Tomorrow Man – Part V

The march north to Morjia was much slower than Sir Allian had expected. With no road, they had to carry the entire party and supplies on horseback. Whilst rangers from Forest’s End went ahead to cut back the growth and carve a passage, the ground was no less receptive of the hooves and feet that walked upon it. The climb up the Steps of Faith, the foothills leading upwards towards the northern border of Artellathwaine, had been long and arduous. The first day’s march was almost done and they had only reached North End, a broad-based yet unimposing castle that was the seat of Lord Robert Hestor, a lesser lord of the Realm who warded the north. He received the party graciously and feasted them all, sending them on their way the following day both refreshed and with a party of his own men to accompany them.

The second day’s march was more difficult than the first as the hills became steeper and the growth heavier. Ahead of them lay the Gods’ Wall, a high ridge of flat-topped hills that marked the northern border. They made camp on the outskirts of one of the small hill villages, but there was no Lord to receive them. Lord Miteus had cursed and wished he had taken a ship instead.

The sun was passing its apex on the third day when they finally reached the top of the Gods’ Wall and the line of standing stones that marked the border itself. They had once been cuboid in shape, engraved with the crest of House Wetherhall on the far side, and the Crest of the great temple of Morji, a pyramid below a single star set on a yellow shield, on the side facing them. The engravings, however, had eroded clean over the centuries, and the stones were not much more than rounded humps of rock carved by wind and rain. Lord Miteus had stopped just before the border. What lay beyond those stones was a world were magic ran rampant, a world he had never trusted. He was about to step beyond his law and into the law of another, his King, the Great Anointed One, what mattered was that it wasn’t his.

“Keep on your guard.” He told his men. “What lies ahead is unknown to us. And keep your weapons sheathed, these are sacred lands, there is to be no bloodshed here unless absolutely necessary.”

Cries of “Aye, my Lord.” went up behind him. He adjusted his blue cloak and urged his horse onwards, but the animal stopped after a few feet. The party stopped behind him, those that had managed to start moving. All eyes were drawn upwards to the sky. High above them, in the distance, its green scales glinting in the sun, a great dragon glided without effort. Its mighty wings carried its weight, defying the pull of the earth. Its four legs were tucked beneath it, it turned gracefully and brought its narrow head to face them. Even from such a distance, Lord Miteus could feel its four eyes observing him, everything he was, everything he could ever be. The feeling was disconcerting, to say the least.

“It is an omen!” One of the men announced.

“Aye.” Sir Allian replied. “But good or bad?”

***

The great green dragon almost belonged in the sky. It didn’t fly, it swam amid the air. It surveyed the ground far below it, and began to dive. It sliced the sky as it built speed and fell. It had halved its altitude by the time it spread its expansive wings and pulled out, soaring over the ground at great speed. It roared, its call echoing both before and after it opened its mouth. Shimmering green energy began to flow and spark over its scales, slowly engulfing its entire body in green light, and in a flash, it was gone.

In a field of grass that lay untouched by grazing animals, a single horse stood, harnessed to a cloth-topped wooden caravan and eating the grass in clumps. Its reins lay on the lap of a man sat in the drivers’ seat at the front of the caravan, wearing deep green robes and wizard’s hat. His ancient eyes surveyed the sky where the dragon had been. He took the long pipe from his mouth amid his long curled beard of steel grey with strands of white and let a ring of smoke float into the air from it.

“How interesting.” The old man remarked to nobody in particular.

***

The standing stones were behind them now, ahead the Gods’ Wall fell away from them towards the open fields of Morjiathwaine. The city of Morji sat just on the horizon, but already the great five-sided pyramid of the Great Temple of Morji could be clearly seen, its gold cap reflecting the sun with a glare even from this distance. Near to it, the black spire of the Great Temple of Flying Szion was almost as tall, but still dwarfed. Between them and the city was the great sea of fields, farming cottages and the islands of villages and towns, each with at least one Temple at its heart. There could be no mistake, in Morjiathwaine it was the Gods that ruled, not men.

