Malcor's Story

by Eric K. Barnum

  "Will Calvin ever be able to see this? How do you see me?" Mal's suddenly became self-conscious again.

  Armageddon stared at Calvin and then shook his head. "No. He lacks the force of will to break free of time. As for you, prophecy and destiny shroud you like a heavy cloak and it buries any future I might see in shadows. To tell you would displease my mistress Shara. I will however tell you that a trial is fast approaching. One that will set you on the path of being a paladin, maybe more. You must use the River. This place, through your force of will and focus on the Mother, can aid you. Right now, your body dances and just a moment has passed.

  "Even though the River drowns you, you cannot yet exist outside of Time without paying a price. It exhausts your will. You can master it, but it takes time, experience, and a singular focus on either your Goddess, or magical studies. Because I brought you here, my strength sustains you. You see, for my kind, the River feeds us in this place, on the banks of this symbol of time's passage. Yes human. Those in the River are pulled through Time to their deaths. You see it as the passage of the day and seasons, in time and places as they erode, dim, and ultimately die. Your friends, even you, right now are drowning. Dying so slowly it is only apparent in startled fits of awareness, like when you see a favorite child years later and they are so big and different. You… are so conditioned to Dying, in this place, soon you will die unless we pull you back. For now, take it all in. Remember it. Speak of it to no one. This place, the ether on the banks of the River, gives you power over Time but you are too weak to survive it for more than a few brief moments on your own.”

  Malcor nodded, feeling suddenly concerned. If I stay here, I die. If I go back, I die?! Staring agape at the priestess, he noted the king’s movements crossed in front of her, but unlike the many colored auras Malcor saw in the others, the king’s was altogether different. He remembered scriptures and doctrines, stories of legend. It all came together. "Dread Lord, the stories and scriptures. I always thought the references to water, rivers, and the passage of seasons was a metaphor. It's an actual place though. It's real."

  Armageddon gestured expansively with his hand and said, “Well done human." He pointed towards the king in that second and speculated, "I wonder if you see it human. The king is different, yes?”

  The color auras stabbing out from the other dancers and Lady Shara fell into shadow the instant they came near the king. Even the column of fire from Shara’s flame strike raged around the king like a tornado, but its colors were less vibrant and somehow slower the closer they came to him. No, Malcor thought, not slower but different like looking through aged or warped glass? He looked harder, concentrating but it hurt his head, and then remembered the dread lord’s hand gesture. For such an expressionless being, the gesture stood out, like a hint or perhaps a clue? With the king, he thought he might need to step back? Imitating the dragon’s gesture, Malcor physically took a step back and forced himself to try to look larger, bigger, past the marvels and wonders around him. Knowing it was death and dying before his eyes made it no less beautiful.

  Then he saw it, or at least he thought he did. He gasped. As large, as awesome, as dread-inspiring and beautiful as the Dread Lords’ had been, they were nothing compared to the translucent barely-noticeable outline of a gigantic dragon looming over and surrounding King Rojo. The clear form dimmed and warped images behind and near it, and it moved approximately with the king’s movements. It was the king’s form, as a dragon, clear and colorless. Armageddon looked closely into Malcor’s eyes and his face twisted in a rictus of a grin, “You do see! LORD Rojo. This one has found measures of favor with the Queen and she has claimed him higher than any before, even the dragon emperor her most favorite.” He hissed and Malcor could not tell if it was a good or bad kind of hiss.

  Malcor started to take it all in, to ask more questions, to… but he stopped and felt something pulling at him. His legs and hands felt suddenly cold as if pricked by an ice-laden wind and the air stuck in his throat. He tried to form words but nothing came though the ideas sat heavy and pregnant in his mind. Flashes of light from the fire and auras felt painfully bright and then a convulsion took his left hand. Malcor felt his fingers spasm into a reverse fist as his fingers twisted in on themselves. Then his stuck breath exploded just before he collapsed over backwards onto the ground. Dimly, he thought he heard Armageddon say, “The River has you now…” and then an explosion of light and sounds and pain as Malcor collapsed into nothing at all.

