by Robert Beers
“Did they?” Milward frowned. “Well ... harrumpf, I suppose ... being a compassionate people, Dragons would obviously be very sensitive to such things.” He waved a hand in emphasis.
“Did you use a small shaping back when Drinaugh and I were coming over to your table?” Adam asked suddenly.
That startled the Wizard. He stopped and looked at Adam. “What? No, of course not. Why do you ask me that?”
“Because I felt one back there, just as we came up to the table.”
“Well, it certainly wasn't my doing.”
“Do Dragons use shaping? Can they use magik beyond being able to smell it?”
Milward stopped and thought, his forefinger against his upper lip. “Come to think of it, as far as I know, no.”
* * * *
Drinaugh wiped a tear from his eye, as he watched Adam put the last of his things into his pack. “I wish you didn't have to leave us so soon, Adam.”
“Milward says we have to leave now if we're going to miss the snows before the next stop.”
“We could fly you there. I know I could carry you.” Drinaugh wrung his hands as he pleaded his case.
Adam closed up the pack and slung it over his shoulder. “I'm sure you could, friend Drinaugh. But I've got to take the long way there. I need the time to get to know how to be a Wizard, just like you're learning how to be a Dragon. It's something I've got to do. Can you understand that?”
The Dragonet wiped away another tear. “Just because I understand something doesn't mean I have to like it.”
Adam smiled, and put a hand on his friend's knee. “No, it certainly doesn't.”
Milward leaned into the open door to what was Adam's room. “You ready, lad? The day's nearly gone already.”
“I'm coming.” Adam hugged Drinaugh's thigh, receiving a gentle pat on the back in return.
The way out of Dragonglade that Milward chose was actually an old drainage tunnel put in when the Dragons first settled into the ancient crater. They had also put in a moat that circled the inner wall. The drainage tubes kept the moat from overflowing during winter and the rainy season.
There was little chance of rain right now, and the gentle downward slope added to the ease of Adam and Milward's walk to the eastern face of the mountains.
The inside of the tunnel was high enough to allow a full-sized Dragon to check it without stooping, and it was lit with a cool soft light that came from discs inset into the midline of the ceiling.
After walking for several minutes. Adam looked over his shoulder and saw that the entrance had vanished into the distance behind them.
“Milward?” Adam broke the silence.
“Yes, lad?”
“Something's nagging at me. It's been nagging me ever since I felt it back in the Eating Place.”
“Ah. You're still on about that shaping you felt, aren't you?” The Wizard nodded his head as he spoke.
“That's the one.” Adam admitted. “One of the things is, I felt it, and you didn't.”
“Probably another indication of strength.” Milward thought. “What's the other thing?”
“You remember you said you'd never heard of a Dragon using magik in a shaping?”
“Something along that line, yes.”
“What if it's just because it's something they wanted to keep secret? What if they really can use it? I remember something Mashglach told me when he let me ask my questions. He said the Magik War wasn't over. If the Dragons can do shapings ... why haven't they done something about it?”
Milward turned to face Adam. “He really said that? The war isn't over?” The Wizard rubbed his chin. “Well, you've seen Dragons up close now, so you know how cryptic they can be. You should also know why they won't do anything about it. Killing something is abhorrent to any Dragon. All life is precious to them, even that of the creatures of shadow. Bardoc knows why.” He adjusted his grasp on his staff.
“I didn't tell you this earlier, and I suppose I owe you another apology for that.” He grimaced. “Near the end ... what I thought was the end of the Magik War, the sorcerers weakened the barrier between the worlds, allowing some of the inhabitants of that world enter ours. Chivvin and Twills made it through before Labad and a few handpicked Wizards closed the breach. For a time there, we thought all was lost. The Twills alone killed thousands. An Embassy was sent to the Dragons to plea for aide in the fight. Both the Winglord and the Dragon Ambassador at that time refused on the grounds of Dragon law. Dragons must not kill. They were very sorry for our losses, but there was nothing they could do. Later on, when the last Twill killed the old Ambassador, all they did was grieve. The Winglord came close, I'll tell you that. He came very close to breaking their law, then.”
