El-dreg-anie could still smell the sulphur. He didn’t know where the demon had taken him when they moved between places. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to know. He knew that it felt amused by the pain he felt when he existed in that place. Each time they passed through that realm, the protection that the demon granted seemed less as if the monster was testing his endurance levels.
Looking around at his surroundings, El-dreg-anie cursed the demon. He had deposited him in an alley strewn with sewage. The temperature was significantly warmer than Caplo, which meant they were much further north than he had been moments before.
The sewage lined alley stained his boots with every step as he squelched through it as best as he could and out onto the small street. A shopkeeper threw a dirty look at him as he emerged from the entrance as if he was trash and spat at the ground in front of him.
El-dreg-anie wanted nothing more than to smash his face against the wall and watch the blood dripping between his fingers. A burning sensation in his hand reminded him of the ever-present demon that knew every thought that ran through his head. Not wanting to feel its wrath again, he pulled up the hood of his cloak and hurried off into the city.
It was the same as most human cities, full of filth. The many blacksmith workshops covered the walls in a thin layer of soot. Luckily his destination was downwind from his current location. The traffic was still light, and he made his way quickly to the harbour area. Only to see the city watch approach and surround the building.
Stepping into an alley and banging his hand against the wall, he could only stand and watch as they stormed the building. A minute later, he watched as the city watch dragged a man and woman out of the tavern and deposited them in front of the Watch Captain. The tavern keeper was talking fast, and the Captain didn’t look pleased at all. Waving the couple away, the guards appeared to line up behind the Captain before leaving the area.
El-dreg-anie watched as they walked off, leaving the tavern keeper to help the woman to her feet before the pair themselves disappeared into the tavern.
A light cough behind him made El-dreg-anie spin his good hand, going to the hilt of his dagger and gripping it tightly. Standing in front of him was a small urchin; his eyes followed El-dreg-anie’s hand to the hilt, but he showed no fear.
“You’ll need ta come with ma,” he said in a thick accent, even for a human.
“Why should I follow you? Human,” he said, the disgust in his voice as clear as the disgust on his face.
“Cause you stand out like a tiller-fish in a shoal of tarn, and besides, I was sent to bring you to the man yer looking for,” he replied, walking off down the alley.
With no better option, he was forced to follow the urchin. Maybe he could take his displeasure out a child that no one would miss. The boy seemed to flow over the obstacles in the alley without stumbling. Staying just far enough ahead of El-dreg-anie no matter how quickly he tried to catch up.
Eventually, after transversing several alleys and intersecting roads, the boy ducked down another alley that seemed to lead to a dead end. As they made their way down the alley, two muscular men stepped out of the shadows and looked at the boy.
El-dreg-anie didn’t hear any conversation, but one nodded before the pair stepped aside and allowed them to continue. As they got to the end of the alley, a wall slid inwards and opened up to reveal an entrance.
El-dreg-anie hesitated only a moment before following the boy through the entrance. Inside the hall, only some old wooden stairs that creaked as he ascended them led to a large room with arched windows that looked over the city. A light breeze filled the room, and the light material in the arches billowed slowly.
The boy led him over to three men that were sitting around a table with goblets of wine. Seeing the boy arriving, they stopped talking. One of the men waved his hand dismissively, and the other men moved away. El-dreg-anie was impressed they seemed to flow across the room with hardly any noise.
“So you’re looking for me?” said the man.
Now that El-dreg-anie was closer, he could see a single teardrop tattoo behind his ear, marking him as the man he had to speak with and the leader of the assassins guild in this country.
“Yes, I have a job for you. I need a man killed,” replied El-dreg-anie.
“Ok, who and how?” Replied the man.
“A scholar at the Magisterium, his name is Tryan, depose of him whatever way you want,” replied El-dreg-anie.
“Two hundred gold,” replied the man in a voice that implied that was a non-negotiable offer. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the dark elf since he arrived.
“That’s pretty steep for a simple killing,” replied El-dreg-anie.
“The price is two hundred gold payable now, El-dreg-anie,” he smiled at the shock that appeared on the dark elves face as El-dreg-anie realised that he knew more than he did.