  For a long moment, he struggled to breathe, to catch a breath. Gasp. Choke. Finally, he breathed and as air rushed into his lungs, Malcor felt the normal world invade him with its smells, sounds, and sights. Gone were the sparkling lights and the dreadful weightiness of the River and its Time. Armageddon stood near but was watching the dancers still. All around, the throng of Klennans either danced, clapped, or pointed from one wonder to another. The blacksmith, his master danced on the opposite side of the courtyard doing a decent job emulating the paladins. R’Dar Tor had apparently made it as well though he stood back from the throne’s platform watching either all of it or just staring into space. Malcor guessed he came only to stop him from leaving the forge.

  Armageddon turned and made eye contact with Malcor over his armored gorget. “Food and respite will help you recover quickly. I wonder Malcor if you feel the River as the deadly disease we Eldar first saw it? Maybe you only feel the loss of glory. Tell me.”

  With their eyes locked together, Malcor suddenly felt naked as if his entire soul laid bare for the dread lord to sift apart. “You’re seeing me in the River aren’t you? The trails of light and tiny crack by crack, you see me dying right now?” he asked.

  “Yes, I see you as you, bathed in the sickness of Time. I see your ambitions, your past dreams, your mantle of glory and shadow if you take it. Tell me Malcor, do you know Her Voice calling to you?” referring to the Queen Takhissis.

  “When I was in that place - <”We call it the Ethereal, the place between the infinite realms and the River of Time,” Armageddon interjected> - I felt overwhelmed and small but fascinated with everything I saw. Did I hear Her Voice? I have heard a Voice all my life calling me to be a knight, to be something more than a blacksmith.”

  The dread lorded nodded, “That is Her Voice. Next time you go into the Ethereal, listen for it. It will guide you and direct you.” Having said that, Armageddon flexed and jumped into the sky transforming back into a fire dragon. Though the paladins and Dar Shara continued their dance, the sudden appearance of another dragon caught everyone else by surprise as they all thought Armageddon remained in the sky. Several fell down in shock as they lost their balance, or instinctively tried to run away. Such a large and ominous dragon could be terrifying. Malcor watched the dread lord rise into the sky amidst the columns of fire.

  Every once in a while, a dragon would land on the hill outside of the shrine and tremble the ground with its presence. So too, every now and then, the dance’s tempo would start to calm. Normally, it would have ended almost as fast as it started. But normally, Klenna lacked knights of this caliber and an audience this noble. On and on it went. Some of the villagers sat down. Younger children somehow fell asleep. As it went on, soon only the sweat-drenched paladins, Dar Shara, and the dragons continued. It was mesmerizing. At some point, Malcor and Calvin were waved into the dance by the priestess. Though they felt clumsy, Malcor grinned when Calvin collapsed after just a few seconds of the dance. Wanting to do better, Malcor focused and danced even though he felt as if his body would explode.

  An eye blink later and the sun had begun to set. The dance ended. The dragons, as dragons, sat in a circle on the shrine’s hill, their wings rising up over their fierce heads making a crown of living dragons around the courtyard. The king Rojo and those paladins who had lasted the entire day stood frozen still as Dar Shara collapsed the columns of fire. And there was silence while the fireball sun dipped below the western mountains and lit the sky on fire.

  Chapter Three
– Tor's Defiance

  Armageddon, as a dragon, stretched forth his mighty claw and onto it Dar Shara stepped while the dragon lifted her up above the shrine. Looking down at them all, she spoke with a whispered voice quiet yet loud enough that all heard as if she were speaking directly into their ear. “A special day indeed for this Coming of Age ceremony and the people of Klenna! The emperor and King Rojo’s armies move westward yet we pause here for this dance, to show you the Queen’s love, to recognize this day for what the Queen decrees it. You few of Klenna who seek to rise up and become adults, we celebrate you and your families and your village.

  "But that is not all. Long ago, prophecies foretold of a westward march when summer warms the day and stars bathe the night. A night like this one. Exactly this night." She paused and the shrine gradually fell silent. "When King Rojo selects his successor. When the successor will be revealed to us. Any of you here may claim this right though only one of you is destined to become the next king.”