They were not far beyond the border when they came upon a small cottage set within a large circular garden. The hedge surrounding it was short but thick, and within were patches of ground where strange plants grew. The cottage itself was round, with a thatched roof and a chimney at its centre, a small column of blue smoke rising from it. Curled up in a ball atop the thatch was a small dragon of white scales. The gate to the garden was wooden, and in front of it sat an old rusted iron cauldron, filled with dirt and an upended broom sticking out, bristles spread wide into the air.

“A witch’s cottage.” Sir Allian recalled.

“So close to our borders, I do not like it.” Sir Atchury, Lord Miteus’ Guard Protector for the journey, said.

“We’ve known common folk to steal across the border in search of magical remedies.” Hanker Rooch, one of Lord Hestor’s men, remarked.

“And what is done with such folk?” Lord Miteus asked.

“If we catch them, we brand them.” Hanker replied.

“And if they are branded already?” Sir Allian asked.

“We put them to death.”

“As well you should.” Miteus said. “Magic is treason against the realm.”

“What should we do?” Sir Atchury asked. “She will likely be plotting against us.”

“I would not think so.” Sir Allian replied.

“You trust magic too much, Sir Allian. To be expected of a man from Gania, I suppose.” Lord Miteus said. “If she administers magic to the people of my realm then she is guilty of violating my law.”

“Let me bring her to your justice, my Lord.” Sir Atchury said.

“Take care, she likely knows of our presence.” Lord Miteus replied.

The knight, clad in his steel plate, dismounted his steed and quietly drew his sword. He moved towards the gate as quietly as his armour would allow. He moved through the gate, making little sound above the low creaking of the old hinges. He crept forwards, sword in hand. Only a few feet beyond the gate, the blade in his hand began to ring, vibrations in the steel causing his grip to loosen. The ringing went up in pitch, and the blade flew from his hand, striking flat against a large dark stone to the side of the gate within the garden. The ringing stopped, and the blade remained fixed to the stone.

“Magic!” Miteus said. “Draw your swords!”

The white dragon had awoken, and was now facing them, snarling as it gripped the thatch with its claws and spread its wings wide. Two glowing green eyes looked at them. Miteus’ men, both on horse and foot, were moving to surround the cottage. Swords were drawn and bowstrings pulled back. The door to the cottage opened inwards, slowly, and of its own accord. With hands raised and a defiant stride, a woman walked out into the sun. She was young, attractive and shapely, even though the black robes and floppy pointed black hat tried their best to hide the fact.

“What is your business here, knight?” She asked. Sir Atchury was trying to prize his blade from the stone, but to no avail.

“You are the witch who attends this place?” Miteus asked.

“This is my home, yes, my Lord.”

“Spare me your false courtesy, woman. Do you render magical aid to the people of my realm?”

“I do, what of it?”

“Then you admit to use of magic within my realm?”

“I do no such thing! You want to accuse me of breaking your laws, Lord, you had best remember where your laws end. The stones over there mark your realm, my home is not within them. If I aid those who cross your border, what of it? I break no law here.”

“Be careful how you speak, hag!” Another man said.

“My people, my realm, my law.” Miteus replied. “I judge you guilty, and in the name of King Piscius, do sentence you to die.”

“A Noble Lord you may be, but you are beyond your realm here. I am Madame Zoyelle of the Sisterhood of Magic, Sister of the Seventh Circle, and I challenge your judgement.”

“By what law do you challenge?” Sir Allian asked.

“The Law of the Sisterhood, and the Law of the King.” She replied.

“Magic has no law.” Miteus said. “And the King’s Law does not protect you, I see no challenge.”

“Then it is you in defiance of the King’s Law.” She replied.

Sir Allian knew she was right, the law of the king allowed a ruling to be challenged, even the king’s own, and the authorities of magic were valid arbitrators of challenge.

