by J B Drake
And with that, both men headed for the banquet table, determined to make the most of the festivities.
Life Anew
With a contented sigh, Anieszirel sat composed in the rocking chair by Tip’s window. Her heart hung heavy, but her soul felt freed, at least in part. She sat staring at a sleeping Tip as the light of the coming dawn crept into the room, the glimmer of its rays bathing her astral form in a regal glow. As she stared, little Tip snorted and snored briefly before turning over. Anieszirel couldn’t help but smile. Such a young boy, such a precious little thing. It was by no means the first time she’d possessed a child, even one so young, but this occasion, this child…
“You’ve gotten soft, Ani,” she whispered as she sighed. “You’ve lost your edge, you’ve lost your will. You’ve gotten soft.”
She smiled once more. Perhaps her heart had indeed softened, was that so wrong?
“You know it is,” she whispered as she sighed.
Shaking her head, she turned her gaze to the open window beside her as another sigh escaped her lips.
“You need to snap out of it, my girl,” she whispered. “You should be plotting to burn this place to the ground. Instead, look at you.”
She turned to stare at Tip once more. “Look at you.”
But though her heart weighed greatly against her choice to relent and ally herself with the human, Mardaley, her soul, or at least part of it, was glad. Glad to be free from scheming and plotting, even for a little while.
And there was still the chance that the old deluded fool wasn’t so deluded after all. A decade or two, he’d said. That was nothing, if it meant her freedom. A decade or two, then she would be her own master once more. But then, when the time came, could she truly do it? Could she truly leave her darling Tip, and the power that lay untapped within him? Could she truly shy away from the power she’d drunk so deeply that fateful night?
“Yes, you can, and you will,” she whispered firmly. “Freedom first, scheming second.”
Just then, Tip stirred to sitting. With a start, Anieszirel made to return to him, but as she rose, she stopped as a delicious thought came to the fore of her mind, and with a smile, she sat back instead and stared at him. It did not take long before his gaze fell upon her. A brief moment’s silence fell upon the pair as Tip focused on her, and as she stared back, Anieszirel couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that Tip didn’t cry out.
“Ani?” Tip whispered at last.
Grinning, Anieszirel nodded.
With his eyes going wide, Tip rose fully to sitting as a wide grin split his lips.
“You so pretty,” Tip said, his eyes sparkling.
Chuckling, she dropped her gaze briefly before staring at the little boy once more. “Thank you.”
“Didn’t know you could do that.”
Anieszirel shook her head as she rose.
“Very few do,” she said as she made her way to the bed before sitting beside him.
“Why?”
Anieszirel shrugged. “A lady has to have some secrets.”
Groaning, Tip rolled his eyes in response.
“Maline says that all the time!” he said, prompting another chuckle from Anieszirel.
“My head feels funny,” Tip muttered as a sudden frown twisted his features.
“Oh, forgive me. It’s me, it’s…here, I’ll return.”
“No, no, stay!” he exclaimed, reaching for her, only for his hand to go through her thigh.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, grinning as he pulled his hand away.
Grinning in response, Anieszirel shook her head, but as she moved to speak, she turned her gaze to the door as a firm hand grasped the handle and swung it open.
“Is all well?” asked the Tower mage standing at the doorway.
Tip nodded in response.
“I heard voices,” the mage said as he swept the room with his gaze, but there was nobody else with them.
Tip let him search a spell before replying.
“Talked in my sleep,” he said. “Do that sometimes.,”
The mage turned back at him. “You’re not asleep.”
“You woke me when you opened the door.”
“Nicely done, Tip.”
Both mage and boy stared at each other in charged silence before the mage finally relented.
“Archmage Fairweather sent me to fetch you,” he said at last. “Your friend, Marshalla, she’s at the stables.”
All at once, Tip’s eyes lit up as he sprang out of bed. The young mage watched him in silence as he dressed, but as Tip hurried over to him, he soon realised there was genuine venom in the mage’s eyes.
“What…?” he asked.
