Summer 4986, 15 Akamoth
Shaloon left the Firewyrm with the journeymen, tired and literally drained but smiling since she was allowed to help them feed and clean the animal specimens. Before continuing down the hall, the Archmage turned back to the small stable. She sighed as the Firewyrm hissed at one of the specimens for crowding too close to the bucket of meat she was dishing out to them. She was like a mother chastising over-eager toddlers. Shaloon’s lips curled in a sneer, her words slipping out in a growl of mixed languages, “Appropriate. Might as well be, her samples allowed for their evolution…”
“Archmage?” Journeyman Brom looked up from bottling the Firewyrm's blood. Fool, he would know all the words she'd said… But what sentence structure had she used? She couldn’t remember and hadn’t noticed. She walked away, having been talking to herself anyway.
She walked up the spiral stairs to the larger labs on the ground floor, the laughter of the Firewyrm ringing in her ears. Perhaps mother wasn’t the right word. The girl didn’t see them as children but as something else… “toys,” treasures.
She didn’t bother to knock before entering one of two main labs on the ground floor, and Morndancer didn’t bother to look up from his book, “We need purer samples.” she stated, leaning on the doorframe and crossing her arms to look down on him in the sunken room.
Morndancer snorted, “And where do you expect to find them? We have the Firewyrm.”
Shaloon growled, not looking forward to having this argument again. “She is tainted. Her samples mix on a molecular level, and the spell that changed her…”
“She is our greatest success!” Morndancer slammed his book closed, turning wide, mad, eyes on Shaloon, “You don’t think I tried to make something pure? Something complete? Do you have any idea how many priceless samples and artifacts we wasted before creating something that could actually survive? They are the closest things we have to true-”
“And yet, instead of focusing on replicating them, we waste our time trying to breed the beast out of animals!” Shaloon shouted then cursed, pushing roughly off the door frame, “I have sent to the central Talon and requested pure samples. They will be here in a month.”
“A month…” Morndancer mouthed, then his face twisted, “You sent for them over a season ago and are just now telling me? Why not cut your way there yourself if you are that eager to split our efforts?”
Shaloon turned her nose up at that. She had been transferred here, to this frozen backwater Talon, because she was one of the few Archmages able to cut a hole through space and teleport through the outer planes. She had allowed the transfer because she'd wanted to experiment with this man. What a disappointment. He'd been the greatest mind in the central Talon, making the most substantial progress seen since the extinction. But he refused to continue that line of study, and was now starting to ignore the last fifteen years of experiments here.
“You won’t even let me use the wyvern. It’s been cloistered away in caves for the last two and a half years while you ramble about gods and Chosen…”
“I saw one, Shaloon!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and knocking his book to the ground. Shaloon gasped, rushing down the steps for the book. Picking it up, she held the priceless tome to her chest as if cradling a crying child. “The Talons must shift their focus,” Morndancer paced around the room in circles, talking more to himself than to her, “If there is one, then there will be more. The wyrms gave them the power to reach across the planes. They will be the key. The children will create their own brood…”
Reverently Shaloon placed the book back on its pedestal and turned for the door. Morndancer had finally tipped over the edge. It was the inevitable fate of anyone who exposed their minds to the type of magic they studied. And he had reached deeper than any other. The human mind wasn't meant to converse with the forces that granted their power. She would fall too, eventually.
“But until then…” she turned back to the pacing Archmage, “The samples will be here in a month, escorted by Journeyman Karlo,”
Morndancer finally looked up, "Karlo will never advance past Journeyman, He's halfway to the Outerplains already."
Shaloon smirked, "Aren't we all?" and left the lab.
***
Veon-Zih cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders while he stood in line at the docks. Waiting patiently to present his papers to the guard signing off on the passengers disembarking from Oane. A second guard passed him, heading for a wagon to inspect the goods. The enlisted men looked tense, going through the papers and goods with more focus and efficiency than they usually would, A Paladin officer hovering over them, his hands clasped tightly behind his back and silver armor gleaming in the sun.