“Do not dirty my name with your lies, vile demoness!” Miteus said, his fury rising.

“That is the truth of it, and I am in my rights to defend myself.” She replied. “I have no desire to harm anyone, even you, Lord Wetherhall, but I shall if you persist in your so-called justice.”

“I tire of your mockery, woman.” Miteus growled. “Take her head.” He commanded.

The first arrow was let loose by one of the horsed archers. It flew straight and true, almost too fast to see. The witch drew one hand backwards, and the arrow strafed wide, embedding itself in the wall of the cottage behind her. In a smooth motion, she clenched her other hand into a fist and thrust it towards the archer. A distortion in the air formed and launched itself straight at him, snapping his bow in two, denting his armour and throwing him from his startled horse, carrying him several feet into the air before he dropped to the ground in pain. The white dragon took flight. Three more arrows flew, she dived forwards and rolled, dodging them. Lord Miteus and the men around him leapt from their horses. She rose to her feet again, in her right hand she held a glowing orange orb of energy. She brought it up towards them.

“Magefire!” Sir Allian screamed, raising his shield. Lord Miteus and his flank did likewise, just in time to block the cone of intense orange flames that rushed towards them. Their horses spooked, reared and ran. The heat of the fire was intense, Sir Allian could feel it through his shield and armour. Another man across from them leapt from his horse over the hedge, brandishing a mace. He made a battle cry and began to run forwards. His mace began to ring, much as the sword had, and it was soon ripped from his hand, flying to the grey stone where it stuck with Sir Atchury’s sword. The witch turned her head towards the man. Whilst throwing fire from her right hand, she raised her open left hand. The armoured man stopped dead in his tracks and rose from the ground. She closed her hand into a fist, and the man’s armour crushed inwards around him. She dropped his body to the floor, where he lay broken and bleeding. Whilst she was distracted, another archer put an arrow in her chest. She staggered backwards, the magefire roaring from her hand died as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Lord Miteus and his men holding glowing steel shields, their paint burned away. Sir Atchury had been stood closer to her and unshielded. His armour stood glowing semi-molten, smoke rising from inside. The smell of smouldering flesh was revolting.

Above, the dragon swooped in for the attack. It launched a misshapen orb of bright green light that hit the archer square in the chest, seeming to pass right through his chain-mail. He fell to the ground, lifeless. Lord Miteus and his men had leapt over the hedge, weapons drawn. The blades of axe and sword, the heads of hammer and mace began to ring, and all were ripped from their hands towards the stone. All except Silver Wind, the dragonsteel blade remaining faithful to its master. The other men drew their daggers, but they too rang and flew from their grasp. Miteus advanced, followed by his guards. The dragon hit another man in full plate, and he fell from his horse, hit the ground and remained still as death. The witch, wincing from the pain, managed to regain her posture. Seeing them advancing on her, she threw both arms upwards in front of her. The ground beneath Miteus and his men exploded, throwing them upwards and away from her. Miteus managed to rolled forwards, avoiding the blast, but only just. He pulled himself to his feet whilst the witch turned her attention to another flurry of arrows. She deflected them into the ground and returned the assault with another blast of magefire. Sir Allian had rounded the house and commanded the archers to take cover as the flames reached for them. Their horses turned and ran. Miteus raised Silver Wind and swung the blade at her neck. She turned and tried to stay his blow, but his strength outmatched her magic. The blade struck, but not where he had intended. Instead of taking her head, he instead took a gash across her chest, spraying blood. She collapsed to her knees, her magefire again dissipating into thin air. She tried to recast her flames against Miteus, but the orb of fire withered and died in her hands.

“Your magic is spent.” Miteus said as he raised the blade once more. “Make peace with your gods.”

“My Lord!”

