’s still a different type of magic,” Powerlave said, adding his advice to Granholm’s.  “For wizards, we memorize a spell and cast it.  Then afterward, it’s gone from our memory, and we can only use it after we’ve memorized it again.”

Nepta asked him, “Maybe the memorization rule applies to Wintermore in a different way?”

Her instructor stroked his long beard.  “The runes have hidden themselves.  There are certainly rules that apply to Wintermore, as Granholm said.”

“Then I’m stuck,” Baneck grumbled.

“No,” Powerlave said.  “You want to see something you recognize.  Wintermore has already given that rune to perform that action once, and it’s most likely not going to give it again.”

Nepta looked appalled.  “You’re too rigid in your thinking, teacher.”

“Once Wintermore was named in its place in Creation,” Powerlave elaborated, “only the gods themselves could know what limits were placed on it.  Maybe its power doesn’t even come from the Grand Lattice.”

“But he is named to it,” Nepta cleverly replied.  “In my opinion, a book of spells was written on his skin.  His desires must have some influence on it.”

“Named?!  Ho!  Ho!  Ho!  My dear, he has inherited it.  It’s something that was passed on to him!  If your name was written in the Starpool Chalice Book of Spells, then, ……”

He thought for a moment.  The other three members of the meeting waited for him to finish, but Baneck stared at him most intently.

He looked right at the young smith.  “If her name was written in our Book of Spells, then the magic would know her.  If it knows her, then according to my thought, her will would be known to it.  The thoughts and desires that form in her mind’s eye would move the magic to her whims.

“But this is impossible.  Her name would have to be written in the tapestry of the Lattice, which was woven in the realm of the gods and all that exists.”

“However!”  He snapped, with a fixed glare at all of them.  “This would be a near god-like power, which has no place in the mortal realm.”

Nepta met his gaze.  “There are some with strong magical energies they can summon with just their -.”

“Pfft!  Yes.  But it matters not.  Those gifted curmudgeons are barely controllable conduits of energy, which comes with explosive ends from who knows what source.

“Our wizarding skill takes focus, discipline, and respect, to control the power we’re touching.”

“If you told the magical energy in the former case how to listen to the person,” Nepta asked, “then you would have great power with precision of thought.  Yes?”

Baneck looked at his father.  They had become excluded from the conversation.

“Yes,” Powerlave answered, as he leaned back.  “But, I say again, there would be no need for restraint or discipline.  It would be power to shape the world, by every thought or fickle emotion that came to the bearer’s mind.  And it has no place in this world.”

He stared in front of him, and the fervor slowly started to let itself out of his sails.  “Yes.  The power of naming, in such a case, would shake the very foundation of our lives.  There’s a reason why there are limits to what we can do.  The magic in the glorious Lattice winds around that which is created, as a great tapestry encircling every piece of existence, from the upper planes, to the rocks and plants in our everyday world.  It does not know us; therefore we can’t use it so irresponsibly.”

Nepta, ever thinking and analytical, quickly countered, “Unless, of course, one is calling to the Infinite Maelstrom.”

Powerlave rolled his eyes, and replied, in quite an agitated tone, “Those are primordial energies of an elemental state – – not something organized like the Lattice.  It’s a different power from a different source.”

Baneck bent his head with a sigh.  “The mention of Wintermore is enough to make the ground shake and the walls come tumbling down,” he said, not hiding his frustration.  “If this magic is so great, why is it so weak?!”

Nepta’s eyes flashed.  “Don’t you start feeling sorry for yourself!”

He jumped, recoiling back, as she fairly snapped at him like a striking snake.

All three men stared at her punishing glower.

“Truly, you have no idea of the years of study, the effort of spellcasting, communing with the Lattice and facing of hazards!  It takes years or decades to research a current of Lattice-born energy, and determine its effects – and the risks – of trying to capture it with a written symbol or a spoken word!  And now you complain, after you were able to create powerful rune-magic, just by picking out bits and pieces of the Mark that appeared on your body?!”

The eyes that were always so clear and easy-going held him, unblinking.  “It’s not a weak thing you’ve been given!”

Her outburst added to his frustration, but Baneck stayed quiet, at a loss for a response.

Powerlave stifled a chortle, and adjusted himself in his chair.

Nepta leaned back again, as she took a breath, and in a more civil tone, continued, “I firmly believe you inherited this power for a reason.  Don’t get frustrated over its secrets.  It didn’t come to you so you could have it easy.  An easy battleground does not make a strong warrior.”

She nodded at Tungstil.  “Despite its mysteries, it’s still a part of you.”

“One thing I believe you have on your mind right now is haste,” Powerlave candidly added.  “Try not to let the fear distract you.  Fawnlum will not come to harm waiting for her new sword.”

Baneck looked at him, defensive for a moment, but calmed before replying, “I made Tungstil over a few months,” he evenly answered.

“Back when parts of your tattoo were revealing themselves only with the moonlight, yes?  Now you can see all of it all the time.  Beware the temptation to think the power is obligated to give you anything at all.”

The white-bearded wizard slapped his hands on his knees.  “Well then!” he said as he stood up.  “At the moment, I have someplace else I need to be.  I take my leave of you.  Nepta, I’ll walk you back to your chambers.”

Nepta stood to join him, although Baneck thought he caught a brooding air in her manner.

Baneck motioned to her at the door; and she lingered as Powerlave walked out of earshot.

“You do say the names of spells while you’re casting, right?”

“Sometimes the spells require it.”

“And if the magic really knew your name, would that really be a godlike power?”

She leaned a little closer.  “Personally, I think not.  Everything already has a name to magic.  We just have to know it, if we intend to affect that thing with a spell.

“It’s one of magic’s many mysteries. Well, goodnight.”  Then she stepped out the door and quickly put a spring in her step to catch up to the old wizard.

Baneck slowly closed the door, then walked to the back of the house, gathered his tools, and stepped outside.

“Where are you going?” Granholm asked.

“To the forge.”

On the road back to the school of magic, Nepta broke the silence.

“It’s incredible that Baneck had such easy access to such strong magic before, and now it’s all but shut itself off from him.”

“You’re one of the brightest wizards in a generation, Nepta.  Stop trying to beat about the bush.  You know there are many things at work.  Our school simply represents one method.

“Why, in my travels, I’ve seen spells ranging from the ridiculous to the calamitous.  Baneck needs to think in broader terms, if he’s going to see his way to using the Mark’s magic again.”

“In other words, he needs to know it’s not all about him.”

“Mm,” he said, with a nod.

“I didn’t hear you say that perhaps Felldrake’s spell of revelation altered the Mark, or triggered a guarding mechanism to protect its secrets.”

“There’s no need to add to the lad’s angst.”

“And what about having had this meeting to gauge his disposition?  What are you going to tell King Dregor?”

“That for now, he is no threat, and has no ambition to use his gift in a way that would endanger his countrymen.”