by Cyn Bagley
He flicked his fingers and a fireball floated above it. The darkness was almost a physical presence. The fireball was not enough to see what was inside the front room. He pulled open the door wide so that some of the late fall sunshine could help him see what was in the room.
With the fireball, and some sunlight, he was still unable to see what was moving. He could see the tables and a few wooden chairs. Some of the tables were piled into a corner like a fort. He slid into the room carefully, moving the fireball around so that the dark corners would illuminate. Eyes were everywhere around him, glowing, watching.
As his eyes started to focus, he saw a dark animal crawling along the floor, its eyes glowed green, and had fangs. The fangs were extremely sharp and glistened from some type of viscous liquid. If the animal grabbed his neck with those fangs, it would be all over for him.
But to Michael's horror, he realized that this animal with crooked legs, dark hair, was wearing clothes. The shirt was ripped around its torso, and pants were starting to come off. He could see the shape of a boy in the animal.
These had to be the villagers' children. They were gnawing on bones that looked like the thigh bones of a human.
He stumbled out of the Inn and vomited on the dried grass. The smell of the Inn, the smell of the village, the smell – He should have realized what he was dealing with.
"Do you like my children?"
Michael turned around and saw a man in black robes with a staff in his hand. Yes, he was dealing with an insane black mage.
"Aren't they lovely?" The cherubic smile on the man's face made Michael even sicker, but he had nothing in his stomach to vomit. Yes, he should have known that he had stumbled into a black mage's lair.
There was no way to help these people, who were now owned body and soul by this mad man. All Michael could really do at this point was to get away and spread the word. Maybe with help from other people and mages, they could take this one out.
He could hear the black mage talk about the technical aspects of changing humans to these creatures. In his experiments he had only been able to use children. The adults had been so used to their form that they didn't change well. Now he used them as fuel for the next stage of the children's development.
Remembering how the children ate the meat and the bones, Michael felt a grain of anger, that grew with each word. He knew what kind of energy or fuel these adults were giving the children-- a last dinner of the villager's adults.
"Oh," the man looked disappointed. "You don't believe that these humans are more than animals, do you?"
Michael shielded his body and mind. It had been awhile since he had had to keep his thoughts away from others. He felt the cold from shielding spread around his body. It was no time to worry about the boy or even himself. He had to find out about this mage. He was already caught in this trap.
He could feel a probe coming from the black mage.
The mage frowned. "It is not fun if I don't know what you are thinking." Michael opened his mind just a small amount so that the mage would stay interested in him. It was obvious that this mage was not really that powerful. He felt the mage's power beat weakly against his mind.
The mage had probably found a grimoire.
"Come on." said the mage. "I want to show you all of my experiments. There hasn't been anyone in so long that could understand what I am doing."
Michael followed the mage. He noticed that the breeze fluffed the mage's robes just at the right time. When he opened his mind just a little, he could tell that the mage was using a glamour spell to make himself look taller and more handsome.
How could this weak mage, contempt filled him, be able to enthrall an entire community? Most people had some natural defenses against that kind of control. It took a lot of energy and power to keep these villagers enthralled.
The mage scurried through the village, keeping a handkerchief against his nose as he talked about how it was so hard to get the humans here to clean up after themselves. When they had seen Michael on the trail, it had taken hours for the courtyard to look even presentable.
Michael, at one point, wanted to break the little mage's skull. The black mage talked as if he was better than these poor humans that he had enthralled. The only reason Michael came with him was not because he was interested in the little mage's experiments, but to find out if he could help these poor people. In the black mage's chatter, he realized that all of these people knew what was happening to them. This particular suffering was part of the spell in changing the children into these creatures.
"I want to name them after me," the black mage said. "Peterus, or Peteranimus. Maybe something scarier like Peterbane." He chuckled.
Michael could feel his face get hot as the rage inside of him surged, trying to break the shields, trying to force him to kill, kill, the little mage. Make him a part of this spell. Make him suffer forever for having the gall to steal his grimoire.
A small part of Michael's mind screamed. The Grimoire could only be one of three that had been hidden in the world. No one had this much power to wall him up when his shields were strong. He wanted to scream, but he meekly followed the little black mage to his doom.
They climbed a small hill and on top of it was an altar. Michael gazed at a book set on the altar. The vibrations of the screams coming from the book filled him with more rage than he had ever contained. It was hot and red. To his horror, he could see that the skin that bound the Grimoire was the skin of an intelligent creature who was still bound in the book. It screamed its hatred of all mankind and even magekind that had made it into a slave.
"See," the little black mage said proudly. "Here it is. I need help to finish my project."
It was then that Michael realized that the little black mage that was so proud of his accomplishments, but he couldn't hear the screams of the Grimoire. The Grimoire, because only one Grimoire had been made with the skin of a powerful black mage, began to flip its pages until it settled to a page.
Michael had enough control to avert his eyes, even though his body was reaching for it. If a mage wasn't powerful enough to contain The Grimoire, he would be eaten and become a part of the pages. It seemed that the little black mage, so proudly touching the pages, was already a part of the book. He had been eaten just as the village and its children were being eaten.