Veon-Zih smiled at the Paladin, handing his papers to the enlisted but speaking with the knight, “As much as I appreciate your inspired diligence, Sir, this would go so much faster if you didn’t have them checking and double-checking each signature three times over.”
“Proper procedure is key in keeping us safe, Mr…” he trailed off, looking toward the soldier who flipped to the front of the Monk's massive book to show his name, “Vee… ohn… Zee… ha?”
Close enough, “That it is good Sir. Carry on.” there was no point in arguing with Paladins over proper procedures. Even when it hampered efficiency.
Behind him, the wagon driver shifted nervously as the soldier began asking questions while perusing his trade logs. “I, um… Mr. Karlo?” Veon-Zih glanced over his shoulder as the driver stuttered. The portly man breathed an audible sigh of relief as a second man hopped from the wagon and addressed the soldier. This man was tall, or at least appeared to be, with his head stretched high and back held too stiff, his long straight robe seemed to give his slender body further length. But strangest was how he moved, in snaps and jerks, his head twitching back and forth as he spoke in a whisper to the guard.
“That’s not at all suspicious…” Veon-Zih muttered, taking his papers back from his own soldier and stepping out of the way of the line. Those who had gone before him had already disappeared into the port city, and those behind moved forward to take his place, passing the wagon to reach the free guard.
The driver had the unmistakable look of a merchant, with pouches lining his belt and his guild's badge displayed on his left breast. He should've crossed the straight to Clearhelm many times over as an apprentice before going solo. And yet, he'd stuttered nervously and deferred to his passenger, who was clearly not of the Merchants Guild. Most likely a Mage based on his robe's lack of a religious emblem.
Veon-Zih narrowed his eyes at the strange man as he passed over his papers. The book was nearly as thick as his own, though it bulged with the thickness. Either the Mage hadn’t updated the cover despite the increased pages or…
Veon-Zih cleared his throat, getting the Paladin’s attention, and gestured with his chin towards the wagon. The Paladin looked him over for a moment, his brow furrowed, then glanced towards the wagon. He had no reason to trust Veon-Zih but Paladins were not ordinary soldiers. If there was reason to worry, Hengist would urge him to look for the signs.
The guard shifted his weight just enough to turn his back to the Paladin before opening the book. Veon-Zih sighed, watching the man move. He wasn’t just turning pages. His arm pulled too far back rather than to the side. Most likely slipping something into his coat. The Paladin might not have been able to see, but he'd already caught the scent that something wasn’t right here and started forward, placing his hand on the guard’s shoulder.
“Everything seems to be in order, Sir…” the guard had a superb poker face, a sure sign he'd taken bribes before. He handed the Mage back his papers and turned to wave the wagon on.
Veon-Zih stepped forward just as the Paladin held out his hand to stop the driver. “Headed for the Mages Guild, perhaps?” Veon-Zih asked curiously, trying to sound innocent.
The Mage twitched violently, turning stunning purple eyes on Veon-Zih, “Yes. Very important samples…” he spoke slowly, as if he needed to consider each word before saying them out loud.
“Then why not take a gate?” Veon-Zih chuckled, “I’ve been across this fine kingdom of Daanlan many times over, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a wagon carrying Mage goods…” he tapped his own impressive book of papers against his leg, demonstrating his experiential authority on the matter. “What about you, Sir Knight?” he asked the Paladin, ceding control back to the Temple representative.
“Your papers,” the Paladin ordered, holding his hand out for the Mage's book. The Mage nearly vibrated with the speed of his twitching. The driver blanched but swallowed, keeping silent. Though it was his wagon. The Mage handed over his papers again, but then the Paladin added an order to the soldier, “Open the crates.”
The Mage’s eyes bulged, as the soldier he'd bribed moved towards the cart. Veon-Zih and the Mage both stared as the guard climbed into the wagon, opening the nearest crate without removing it. He nodded at the contents then closed the crate again. He had definitely accepted smuggling bribes before.