  Like the crashing silence when the dance ended, her words quieted the shrine and its courtyard like mist and then everywhere, Malcor felt people looking sideways at Calvin. Shara waited a moment and then continued, “Are there any here who would claim a king’s destiny?” Malcor looked at Calvin and saw his erstwhile friend blush, his hands clenching and unclenching. Calvin’s eyes lifted and met Malcor’s. It pained Malcor that he could not save his sometimes friend from the River. He imagined Calvin would be struggling with ambition and the distraction of the beautiful priestesses all around him.

  Then a sound of creaking leather and metal armor as one of the King’s paladins stepped forward from his dance posture. Fist on heart salute to the king and he spoke loud and clear, “My lord, may we assist? The queen has shown us who it is.” A flood of whispers washed around the crowd.

  Rojo’s hand slashed down and he replied, “No, we may not. Destiny calls out the Emperor’s need. If my successor cannot feel the Queen or hear Destiny…” and the king’s voice reached the ears of all those present. Malcor heard them and felt Destiny, he tried to understand but… he also heard footsteps approaching and then something shoved him, hard.

  R’Dar Tor’s boot slammed into Malcor’s back and sent him hurtling through the air to land face first in the dirt at Rojo’s feet. Malcor saw Klara standing and point open-eyed and scared for him back in the crowd behind Tor. The R’Dar saluted the king and keeping his eyes on Malcor said, “This one speaks constantly of destiny.” His voice sneered as he said “destiny”. The R’Dar’s words and spittle rained down on him, here, in front of the king and a Dar Priestess… and dread lords.

  Malcor rose up to his knees but so close to the king, he remained prostrate. His heart pounded in his chest and all he could think was how unfair it all was. He had given his life to that forge, had brought it business, had made it fortunes, and now to be ridiculed in front of his friends, his adopted family, the village of Klenna, and the empire’s ruling elites and the king… it was too much. A rage began building in Malcor’s heart, but unlike other times he had felt anger, this one had a cold hard edge to it. The fury threatened to overwhelm him, similar but altogether different from those times he worked himself unconscious in the forge.

  The king’s voice, now a whisper that still carried to all, turned like a slow-moving viper to R’Dar Tor and partially broke Mal’s rage, “Your tone insults me sir. In the eyes of the Queen, all are as great as their Destinies allow. As any take for their own. The young, the infirm, the weak, it does not matter. It is up to each of us to realize our own Destiny. I ask for one who would be king and you kick this boy to my feet. What is your intent here R’Dar?” Normally a title indicative of inherited wealth, power, or status, R’Dar also meant hero of the realm. The particular inflection R’Dar Tor used always danced between the two. The king’s inflection left little doubt that, in this case, it meant Dead Man.

  R’Dar Tor blanched and stepped back, “No offense intended my Lord King. The temple asks about Destiny, and my ears are laden with talk that takes this boy out of my forge. If none here will answer, then please Dar, allow me to bring this boy back to my forge. He has incredible skill with metalwork – he is a prodigy - I do not wish wasted in some childish daydream of knighthood. There is not any king here other than you Dar Rojo.” As he spoke, he slowly continued his retreat back from the king’s steel eyes. The title Dar, in Tania, meant many things all superlatives higher than a R’Dar. Even though R’Dar Tor had said it perfectly to mean Highest of the Highest, he took another step back. The king took a step forward, which put him in a line with Malcor.

  That viperous whisper turned to Malcor, “Is this true? Do you wish to be a knight? Do you hear Destiny?”

  R’Dar Tor began snickering, but the King’s regard cut him short. Malcor felt that searing feeling threaten him with tears, tears that he choked back before answering.

  “My Lord King Rojo, I have long held a dream of being chosen to be a paladin. It is all I have ever wanted, and I have felt driven to create and show, no give, a gift of my own making…” he reached for the dragon statue.

  King Rojo’s whisper and a hand on Malcor’s shoulder called him to stand. He rose and with surprise found himself at eye to eye level with the King’s eyes. He almost did a double-take when he noticed flecks, many flecks of varying color embedded into those eyes, but not a hint of affection or mirth lay therein. “Your name is Malcor correct? Your words are true, but this is not what you feel. Turn and face your R’Dar – inflected as slave master – and tell him who you are. Impress me Malcor-who-dreams-of-being-a-paladin.”

