He walked towards Salinder, whose serpentine neck lifted the great, tired head off the ground to meet the King’s gaze of as he strode forward, heedless of the crackling of lightning and thunder around him. Both of them seemed oblivious to Aiden’s presence, and try as he might, he could not utter a sound.
“Greetings, mighty Salinder,” the King intoned with a deep voice made hollow by his ghostly nature. “I have arrived, as was requested.”
Hail, King of Aielund, the dragon’s voice spoke in their minds, still strong despite his physical appearance. Your timing is auspicious, for my passing is at hand. Within minutes, my burden will become yours.
“I am not certain there is anything we can do to stop it,” the King said, his voice heavy with worry. “My forces are diminished from months of war, and even at the apex of my power I doubt it would have been enough to do more than hinder it.”
All is not lost, Salinder counselled. My agents continue to pursue other options, but they need time. I have done all I can, and it now falls upon you to stave off oblivion. The King seemed to slump at this news, the weight upon his shoulders heavier with each moment.
“Is there nothing I can do to bolster your strength a while longer?” he asked.
There is not, Salinder replied simply. A moment of awkward silence passed between them before the King spoke once more.
“It seems hollow to thank you for your sacrifice, but I offer my gratitude nonetheless. I cannot apologise for the pact my grandfather forced upon you, but I take heart knowing that it was for the greater good.”
Dwell not upon past events beyond your control, or understanding, Salinder advised. I have come to look upon my time here as penance for misdeeds, the magnitude of which you could not possibly fathom. The dragon shuddered suddenly, and his great head dipped toward the ground for a moment. The King seemed alarmed by this, but he didn’t have time to dwell upon it as the chains behind them finally broke, and the gate exploded in a shower of wood and stone. Salinder growled as his incantations of binding were broken, but he found the strength to rise up and face what was to come.
From amidst the rubble emerged a towering figure. With each step, it crushed the shattered remains of the gate into dust. Already distressed by what he had witnessed, Aiden could only watch in silent terror as the monster from his old nightmares bore down on the withered dragon with cold, relentless purpose.
Its appearance had not changed at all since he had seen it within the dreams he shared with Salinder. The Ironlord was just over eight feet in height, and built as a caricature of an ancient warrior. Shoulders nearly six feet wide held arms sculpted like chiselled muscle, and its legs were as thick as tree trunks. In one hand it held a sword too large for any mortal to wield, and a subtle white radiance danced along the edge. Its head was sculpted like a gladiator’s helm, and an amber glow shone where a man’s eyes would have been.
Return from whence you came, King of Aielund! Salinder warned. The King was as transfixed by the sight of the metal warrior as Aiden was, and did not move.
“Long hast thy meddling intemperance stymied mine inevitable triumph,” the deep, metallic voice of the Ironlord intoned as it stood in the shadow of the dragon. “Thine ruinous machinations are undone, wyrm.” With that statement, it raised its free arm to point at Salinder and a brilliant lance of light shot forth, surging into the dragon’s chest and searing the flesh within. A bellowing roar echoed across the Aether as Salinder was slain, the massive body of the creature plunging to the ground and cracking the earth beneath with the impact.
“No!” King Seamus cried, taking a step forward and drawing his sword. He seemed to be wrestling with something Aiden couldn’t see, as if an invisible man was preventing him from rushing forward, and within a moment, his visage flashed and was gone.
Aiden, still within the dream-state, watched as the Ironlord stomped past the remains of Salinder and looked directly at him. Frozen with terror, he could only watch as it reached out for him.
Then, strange images, memories and thoughts he had never experienced flashed through his mind, and a feeling of rising heat enveloped his hands. His eye was caught by a glowing object in the dragon’s claw, and saw the crystal sphere within blazing like the sun. The land around them started to break up as the distant storm swept over the small pocket of reality, shattering the ground and sweeping the crumbling remains into the maelstrom of the Aether.
The Ironlord hesitated as it reached for him, but its attention was caught by the surging storm and in a moment of decision, it turned and walked into the middle of it, falling through the ground that broke up beneath its heavy, sculpted boots. The memories and images in Aiden’s mind built to a crescendo and he felt himself falling — only to abruptly awake at the desk in the university’s tower.
He let out a brief cry of pain, for the crystal sphere underneath his left hand was white-hot and he instinctively dropped it from his burnt hand. His other hand was clutched tightly around the hilt of his ancient auldsteel blade, which he didn’t recall drawing from its scabbard. Desmond rushed over at the commotion, his brown robe and long, flowing beard whipping behind him in his haste.
“Aiden, what in blazes just happened?” he asked. Overwhelmed at what he had just witnessed, Aiden simply stared back at the old man.
“He’s gone,” he whispered in disbelief, looking back at the crystal sphere which had a crack running right down the middle of it.
Chapter One
“Well, you have developed quite a talent for breaking precious artifacts, Aiden,” Dean Desmond Foster said as he examined the cracked sphere on the table. “I’m sorry — Sir Aiden.”