He sighed massively. “But in the end he didn't. It took over a hundred men to kill the last Twill, and while we were so occupied, an assassin's arrow found Labad.”
“You haven't forgiven him, have you?” Adam watched the old Wizard's face.
Milward's brow furrowed at the memory. “Forgive? Lad, it would be like trying to forgive the sky for the bolt of lightening that destroyed your house. No, forgiveness isn't something I can occupy my mind with. Mashglach was only following the path set for him, and he was incapable of veering from it. If he had, he would not have been a Dragon.”
He turned to look at Adam again. “What he said about the war not being over, that troubles me. They were nervous, and that means something terrible is brewing.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cobain dropped the cup of wine as the scream cut through the air.
He was on his feet in an instant. It had come from the Sorcerer's chamber. Months had passed since that day he found his master drunk and despairing. He ran through the halls of Pestilence with concern gripping his heart. Another scream, louder then the first, added to his speed.
As he burst through the door, another scream rent the air. This time it came from his throat. Gilgafed was in the grip of a ... a thing, its shape, amorphous and writhing. The black mass of it changed shape and density continuously in a stomach-churning way. Waves of inhuman lust poured out of it and enveloped Cobain. A lust for life, all life, to be consumed within its blackness washed through his mind and sent him reeling backwards against a shelf.
Gilgafed screamed again as he fought against the creature's grip. “Cobain! Help me!”
The Sorcerer's servant reached out and snatched a jar off the shelf. He threw it at the thing as hard as he could, but the jar passed through its substance as if through thick fog, splashing against the wall. Some of the droplets spattered back into the blackness, missing Gilgafed by scant inches.
It screeched, a hissing, grating sound that hurt the ears, and then it pulled in upon itself until all that was left was a small black blot whizzing about the room.
“The blood.” Gilgafed croaked from his position on the floor. “It's Garloc. Wave the blood at it ... our only chance.”
Cobain understood. He bent and picked up a dead torch, dipping the end of it into the Garloc blood, hissing and spitting on the flagstones of the floor.
The blot dove at Gilgafed, but swerved away before Cobain could hit it with his makeshift weapon. The end of the torch began to smoke under the corrosion of the Garloc blood.
Cobain stepped over his master, waving the torch back and forth, giving the blot no avenue back to its prey.
Gilgafed, regaining some of his strength, summoned enough power to send a shaping into the darkness. Another hissing scream filled the chamber.
The blot dove at the Sorcerer once more, only to be rebuffed again. It hovered before them for a moment, and then flew into the wall and disappeared through it, leaving a small stain and a stink of decay.
Gilgafed lay there on the floor of his study, staring at the wall, and then he began to laugh with an edginess that bordered on hysteria.
Cobain tried to help the Sorcerer up, but Gilgafed threw him off.
“Master. What happened? What was that thing?”
> Gilgafed continued to laugh as he got to his feet and staggered over to a sidebar filled with various bottles of wine. He pulled the cork from one and drank from the bottle.
“Master?” Cobain tried again.
“A seeker,” Gilgafed said, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “You, my loyal Cobain, are looking at one who has set the stage for the end of the world.” He gave his servant a sweeping bow. “You are looking at one who was arrogant enough to think he could control the creatures of shadow.”
He drank deeply from the bottle. “I have opened a door to nightmare, Cobain. A seeker came out. Chivvin and Twill cannot even begin to compare to what it is capable of. The door is open, and not even Milward's brat will be able to close it.” He spat out the last part with a vengeance.
Cobain felt his knees go weak. The torch dropped out of his nerveless hands. “Master. What have you done?”
