Snowflakes danced in the slight breeze, floating gently up and down until they reached their final resting place. One of those places was the tip of my finger. The delicate structure landed on my skin. I observed it, concentrating on the cold sensation that flowed through my veins, keeping my hand cold enough to not melt the small star.
Not within focus but impossible to ignore thanks to the noise, was Blackspire. The castle’s tower upon which I resided overlooked the entire city. With the aviated angle of the dormant black forge volcano serving as the castle’s grounds, I looked over the walls which were in themselves as tall as any mountain. Smooth, seamless, spiraling black stone reached for the sky in terms of buildings, watchtowers, and of course the snaking spires giving the city its name.
I heard the more desperate merchants of the lower districts shouting about their wares, while the further you got to the middle the less the folk needed to compete with one another. With every gate, the crowds grew thinner, the clothing and housing finer, and individuals fatter.
I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining the design I’d been working on for the past week. Every shape, every connecting joint, and every proportion. I opened my palm and let the cold, flowing energy run through my veins and exit in a thin, mist-like vapor. Solid, white-blue ice began materializing from the mist, forming four legs with talons for fingers and tiny indentures symbolizing scales. They connected into a slender, muscular torso then stretched into two ends and rapidly growing wings out of the frilled back. The tail, being thinner finished first, melded into the shape of a double-sided axe. I turned the figurine, straining my eyesight to control the tiniest details. The scales grew larger around the neck, some turning into hard spikes on the back and on the cheeks. Large, lance-like teeth lined the open maw, lips pulled back to reveal their full length, and eyes fully trained on me.
Less intimidating as a little figure made from fragile frozen water, yet I couldn’t tear my sight from it. In my memory, I heard the words again, ‘Sadawa Za’d Whirlé, Tippion, Bezca, Drisk.’
There are still records of dragons talking to humans, but they never mentioned that it was not a language we understood. Draconic has no culture aside from the beasts who once spoke it, and no recordings of its sounds or meaning. Adding to that, it was still blurry in my mind and I had found myself in a hole with no way out.
“Prince Haden!” Came a yell from inside the tower, the familiar voice of my personal guard, Ser Fume.
I set the statue down on the roof where it would soon melt under the early morning sun, then, just after casting a minor illusion spell, I jumped down onto the balcony. The man with his greying beard looked less shocked than the times before, maybe he had finally accepted he couldn’t stop me.
“You should not climb the roofs, my Prince. They can be quite slippery,” he lectured, again, earning an eye roll from me.
“And if I fall, I will cast slow fall and land like a cat,” I dismissed. Grabbing one of the black and red doublets to throw over the blue jerkin, I walked past my guard.
He followed my step and gave me the morning expectancies. “One of the dragonslayers sent to dispatch a draconic is set to return today, the inner council has requested your presence in the discussion of the upcoming harvest’s end tourney, and the Silver wizard, Alebstra, has sent a message to our Siestra.”
We arrived in a narrow corridor that lead to an even tighter stairwell. The stairs here were small and rather uneven, making each step a conscious effort.
After a pause, Ser fume began anew. “If I might inquire about why you have requested to speak with–”
“You may not,” I cut him off and increased my tempo.
Entering into a corridor that led across from the eastern spire into the main keep, Fume went on and on about the day’s duties, followed by speculations about the coming week. I greeted them all with a dignified confirmation but remembered none of it, as I am sure he was aware of, seeing as he repeated himself in this manner four or five times per day.
Being in his elder years, the man seemed to have lost any sense of self over the decades of serving my family. When he was named my personal guard, I enjoyed being able to trick him or sneak away, but now it was just disheartening.
“Did you ever want children, Ser Fume?” I prodded nonchalantly.
He paused for a moment, or maybe just thinking. “No, my Prince.”
“What of your house's name?” I continued my questioning, for one in order to not bore myself to death while walking through this unnecessarily massive castle, but also because the man had an interesting disposition.
“What of it? My sister has born children and I have spent my life serving a great kingdom.” Dutybound as expected, he had not a waver in his tone.
“But they will not inherit your name, will they?”
“No,” he responded immediately. “But they will have my house’s blood and that is enough.”
Before I could decide to continue my questioning, we had arrived at the second floor’s main intersection. With two hallways leading to separate staircases, a glass plain window to the side, and a large wooden door. Two guardsmen with black armor and red cloaks stood watch. One moved to open the door as I arrived.
With all of the black stone, the castle had braziers set up in regular intervals and windows to give at least some brightness to the dreary atmosphere in almost any corner. Almost any. This room, the king’s chambers, and the war room were the exceptions. After a broad staircase down, the room extended further than what even the castle would have allowed for, were it not for the spacial extension one felt upon clearing the threshold.