Michael could shield that small part of himself as hard as he could. He even prayed to the gods of magic. The Grimoire had not been made from human skin as all had thought. No, it had been made from a dragon, a powerful black magic dragon. No human was as powerful as a dragon. No mage could hold the magic of a dragon. Because of this black mage's experiments on humans and other races, his own family killed and skinned him. They didn't write the spells, but when the pages were bound into the skin, all of his knowledge spilled upon the pages. His kin guarded this grimoire, warning of its dark power. So how did this little mage get his hands on the book?
The Grimoire, pressed against his mind, searching for a hook so that it could enter the human world through Michael. Mage, Mage, he heard the whispers. Mage, I can give you anything you want. Michael refused to answer the Grimoire so bit and clawed at his pitiful shields. He felt each claw and each bite as if it was being taken out of his body. The pain screamed against his nerves.
Michael screamed as his defenses shred under its teeth and claws. His mind disintegrated. Then he heard the horse with Davi riding, had Davi grown again, coming towards the Grimoire.
Clomp, clomp, Clomp.
No, no, not Davi. He could feel the interest of the Grimoire. He had already eaten the little black mage, how about this powerful young morsel. Something about Davi made the Grimoire stop its attack on Michael.
The Grimoire turned its attention to Davi. Davi and the horse began to glow. Michael screamed again as he grabbed for the Grimoire with his hands to stop it from hurting Davi. Michael fell into darkness as he heard Davi sing. The song was in colors and he saw the yellow coming out of Davi's mouth turn to orange and t
hen to gold.
The last thing he saw was blackness.
In the Village
Davi Dracson
It was a strange tableau, when Davi arrived on the horse, screams of the mages and the Grimoire echoing in his ears. He had attached his mind to Michael and saw his encounters with the young of the village. The young looked like little humans becoming dragons. There was only one thing that could do that kind of transformation.
Although Davi was not fully human, he had become attached to Michael. The mage, not knowing who or what Davi was, gave him food and cared for him. When Davi talked to the horse, he learned that the horse had been with Michael for only a short time. But Michael always made sure that the horse was fed and cared for and had a few treats along the way. Of course, the horse would like more apples and sugar, but it was a good life. Maybe soon, the horse was philosophical, the man would slow down and have foals of its own, and then the horse could stay in a stable and live a quiet life.
Davi knew that the little black mage was too small to contain the power that the Grimoire needed to continue its mission. So when he saw the little black mage being eaten, it was of no moment. However, when he felt Michael's shields begin to fall and Davi felt the rage of a dragon. It was the first time in his short life that he had felt rage. Even the death of his adopted parents hadn't stirred him like this.
Instinctively Davi sang the Grimoire's song filled with colors black, yellow, orange, and then he sang the notes of his capture. The Grimoire could smell the fresh human blood of mage and dragon child in his scent. When the Grimoire realized he had attacked a dragon, who was of the protector line the words and knowledge built into his genes, it screamed at its mistake, but there was no one to hear him. Davie stuffed the horse's ears with magic so that it wouldn't be killed by this evil.
If the Grimoire could move, it would have tried to scuttle away. As it was it tried to call to the humans, or even the children hidden in the Inn. But Davi had already captured it. The Grimoire had no escape. No escape, it wailed in Davi's head. I thought I had killed your line was its last wail.
The dragons must have heard his song and the fight because Davi heard the beat of the dragon's wings as it circled overhead, and then landed. A dragon, it's scales gleamed as the last rays of sun hit it, settled and curled around the altar. The horse almost bolted until Davi soothed him.
The book burned his hands as Davi picked it up. The book still had bite and fire. Davi laid it in the black cloth on top of the altar and folded the cloth over the book. He tied it in the top so that the dragon would have some way to carry it. He brought it to her, this mother of all dragons and bowed to her.
"Will you fix this human?" he pointed towards Michael. The dry winds from her mouth settled on Michael and began to breath. His outer wounds, caused by the Grimoire healed, but he stayed unconscious.
"Lady," Davi bowed again to the huge dragon. She laid her head on the ground so that Davi could speak in her ear. "He transformed children into baby dragons, many of them. Your flock will need to care for them. Plus their parents."
The mental communication was clear. "Other dragons will come to take the children. The parents will be laid to rest in a grave and they will be honored forever."
Davi could feel a tear gather in the corner of his eyes. "We cannot save them."
"Be grateful Davidum," the voice was gentle as she sat up, her muscles bunched and she jumped into the sky with the black bundle hanging from her mouth. "You still have the mage." Her beauty dimmed the sun. He watched the sky until he could see her no more.
Davi left the horse tied. He covered Michael. The little black mage had already desiccated in death. Davi watched the dragons arrive, transform to humans, and started cleaning up the Grimoire's mess. Corpses fell where they had been standing. They were flesh puppets with their strings cut. The Grimoire had kept these people animated. Fifty dead. Davi had known many of these people. Tears slipped down his cheeks and he tasted salt as some slipped into his mouth. He wiped the tears with his sleeve.
