Awakening

by P D Dennison

  Daria led the two men to their rooms and they found there a snack and another cup of mead. Their rooms had a nice little fires alight for them and they were quite comfortable. They both fell to sleep quickly and deeply.

  Chapter 21

  Blaze is Born

  Daybreak came all too quickly for the companions and Ravak, as usual, rose first. Kaldrinn had dosed off on his watch and slept sitting up right with his hand on his bow. Ravak noticed the two wolves and something even odder than that. Postgaar and Turynn were there as well, rolled up in white linen bedrolls, sleeping like babes. He got up and went over to get a better look. He gave the man a little shake to wake him. Turynn roused with a start from a very deep slumber. He had an arrow in his hand hidden in the rolls of the bedding and as if from out of nowhere had it at Ravak’s throat before the Barbarian could even blink.

  “What happened? Where are we?”

  “Calm down. It’s me, Ravak Ekesson. Nothing to fear here.” He slowly pushed the arrow away from his throat with the back of his hand. “You’ve given me quite a start. I awoke to find you Postgaar and the two wolves of the Lady of the Danthar fast asleep beside our fire here.”

  “What’s all this blasted jabberin’ about? Good gravy! How on earth...?” Postgaar glanced around in confusion.

  After everyone had arisen, eaten, and Turynn had done his best to explain their last day of travel along with all that Daria had told him, they all agreed they were glad to be a whole company again and on the track of the mission they set out to accomplish. They’d a full day’s travel ahead of them and expected to reach the Tower of High Sorcery by shortly after nightfall on the third day from their present campsite.

  Manya seemed excited to hear of all Lady Daria had to offer on the subject of the Copper Dragon Orb. She questioned Turynn over and over again until he was quite frustrated with her, but had absolutely nowhere to go to get away as she’d insisted on travelling with him, leaving Postgaar to fair on the back of the horse with Ravak. The Barbarian bopped along uneasily on horseback as running was more his forte and the dwarf behind him grumbled every step of the way. He had a mind to hop down and run along with them rather than continuing on with the dwarf grabbing at his back and complaining about Ravak’s terrible horse sense the entire time.

  They didn’t stop for a noon meal, choosing to forge ahead to make the Tower as quickly as possible. They camped for the night at the southernmost foot of the Danthar before heading out onto the southern plains of Castille.

  The next couple of days passed uneventfully. The road before them lay on an open plain, quite heavily travelled by the good peoples of the Kingdoms of Castille and Sunover. It had been mainly used to travel back and forth between the cities of Stromsgate and Innisport. The road had been constructed almost entirely from cobblestone. Some sections remained under construction where the companions would have to make their way around the road crew through the open plain on either side.

  They met many travellers, mostly merchants, some who would stop them and try to peddle their wares. Ravak was fortunate and wise enough to stop a furrier as he passed. He sold all that he had left of his hides for a fair price. The companions used many of them as bedrolls and Ravak didn’t have the heart to request they return them for trade.

  They met Uuthor’s company of soldiers heading east to the Gnome Hills to defend the Gershmark Wall. They stopped to chat only briefly, but the commanding officer said they had strict orders from the Tower to make for Gershmark Wall with haste and to hold it in the event that the first line fell in the hidden eastern pass of the Mystpeaks.

  They came across farmers returning from market with young cattle, some carts filled with seed for those farmers who were planting late in the season. They passed by a troupe of travelling performers with a team of three covered wagons all brightly painted with streamers that waved and blew in the wind. Ravak had never seen the like of any of it before and became quite excited by the whole affair. He kept veering off the road as he turned about to excitedly ask another question of Postgaar about the people they passed by. The dwarf would scold him with a cuff in the head as he was about to walk into a passerby or off into the muck.

  “Watch yer step, lad. If ye lame this horse with me on its back, I'll cut ye down to size,” he shouted more than once that afternoon.