* * * *
The blood hurt. This sensation was new. It had never felt pain before. In fact, it had never felt anything prior to its release. The shadow realm was a place of numbness, of non-being. Those of its kind who dwelt near enough to the barrier could sense the life on the other side. Many desired to taste of it, but the barrier was there, and frustration was the rule of the day; until now.
High above Pestilence it flew, extending its senses to the new world around it. The glut of life it sensed was overwhelming. A host had to be found so it could feed. There was also another need, that of revenge, but that could wait until it had fed and grown. The one who let it into this world would learn soon enough the folly of resisting.
The Seeker began its search while it tasted the pain, savoring it.
* * * *
“The snow is getting worse, Milward.” Adam ploughed ahead while shielding his face with a forearm.
“I know, lad. I'm afraid we left too late to miss the onset of winter in these elevations.” Milward followed in Adam's wake. “At least Access isn't too far now.”
“Access is the name of the place we'll be staying?” Adam puffed with the effort of putting one foot in front of the other in the heavy snow.
Milward held fast to his staff to prevent his slipping on the steep slope. “That's correct. Access is a small mining village on the upward flanks of this mountain.”
Adam searched his memory. “Cloudhook, right?”
“You're learning, my boy.” Milward patted Adam on the back, dislodging a small flurry of flakes.
Adam slipped on some buried ice, and had to throw himself forward to keep from ending up as a man-sized snowball back at the bottom of the slope. He spat snow out of his mouth and rolled over to look at Milward. “Tell me again why we can't use a shaping to go there.”
Milward extended a hand to help Adam to his feet. “One more time. If my suspicions are anywhere near close to the truth we daren't try a major shaping because it would attract attention.”
“...And that attention would be from any creatures of the Shadow Realm that have been let into this world through a weakening of the barrier between the worlds.” Adam looked at Milward, and said, “You see, I was listening.”
He turned around and continued his trudge up the slope. The wind was beginning to slacken, but the air was still full of flakes, and his breath left puffs of steam in the chill air. “But I think we could at least use a small one to warm us up. My feet feel like blocks of ice, and I can't feel my toes anymore.”
Milward shook his head in resignation. “Ok, a small one only. Try to follow what I do now. It may be of help to you in the future.”
Adam felt the pressure of a shaping form up. He reached out with that part of him Milward called his Wizard sense, and attempted to follow the feel of what was happening. The shaping wrapped itself around him like a blanket, and he began to feel warm. A groan of pleasure accompanied the relief it brought to his poor feet.
Milward smiled. “Feels good, eh?”
“Oh, yes. I never knew being warm could ever feel so good.”
“Excellent. The rest of the way should be much more comfortable now.”
Access lay tucked against a bluff in a small high valley protected against the wind. Tall pines ringed the slopes around it, adding to the feeling of seclusion. Their boughs were heavy with snow.
They could see smoke rising from chimneys as they crested the ridge and looked down upon the village.
“It looks like a picture someone should paint and hang over their fireplace,” Adam said, as he readjusted his pack for the trek downhill.
“Yes, it is a pretty place.” Milward agreed. “It will be even prettier when we get inside, and I can turn off this shaping.
The Wizard's comment gave Adam pause. From Milward's tone the act of maintaining their warmth was causing a physical strain. This was another thing to remember about this thing called magik.
They picked their way down the zigzag path leading into the village. The snow wasn't as heavy in the valley and the path proved easier.
On the outskirts of the village, they came across a large man dressed in furs, with a team of wolf-like dogs hitched to a small wagon with skis under it instead of wheels.
“Well met, travelers.” His voice boomed out from behind a thick brush of red beard. “Where do ye be hailing from?”
Milward stopped and leaned on his staff. “West of the mountains, north of Firth Lake, friend. We are in need of food and lodging. Can you direct us?”
The man scratched at his beard with a mittened hand. “Food and lodging, eh? Well, now, you don't look like you eat much, Father, but this lad, here,” He pointed the mitten at Adam. “Looks like he could do serious damage to a pantry.”