“Hold, good man…” Veon-Zih called. The guard glared at Veon-Zih, and the Monk grinned. If looks could kill…
“Sir.” the guard said indignantly to the Paladin as though the knight should be offended that Veon-Zih had inserted himself into this business. The Paladin, however, just frowned, waving the man down and nodding to Veon-Zih. Something in the knight's gut insisted that the Monk was to be trusted, and Veon-Zih’s grin widened as he approached the wagon.
Digging past some bottles labeled "griffin blood", he found what was making the driver so nervous, “Scales… dragon scale.” a nearly impossible-to-find, and highly restricted, magical component. Their owners having gone extinct millennia ago.
The Paladin growled, “All of you will come with me. Now.” he snapped the papers closed, shoving them under his arm and turning on his heel towards the Temple.
The Mage hissed like a snake, his arms coming up and black fire shooting from his splayed fingers toward the Paladin’s back. Veon-Zih grabbed the side of the wagon, swinging around it and sliding along the ground, he kicked the Mage's feet out from under him. The Mage tumbled backward, his fire barely licking the Paladin’s blue cape before going out.
The Paladin turned, reaching for his sword, but the Mage had blinked, disappearing before he hit the ground and reappearing ten feet away. “Damn magic users…” Veon-Zih jumped to his feet as the Mage began to chant, his arms becoming wreathed in shadow.
The guard who had inspected Veon-Zih’s papers drew his short sword and started for the Mage. A good man. Stupid. But his heart was in the right place.
Tentacles sprouted from where the Mage’s arms had been, twitching and writhing with the same jerky movements of the man himself. Veon-Zih sprinted forward, trying to close the distance and distract from the guard.
The Mage attacked, sending one tentacle out to strike Veon-Zih, who ducked, throwing his arm up to deflect the living whip. It shouldn’t have hurt this much. Veon-Zih blocked the pain, rolling forward. He needed to get to striking distance before…
The guard screamed, flailing his sword and cutting right through the second tentacle. As if made of smoke, the tentacle broke and reformed behind the swing, smacking the guard solidly on the head. The guard’s helmet flew off, and he dropped to the ground, clutching the side of his face. The skin between his fingers was black and blistering with red pustules.
Veon-Zih reached the Mage, striking up at the man’s chest as he stood, smacking him with the palm of his hand and knocking the wind from his lungs and spell from his lips. Lifting his foot high into the air, Veon-Zih slammed his heel down on the Mage's shoulder, sending him crumbling to the ground.
Stolen story; please report.
The Mage hit the stone hard, some of the cobbles breaking loose and flying into the air. His tentacled arms continued to writhe, whipping back and forth behind Veon-Zih, attacking the prone guard again as if on their own.
The Mage laughed. Giggled like a young child, his head lolling to the side, eyes staring at nothing.
Veon-Zih was forced to dodge a tentacle again, this time careful not to touch it. His arm still stung where it had burned through his clothes to reach his skin. Veon-Zih gauged the power needed to knock the man out without killing him. The Temple would want to question him. His fist hadn’t yet hit when the Mage screamed and thrashed. Veon-Zih turned to see the Paladin, sword drawn and glowing with a brilliant blue-white light, standing between the Mage's tentacles and his fallen guard. On the ground at his feet, twitched the end of one tentacle before dissolving into smoke.
The second tentacle whipped forward, thrusting like a spike to stab the knight. But the Paladin calmly cut through it, channeling the divine power of Hengist through his sword to split the tentacle down the middle. The Mage screamed again, then went quiet as Veon-Zih bopped him soundly on the base of his skull.
***
Shaloon burst through the door to Morndancer’s private rooms. The magical door made of starry night slammed into the wall and rattled the mirror across the way. “Something’s wrong.”
“Of course something is wrong,” Morndancer said absently, scratching the chin of the otherworldly pseudodragon draped over his wardrobe, “The world is being reborn, and all we can do is watch.”
“No.” she didn’t have time for his new nihilism, “Journeyman Karlo, we need to find him.”
Morndancer, for once, didn’t argue. He moved to the mirror, placing one hand in the center and holding his other out to Shaloon. She fished in her robes, pulling out a small jar, and upended it into his palm. A piece of flesh flopped into the Archmage's palm, and he closed his fingers around it, chanting softly.
