The Written

by Ben Galley

  A distant flash amongst the low clouds caught Farden’s eye. ‘Another storm?’ He asked, pointing at the sky. Eyrum squinted and another flash of light flickered on the horizon. ‘No, something else entirely. Wait,’ said the big man. He put a finger and thumb to his wrinkled brow. After a second he nodded to a silent reply. ‘Give him a moment.’

  Farden was slightly confused, but as he scanned the skies he discerned a jet-black shape darting under the low clouds. ‘Is that your dragon?’

  Eyrum shook his head silently and wiped more cold snow from his face. Farden hoisted his hood over his wet hair and shrugged the precipitation from his shoulders.

  The dark shape swooped in a low dive to glide over the foothills far below them. Farden watched avidly and with bated breath as the object dropped further and further until it seemed to be flying mere inches above the jagged black rocks of the mountain. The big man stepped back from the railing and Farden felt he should do the same. There was a moment of silence as the shape disappeared from their view, and then suddenly a gigantic gold shape tore past the balcony with incredible speed. The thunderclap from Farfallen’s massive wings was deafening and the blasts of air almost pushed the two men to the ground. The dragon climbed vertically into the night sky and pirouetted on one wing tip. Just as Farden thought the dragon would tumble from the air he somersaulted and dove for the balcony, tucking his wings in tight to his flanks like a peregrine falcon. The mage backed away towards the door, but Eyrum didn’t move. It looked like Farfallen would plummet headlong into the rocks, but at the very last second his wings burst open and the dragon stopped in midair spreadeagled, gently letting his whole gargantuan weight rest like a feather on the stone railing. His claws retracted and made a little scrape on the stonework. Farfallen gave his strange reptilian smile and a tiny flame escaped from one nostril.

  Farden grinned and moved closer to the dragon. ‘You seem happy, maybe that tearbook has done you some good.’

  Farfallen laughed with a frighteningly deep rumble and scratched his spiky chin with a claw. ‘Maybe it has, mage, and I have you to thank for bringing it back to me. It has been many a year since I felt this good, like a burst of power I have not tasted in too long.’

  ‘It was the magick council that agreed to send me here with the book.’ Farden said quietly and thrust his cold hands deep into his pockets.

  ‘And I wonder who suggested that the tearbook should be returned in the first place…?’

  Farden was dumbfounded. ‘How did you…?’

  ‘There are many things about dragons you have yet to learn Farden.’ Eyrum said from beside him. The mage had realised that there was a lot more to the Sirens and their dragons than he had first thought. They were nowhere near as barbaric as the Arka had portrayed them in the war; they were fierce warriors, agreed, and had fought with tooth, nail, and flame in battle, but now he could see that they were older and much wiser than his own people were. He felt guilty suddenly, and dismissed that train of thought like a traitorous slave and turned his attention to a more pressing matter. ‘Have you found anything in the tearbook yet?’ he asked.

  ‘My memories are long, Farden. Once the tearbook is ready, it may take many days for our scholars to find the location of an elven well, if one even exists at all.’ Farfallen said.

  ‘We can’t rule that out. What happens if you’re wrong and the creature is summoned? Even if the Sirens and the Arka fought it together I still doubt we...’

  Farfallen shook his head. ‘So you have said Farden, but the scholars have a thousand years of my life to sift through. Needless to say it is not a quick process.’

  Farden found himself frustrated and impatient, but he knew Farfallen was right. ‘Gods damn it,’ he cursed and clenched his fists inside his pockets.

  ‘Come, Svarta told me you wanted to train. Maybe it’ll help you blow off some steam.’ Farfallen smiled again.

  ‘Hmm, speaking of Svarta…’ Farden began, but the Old Dragon interrupted by holding up a single claw.

  ‘I am aware of what she did, and I will talk to her in good time. You must understand she is doing what she thinks is best for our people.’ Farfallen said.

  ‘I know, and luckily you had the foresight to send Eyrum here to keep me out of trouble.’ The big man to his right nodded slowly.