  They’d travelled until after supper when the companions reached the gates of the city of Stromsgate. The sun had sunk below the far side of the city and could now only be seen as the faintest purple light against the clouds on the horizon out over the Orcun Ocean. Ravak breathed in deeply with his eyes closed. He’d never seen or smelled the sea before and found himself quite pleased with it. The sound of the tide rolling in crashing on the rocks, the scent of the salty air, and the cawing of the shore birds as they swooped into the water every now and again for their evening meal. He thoroughly enjoyed himself in spite of all the responsibility that had befallen him of late.

  They encountered guards at the city gate. Teams of two greeted travelers as they made their way through the line up to the front. The entrance to the city of Stroms Gate consisted of a gatehouse with two tall, ironbound Rowenwood doors that were opened wide. Behind that, a raised portcullis hung opened. All manner of folk sought entrance to the capital city of Shaarn. Before long their turn came around.

  “State your name and business,” came the guard’s dry, rehearsed script.

  Manya and Turynn came forward.

  “Manya Silverleaf, Apprentice to Rostioff Fastelaine Arch Mage of Elemental Mastery at the Tower of High Sorcery on a commission for same. These are my companions.”

  Each introduced themselves in kind, the guard noted each of their faces, and a skinny little scribe that followed close wrote down their names in a ledger along with their weapons, the number of horses, and a few other notes of importance to the city watch. They were admitted after a couple more questions and headed into the city.

  Ravak’s head wheeled about like a child at the circus. He’d never seen anything like it. So many people were milling about them, especially beggars looking for coin. He gave out a few coppers before Postgaar slapped his hand when he went for his pouch again.

  “One o’ those buggers’ll cut yer throat for that purse if they see ye reachin’ for it so often, lad. Ye’ know not the boon yer lady friend made for ye there!”

  Ravak tucked the purse back into his hide coat and gazed up at the surrounding buildings. He’d seen the tall keep in the mountains, but this was something else. Row upon row of buildings all attached with only the occasional little alleyway to separate them. Down one he saw dark looking characters, who glanced out at him when they noticed his watching eyes. Down another he saw a cat with its head in a trash barrel. He saw people huddled and sleeping in heaps of junk as if they lived right there in the midst of the city on the cobblestone. There were rats scurrying about every which way. He’d seen the odd rat out in the country, but here in the city, they grew fat and bold. They seemed to be flourishing amongst the filth left behind by the citizens. High above he saw laundry hanging from lines all over the place, to the edge of the road on both sides ran an open sewage system that flowed with quite a force. He made sure not to let the horse step into it. The vigor of the flow kept the smell to a minimum.

  The scents were probably what caught his attention most. As they moved on, he could smell the contents of each and every shop they passed. First a tannery with all the harsh odors of chemicals the city folk used to tan hides, then a smoke shop with the sweet heady aromas of tobaccos from across the Land of Shaarn wafting out from within. Wealthy-looking men with velvet overcoats and great foppish hats plumed with feathers stood on the veranda of the shop smoking and talking. They wore fancy blouses under their overcoats and short shoes that came up tight around the ankle. They wore knicker-lengthed pants, a style Ravak had never before seen, but seemed to be the norm here in the city of Stromsgate.

  He had not expected to see so many beggars. Ravak had assumed
all Southerners were rich on one level or another and that they would not be living as such. It disheartened him to see so many suffering while others stood close by adorned in wealth they didn’t seem willing to share with their downtrodden brethren.

  The roads of the city were countless and the path to the Tower of High Sorcery seemed endless to Ravak. They rode on through the streets for the better part of an hour. The sun had gone completely down and the roads grew dark. City watchmen were out and about lighting lanterns on the streets and keeping the bad men in dark places. They passed by an inn and tavern called the Pipe & Flagon. Manya noted that this was where they would be staying and the Tower was not at all far from where they were now.

  Finally the road turned upward and they moved along a rising arch of a bridge that overlooked the lower city. More of the ocean came into view as they climbed higher and higher. The starlight danced off the waves on the water in the night. Ravak could see the castle of the mayor. It looked a modest little keep in comparison to the great castle of the King of Castille behind it. The King’s castle towered over the city and was walled in again for further security.