The image in the mirror wavered out from his fingers as if made of water, and when it calmed again, they saw two men on its surface. A Paladin and an old man in lowly peasant garb with a shaved head. “It’s him…” Shaloon whispered.
Morndancer was more focused on the Paladin, “He’s been captured. What do they know…”
The Paladin held his helm under his arm and seemed to be watching them as he surveyed Karlo. “That was like no arcane magic I’ve ever seen before, Master Veh-oan-Zith. What kind of Mage casts spells like that?”
The Monk’s lip twitched in the merest hint of a smile, but it disappeared a moment later when he covered his chin with his hand, stroking it in thought. “The Warlock kind good Sir…”
“That’s enough,” Shaloon said with a sigh. Morndancer nodded, opening his hand and holding the lump of flesh out to her. Her shoulders slumped for a moment, another researcher lost… She draped her fingers loosely over Karlo's flesh and, with a word, set it alight with black flame.
***
“A Warlock, Master Monk? In Clearhelm?” the Paladin sounded horrified. Veon-Zih wished the knight would try and say his name again, just to add a little bit of levity to the solemn moment.
“I’m afraid so. This will be the third time I've faced one, and their magic is not one you forget,” Veon-Zih answered.
The twitchy Warlock was restrained in the center of the room, eyes open but mind far away. It appalled the Paladin how easily the man had almost gotten away with smuggling into his province, doubly so now that he knew the nature of the man’s magic. “He will be questioned thoroughly. Would you like to be present when-”
The Warlock screamed, struggling against his bonds. The Paladin reached for his sword and Veon-Zih dropped into a fighting stance but both had to shield their eyes a moment later as the Warlock burst into black flames from the inside. His eyes shriveled and burned, the flames licking out the sockets and catching his hair alight as his mouth continued to scream forth black fire.
The Paladin recovered enough to begin chanting some kind of healing or disenchanting spell but not fast enough. In mere seconds, the Warlock’s arms fell free from their bonds as they dissolved into ash, followed a moment later by the rest of his body. Leaving only the scorched chair, loose chains, and a pile of ash where once the man had been.
***
“We don’t know how much they learned,” Morndancer stated, turning accusing eyes on Shaloon.
Shaloon looked away, “They won’t find us.”
“You’re right.” Morndancer turned his back on her, “We are leaving. Make the arrangements.”
***
“They're still here then…” General Rasnah stood, looking out the window of her office towards the setting sun, clasping her wrists behind her back.
It had taken Veon-Zih a few weeks to reach Smilnda from the port city of Gehdran, though Rasnah had received the report of the Warlock incident much sooner, the same day in fact, through the Mages Guild mirrors. “Any new information?” Veon-Zih asked, moving to stand beside her. He'd returned to visit Shon in Hamerfoss, but would delay if necessary.
“No,” Rasnah sighed, “I've sent word to my counterparts in Oane and to the kingdom, we are trying to trace the man’s papers and cargo, but it will take time. They've covered their tracks well, probably have been for years.”
“At least thirty…” Veon-Zih muttered, turning away from the window and Rasnah. He took the seat in front of her desk with a road-weary sigh. “Why is it, my dear Rasnah, that you must tease me so?” he asked playfully.
Rasnah managed a laugh, “What?”
“Almost every time I come to Smilnda, something exciting seems to be brewing and then,” he snapped his fingers, “gone. We haven’t heard anything of these Warlocks for over five years, and just when I start to give up hope, bam, wyvern! I don’t suppose you killed it while I was away?”
Rasnah snorted another little laugh, finally turning away from the sunset and taking her seat behind her desk, “Please don’t remind me of the wyvern. It's been two years with no sightings, and Daunas still hasn’t stopped asking to hunt it with every report.”
“Does he want to avenge his father that badly?”
“How is it vengeance when Mung killed that one himself?”
“I wouldn’t think someone Daunas’s age would still be seeking glory…” Veon-Zih stroked his chin in thought, “He’s not much better than you 'retired' lot.”