  Farfallen edged closer to the railing and began to stretch his wings out with a satisfied groan. ‘Eyrum will take you to a room where you may practise your magic. I will meet you there shortly.’ And with that he flapped his huge golden wings, threatening to blow the two men from the balcony, and launched himself into the dark sky. Eyrum headed towards the doorway and Farden followed him back into the steamy corridors.

  ‘One more time, and keep it the same level.’ Farden grinned, wiping sweat from his brow, and braced himself against the wall. Farfallen took a deep breath once more and crouched low to the floor. The great dragon closed one golden eye, took a deep breath, and a stream of fire exploded from his jaws. With lightning speed Farden threw his open hands out to meet the blast and an invisible wall slammed into the fiery onslaught mere inches in front of his fingers. Ferocious flames swirled around him and licked at his boots, but his invisible bubble held strong against them. Farden clenched his teeth and pushed harder so that the fire receded a few more inches.

  Farfallen stopped and drew himself up to laugh heartily. ‘Impressive, mage!’ Farden breathed hard, and ran a hand through his hair. He flexed his fingers and a spark flashed across his skin. It felt good to have his magick back, he smiled to himself. ‘How many are there of you now?’ asked the dragon.

  Farden thought. ‘About a hundred, I think, maybe more. Not everyone who goes through the Ritual can actually survive it, and about half the candidates die.’

  ‘And are they all as powerful as you?’ Eyrum asked. He was standing behind and to the right of Farfallen, arms behind him. His face was expressionless, and he cocked his to one side as the Sirens have a habit of doing.

  ‘Well, some are,’ the mage shrugged. Farden had always thought of himself as simply skilled, rather than powerful. Compared to those of the Arkmages or Vice, Farden’s spells were almost unrefined. They were the masters, and Farden, even thirteen years after his ritual, was still learning. But out of the Written, he was one of the best.

  Farfallen turned his head to look at the tall silent man and smiled. ‘I think Eyrum here has a few tricks of his own.’ The quiet Siren shook his head and mouthed a refusal, but the dragon was not to be discouraged. ‘Come now, friend, show Farden that it is not just the Arka who possess magick skills.’

  ‘Sire it has been years since I have tried,’ Eyrum mumbled and looked around him to avoid the golden stare.

  ‘And I am sure it will come back to you,’ Farfallen looked at Farden and winked again. ‘It’s just like riding a dragon: you never forget.’

  ‘My knowledge of Siren wizards is limited,’ said Farden.

  ‘I suppose you never fought any in the war? Only dragons?’ Eyrum’s tone had become icy.

  ‘I never fought in the war, I was still in training.’ Farden avoided the subject of killing dragons under the current company.

  Eyrum untied the belt on his brown robe and cast it aside. ‘Well then, cast one of your fire spells at me mage and let us see what happens,’ he said, and walked to the centre of the hall.

  Farden looked at the serious look in the Siren’s eyes. ‘Are you sure?’ Eyrum simply nodded. The mage relished the challenge and so he stepped back against the wall once more and slammed his wrists together with a clang. His hands were held in front of him, curled fingers formed like a cage around nothing but air. A spark ignited and suddenly a swirling sphere of fire spun between his palms and the mage slowly drew his hands apart and spread his sturdy legs. The ball grew and raged like a trapped sun and the room tingled with heat as the fire storm hung between his hands. With a swift movement the mage spun on one foot and hurled the fireball at Eyrum, who stood dead still about forty paces fro
m him.

  Just as the fire ball was about to blast the Siren into charcoal, Eyrum simply shifted, without any obvious movement at all, and simply became a blur of a man, sliding sideways across the stone floor and dodging the flames. The fireball exploded against the opposite wall with a crash and a roar, cracking the stone and making it glow under the flames.

  Farden was stunned. Eyrum now stood with his hands clasped behind his back a short distance from his previous spot, a satisfied grin threatening to creep across his scarred face. Farden grinned back at him and took a wide stance again. Sparks danced along the mage’s arm and a bolt of lightning tore through the air. Eyrum merely sidestepped again and suddenly ended up a dozen paces to the left in the blink of an eye, his big bulk blurring with incredible velocity.

  ‘Speed magick.’ Farden said with an impressed smile. ‘One of the few schools of magick that we Written never learn.’