  They rode past stables, guard posts, and the finer homes of merchants and lords of Castille. They marvelled at the great statue and fountain of King Strom, one of the kings of Castille from the First Age for which the city had been named.

  Finally they came upon the Tower. It stood just beyond the walls of the city as a sovereign state unto itself set apart from the Kingdom of Castille. A large wall housing the keep proper rose high into the air above the city, much higher than Dragon’s Maw, but with a lesser circumference. The craftsmanship of the building appeared obviously dwarven, but the money behind the construction did not belong to people seeking to immortalize themselves in stone as with Dragon’s Maw so it lacked the character of the grim dragon face on the front gates, the stone frescos, and the intricate carvings. It demonstrated construction of the latter part of the First Age when costs were higher due to wars and time was of the essence. Folk worried less about finery and more about getting the job done. The tower flew its banners high atop each spire and along its wall. At its gates, standards flew lit by torchlight at night. The standard of the Tower of High Sorcery displayed a tree, representing the forests of Shaarn. It stood on a field of green to symbolize the plains of Castille. A hand reached up where the roots of the tree should be to exemplify the Magi’s hands as the root of all power in the Land of Shaarn. In the back ground, a yellow sun rose up behind the tower, a symbol of the hope the Council of Magi offers to the people.

  The companions entered the Tower stables uneventfully. A guard had instructed Manya to take her companions directly to the chamber of Arch Mage Rostioff as soon as they were ready. A couple of apprentice magi escorted them to a washing room with little curtained off areas for guests arriving in numbers where they were able to wash quickly, have a drink of water, and douse themselves in a little perfume to cover the road stink for their meeting with Rostioff.

  Speaking with the guards and servants, Manya found out that Rostioff had assumed the role of Arch Mage in Danthalas’ stead. It didn’t surprise her to hear the news, as Rostioff was the natural choice for the position in her mind. She remained quite saddened at the loss of the loss of Danthalas. She admired him greatly and knew her master had even deeper feelings for the old elf.

  The companions walked the long winding halls of the tower upward to Rostioff’s chambers. Many of the doors were closed. From behind some, they could here talking and laughing as students settled in for the night. They passed the library and Ravak had to pause. He’d never before seen a library and didn’t even really know what he looked at. So many books and even at this late hour, so well lit. Manya grabbed his arm.

  “Come, sweetness. We’ll have a closer look on the morrow. We must meet with Rostioff now and ensure those eggs are being properly cared for.”

  She guided him back down the hall to catch up with the others. They arrived at the entry to the Arch Mage’s chambers. The clerk had retired for the night and the hall sat dark, the doors closed and locked. Manya rapped on the great dragonhead knocker that hung there. It came to life and blinked its serpentine eye as it looked about at them.

  “State your business,” it said coldly.

  “Manya to see...” The dragon knocker cut her short, “Manya, Arch Mage Rostioff has been expecting you. You may enter.” The lock on the door let out a clank as it came undone.

  Manya opened it and stepped into the chamber. Rostioff sat in a large chair by the fire with a glass of Elven Bourbon on the table next to him, a great pipe at his lip. Smoke gently rose into the air about his head. He read from a volume of The Annals of Dragon Husbandry trying to better understand the rearing of the young they would soon have.

  “Manya, Turynn, I see you and your companions made it safe and sound, Excellent! Excellent! You must be exhausted from your ride. Come and sit. I’ll send out for some supper to be brought in.”

  “No, master, we must talk and then we won’t burden you any further this night. We’ll stay at the Pipe & Flagon down the road for tonight.”

  “Certainly, but you know you and your company are always welcome here, my dear.”

  “I know, but they’ll leave early for Hilltop and I want to spend one last evening of pleasure in their company before we get down to the business of war.”

  She looked to Ravak timidly as she spoke and blushed slightly. She felt the warmth in her cheeks and forehead and hoped no one had noticed.