Davi looked down at his clothes. The pants came up his shins. It was the magic. His body had changed from that little boy that Michael found in the farmhouse to the beginnings of a young man. He would have to find some clothes and he would have to convince Michael that he had been older when he had been found. It would take mental magic, but dragons were good at that.
He left Michael and went to the Inn to keep the dragon children contained. They were still dangerous to anyone except another dragon. He guarded the children until three dragons in the guise of gypsies showed up with a large wagon. The inside was covered with bars so that the children couldn't escape.
They were not true dragons yet. They would have to be fed and trained into the dragon way. Human flesh was a drug and these little ones were addicted. It would take years to care for them before they reached adulthood. Even then they may have to be confined.
Still there were twenty-nine children transforming into dragonlings. In the last century, Davi was the only dragon born. The dragons would care for these children like their own.
Still would these children have a chance after being tainted?
It was the question that could only be answered by the Gran Mother of all dragons. Only she knew when a dragon needed to go to eternal rest. She was the only one who could raise these little ones and give them a chance at their own lives. He waved to the gypsies as they left the village with their precious cargo.
Davi went back to the altar and waited for Michael to wake up.
Chapter Six
Delhaven, port city
Hilda Brant
Midweek was Hilda's time to shop in the marketplace, picking out scraps of meat and vegetables to dice for the ever-lasting stew. Someday when she had a little more money her inn might have more on the menu besides stew, bread, and ale. But, as an ex-mercenary she didn't dwell much on what she wanted. She was too busy preserving what she had.
The weak late autumn sun warmed her neck and shoulders. The geese and other traveling birds were heading south. She could hear the faint honk, honk as they flew. The trees had lost their yellow leaves and were lying on the ground, making the cobblestone path slippery. The sour stink of pigs and pigpens wafted from the outer walls to where she stood.
The marketplace was busy this morning. Women leaned over carts, baskets over their arms, their baskets, picking out the vegetables for their dinners with their small children holding onto their skirts. Men strode through the marketplace to the horse corrals or weapon stalls. You could see both coarse clothing and fine clothing among the buyers. The sellers hawked their wares. The noise assaulted her ears and it exhilarated her. She forgot her troubles: the unfair tax, her lost brother Michael, and her mercenary friends.
Leaving the Inn for such a short time, watching customers haggle with vendors or smelling the aroma of baking bread, sweetmeats, and cakes, reminded her of simpler times before she became an innkeeper.
Hilda was examining the morning's meat scraps when she heard a hiss. She turned toward on of the alleyways that fed into the market place.
"Miss, Miss," the honorific for a young lady irritated her. "Miss." It was Rooso hissing at her, his red hair unmistakable. He was dressed as one of the merchants with the sleeve pinned against his missing hand. He sauntered to her and started his selling spiel. Then shoved a light blue scarf in her hand. "You'd look wonderful in this scarf."
She smiled at him and wrapped the scarf around her neck.
He leaned in and whispered, "Follow me." Hilda handed him a coin. To a watcher it would look like a transaction. He pulled his coin purse from around his neck, put the coin in the purse, and replaced the purse. Then he hurried away.
As she followed him, she covered her hair with a scarf. His hair was distinctive so she didn't have any trouble following him when he turned into an alley. At the end of the alley, she looked back to see if anyone was following. When no one seemed to notice, she changed her walk to a harried young matron wi
th her head down.
As she went around a each corner, she looked up to see where her guide was going. Even though her shoulder blades itched, she didn't look back.
It took thirty minutes to reach the dock. The smell was a distinctive mix of rotting fish and hemp. Rooso was waiting for her, leaning against a wall. He took her arm and guided her into "The Red Cock" Tavern. It was a drinking establishment for sailors and rough men and also sold upper rooms by the hour.
Inside Hilda pulled the scarf off her head, and wrapped it around her neck. She unbuttoned her shirt, and shook her hair out, and then took Rooso's hand. She gazed at him with devoted drunkenness and lechery. Hilda had played this game before as a mercenary. It was still distasteful to her. But, needs must and she needed to know why Lord Barton wanted her inn.
The tavern's bartender's smirk confirmed that her disguise was good enough to pass as a dock whore. He was looking at her cleavage and not at her clothes. He obviously thought that Rooso was getting his money's worth because he gave Rooso a big smile. Rooso pushed her through a side door and half carried her up the stairs to the upper floor. She could hear the clatter of plates and voices until Rooso shut the door.
When Hilda was sure they were alone, she straightened her clothes to a more prim state and settled on the bed. It was the only piece of furniture in the room.
"Well, Rooso" she said. "It must be important information to make me look like a whore." Her voice was stern, but her eyes twinkled.
He looked down at his toes and sat down on the edge of the bed as far from her as he could get. "We'll wait." He looked up at her and then down at his shoes again. Then he bounced so that the bed would creak. She supposed it was for their cover. He didn't seem that eager to play swain.