Two strong hands grasped Miteus’ shoulders and turned him aside. He rolled onto the ground, and one of his knights stood in his place, facing him. An orb of green energy planted itself in the knight’s chest, and Miteus saw the life leave his eyes just before he fell. Archers pulled fresh arrows, the soldiers and knights advanced one more. The witch got unsteadily to her feet, blood staining the robes across her chest. She reached out a hand towards the inside of her cottage. There was movement within, and a broomstick hurtled out towards her, spinning in the air and landing in her hand. She turned and leapt, swinging one leg over the stick. The plants below and behind her parted slightly as she took to the sky. The archers fired after her, but she was out of range too quickly. The dragon followed her as she turned and sped north-east, away from them.

Miteus and his men stood for a moment in the abandoned cottage garden. Men had gone to round up the startled horses, others were tending to wounded and the dead.

“How many wounded? How many fallen?” Miteus asked.

“I count eight fallen.” Sir Allian said. “Including Sir Atchury, Sir Garth, Thale Warren and John Larrow.”

“Nine wounded, my Lord.” Another said. “Although we cannot know how badly. Two with broken legs.”

“See that the wounded are tended to, bury the dead, and burn this cursed place to the ground.” Miteus commanded. He turned to Sir Allian.

“My Guard Protector is dead.” Miteus said. “I entrust his duties to you.”

“I am honoured, Sir, but I cannot accept.” Sir Allian replied.

“Why not?” Miteus demanded to know.

“My oath of service was sworn to the Lord of Ganiathwaine, and I serve your Lady. I can not fully serve the duties as your Guard Protector.”

“Then why are you here, Allian?”

“She sent me to help escort you.”

“But not as my Guard Protector?”

“There are others in your company better fitted to the task.”

Lord Miteus regarded the knight as he cleaned his blade. “You take your oath seriously.”

“More seriously than my life.”

“Then you are a rare man, Sir Allian. I have half a mind to send you back to continue protecting my Lady.”

“That is a command I could not follow.”

“Then I shall not give it. Sir Denton!” He turned to another of his knights.

“My Lord?” Sir Denton replied. He was a knight in simple steel plate with a half-helm who rode a white horse.

“I don’t suppose you would accept the role?” Miteus asked.

“It would be my honour to serve as your Guard Protector.”

“Then it is done.” Miteus sheathed his sword. “The lands between us and Morjia are gentle, the city should not be more than a day’s fast riding. See to strong horses and strong riders, have our wounded taken ahead.”

“But my Lord,” Sir Denton replied, “with our dead and wounded, if we send riders to take them we will be less than half our numbers.”

“These are sacred lands, I expect we can survive a day’s riding whilst we catch them up.”

“My Lord, I must protest.” Sir Allian interjected. “If that witch returns, we may not survive another attack as we are, much less with reduced numbers.”

“We defeated her once, we shall defeat her again.” Miteus said with conviction.

“I do not doubt that.” Sir Allian replied. “But that dragon almost killed you, and given a chance I fear it could have slain us all.”

“Then we shall kill her dragon too.”

“With respect, my Lord, I do not think you understand. That dragon was white of scale, an Immortal. The magic of life flows through it, it cannot be slain.”

“I have seen many things called immortal die just like normal men.” Miteus said. “All you need do is take the head.”

***

Magic is a part of the world. You cannot outlaw it any more than you can proclaim that night may not follow day. – Wise Micharus

The great green dragon reappeared out over the water between the coast of Asamor and the island nation of Sau. It swept down over the water, its four great eyes watching the water, seeing great waves and storms that had long since passed, tall ships that were now wrecks at the ocean’s bed. It could see any and all of them, and all that could ever be. It moved towards the great harbour walls of Artella. It saw them built from foundations as stone, it saw them molten and ruined, and built anew, larger and of dark, formidable rothstone. It saw a fleet of a hundred ships wrecking upon those walls, hundreds of years ago. It rose up on its powerful wings and saw the castle beyond. Small and new, large and old, defiant, destroyed, abandoned, enlarged. It saw a lone wizard ride for the doors on a sodden and exhausted horse amid a terrible storm. It saw a woman beheaded atop its great central tower. It could see every day of every past, every moment of every future. They had all happened, all were happening, and the great green dragon swam amongst it all, the ocean of time.