“Nothing,” the mage said in response before heading out. There was no warmth from him. None.
“Go on, Tip,” Anieszirel urged when Tip stared unmoving at the retreating mage.
“He doesn’t like me.”
“I…” Anieszirel began, but words failed her.
“Go, Tip,” she said at last. “He doesn’t look like he’s going to wait for you.”
“But, why does he hate me?”
“Because of me, my darling. I killed some of their number, remember?”
“Oh…”
“But all will be well, you’ll see. So long as Baern likes you, they’ll never hurt you.”
Pouting, Tip finally left his room, closing the door behind him as he hurried after the mage messenger, catching up to him just as he reached the quarters’ portal stone.
“Sorry,” Tip mumbled as he stood before the scowling mage. Without a word, the young mage stepped onto the portal stone, and with his eyes firmly upon Tip, he spoke his destination.
“Summoner Pens!”
And was gone from sight.
Pouting, Tip stepped onto the stone himself.
“All will be well, you’ll see.”
Nodding, Tip did as the young messenger did, and was soon standing within the Summoner Pens of the Shimmering Tower. As little Tip stood within the walls of the Summoner Pens though, as he took in all that was about him, his eyes widened as his jaw slowly fell.
“By the gods…”
It was the cacophony that first overwhelmed Tip. From the cawing to the braying, from the barking to the neighing, the sounds were relentless. But even with the very walls seeming to quiver and shake beneath their barrage, Tip could still hear his own breath above them. It was as unnerving as it was astonishing.
But it was the sights that truly took his breath away. Standing still above the portal stone, the Summoner Pens were at least twice as wide as the main corridor of the Tower, at least to Tip, but unlike the Tower’s corridor, on either side of him were stable doors of various shapes and sizes, from little ones that even he would have to bend over to pass through, to those wide enough to take ten of him walking side by side. And though while some were made of nothing more than simple wood, others were made entirely of marble, elven steel, or even obsidian, each door seemed to match its neighbour perfectly.
Then, there were the heads poking out of stable door windows. Some creatures Tip recognised almost at once, others he’d never seen before in his life. And each face, each head and each snout seemed to be either buried in an attendant’s hand or in some sack or bag that Tip could only assume contained feed of some kind.
Feeling a gentle breeze above him, Tip looked up, and a startled cry escaped his lips as his eyes beheld a little wyvern floating just above him. With a delighted laugh, Tip reached out to caress the infant creature, but it gave a cry of its own and flew away. Watching it fly, Tip’s gaze was taken higher and higher, and it was then he noticed the rows and rows of pathways and ledges above him, and a nest on each and every ledge he saw, some bearing creatures within, some seeming empty.
“When you’ve finished gawping,” a voice snapped, bringing Tip back to himself, “shall we continue?”
Frowning, Tip stared at the glowering mage before him, one who did not wait for a response before spinning o
n his heels and continuing on. Gritting his teeth, Tip fell in step behind the mage, his anger now straining on its leash. But he held his peace, and before long his anger abated as he stared at the creatures they walked past. All of them, Anieszirel knew, and as each came to view she spoke quickly about them, what they were and where they hailed from. As she spoke, Tip could tell from her tone that she was as awed by it all as he was, and that alone brought a smile to his lips.
At last, the mage stopped, and so too did Tip. As he stared past the mage, however, his smile turned to a grin.
“I have brought the beggar as requested, Archmage.”
Fuming, Tip turned to glare at the mage.
Slowly, Archmage Fairweather turned to levy a withering glare upon the young mage.
“That beggar,” Anise said, her lips twisted into a disapproving frown, “has a name, and I expect you to use it.”
The mage bowed. “Apologies, Archmage.” Then, without rising, spun on his heels and made to leave.
“I have not released you yet, Cartegan.”
Stopping, the young mage turned back to Anise. “Archmage?”
“I gave you a task, and I await its completion?”
“Archmage?” Cartegan repeated, frowning this time.