  “Speak your mind.”

  “Firstly, are the eggs safe?”

  “Yes, in the dungeon. We have an apprentice and Warrior Priests on guard all day and night. They are being kept warm with small fires and pots of steaming water. It’s like a sauna down there, but from the tomes we read this was the best environment for them to simulate their mother’s body heat.”

  “They’ve been nourished with the arcane energy they require?” she inquired.

  “Yes, thrice daily as per The Annals of Dragon Husbandry we have in the library. I have a volume here. Manya, you needn’t worry. They have been properly cared for awaiting your return. First thing in the morning I expect you back here to begin the ritual feedings that will induce a hasty growth and hatching. The future of Shaarn depends on it. Your old master knows a thing or two about dragons. I may not be the Drake Vardar of Shaarn, but I can read well enough. They are cared for as best we could in your absence.”

  “Yes, of course. As for my companions here, I plan to send them back by way of Hilltop on the morrow once they have had sufficient time to rest, gather supplies, and re-arm themselves.”

  “You plan to send us back to Hilltop?” Turynn asked in a snarky tone. “Just when did you plan to let us know you weren’t coming home with us?” He stood with his arms crossed on his chest, brow furrowed with frustration.

  “Turynn, I assumed you’d take it for granted that with my new title as Drake Vardar, you’d understand my needing to stay with the clutch of eggs and nurture them to adulthood. This is my life now.”

  “What about the inn? Your curios shop? You’re just throwing that all away now?”

  “No, but this is very important. I know it’s difficult to grasp the full picture now, but a war is coming and we need the dragons. Before all else, I must fulfill my duty and play my part in all this as Drake Vardar to the people of Shaarn for the very future of the land may depend upon my success with these dragonlings. Please understand. We can discuss it further at the Pipe & Flagon in a little while.”

  She turned her attentions back to Rostioff and the two of them walked slowly out onto the balcony, talking of dragons and hatchings and incubation temperatures, and then the whispering began. The companions grew impatient, hungry, and tired. Finally Manya and Rostioff made their way back inside. Rostioff asked them all to sit round the table of the Council to address them.

  “We are headed into dangerous times. Only yesterday did I dispatch two large armies to the
north and to the east of here. Manya tells me you met with a smaller detachment I sent out to the Gnome Hills to defend the great wall at Gershmark from the goblins should our primary force in the hidden pass fail. Of you four men, I wish to commission your services as scouts and messengers.”

  “Scouts and messengers? Nay, I’m headed back to Stonehammer to fight alongside my people. I have a wee faerie totin’ along somewhere in the shadows and have been commissioned by Daria, Lady of the Faerie Wood, to ensure my people forge the Lichslayer weapons to help you win your war,” said Postgaar.

  “I will still require your service in the company of these men further before this war is through. For now, tell me of your commission from the Lady of the Faerie Wood. We had thought Daria had gone mad as she hadn’t communed with us in decades now.”

  Postgaar and Turynn tried their best to convey the tale of what had happened to them and showed Rostioff the Poke of Passage. Postgaar produced the recipe for the magickal Mithril blades Daria had called Lichslayers. Rostioff skimmed it over, intrigued at the formula the old witch had devised. Next Postgaar drew forth the odd little buzzing whistle and summoned the faerie. She showed herself with a wisp into the room and a wave of her hand and she flitted back out again through the open balcony doors, leaving behind her a gently glittering trail of faerie dust.

  They told him of the Copper Dragon Orb Daria had and how she’d told them of her search for the others and that she’d been certain of their where abouts. Rostioff took it all in nodding and contemplating the news.

  “It would seem we have the welcome aid of a powerful new ally. Turynn, may I take one of those passage marbles? I will speak with Daria this night whilst you all slumber. If she indeed has in her possession a Dragon Orb and can help us locate the others, your job as scouts and messengers will not be required. I will send apprentices to find the remaining orbs before Graxxen’s forces do.”