Rasnah leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers together, and finally gave him a real smile, “He works harder now than he ever did on the road. Us too, truth be told…”
“If you’re trying to convince me to join you again, you’re doing a very poor job of it,” Veon-Zih said, returning her smile. He didn’t want to return her mind to the serious issue at hand, but her’s wasn’t the only mind it was plaguing, “Now we have more Warlocks… possibly the same group. Are they going to disappear again? How many years before Smildna decides to dangle a true adventure under my nose once more?”
“Perhaps it’s a sign, my old, old... ooold friend. Perhaps these are adventures for the next generation.”
“Pah,” Veon-Zih waved that idea down as fast as he could, “I would rather not leave a mess for those coming behind. Besides, they aren’t ready.”
“They get closer every day, V. Don’t blink. As soon as you do, Shon will be Oath Sworn and off to hunt wyverns and Warlocks of his very own.”
Veon-Zih leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “How’s he doing, Rasnah?” It had been a year and a half since Shon had transferred to Hamerfoss for training. Veon-Zih had tried to visit at least once a season, and the jumps in his skills seemed outstanding. Yet something still nagged at the back of Veon-Zih's mind. Was he still disappointed the boy hadn’t chosen the Monk path?
“You’re headed there next, see for yourself,” Rasnah answered shortly, though she also pulled a drawer open.
“Humor me,” Veon-Zih said, but she already was. She didn’t even have to look for the folder, showing him clearly she'd been ready for this very conversation. Before they'd been distracted by internally combusting Warlocks.
She didn’t pass over the file, such breaches of privacy were strictly against protocols, but she did leaf through it herself. “He gets top marks in combat, particularly with ambidextrous weapons and anything that requires finesse over brute strength. His lecture grades are also high, though he struggles with decorum and etiquette. His armor scores are honestly abysmal. Though I’m not sure the blame for that lies with him…” still facing the paper, she glared up at Veon-Zih with just her eyes.
“Well…” Veon-Zih rubbed the back of his neck under that accusatory stare, “He won’t have a problem if ambushed in the bath…”
That got another little snort of laughter out of the Paladin, who closed the file, “If you want anything more personal, you'll have to ask him yourself.”
Veon-Zih nodded. He just hoped Shon had made at least a few real friends since his last visit.
***
"How?" Veon-Zih gaped open-mouthed at Shon while the other Squires tried to stifle their snickers around him, “How did you get injuries from dancing?!”
Shon let go of his dance partner’s hands, and the boy stuck his fingers under his arms as if to warm them from a winter chill. Weary blue eyes turned to Veon-Zih for only a moment before Shon looked away, his cheeks pink. One cheek was bandaged with a thick square of cloth taped in place. His rolled-up sleeves showed the ends of more bandages on his right arm, and he flinched as he rubbed his ribs nervously. Were those hurt too?
“Well, Squire? Answer the man…” Daunas called from a bench against the wall of the fortress courtyard. The Weaponmaster leaned back, his hands laced behind his head, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He maintained that dancing was for nobles and Paladins and wasn’t the one giving this lesson. Though he'd chosen to come watch regardless.
Shon mumbled something inaudible then turned away to resume dancing. His partner shook his hands out before reaching for Shon, but Daunus called out again, “What was that, Squire? Something about you taking hits on purpose?”
Shon’s eye twitched, and the boys around him tried to smother their laughter, “I won, didn't I?!” Shon called to the Weaponmaster, who snickered. The boys stopped laughing at that. They were the ones he was defeating.
The Paladin giving the dance lesson, gasped, “Squire, push-ups. Now.” Shon saluted sharply and dropped in place to perform the punishment for his rudeness. Daunas laughed louder. “The rest of you get back to work. One two, one two, leaders, don’t let your followers take control. They had their turn earlier…”
Veon-Zih made his way to Daunas’s bench, plopping heavily down on it, “The Cleric?” Veon-Zih asked the Weaponmaster, who was still smiling, though he had closed his eyes to take in the sun while it lasted. Autumn was right around the corner.