Throwing two money pouches onto the table in front of the man, “Count it, you thief,” he retorted.
“I don’t need to count it dark elf if you short me, I’ll kill you personally, pet demon or no pet demon,” the tone of his voice left no doubt that he genuinely believed that he could carry out the statement.
“Make sure he dies soon,” replied El-dreg-anie turning and leaving the building.
Turning, the man looked at the young boy, “Finch, follow him and let me know what he gets up to and did you have to take him through every sewer on the way here?”
Smiling mischievously, he replied, “Yes, Raven, didn’t like the way he looked at me and the route seemed to annoy him more,” he said, hurrying off after the dark elf. He felt no fear following the dark elf even though he knew what the dark elf would do to him if caught.
The two men that had been with Raven returned now that the dark elf had left.
“Orders, boss?” said the first of the two.
“Hawk, take BlueJay here, and kill this Tryan and since we don’t need to make an example of him, make it look natural.”
——
Salmaul Talon woke to the mental tapping of his hawk chick El-Torral which meant ‘Ghost Spirit’. “The sun was up, and so should he be,” was the thought that the chick sent along with the fact that it was extremely pleased and wanted to show him something. Every time his sleepy brain wanted to fall back in the bliss that was sleep, the mental tapping of the chick would wake him. Eventually y the chick dragged his consciousness out of the darkness and back to the light.
Finally, throwing off the warm furs of his bedding, he got up and got dressed. His breath was as visible as fog in front of his face. His fingers and toes started to feel the early morning bite of frost. Looking around the room for the chick showed no sign of the little hawk, which typically perched on a rafter above his bed.
The little window in his room showed him that the sun’s early morning light was only starting to filter into the valley, the silver of early morning light cresting over the back of the mountain that towered above the village.
Cursing the chick for waking him this early, he walked out of the hut he shared with this father to look for the bird. Like before, when he stepped out of the cabin, he shared with his father. He was impressed with the changes to the village since his sister had left.
He said a prayer to Onk-nacka, god of the hunt, that she was safe and happy. He looked across the centre of the new village where craft masters had replaced most of the buildings. The largest hut in the village had been converted to house the growing population, including those who fled after the goblin attacks on their villages.
Taking as direct a path to the location of the young hawk as he could, he soon arrived at the wooden walls of the village. Climbing on top, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the early morning light.
“El-Torral, I’m here,” he thought to the young hawk,
The feeling of smugness washed over him and his vision overlapped with that of El-Torral. For a moment, his mind resisted, and the vision wavered before he relaxed into the vision.
El-Torral perched on a branch high over a goblin camp. The height almost gave Salmaul vertigo, and he grabbed the wooden handrail on the wall to steady himself. It helped, but the hawks’ eyes would flit from one part of the goblin camp to another location without any warning.
Reaching out through the bond he shared with El-Torral, he sent calming thoughts to the excited bird. Slowly until he could exert control over it and coach its attention to settle on what he wanted to see rather than what the chick wanted to show him.
It had taken almost a month of hard dizzy practice for him to be able to exert this level of control over the chick after one of the villagers who had made the run to the village for safety had known a Hawk-master in his youth. Who had said that he had always complained when he had to train a new hawk.
He was forcing El-Torral to look around the camp slowly. Salmaul swore as he counted almost two hundred goblins sleeping in the camp. Just as he was about to release his light grip on El-Torral, another group of six hundred goblins came into the camp, waking it up.
Salmaul watched as the goblins conversed and wished he understood what they were saying. He could only try to figure it out from the gestures of the two speaking when the goblin that seemed to lead the camp pointed in the directions of the mountain. Salmaul felt a cold dread against his back and knew for sure that they were coming for his village and soon.
Thanking El-Torral, he disconnected himself from the young hawks’ mind. Coming fully back to the village, he was startled by his father and two guards standing around him.
“Father? What’s wrong?” he said, seeing the look of worry on all three of their faces.
“Sal, blessings to the gods, you are ok? You haven’t responded to any questions for nearly an hour.” said his father.
“An hour?” replied Salmaul; in his opinion, he had been in communication with the hawk a matter of moments, not a full hour. Now that he looked around, he saw that the sun was higher in the sky.