“It wasn’t my fault this time, and I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Aiden murmured, wrapping a bandage around his left hand. The burn wasn’t too bad, though he’d be a bit tender for a few days. “It seems the Ironlord has broken free of Salinder’s otherworldly cage, and that little pocket of reality fell apart upon his death. The link between the two spheres was active at the time, so I think that’s what caused this one to break.”
“If the other was destroyed, I believe the link would simply disappear,” Desmond stated gruffly, unceremoniously dropping the crystal back onto the desk. “I will concede we don’t know enough about these devices to state that with any degree of certainty. Are you alright?”
“Well enough, aside from my scalded hand,” Aiden replied hazily. “The dream was a lot to take in.” He fell silent for a long moment as the full impact of what he had witnessed sank in. Salinder hadn’t been a friend, as such, but the connection they had shared had been important to Aiden nonetheless and he felt the loss keenly. “The damned thing is finally free. What are we going to do?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue. I shall bring this development to the attention of His Grace immediately and see what we can come up with. You should try and get some sleep, as I will need your input on this first thing in the morning.”
Aiden nodded tiredly, closing the book on his desk and stretching his muscles. The long hours of study had taken their toll, even before the vision. He bid the old wizard goodnight before sauntering off to an adjacent room. It had been set up as a temporary place for him to rest during his studies, but had quickly turned into his unofficial bedroom.
Desmond’s large grey cat, Major, was in his usual place in the centre of the bed, taking up as much room as possible. In no mood to deal with the grumpy feline, Aiden shoved him aside to make room for himself and lay down for some rest. Despite the shock he had received at Salinder’s death, he was asleep within minutes.
* * *
Aiden awoke from a dreamless sleep early the next day, and after performing his morning routine headed down to the faculty lounge for breakfast. The wizards and scholars who populated the University tower cast furtive glances at him as he filled a bowl with oats and fresh milk, and a few pieces of buttered toast. Despite his presence in the tower, Aiden was not a member of the staff nor was he an actual student, and he wa
s quite certain his knighthood was the only thing keeping them from casting him out.
Long had he dreamed of coming to this tower to learn the arcane arts, having spent years researching the mysteries of magic on his own. Now he was here, his placement into the crowded halls by the duke smacked of elitism. Aiden’s experience over the last few weeks had proven to be disappointing, and far from the scholarly environment he had long sought.
Conscious of the muttered conversations that had sprung up at his arrival, Aiden took his breakfast back up to the lab, where he would only have to fend off the insatiable hunger of Major instead of the unspoken aspersions of his colleagues. Eager to keep his mind occupied, he continued work on the arcane gauntlet as he ate.
The alien device had proven invaluable during the events leading up to the battle against the conspirators in the throne room, but it had a habit of heating up to the point where he had to shut it down before it burned his hand.
His investigations over the past few weeks had revealed the reason for this behaviour. Created by a mysterious ancient culture, the gauntlet was without doubt several centuries old at least, and a good deal of that time had been spent lying on the ground inside a broken underground complex, rife with moisture and dirt.
After carefully inspecting the device, Aiden had discovered small vents along the back of the gauntlet that were clogged with a black sludge, and although cleaning it out had proven to be tedious and time consuming, he was certain the heat it generated while in use would be better able to escape, allowing it to work for longer. It was a sound theory for a device that defied explanation by all the known methods of magic, at least according to Desmond and the other faculty heads.
Aiden glanced at the broken crystal and thought back to the vision he had seen. There were still so many questions he had wanted to ask of the dragon, but now they would never be answered. On an impulse he concentrated his mind, shifting his vision until everything appeared grey, except for the aura that surrounded anyone or anything suffused with magical power.
The gauntlet shone brightly in his arcane sight, yet the sphere itself lay dormant, completely devoid of power. He sadly looked away from the crystalline ball as confirmation of its broken state became obvious, only to be momentarily blinded by an intense blue light. Aiden lifted a hand reflexively to shield his sight, bewildered by what could possibly be radiating so much energy. Allowing his sight to return to normal, he was taken aback by the fact that he was looking directly at his auldsteel blade.
Recovered from the hands of a dead elven warrior in the crumbling ruins of Feybourne, the worn, gem-studded sword was well over a thousand years old, and the magic within it had faded long ago. How then was it possible for it to suddenly be practically on fire with magical energy?
“Are you still fiddling with that thing?” came a young woman’s voice from outside the window. Aiden turned in surprise at the voice. Sayana Arai — sorceress, sometime companion and former lover had returned once more. Several times a week, she came to him seeking answers regarding the small relic he had discovered months ago in the ruins of the old city of Ferrumgaard. As usual, she had avoided the stairs of the tower and instead simply levitated up the outside wall.
“I’m just about done, actually,” Aiden said hastily, polishing the gauntlet to cover his interest in the sword. Her curly red hair had regrown somewhat over the past few months, covering her pointed ears once more. Sayana was of mixed parentage, and although Aiden wasn’t aware of anyone harassing her about her elven heritage in recent days, she seemed to be more relaxed when her ears weren’t on display for all to see.
“That’s what you said last time,” she said, gazing at him with large green eyes. She continued to hover in mid-air as casually as if she were standing on solid ground. “Have you even been looking at the Lexicon?”