I bit down on my teeth and closed my eyes for a moment, assisting my brain in understanding the distortion in length and width. Once I opened them again, I found myself halfway in a long chamber with pillars of woven black stone supporting a high ceiling from where chandeliers gave bright red illumination. Without a direct view of anything outside this room, the discrepancy was much less obvious, except for the shadow the light gave off. The light danced across the entire hall, over the stone table in the middle, and even where it shouldn’t reach.
Sitting in their chairs were five people, a woman with golden hair and green robes, a man in armor and his horned helmet next to him, an elven man overlooking a stack of parchment, our court wizard Siestra at the front who was staring at me with golden pupils, another clad in a tunic and wearing a golden hammer amulet around his neck.
I approached, Ser Fume staying back with the other guards posted at the bottom of the stairs. While Tisha, the elven wise man was still lost in all of his reports, all of the other Cirst members watched me take a seat at the opposite end of Siestra. While all of them had something on their mind when looking at me, the wizard’s eyes were the only ones that I felt piercing the illusion spell I had on me.
“How quaint of you to join us, Haden,” she spoke, never breaking our contest of looks.
“I apologize, I must have forgotten the time,” I replied softly and with a smile.
I saw her lip tug a little and she sighed before addressing the elf in his pile of words and sigils. “Master Tisha,” she addressed him.
He looked up, his white-blonde hair frizzled at shoulder length and bent nose, his eyes betrayed he had seemingly just noticed my arrival. Despite the fact that he had obviously been neglecting self-care, his elven heritage kept his face from showing more than a tiny wrinkle and spot of dark under the eyes.
If I had the ability to stay up for weeks without becoming delirious and unable to practice magic, I would do it too. Sadly enough, a spell to rid oneself of sleep was yet to be invented and therefore reserved for elves.
“Ah, yes,” he snatched a scroll from the pile, unfolding it and reading out loud. “With the expected frost lasting seven fortnights and the recent harvest having been stocked with far fewer supplies due to last moon’s pest, it is expected that, without rationing, the crown’s reserves will have to be tapped into for import from the Marshlands and coastal regions. One hundred thousand gold pieces are what I have been told will be expected by the end of frost and the start of the next sowing.” He concluded by looking at the golden-haired Ahra, mistress of treasury.
“That is a significant sum,” she looked down at her own scroll. “The Marschland knows we have a problem with supplies, they will charge us until we’re dry.”
“Spending coin and feeding the city should not be a question of yes or no,” the Diligent, Markus, interjected.
“And if we don’t pay to feed them, they’ll try to take it,” I agreed.
Ahra looked over at me without turning, giving a side look. “I never said it was impossible, it would simply be a large sum.” She made a note.
“The tournament, if I may.” Clad in his black and red armor, Ser Premu made the room acknowledge his presence. I had been curious as to the reason why the knight’s guard captain was in the Cirst. “With the prize being as large as it is, we expect the arrival of upwards of a thousand. With them will come thieves and brigands, as well as requiring military protection during the contest. I am requisitioning supplies to man the outer districts more diligently, moving some of our forces further out. I am requesting two thousand gold in order to compensate our men for the weeks.”
A small huffing laugh went past my lips as I watched Ahra’s face drop. She snapped to me immediately with a look that seemed so similar to someone casting a disintegration spell. After a moment of silence, in which our sorceress gave me a displeased eye roll, the mistress of treasury rolled her eyes.
Ahra finally returned to her parchment and noted it down. “Your men will be compensated for their work.”
Ser Premu bowed and turned to leave. I made sure not to look at the door when it opened. “With the subject of the tourney already in the room, royalty from the south will likely make the journey, what accommodations have been made in that regard?” Tisha said without looking up.
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“They can stay in the castle, no?” I suggested, seeing as there were more than enough empty rooms in the magically erected structure.
Siesta, who was still busy throwing daggers with her eyes at me, chimed in, “A good idea, Haden, perhaps you could bring it to the king personally.”
My ears perked slightly, hearing a tinge of uncertainness in the otherwise stalwart in her tone. “Is there a reason these matters aren’t being relaid to the King already?”
The room went quiet, I looked at everyone but none except the wizard glanced back. “The King has not attended a Cirst meeting in years, saying that these matters do not need a king’s discretion, as you may recall.”
“And I agreed with my father then. I do not recall, however, when matters of foreign royalty were not something a king has a say in.” I countered without reprise, challenging the woman to my front.
The tension hung in the chamber like a magical spell. “Will you report then? Perhaps he will want to hear it from you,” Siesta spoke out, diplomatic as always.
I could have continued this farce, squeeze a bit more information out of these scheming, old aristocrats. But instead, I chose to settle and relax my posture, much to the relief of the Cirst. “Then he will hear it from me. Are there any other matters that I should inform my father about?” I didn’t expect an answer and pushed my chair back.
