Chapter Nine - A History

51st Day of Spring - Year 1758 of the Golden Era

The shores of Yellowfield, the Sapphire Ocean, Draya Calyrex

Magus Maldrak watched as the small boat usually carried in the middle of the Gentle Tidings's main deck was hoisted up. It was done with a set of four pulleys on a small cargo crane currently deployed from the centre of the ship.

A delicate bit of work, but nothing the crew couldn't handle.

With a few final 'heave-hos' the boat was lifted out of the water with a splash, and then it slowly rose up and up while the crew onboard tried not to rock the boat too much.

Once it was even with the edge of the ship, a few men stepped up and held it steady so that the young woman aboard could climb off.

"I thought myself used to seafaring by now," Magus Suffragus Nocthorn complained as she disembarked and adjusted her robes. "But that small boat? Something about it makes me quite ill."

"Be thankful that the waters are calm at the moment," Maldrak said, though he couldn't resist a small smile. "How was the voyage otherwise?"

The boat was kept in place, hanging off the Gentle Tidings's side. There was no point in stowing it when it may well be needed by nightfall.

"Well enough. The fog along the shore is so thick as to be impenetrable," she said. "I can't imagine navigating these shores without a lighthouse."

"Indeed," he said. "But that's only an issue in the mornings. By this afternoon it will lift. And it's not an issue year-round." Already, the fog was thinning in some places, enough that he could make out the distant buildings of the village along the shore's edge.

"Fine then," she said before glancing back. "Do you expect the three to make it back?"

"I believe so. Assuming there's nothing too daunting for them to combat, then yes, they should make it back in due time," he said.

"I'd worry more about a peasant taking them apart. Some are quite suspicious of clockwork and artifice they don't understand. Or they might take them to be resold."

"A possibility, under normal circumstances. But these aren't those," he said.

"I suppose not," Nocthorn replied. "What will have happened to the average peasant on the mainland?

Magus Maldrak rubbed at his chin. "There was an incident some twenty-odd years ago, in 1737 on the Vermil Isles. Are you familiar with it?"

Nocthorn hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. "I believe that's an island to the east of Draya Calyrex, but otherwise, no, I'm not certain what event you speak of."

"That's fine. I was deployed to the isle at the time as part of a group of mages and knights sent to investigate the location, on behalf of the Avaris Myrcana Academy. At the time I held the same rank as you, in fact. It's where I met my wife... in any case, the island is not terribly noteworthy. Some pearl farms in the reefs around it, some rather large crustaceans, but little of true note."

"But you spoke of an incident," she continued.

"Indeed. A dragon whelp by the name of Lazuryth the Lazuli claimed the isle as its own. A small demesne for a small dragon. Nothing too strange, though fortunately not an event that is very common. The dragon installed itself upon the isle and demanded tribute from the locals. It did as dragons do, and promoted some that it favoured above the others."

"Like in the mainland," Nocthorn nodded.

"Let's step inside. I tire a little of the chill air, and I believe that after some warm tea, I may just retire for some true rest," he said before leading the young woman towards the interior of the ship. As he walked he continued his history lesson. "Lazuryth, being a young dragon, had yet to decide much about itself, but it had great ambitions."

Nocthorn snorted indelicately. "A dragon whelp with ambition?"

"Yes, very funny," he said. "But it's worth noting that it decided to lay several eggs. This is, without creating a hoard of any real substance. Pearls of all sorts were featured, as well as some artefacts, but its hoard was still small, and its reach only extended across the isle. It failed to conceive its first egg."

"The dragon died in the laying stage?" Nocthorn asked. "I've read about such a thing. The unborn egg would have been worth a fortune."

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"Oh, it was," he said. "Even split amongst all the fellows who retrieved it... ah, but that isn't what I wish to highlight. Rather, it's the impact of the dragon's untimely demise on the citizens of the Vermil Isles. Lazuryth the Lazuli had occupied the island for a scant half-decade, but its bodily waste had been put to use in fertilizing the crops, and its draconic essence was empowering each individual on the island save for some few of the noble class whom the dragon needed to travel to and commune with outside of its demesne."

Nocthorn nodded along. Eventually, they found themselves in his office. He summoned water from the air into a kettle, and lit the enchantment woven into its artifice to begin the process of boiling water for tea.

Maldrak sat across from Nocthron while the water warmed. "The citizens of the isle worshiped the dragon, as most are wont to do when a benevolent creature such as that appears and empowers them. Its waste made their food grow faster, and made it more palatable. They grew stronger, not just in stature and musculature, but in magic as well."

"Dragon affinity magic."

He nodded and made a dismissive wave. She knew all about that, and he wouldn't dwell on it. "The issue is, of course, that such power is tied to a dragon. To some degree. On the dragon's death, the essence corrupts. When we arrived on the island it was to find... chaos. People were eating dirt. Some fought to the death over the last remaining dragon dung. Others had taken their lives or that of their children. Nay-sayers were cast into the ocean. The magic that they wielded was no longer so easy to control."

"You can control dragon affinity magic without worshipping a dragon," Nocthorn said.

"You are a wizard, so I imagine you've spent little time with a clergyman of a dragon's cult. I'll forgive your lack of knowledge because you are correct, but only technically so."

Maldrak leaned forwards. The tea was ready. He poured the tea through a strainer into two cups, then he opened a small jar of honey and used a small silver stick to pick some out of the jar and into his cup.

"Ah, yes, as I was saying," he continued after his first draw. "There is... a certain mental impact to using draconic magics that isn't represented in wizardly magics. I don't know the exact feeling, though I've heard it described as reverence to the source of the magic. When a dragon dies, there is a... snap? A breaking of bonds."

"And that drives people mad," Nocthorn said.

"It weakens them suddenly, and by the same token, frees them from the constraints the dragon might have placed upon the use of their own essence. That is a metaphysical application of the magic. I have a book or two on the subject here for your later perusal. Suffice to say that a caster will suddenly find themselves weakened, and able to draw significantly deeper from the well of magic they have. At the same time, the lack of constraints means that any favorable mutation the draconic essence might have imparted... grows in an uncontrolled manner."

Nocthorn nodded over her mug. "I've heard of this as well."

"Good, good. The death of a dragon is the trigger to all of those who had that dragon's favour not only finding their mind disquieted, discovering their god dead, and their personal power lurched away from their grasp and control, but also being struck by a cancerous illness from which there may be no cure."

"And the people of the mainland..." Nocthorn said.

"Have worshipped their dragon lords for generations untold," he said. "What I saw on the Vermil Isles was disquieting, but it passed after a few months of turmoil. The survivors were healed as best we could, and work and life resumed. Some of the empowering even remained. But nearly a third of the island's population was wiped out. A population who had only been under draconic influence for a short time, and from a whelp of a dragon no less."

"What will we see once we step foot on land?" she asked.

Maldrak set his cup down. It clattered very faintly onto its saucer. "I'm quite tired, I'm afraid. This impromptu history will have to come to an end early."

***