  Just before turning to confront R’Dar Tor, Malcor thought of the correct politically-wise thing to do. But, he saw Armageddon give him a warning glance, as if a dragon had facial expressions. He felt that fire in his heart again and knew.

  The courtyard’s silence felt stifling. R’Dar Tor’s expression, well known after years of servitude, seemed caught between deferred respect/fear of the King and disdain for Malcor. He could end all of this by declaring himself a smith, and returning to the forge. But, those days spent walking the hills and listening to wind in the grass and the knights’ stories about town begged him to not be just a smith. If only… no, it was now or never. This is my trial.

  “R’Dar Tor, I have worked with you since my master adopted me.” Malcor drew the long sword from the scabbard tied to his bag. His hands shook and he saw Tor snicker at it. But the rage in his soul threatened to break him to pieces. In the silent moment, its keen edge resonated shrill and clear. He heard a murmuring rise up from the crowd, especially the knights nearby, See the apprentice’s sword! “I have dreamed of being a knight, of serving the Empire, of fighting for the Queen. My destiny is not at the forge. It is out there, westwards.” He pointed his sword tip at R’Dar Tor’s forehead. “I am not yours. We are free.”

  A vein on Tor’s head pulsed in the various lights of the shrine wreathed about by fire from lanterns, from the dragons themselves, and from the last fading rays of sunset. Faster than Malcor thought possible, the R’Dar drew a rapier and cut Mal’s cheek… or at least that is what should have happened. Instead, Mal slipped out of the River for just a moment. There, in the relative calm and eerie silence of that place, a thunderous and deadly female voice roared in his ears, “Kill him my son and you will be a knight!”

  The command hurt his ears and he dove back into the River somehow stepping below Tor’s almost-attack and spinning around the R’Dar’s body to the right. Crouched low at Tor’s side, Mal saw the man wide open and then wide-eyed as he realized the youth had vanished and reappeared in the worst possible place for a counter or defense. The R’Dar tried to spin aside but as if hammering iron at the forge – does the smith think about the pain of the metal as it cooks and melts or is struck by hammer blow upon hammer fell? – Mal impaled his sword up through the R’Dar’s rib cage, spearing the man’s heart and exiting just through the left shoulder. Blood dribbled from the man’s lips as his head and f
ace stared at the exited blade point. He seemed as if to say something and then, without another thought, Malcor twisted the blade as he yanked it out. “I am not yours,” he screamed into the R’Dar’s dying face. The R’Dar’s corpse collapsed like a bag of meat.

  And silence… in the courtyard… not a sound and then one of the dragons leaned forward and bit the man off the ground. A slight head twist and the R’Dar vanished into a maw of teeth and fire. More moments passed, and the King spoke again breaking the silence.

  “Not a very usual Coming of Age ceremony, but one we shall not forget. But for that fool of a merchant – what was his name? – we might have a king. But it has been revealed and the prophecy fulfilled! Dar Shara, let the Temple send word to the Merchant’s Guild that,” a scribe whispered to the King, “R’Dar Tor of Klenna is dead, slain in fair and witnessed combat before myself and all others. Make a note that the usual rules apply for belongings and deeded properties."

  The scribe backed away scratching on the parchment and King Rojo stepped forward indicating he would like to see Malcor’s sword. “Excellent balance. Where did you get this?”

  “I made it my lord, with my master’s help in the beginning. I have been refining and improving it ever since.”

  “Has it a name?”

  Malcor shook his head no, “This is the first time it has been used to kill…”

  “You did not kill him Malcor. The Queen took you as Her tool to end his life. Look.” Rojo drew his own blade from his waist. Its keen edge resonated shrill and clear as it came free of its gold-inlaid scabbard. A bloodstone ruby glistened from the pommel’s hiltguard. The metal, if it was metal, absorbed light as if the darkest hour of night. Nothing reflected from it. Besides those differences, it was identical to Malcor’s handmade long sword. “This is my sword. My blade. My strong right arm. I name it “Twilight Fell on Her Shining Eyes”. My life, my sword, my Destiny is to honor, to serve, to love the Queen Takhissis with all that I was, am, and shall yet be. How is it that your sword resembles my own? Have you seen it, read it, perhaps saw it as a drawing?”