I turned to find Siestra staring at me with her magical golden eyes. “Let us speak in my tower,” she said softer than I was used to her normally commanding tone. I looked confused but I felt something very odd and unusual, cold. From her golden eyes all the way to mine, the distinct feeling of frost crept into me. I barely remembered when the last time I felt cold even was. At that moment, I understood the importance of what she was suggesting. “Now.”
I wrinkled my brow, maybe she wanted to have a chat before I relayed anything to his Grace. But when she arose and began walking briskly toward me, I reconsidered. Perhaps it wasn’t just a matter of importance to her, I thought. Then I recalled that she would be the first person Alebstra may have contacted about certain information I gave.
After nodding to the Cirst, I pushed the door open and bit down on my teeth to mitigate the effects of crossing the threshold. The floor shifted and air left my lungs, I flipped onto the ceiling and back upright all within the moment it took to take a step. I only wavered slightly before continuing my pace, regaining my sense of gravity after passing the guards.
The wizard was still behind me, clearly expecting me to turn right when I went left, given by her suddenly quicking footfalls. With my guess being that she knew something of my dreams and theories, I chose to try disengaging.
When we entered another set of tight, spiraling stairs, however, she grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me against a wall. Sure, she didn’t look strong enough to hold me there, but her grip was frozen to my body, freezing my upper body in place. “Stop.” The word echoed in my head, slicing through any other thoughts like a knife through fruit.
And yet, I fought against her spell, tearing my mind free by letting my thoughts run over hundreds of arcane words, overloading it until it snapped. “What do you know?” I spoke in a serious manner, hoping to build on the small victory I had just had.
But my old teacher looked unimpressed, her visage as unreadable as the day I went into her tutelage. “Quiet,” she commanded.
I wanted to throw out another defense, some shield to allow me enough time to come up with a believable lie. But then I realized she was looking around attentively, making me pause.
She stayed silent for a moment, then her eyes darkened, the golden pupils flashing yellow. “Why do you cover yourself with illusions instead of just getting some rest? Your eyes are darker than a first-year magic student’s.”
I glared, despite having figured she had seen through it upon meeting me that day. “You’re changing the subje– agh!” She squeezed on my shoulder so hard that I feared she’d tear it from its socket.
“Iquiry Sactu,” she whispered. At first, I thought she was casting another spell, but then I recognized what she was saying, ‘Listening walls.’
I stopped in my struggle, realizing that her silent spell was likely one of detection. And whatever or whoever she had found was not someone I should reveal carelessly.
“I think you’re confused from your lack of sleep. I have a potion to help you rest, follow me,” she commanded softly but intently.
I debated the choice for a moment longer before biting my lip and resigning to the sorceress's advice.
She led me hastily back up the stairs, holding me by the wrist, and toward the spire of the Black wizard. She continued to look around every corner before crossing, speeding through the long corridors and zipping from window to window. Until we finally made it to the wooden door without a handle. Runes reading strong protection and magical subversion spells covered it in a blue glow.
She placed her palm on it and pushed. Despite it seeming effortless to her, the door would reject even her if she didn’t have enough magical capacity for the dozen of arcane spells that flowed into her. Much less jarring than the Cirst’s chambers, the room in front of us was blurred and didn’t make sense upon looking from the outside. I crossed the threshold quickly after her. The door was already closed before I could turn around and Siestra was halfway across the room. I saw her grab a sapphire wand with which she drew a rune into the air, “Mükty,” she read from it, her eyes flashing blue.
While the only noticeable difference in the physical reality was a slightly muted perception of sound, when I focused on the arcane spell of magic detection, “Maggi Iquìily,” I saw the dome of tinted turquoise extending through the entire spire.
The wizard’s expression relaxed, feeling confident that it would be unlikely anyone was listening or watching. She sat down on a very comfortable-looking chair made from woven cloth and motioned me to sit in a similar one across from her. I declined but still leaned against the back support.
Like most other court wizards, Siestra’s tower was stretched into the extended ceiling in walls lined with possibly thousands of bookshelves. Floating lights of warm orange and red danced on the higher floors, in between the staircases that wound themselves like vines on a tree.
“Haden,” she got my attention and raised her eyebrows expectantly. I sighed and dispelled the illusion around my face.
She shook her head upon seeing the dark shadows under my eyes and unkempt hair. “This is not how a Prince is to present. Storming out of a Cirst meeting, sneaking through the castle at night, openly disagreeing with your father,” she began berating me.
“Is this what you dragged me here for? Some wizardly advice?” I shot back quickly with a contemptible glare. “I’m not your student anymore.”
“No. I have stopped you from talking about something you would have regretted. Think about it,” she prompted, disregarding my attitude.
“Think about what? Are you suggesting I neglect to inform the King about the fact that our treasury is becoming stingy with our gold, Markus is too busy thinking about his Gods than maintaining order, and our court sorceress choosing to not involve any of the Blackspire fam–”
“Now you’re changing the subject, my Prince.” She interrupted. “And you never stopped being my student.”