  Eyrum nodded again and looked to Farfallen. ‘It comes from the nomadic people in the east, far off in the deserts of Paraia where they learn to catch strange tall deer that can run like the wind. My dragon, Longraid, would fly there to dodge through the dunes and canyons for sport.’

  ‘She said that the creatures there tasted better than anything else. She loved to hunt the massive desert cats and the sand worms.’ Farfallen rumbled his agreement and a moment of silence followed. Farden sensed something deep and sorrowful in the room. He could only try and imagine what it must be like to lose a dragon, or a rider, and he felt a genuine sympathy for the man.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eyrum, for your dragon,’ the mage offered, feeling awkward.

  The Siren looked at him with a surprised expression for a moment, and then bowed his head low in gratitude. Farfallen chuckled with a low growl. ‘Did I not tell you Eyrum, that not all the Arka were as heartless and cruel as you thought?’

  Chapter 9

  “When the elves left, Emaneska was left to fend for itself amidst the darkness and chaos that remained behind. And it was at this turbulent time that three great nations abruptly appeared amidst the Scattered Kingdoms.

  “The first and greatest, the warlike Skölgard, seized the lands of the north east, For a hundred years they carved out their vast empire, ruling all from Gordheim, the City of Waterfalls, on the eastern shores. The second, the small sailing nation of the Arka, finally chose to settle in the ��ssfen Mountains. They used their trade routes and seafaring abilities to become rich and powerful, meddling in the matters and affairs of the old magicks. The third, and most mysterious of them all, were a more ancient and proud race, born from the dark vestiges left by the Elves. These were the dragon-riders, the Sirens, a strange civilisation bonded to the great dragons of the north, reptilian in their appearance and just as fierce. They built their capital in the ice-locked fire lands of Nelska, tunnelling deep into the mountains to carve out their cities. Their magick was of a different ilk, more natural than that of the bold and flashy Arka.

  “What was strange about these three great nations? Was it not their wild differences, their abilities and cultures? No, Emaneska has never longed for simplicity. It was however, how quickly these simple peoples managed to rise above the Scattered Kingdoms, to become unified and powerful, a force beyond even the most hopeful dreams of Hal��rn, or the Dukes of Albion, or even Rassmuen. These mere kingdoms and fiefdoms would remain subdued and quiet, servants to the very whim and machinations of these three great nations.”

  Taken from ‘The Scars of Emaneska”, by the critic Áwacran

  Farden had gone to bed early that morning just as the first fingers of dawn were reaching over the mountainous horizon. In the candlelight of Farfallen’s cavernous hall they had sipped warm wine and dark spirit under the gaze of the half-man half-dragon weather-god Thron. They had talked for hours. Farfallen had regaled them with stories of battles and great men far into the early hours and Eyrum had become almost jovial. Farden had not been able to tear himself away from the Old Dragon, his tales and deep tones had been engrossing. But finally they had retired to bed, and the mage quietly managed to dodge Svarta when she rose to go about her morning business.

  The curtains in his room had done their best to keep the bright sunlight out, but now as the fiery disc began to reach its zenith the thick cloth glowed with pale yellow light. The mage turned with a groan and threw a pillow over his eyes while sleep began its slow retreat. His mouth tasted like dried wine and he found himself again ravenously hungry. A small voice inside his head thought about trying to find some nevermar before he left for Krauslung, but he told it to be quiet. Lazy yawned at him, twitched her whiskers, and went back to sleep.

  After a few minutes of dozing Farden hauled himself out of the sheets and went out onto the balcony. Sunlight burst through an almost cloudless sky and stung his eyes, and the white of the newly fallen snow covering the wide ledge didn’t help matters. He gathered some in his hands and spread the cold ice over his face and neck to try and wake himself up. As his eyes adjusted to the bright day Farden covered his brow with a cupped hand and stared up at the reptilian shapes wheeling overhead like massive vultures, black against the bright sky. They trumpeted and bellowed and called to one another, and he thought he could hear the muffled shouts of their riders even from far below.