It turned its gaze to the present moment as it soared towards the walls. It saw men running across the tops of the mighty cliffs they had built. It saw great bows, like the small ones the men held, but larger than two men stood foot-on-head and made of metal. It saw the two great trebuchets as they hurled great rocks towards it. The greatbolts let fly their steel-tipped bolts. The great green dragon shimmered with the magic of the nexus and willed the clock to cease its tick. The great boulders slowed and hung in the air, the bolts stopped their flight, the men and their world froze. The dragon swam the crack between this moment and the next. It rose over the wall of pointed steel, slipped beneath the suspended rocks. Over the wall it flew, unseen by the eyes of men, still frozen looking at where it had been.

Ahead of it the castle loomed, and then below it, and then behind it. It turned and focused its eyes, searching the static world for the one thing that moved still. It found the boy in the garden, wandering and wondering at the world made still. He stared at insects locked mid-flight, leaves hanging mid-fall. The dragon landed atop the castle, the rothstone holding strong even in a broken time. It curled its tail and folded its wings, and looked at the boy with those four great eyes. Before him stood the boy, every moment from his birth, and every moment yet to come. Every future, every past, which would he choose, and which would choose him?

Both dragon and boy stared at the other in wonder. One wondered at the great size and the green scales, the monster that could stay the world. The other wondered at something small, yet stretching so long in time, a fellow traveller, whose path so bundled and looped made for something rare, something precious. Boy, student, wizard, blessed, cursed, invincible, doomed. The dragon saw it all and more. Four eyes that beheld Fate and Destiny’s path both, and all those in between.

Micharus marvelled at the dragon’s form, its sheer size, the intricate patterns of its green scales, how they caught the sunlight. A shimmer of green magic washed over the creature and it was gone.

“Micharus? Micharus!” His mother cried out. She had been watching him when it happened, when time stood still. He had wandered from her, and now the sands were flowing again. She looked around and saw him. She ran to him and embraced him.

“Oh Micharus, my son! You can’t do this again! You might be seen!”

“I didn’t do it, mother, it was the dragon.”

“What dragon?”

“The green one, up there.” Micharus pointed at where the dragon had been.

“But there is no dragon, Micharus.”

“It’s gone now, but it was there.”

Jalice heard the ringing of the warning bell in the distance. After a few moments, a guard rushed towards them.

“My Lady!” He cried. “You and the boy, you must get inside, quickly!”

“Why?” She asked.

“I do not know, my lady. The warning on the wall is sounded, you must go inside!”

She grabbed her son’s hand and they hurried inside the castle’s protective walls. Micharus looked back and up to see if he could see the dragon, but it was gone. They rushed through the doors, which were closed behind them, as he heard bells ring the warning across the city.

The dragon watched as the boy and his mother vanished. Around him the guards changed in an instant and began to walk again, clouds appeared and disappeared in the sky, it was a different day, but the castle below its talons remained unchanged. It shifted, lifted itself and landed on another part of the castle, overlooking the main courtyard. The gates were open, and on the inside of them stood a single horse drawing a canvas-topped wooden caravan. At its front an old man in wizard’s garb sat in heated discussion with two guards. It peered at the scene with interest until one of the guards spotted it.

“Dragon!” The guard screamed. The other brought his attention to the creature, and they rushed to sound the alarm. Commotion began to spread around the castle. The old man turned to look at the dragon with kind eyes.

“Hello again, old friend.” He said, as he tugged on the reins and drove the horse through the unguarded gates and out of the castle. Out of the back of the caravan, the boy appeared, leaning on the door and looking up at the dragon. The boy smiled. The dragon would have returned the expression if it could, so it bared its teeth in a grin instead. As archers and crossbowmen were assembling it thrust its wings down and beat into the sky, the downdraught throwing several men to the floor. The great green dragon soared up and up into the sky and vanished. It went swimming again.