I sighed. At that moment, despite her voice indicating no such thing, I heard intimidation in her words. Being in a room alone with a wizard of her power was already something no common person would allow themselves. I knew she would never hurt me or do something for which she would certainly lose her head, but only for that moment, I considered it and became very, very uneasy.
She raised an inquisitive eyebrow at my noticeable posture change, “Why are you asking the Silver wizard about a draconic language?” I noted that she began to lean forward, her fingertips touching each other in a fine pose.
I took a moment to swallow the stone that appeared in my throat. Any of the lies I had thought of in my many sleepless hours had vanished from my mind the moment I looked into her eyes. Only, it wasn’t a spell that wiped the resistance from me, it was a cascading wave of memory.
There again, in her tower late at night until the early mornings, traveling into the magi sea with her and finding magical power from far-off wizards. She taught me spells and built up my potential, testing my limits almost every day for seven years, four more than what was ruled. I’ve trusted this woman with more of my thoughts than my own family, she knew me better than anyone else.
How could I tell her lies?
“I have to translate a sentence,” I responded softly, unable to avert my gaze.
“Tell me,” she demanded, unwavering.
“I… can’t pronounce it.”
She tilted her head to the side slightly, thinking before speaking again, “And how do you mean to translate something which you don’t understand?”
“Alebstra,” I replied, “he has records of the Age of Ashes in his possession, knowledge that was never copied because the language itself is no longer understood.”
“If I remember correctly, the tomes you are talking about are fiction,” she said, something in her eyes indicating that she was already suspecting the answer.
“I believe I could build a cipher from it.”
“And hope that it then can be put into a pronounceable vocabulary…” She took note of my uneasy disposition, “An ambitious plan, Haden. What would your father think of it?”
There it was, her carefully strung web of words pulled taut in a single sentence. The wager she had put on was obvious, if not veiled behind conditions and what-ifs.
“As much as he would exile you for your ambitions, my Lady,” I pushed a little further, hoping the authority of the position I held would persuade her against challenging me.
She smirked, almost imperceptibly so, but pulled her lip up nonetheless. “Good.” Whether it was a compliment about my usage of leverage or simply resigning away from the argument, the word brought relief.
“I hope to be included in your discussion with Alebstra, as the court wizard should not leave the Prince in a room with foreign sorcerers,” she said and stood up.
With a hand motion, she opened the door from afar and made a sign for me to exit. In her eyes, I saw that she still had things to squeeze out of me, some more detail about what sentence I was translating or something more about my lack of sleep, but I was out of the door before she could consider.
Ser Fume was outside when I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I saw his inquisitive yet resigned expression when I sank to the floor and buried my hands in my white hair. “Everything alright, my Prince? The servants and guards saw you dragged in here,” he noted.
I cleared my throat, remembering suddenly that I had dispelled my illusion magic and looked like death itself. “Yes, sorceress Siestra had private matters to discuss.”
Fume looked at me with doubt, certainly not helped by my visage. “You should freshen up, perhaps. The dragonslayer and the Silver wizard are to arrive soon.” For once, I was genuinely grateful for the advice and excuse he would surely supply for me.
“That’s a good idea, I think I will do just that.” I got off the floor, declining the hand that was offered. Quickly, we rushed through the corridors and back to my chambers. Glass plains blurred past and the faces of servants smeared in my memory just moments after seeing them.
Arriving at my door, I nodded to Ser Fume and he bowed respectfully when I close my door. Once alone, I took a good hard look at the clothes all over the furniture, the perfectly pristine bed, and my desk buried beneath opened tomes.
I collapsed on my chair, pulling my legs close to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, closing my eyes, and burying my face between the knees.
‘Sadawa Za’d Whirlé, Tippion, Bezca, Drisk.’
‘I know you want something, Dragon. I know you are alive and I know you have answers.’
Every time I closed my eyes for long enough, the fangs, the scales, and the eyes began forming, and the rumble of thoughts in my mind coalesced into a voice as deep as an earthquake, each word spoken slowly like a thunderstorm but with power and intent behind it that no mortal being possessed.
At that moment, however, that image changed, shifting drastically in intensity and scale. Instead of a beast in a sea of blackness, a creature as towering as a greattree stood in a lake of fire. It was red, scarred, fire erupted from between scales as big as a kite shield, smoke billowed from its flaring nostrils and, alongside bursts of fire and liquid lava, from between teeth as sharp and long as a ballista bolt. Dozens of them lined a maw that could barely fit through a castle’s gate, pushing from behind and creating a view all too similar to the pit of spears. The eyes were made of solid flame, a black slit being the only indicator of the fact that it was focused. Focused solely on me.
“Gorrua, Fìnu.”