Milward looked at Adam. “You're probably right, friend, but he eats no more than his due.” He straightened. “As do I. Is there a Hostel or Boarder that comes to your mind?”
The man laughed, causing a couple of his dogs to bark and wag their tails. “Well and merry met again. I like a man who can think on his feet. Eight houses down and two over you'll find a large house with the sign of a stag's head painted on it. That's the Inn. Speak to Westcott, he'll put you up.”
Milward stuck out a hand, and the man grasped it firmly. “Thank you, sire, we are most grateful. May I have your name?”
“No, you may not, but I'll share its knowledge with ye.” He barked out another huge laugh and slapped Milward on the shoulder.
The wizard staggered a little under the friendly blow, but managed to return the humor with a broad smile. “I see you're a man who likes a joke. Sire, I will gladly share knowledge of your name with you, and offer mine as tender. You may call me Milward.”
Adam was not prepared for the reaction Milward's name would have on the huge man. He fell to his knees in the snow and held his hands clasped before him in a pleading gesture.
“Spare me, mighty one, I knew not who I was joking with. I am a poor man, my Lord, but what I own is yours, if you but spare me and my family's lives.”
Milward looked disgusted. “Oh, get up, man. Bardoc's beard! I am so sick of this sort of thing.”
The man stayed on his knees.
Milward put one hand on his hip and looked at the man. He blew out his mustaches and gestured with his staff. “If you don't get off your knees right now, I will turn you into a rabbit for your dogs to chase.”
“Master! No! Please, spare me.” The man shot upright and stared at Milward with terrified eyes.
“What's your name, fellow?” Milward said resignedly.
“Nowsek, my Lord. I am the Mayor of this poor place, but all that we have is yours, if you please, my Lord.”
Milward pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Nowsek, my good man, all I want of your poor village is a hot meal and a warm bed for me and my companion, and I plan on paying for every single item we use or consume. You and your folk are going to learn that I am far more of a friend than a danger, if I have to beat the knowledge into you. Now, go away. Do what you were going to do. I'm too tired to try to teach
you that right now. Go. Go.” He waved Nowsek away with his staff.
Nowsek, Mayor of Access, turned and grabbed the handles of his sled, calling the dogs to attention. With a click and a whistle they were off, their driver urging them to greater speed, as if the very Pit itself were on their heels.
Adam watched the retreating sled. “Would you really have turned him into a rabbit?”
Milward snorted. “Of course not! Transmutation is tricky business at best. Remember the pebbles?”
Adam thought back. “Uh ... yeah.”
“As complex as that pebble's makeup was, a rabbit is even more so, by many, many fold.”
He looked up at Adam sharply. “Can you build a rabbit? Can you describe each and every function of each and every organ, and how it does what it does?”
“Of course not. I wouldn't even know where to begin.”
“Neither would I, and I've studied them for several hundred years. Come on, I want a supper that's been cooked inside, and one that contains some meat.”
Adam said with a smile. “I'd think I'd like some rabbit.”
Milward laughed all the way to the Inn.
Access's Inn was like others in the world. Its first floor held a great room for meeting, eating and carousing. The kitchen was set into the back, along with the living quarters for the Innkeeper and his family. A deep basement, reached by stairs behind the bar, held the brewery and the wine and root cellars.
A young girl came up to them as they entered the front door of the Inn. “Good evening, sires, my name is Ani. Do you need rooms?”
Milward walked over to the guest desk where a large book lay open with a quill and ink well before it. “That and some dinner, my dear. What is the fare this evening?”
Ani didn't even blink. “Venison roast and rabbit stew, sire.” She looked at Adam. “Will that be two for dinner?”
Adam graced her with a smile. “Yes, please.”
Ani returned the smile shyly. He was even better looking than the Blacksmith's son was. “Yes, sire. I'll tell cook right away.” She ran off into the great room and through the kitchen door.