***

The inside of the witch’s cottage was a mess of magical trinkets, furniture and shelves of books and potion bottles. In the centre, four flaming stones heated a cauldron that was close to bubbling over. Lord Miteus and Sir Allian had entered alone, to see to its burning. Outside, men dug graves. The wounded had been sent ahead. Miteus walked around the cottage with a disgusted fascination. Sir Allian searched through the numerous bottles and flasks. He found two vials of softly glowing green-brown liquid labelled Harkroot Potion.

“My Lord.” He said, holding the two vials up in front of him. “Healing potions. It would be wise to take them with is.”

Miteus took the vials from him and threw them to the ground, shattering them and spilling the contents over the ground.

“More like folly.” He said as he turned back.

“Why do you hate magic so?” Sir Allian asked. “I have seen magic used to save more lives than I can name, feed hundreds when otherwise they would starve, even defend the kingdom from swords. How can you turn a blind eye to all the good it does?”

Miteus wore a look of contempt. “How can you turn a blind eye to all the evil it does? Did they not teach of the Mage War?”

“They did, when I was a boy…”

“Did they tell you of all the good men who died at the hands of so-called life-mages? Did they tell you of how Artella was broken and burned by the power of a single man? How men were turned to madness by the wills of psychics? Could they tell you how it felt to be unable to sleep for fear of being attacked in your very dreams? How castle walls counted for naught against men who could step through them as you would cross this very room? Were you there when my brother, my own flesh and blood, was slain not two paces from me by a wizard? Even to this very day, do you close your ears to the deeds of Dark Mages, who slay and butcher with their power?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I did not know.”

“The fault is not yours, Sir Allian.” Miteus’ momentary rage subsided. “You were raised in Ganiathwaine, amidst magic, you are merely as ignorant as the rest of this kingdom.”

“But the Mage War engulfed the entire kingdom.”

“Aye, it did. People fell for the temptation of magic, came to rely on it, and then it turned on them. The Mage War should have been our lesson, but only the Lords of Artellathwaine heeded it. My House took the Crest of the Black Axe over the Broken Staff to remind us of what magic cost our Realm. Magic is death. Those words once meant something across the kingdom. Now they are only remembered in Artellathwaine.”

“The punishment of magic is death?”

“As is the allowance of its practice. If I must stand in defiance of the entire kingdom to hold those words in this world then I shall, as my father did and his father before him. We are the men who hold to the old lessons. You may not agree, Sir, but I hope you understand. Now help me burn this forsaken place.”

“I shall.” Sir Allian said, and stepped around the cauldron. He grabbed one side, and Lord Miteus the other. Together they spilled the contents onto the wooden floor, where green moss began to grow into a carpet. The fire stones extinguished themselves. Sir Allian walked back to the racks of potions and pulled two spherical bottles of bright orange-red liquid.

“Banefire.” He said.

Miteus nodded. “Magic destroys magic, almost poetic.”

They stepped out of the door and tossed the two bottles into the cottage behind them. They shattered on the ground, spreading pools of bright orange flames that rose to the ceiling and burned with an unnatural ferocity. The fire consumed the cottage quickly as the two men left it, walking away and back to their fellow men. The sun was sinking in the sky as fire tore through the thatch and spread to the gardens around. They were well away towards the great pyramid in the distance when the potions racks felt the lick of flame. A corner of the burning cottage burst, ripping burning thatch and mud and spreading it across the hilltop. A burning ball of a thousand colours twisted into a vortex of screaming fire as the magic discharged itself into the world. Nobody remained to watch the remains of the cottage collapse into a smouldering pile and cool to ash.

Part IV | Contents | Part VI

You may also like...

Bitnami