“Goblin’s, El-Torral found the camp, there was around two hundred, but they have just been reinforced by at least six hundred more; I fear they are on the way here, father.”
“How far and when?”
“I don’t know, father; I didn’t know the area the camp was in, so I suppose several miles away. I’ll try and get you better information next time.”
“That’s all I ask son, They’ll find we are not as easy to attack now,” replied his father, a grin on his face as he patted the wooden walls.
The walls had been built as a single layer shortly after the first attack to protect the village from further attacks. They had then expanded and reinforced them further since, and the village was more of a fort than a village now.
Several stonemasons had fled to the village over the last five months and were busy carving stone out of the mountain and replacing the insides of the wall with stone slabs that three men could stand abreast on with room to swing swords.
After some experimenting, a bard that had also been one of the survivors knew war machines that the kingdom had called catapults. They had made one that worked, and it turned out that the forgewood trees they used to make bows were perfect for this as they were less prone to breaking when put under lots of pressure.
Barking orders, Sal’s father had the whole village awake and busy preparing for the possible coming battle.
——
Lady Malderia Talon of Grey Stones, Commander of the Black Watch, and Ogre Slayer tossed and turned on her bed, finally throwing the heavy furs off. She got up and threw on the thick fur clothing the priestesses wore to help keep the cold mountain air at bay. The fire in the hearth had died out hours ago. She regretted not getting up and throwing a few logs onto it; this high in the mountains, the air was much thinner and colder than she was used to, and she hadn’t yet worked out how to keep her magic casting active while she slept.
She was cursing herself for not getting out of bed and throwing a few logs onto the fire. She skipped over the cold stone floor to the stone arched window and opened the heavy wooden shutters. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the pale morning light, which against the darkness of the room was bright indeed. Looking out to the dark sky and the vista below, she estimated that it was two hours until daybreak.
With the sudden waft of air from the dragon’s cavern, her stomach churned as the smell of sulphur reached her; grabbing a bedpan, she threw up into it.
As was her morning ritual, she calmed her mind and practised her magic; it had helped settle her stomach for the last three mornings. She wondered which of the dishes that she had eaten last night hadn’t agreed with her. Her hosts, the oracles priestesses, all ate fruits and nuts that grew on this mountain, ones she had never tasted before.
Rubbing her stomach, she felt a bit pudgy and resolved herself to eat less of the sweet fruits as she soon wouldn’t be able to fit into her clothes at this rate.
The knowledge and control that she had gained over the last couple of months with the priestess and the oracle made her realise that what skill she had before would have filled only a thimble. She still found it strange that she had dragon magic.
Which was unheard of in a mortal being, Dragon magic was a higher form of magic rawer than the magic of mortals. Even elven magi with years of study couldn’t come close to sense it, let alone controlling magic in its most natural form.
As the Oracle called it, high magic was a raw, powerful force naturally filtered into elemental magic or Low Magic. The condensed or elemental magic consisted of five natural elements Water, Fire, Earth, Air and Spirit. Magi could weave these elemental forces together through ritual and intense concentration and cause effects. They called these spells and were nothing like dragon magic.
The Oracle didn’t know how she could wield dragon magic, and as Mal was learning, the oracle could only see hints of future events and, for some reason, very little about Mal herself. Other than she had to get here to survive, but how long she had to stay to be safe, the Oracle didn’t know.
As Mal could sense some events herself, they had spent a lot of time trying to figure out and help Mal improve.
Dragon magic was natural to a dragon and didn’t need teaching. It was inherent. Both were having difficulty in explaining and understanding the explanation. Something the dragon had laughed about when Mal had grown upset that the oracle couldn’t explain how to hold onto the power.
‘Mal dear child, it would be like you trying to teach me to shoot that bow of yours. To you, it’s a natural part of your body. Unfortunately, you will have to figure out most of this yourself,’ she said in the deep rumbling voice of hers.
For the last week, they had been working with portends and glimpses of the future. Some were fixed; others were more flexible and could change entirely on a choice. The Priestesses routines, for example, were almost like clockwork, and so they were highly predictable.