“We told him last week they weren’t going to heal anything he could've prevented himself.” Daunas explained, “Your boy has a nasty habit of taking a non-fatal hit if it means he gets the win. Which he always does. But it’s a bad habit.”
“Stubborn…” Veon-Zih muttered, watching Shon jump back to his feet to resume the dance lesson. His partner flinched at Shon's touch but started to dance without further complaint. The boys spun in well-timed circles, some stepping on feet, others pulling a little too hard, but mostly doing well. Shon had the steps down perfectly but looked stiff, like a golem going through programming. Not really feeling the music flowing from the open box beside the teacher still giving the count.
“He’s your boy." Daunas snorted out another laugh at Veon-Zih’s expense, "Sure he’s not a blood relation?” The Monk chose to ignore the insinuation and seeing he wasn’t going to get a reaction from Veon-Zih, Daunus continued, “He really is a great fighter, but he’ll need to be better with plate if he wants to keep taking hits like that.”
“You can hardly move in plate,” Veon-Zih argued, annoyed. Daunas just shrugged, so Veon-Zih leaned back with him, resting his back on the curtain wall’s cool stones, “How about everything else? Has he opened up at all?”
Daunas sighed, “In his own way. He doesn't -not- get along with anyone, and the others seem to like him well enough. But he’s quiet that one, would rather watch and listen than participate during free time, and that's assuming he's not outside practicing! He’s started helping the ones that are falling behind in combat training. It works out. He hardly uses the time he gets off anyway, and before you accuse me of taking advantage, it was his idea. I asked, and he said if they needed extra training, he might as well join them. But before you get too proud, their friendship outside the extra practice seems the same as all the others.”
So nothing had changed. Veon-Zih sighed, was there even a point in wanting Shon to make friends like a 'normal' boy? This was his normal, and if he was happy, then why encourage something different? "I suppose if it isn't harmful..." Veon-Zih whispered.
The hour bell sounded, and the Paladin closed the music box, leaving the deep rings to fill the suddenly silent air as the Squires all snapped to attention. He waited until the last bell faded before calling “Dismissed!” Almost as one, the sixteen boys sagged in relief, laughing and joking with one another as they began their first hour of free time before dinner.
Veon-Zih pushed off the wall and started for Shon. The other Squires smiled and waved or saluted greetings towards him, and he smiled and nodded in response, his feet never wavering from their path.
“Damn Shon, I swear you’ve gotten colder…” Shon’s dance partner said with a smile, rubbing his hands together. Shon just shrugged, and the boy laughed, “See you at dinner then,” before he rushed off to join some of the others heading towards the fortress proper.
Shon turned, then, spotting Veon-Zih, looked away again. Reaching him, Veon-Zih crossed his arms and arched a questioning eyebrow, waiting for the young man to look up. Shon was almost as tall as Veon-Zih now, just a few more inches, and he would overshoot his Master. That didn’t stop him from sounding small as he muttered a soft “Sorry…”
“Are you really?” Veon-Zih asked, keeping his eyebrow up.
Shon looked up, a stubborn glint in his ice-blue eyes, “They never know what to do when a blow actually lands. It ends the fights fast.”
“So you end one fight, but what about the next? Or the one after that? How many little blows do you think you can take before you fall?” Veon-Zih didn’t yell, and Shon would've heard it all from Daunas already, but it was different coming from his Master. He ran his hand through his hair, cut regulation short so not at all in his face, looking truly ashamed for the first time.
“Sorry…”
Veon-Zih sighed, taking Shon by the shoulder, “Don’t be sorry, be better.” Shon just nodded, so Veon-Zih gave him a little shake and a smile, “What about life in general? Still enjoying the military?”
Shon’s smile was as small and subtle as ever, but to Veon-Zih, it lit up his face. Shon nodded, “It’s easy and organized. I wish the Church had been so structured. As long as everyone does what they're supposed to when they're supposed to, it’s perfect.”
Veon-Zih threw his head back and laughed. By the time he looked back down, Shon was staring at him, his eyebrow arched in question. “Shon… you were born to be a Paladin.” Veon-Zih answered.