Anise merely raised an eyebrow in response as she folded her arms about her. But Cartegan remained as he was. A tense silence fell upon the pair, with Tip staring from one to the other.
“I have a birth to complete,” Anise said at last, “and if that foal dies because you held me here too long, today shall be the last day you will ever set foot in these Pens.”
Standing tall, Cartegan stared back as if slapped before turning stiffly to regard Tip with his coldest stare yet. Gritting his teeth, he looked back at Anise.
“I have brought Tip over as requested, Archmage.”
“Good. Now, you may go.”
With a curt nod, young Cartegan spun about and hurried away, his gaze kept off Tip throughout.
“You must forgive Cartegan,” Anise said as Tip watched Cartegan leave.
Curious, Tip turned his gaze to Anise. There was a smile upon her lips, but her tone spoke only of sadness.
“Kin-Slayer killed his uncle.”
“Oh?” Tip muttered.
Anise nodded in response. “It was his uncle who led our contingent to trap you when you went to free Marshalla.”
Tip’s face fell. “Oh, him.”
Anise nodded as she grimaced. “Yes.” Then, her face lit up. “ But come, come quick. There is something you must witness.”
Grabbing Tip’s hand, she broke into a light jog as a grin parted her lips.
“What is it?”
“Come see for yourself.”
“But what is it, though?”
“You’ll see! But you must be quiet. Be quiet and watch.”
“But—!”
“No buts! I’ll explain all after.”
Reaching a large set of obsidian doors, Anise rested a hand upon one, which then slid silently aside to allow them enter.
“Dear gods, they have night mares!”
Lying on her side was a mare, her head on Marshalla’s lap as Marshalla gently stroked her mane. The mare’s skin was as black as the obsidian walls about her, and her mane of a redness as if bathed in blood. As Tip stared, Marshalla looked up at him. As their eyes met, Marshalla grinned, the sparkle in her eyes unmistakeable.
“Has it moved?” Anise whispered, ushering Tip in before closing the door behind them.
Marshalla shook her head in response before returning her gaze to the mare.
It was then Tip realised Marshalla was singing. A snort pulled Tip’s eyes to the stallion standing majestically in the far corner, his gaze fixed upon his mate as his onyx skin glistened in the unearthly glow that bathed the stall when the door shut. Tip could feel the fear and worry emanating from him.
“Easy there, girl,” Tip heard Anise whisper.
Turning, he watched as Anise knelt just behind the mare and began stroking the large bulge at its middle.
“It’ll all be over soon.”
“Ani, don’t think they having nightmares,” Tip thought, his mind struggling to make sense of what he bore witness to. “They look too—“
“Hush, Tip, I’ll explain later. Sit, sit and watch.”
Not knowing what else to do, Tip did as Anieszirel bade him, his hands finding their way to the straw beneath him as he sat cross-legged with his back to the door. The air was charged, as if some great event was about to occur, but poor Tip could not work out what.
He sat in silence, swaying gently to Marshalla’s voice as Anise whispered words he could not understand, his eyes darting from mare to Marshalla to Anise. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the bulge in the mare’s middle moved. Startled, Tip sat bolt upright.
“Ani, it moved!” he thought.
“Yes, yes it did! Hush, hush and watch. Watch!”
Leaning forward in spite of himself, Tip watched with eyes wide as the bulge slowly squirmed and rolled towards the mare’s rear. So entranced was he that he didn’t notice Marshalla stare at him and grin, or Marshalla’s gesture to Anise to stare at him, who did and grinned as well.
“Here it comes,” Anise whispered as she braced herself.
“Here what comes?” Tip asked in much the same manner.
“The baby,” Marshalla whispered in reverent tones.
“The what?” Tip exclaimed, an act that earned him a glare from both women and the stallion, particularly the stallion, its fiery eyes boring into him.
“Sorry,” Tip whispered as he grimaced.
“Here it comes,” Anise repeated as she leant forward to grasp hold of something Tip couldn’t quite see.