  Farden went back into his room and found a fresh tunic laid out for him in one of the wooden cupboards, so he changed and polished his boots before leaving. Wind tugged at his cloak as he walked across the snowy balcony. Farden was curious to find out if this country ever grew warmer, but it was winter after all, he reminded himself, and shrugged resolvedly and rubbed his hands together. His gold and red vambraces knocked together with a muted clang.

  Inside on a dining table he found a big bowl full of fruits, some of them strange and foreign to him, but he ate them all the same, with a few slices of bread that had been left on the side. Maybe Svarta had poisoned the food, he wondered, but he was too hungry to care, and munched on. He pulled his cloak about him and decided that if he wasn’t allowed in the citadel, then he should at least wander through the palace.

  Farden spent the rest of the afternoon aimlessly ambling through the long identical corridors carved into the rock of the huge mountain. The citadel of Hjaussfen seemed to be a complex warren of polished stone hollowed out from the volcanic leftovers of the mountain and her foothills. Every hallway was arched and tall enough for the biggest of dragons, and wide too. The walls ranged from glossy black marble to flecked and veined granite, and Farden let his hand run over the surface of the smooth walls. From some of the windows he found he could peer down into the craters and crags of the city and watch the hustle and bustle below. Long roads spanned the wide gaps high above the houses and streets, and towers of black stone watched over the noisy thoroughfares crammed with people, cattle, goats, and other strange beasts for sale. Farden’s keen eyes picked out a few sabre-cats gnawing at their cage bars with long deadly white teeth. He could hear their roars even from high above them in the towering mountain. The bright colours of the houses and the markets stood out against the drab greys and blacks of the rock. The mage saw a few dragons wandering through the paved streets. They shone like jewels in the sunlight. Every Siren bowed out of their way and let them pass while their riders sat on top of them, just behind the base of the neck, lounging backwards against their rippling shoulders and saddle and nodding solemnly to the people passing by. Farden watched for a while longer, and then wandered on.

  The mage found some more food in a smaller mess hall that was mostly empty. The few cooks that were there stared at him with the classic mixture of fear and curiosity. The mage tried to ignore their stares and took his lunch with him to eat while he was walking. Most of the other people in the citadel just ignored him, but there were a few wary glances from the soldiers at the guard posts. They let him pass nonetheless, and none of the other soldiers, scribes, slaves, or riders that saw him bothered him in any way. Svarta’s new orders, obviously, he smirked to himself.

>   The palace seemed abuzz with activity. Farden had no idea what was going on so he just carried on eating the bread and cheese he had gleaned from the kitchens and kept walking.

  The mage soon found himself in the great hall where he had been hauled to only a day before. The sound of Sirens working and talking was a roar. A few dragons perched in their nests high up on the walls, their greens, blues, and reds sparkling in the daylight that streamed through the holes in the roof. Everywhere around him tables had been brought in and assembled and covered with scrolls, maps, books, and tomes. Hundreds of busy scribes pored over them. Men and women in white tunics and robes dashed around with parchment clenched in their fists and eagerly ran from table to table. Farden had never seen such madness. A white and yellow dragon flapped into the hall through the huge window and hovered high above them near the ceiling. It spun into a slow spiralling descent and came to rest gently beside the mage, who stood eating and holding his plate in one hand. Farden watched the dragon fold its wings and bow its head. It then closed its eyes and spoke with a low gentle voice.

  ‘Well met and good wishes, Farden, I am Brightshow, partner of Lakkin. The Old Dragon, in all his wisdom, has sent for every scribe and scholar in the city to come and search through every historical account we can find. Some of the older dragons have leant their tearbooks to be scrutinised, in the hope that we can find this dark elf well of yours,’ she said. Her flanks glittered with her white and gold-yellow colouring.

  The mage bowed back. ‘Good to meet you Brightshow, I take it Farfallen isn’t worried about keeping this matter a secret then? What if there are spies amongst these people?’

  ‘Farfallen has seen to that my good mage, some of our dragons have spent years honing their skills at reading the hearts and minds of men. Those ones above us, you see? They watch over these men and the soldiers, making sure that they are all as loyal as they should be,’ Brightshow pointed to the three dragons perched above them with a claw, and Farden shook his head with a smile.