“When I have time, yes,” Aiden replied, glancing down at the small cube on the desk that held an incredible wealth of information within it. “The problem is translating the difficult language its creators used. Why don’t you come inside?”
“I’d rather not,” she replied hesitantly, understandable after her previous encounters in the university, stemming from the local wizard’s distrust of sorcerers.
“You’re in the good graces of the Crown,” Aiden assured her. “Just get in here and stop making a scene.”
“Nobody can see me from down below,” she stated with just a hint of smugness. “I learned a little trick from Criosa.”
“That’s Princess Criosa to you, young lady,” Desmond barked from the entrance to the laboratory. He was looking scruffier than usual, although Aiden was used to the sight after living in the tower for the past few weeks. “I will thank you to use the front door in future.”
“Sorry,” Sayana mumbled, lowering her eyes so her tumbling curls obscured her face somewhat. The sorceress climbed in through the window and alighted on the floor.
“Any news from Nel or Pace?” Aiden asked as he set the gauntlet aside.
“You can ask them yourself at the meeting,” she replied, glancing around at the lab and fixing her eyes on Major, who lay sprawled at the back of Aiden’s desk.
“What meeting?” Aiden asked.
“The one we’re about to have in the castle,” Desmond muttered absently as he gathered up various odd-smelling ingredients from a nearby shelf. “After informing the duke of the events you described, he has called for a communication with the king.”
“Isn’t he hundreds of miles away, fighting a war?” Aiden pointed out.
“Well, of course he is,” Desmond shot back impatiently, “which is why I am going to assist in the casting of an incantation that will permit contact with His Majesty. Help me carry all of this, would you? Ah, I’ll handle the scroll cases myself, actually. Bring that tome over there, the one with the blue binder.”
Aiden flinched at the unspoken message — he could not be trusted around such alluring magic anymore. Desmond had learned of his recent over-use of arcane scrolls, and had gone to great lengths to remove them from the laboratory.
Putting this concerns aside, Aiden went to the old wizard’s aid and ended up carrying most of the gathered materials as they descended the staircase. Sayana timidly followed along, using her legs this time.
“So, did you discover anything new?” she quietly asked of Aiden as they moved through the crowded lower floors of the tower.
“Can this wait?” he asked, practically juggling the pile of equipment in his arms. “We already have a lot to deal with.”
“I’ve been waiting for weeks,” Sayana persisted. “If you haven’t been able to figure out anything more from that thing, give it to me and I’ll do the research myself.” Aiden held his silence as they passed through the outer doors of the tower and into the courtyard of the university. Before them, the cathedral of the Church of Aielund gleamed in the warm morning sun, a counterpoint to the arcane might of the university itself.
“Look, it’s obvious that your tattoos — ‘arcane conduits’ being the correct term — were applied to you at some point,” Aiden confided after realising she wasn’t going to give up. Desmond was gaining distance from them so Aiden felt safer talking about this sensitive issue. “From what I’ve read, people aren’t born with these markings so you weren’t ‘made’ by these people. You were born normal, perhaps gifted even, and this was done to you.”
“Why don’t I find this revelation comforting?” Sayana remarked as they passed through the outer gates of the university grounds and headed towards the looming presence of Fairloch Castle.
“Step to it, quickly now!” Desmond called back to them, the old wizard apparently unwilling to slow down.
“How does someone that old move so fast?” Aiden muttered. “Anyway, the question you should be asking is, who put those markings on you, and how did they have access to such powerful magic? The people who designed those markings vanished millennia ago, so it wasn’t one of them. I’m willing to bet your father’s side of the
family, the Akoran mountain people don’t know anything about it either.”
“Your answers have only given me more questions,” Sayana replied somewhat despondently.
“I wish I had more time to go over it,” Aiden continued. “I suspect the method of creating sorcerous markings like this was kept highly secret, and it’s likely to have been lost over time. We may never find all of the answers.”
They fell silent as they continued walking along the main street, with Sayana pondering this revelation and Aiden focused on the upcoming meeting. Before them, the gray stone of Fairloch Castle loomed, getting closer by the minute. Seeing he was having difficulty keeping his burden from falling onto the ground, Sayana took a few of the larger items to help him out.
They were met just inside the front gate by a small, officious woman with graying hair who had become the new castellan, replacing the man who had turned out to be a traitor to the Crown. She took her job very seriously, and was constantly buzzing about making sure those working under her aegis kept the castle in perfect working order. She bid them wait in the comfortable confines of the foyer while the duke finished up other business.
“I thought knights were supposed to have people carry their stuff for them,” a familiar voice mocked him from the other side of the room. Peering past his load of supplies, Aiden spied Pacian Savidge sitting on the couch, his blond hair tied back in a short tail and his stylish goatee neatly trimmed.
“My title hasn’t conferred the same privileges as some other people,” Aiden replied sourly, noticing he was sitting next to Nellise Sannemann. Tired of dealing with his burden, Aiden dumped the scrolls and jars of ingredients into an empty chair and went over to greet his old friend with a solid handshake.
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