“Hold her head, Marsha,” Anise said as she looked up from what she held to Marshalla. “Don’t pull her mane, just hold her head in your lap. Try not to use too much force.”
Nodding, Marshalla steadied herself as she leant towards the mare.
“Go around Anise, Tip. You should see this.”
“Uh…no, it’s okay, Ani, don’t need to see.”
“Go on, Tip, it’s the magic of nature.”
Grimacing, Tip rose, only for the stallion to snort loudly at him, glaring. Looking up, Anise glared at him too, but once she realised what he was about to do, she smiled and turned to the stallion.
“It’s alright, she’s safe.”
The stallion looking from Tip to Anise, but soon turned his gaze to his mate.
“Come, Tip,” Anise said, smiling still, “come give me a hand.”
As Tip rounded Anise, his eyes fell upon the pair of legs jutting out from within the mare.
“Grab this leg,” Anise continued, gesturing at the leg that was pointed more towards him, “hold tight and pull. But pull gently, and pull only when you feel the leg pushing towards you. If it pulls back, stop. Do you understand?”
Tip merely stared. The legs were surrounded by a dark, fluid-filled sac.
“Was it the same for me?” he asked at last.
Anise grinned. “Things are slightly different for us elves, Tip. Now, hurry.”
Nodding, Tip knelt beside Anise and did as she’d bid. The foal’s legs seemed ever so delicate, with the sac soft to the touch. As he pulled, Tip lost track of time. He was mesmerised, awestruck even, by what he was a part of. All he had thoughts for was the foal as it slowly came to being. Through it all, none spoke, the only sound being that of the mare’s heavy breathing, and Marshalla’s singing, until at last, the foal was fully birthed.
“There!” Anise exclaimed, her eyes bright as she stood and stepped back from the infant, pulling Tip back with her. Turning, she nodded at Marshalla.
“You can put her head down now.”
Nodding, Marshalla gently placed the mare’s heard on the straw floor as she shuffled away. But her eyes were fixed upon the little foal as it knelt where it had been birthed. It was then that the stallion headed towards his mate.
&
nbsp; “Come,” Anise said as she pulled the pair towards the door. “Let’s leave them be, come.”
“But want to see it,” Marshalla protested.
Turning, Anise smiled at Marshalla. “You will, later. We still need to cleanse and feed him, his mother will be too tired to do it herself after such a long birthing. You’ll see him then.”
Marshalla smiled in response.
Nodding, Anise looked at the stallion, who was gently nosing his son.
“Come,” Anise repeated as she headed for the door.
Once out, however, as soon as the door closed behind them, Marshalla stretched and yawned, an act that Anise mimicked almost at once. As they yawned, both looked at each other before grinning.
“So, how was it?” Anise asked as she lowered her arms.
Nodding, Marshalla sighed, then shook her head.
“Don’t know what to say,” was all Marshalla could manage. “It was…”
Anise’s smile widened. “I know.”
Marshalla grinned. “Same for you, first time, then?”
Anise nodded. “Yes, very much so.”
“Now, would you look at that!” Anieszirel said as Tip watched the pair.
“What?” he thought.
“They’re bonding.”
Her words brought a smile to Tip’s lips as her meaning became clear to him.
“Yeah,” he thought, “they are.”
At that moment, Anise looked over at him.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, frowning.
“You’re bonding,” Tip replied, grinning.
Anise moved to speak, but caught herself as she looked at Marshalla, her smile returning.
“Yes…yes, I suppose we are.”
As Marshalla moved to speak, however, a voice rang out from behind her.
“Anise! How did it go?”
Turning, all three watched the utterer make his way towards them.
“I was wondering where you’d disappeared to!” Anise exclaimed, grinning.
“There was a problem with one of the griffon brood, they needed a hand.”
Dressed similar to Anise and all other attendants in the Pens, and Marshalla too, Tip suddenly realised, the mage nearing them had the long sleeves of his tunic rolled up to his elbows as a four-tailed fox walked regally beside him.
