by N. Saraven
“Really …?” asked Neila with a tone which carried nothing but disbelief.
“Yes, anything,” he whispered, holding her closer. She only lowered her gaze again and exhaled sharply.
“Yes, anything BUT to actually be at my side.”
When she looked up, Halgor could see what she really felt. He saw the unimaginable pain which tormented her soul. He saw the need for his closeness that remained only a faint lament at nights, shredded by the smallest breeze. So they turned to aggression, when they could not find another way to disappear—towards anything and anybody.
And he saw everything which ever existed between them shatter because of this.
“It is hard for me to admit, but it was NOT you who stood beside me through these times,” she continued softly. The sadness almost came alive in her words. “It was NOT you who listened to me when I needed to talk. YOU fled, whenever you got the chance. You didn’t even proceed with your responsibilities to Varomor, only questioned my every move. WHAT do you want from me now?”
Halgor took a step back, stunned by the magnitude of all of this. Neila just smiled faintly, although she was probably closer to bursting into tears.
“In a way, you are not responsible. An elven cannot be anything else but an elven, and this is not your fault. And yes, I too could’ve handle this situation better, although nobody would throw stones at me for failing. Maybe …” she mused, then shrugged.
“So … what you want to say is that … between us …” Halgor stammered as he became deathly pale.
Neila glanced at him. Only unbelievable pain shone in her eyes.
“I am sorry. I need to go now,” she murmured sadly, then walked away.
However, she could not turn her head away fast enough for the elven not to see the tears in her eyes.
Neila was headed for the main entrance of the Tower. When she passed Enargit, he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. He held her back for a moment.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, worried.
“No,” she sobbed. “But it will be in time.” She took a deep breath, wiped off her tears, and started forwards again with the dragon at her side.
When they stepped outside, Neila halted for a few moments. She held her head at the Sun, feeling its warmth with closed eyes. Then she looked around with a gaze as if this was the last time she would ever see the garden again. Apprentices and dragons strolled, rested, played, or studied in the garden everywhere.
Meanwhile, Enargit took his original form back, then stretched out one of his wings on the ground as he crouched. It was the typical position for a dragon when somebody wanted to sit on their back. Seeing this, everybody around froze; many stared with opened mouths.
Neila looked at the Leader questioningly.
“Come on now. We have not got all day,” the shadow reptile rumbled, which made Neila smile faintly. She stepped to him, then climbed on his back.
The dragon took off. He spiralled upwards as he ascended, then took the direction to the Anaca-lake.
“How should we go to Nightfort?” he asked after a short while.
“Through a Rim. We are on Caracen after all.” She shrugged, so the shadow Leader started the spell. Not far ahead, a Rim broke the smoothness of the air, only big enough for him to fly through.
Despite that Neila herself opened countless Rims, she still felt unsafe around the ones Enargit created. They felt somehow way wilder, as if the energies were not under utter control. She shivered when they flew through it, and she always thought that something would go wrong, or somebody would be hurt. She gave a relieved sigh when the Rim closed behind them.
They found themselves above the Dark Heart forest, not far from the previous spot of Varomor. The air was much colder here than where they came from, since winter ruled the Nimron. Neila chided herself for forgetting this, and she immediately changed her clothes to match it. She completely missed this little fact …
“I would be very surprised if somebody wouldn’t show to greet us,” Neila growled, albeit her friend still heard it.
They both watched the city carefully. The Sun was at its peak, although they left Varomor early in the morning.
“Believe me, Indrek is already on the roof of his house, laughing evilly. We could not have arrived with a bigger announcement,” said Enargit firmly. “Are you absolutely sure about this? We can still turn back.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I need to do this. I have nothing to lose, but I can still save everybody in Varomor. Not to mention avoiding a war.”
“If you say so …” rumbled the shadow Leader, which she did not hear. Maybe it was for the best.
A loud gong sounded in Nightfort to indicate danger, which made Indrek put down the letter he was reading in his study. But he had not even stood up when Talon stormed in.
“Enargit and Neila are coming,” he reported, which made the Ruler jump to his feet, then head for the roof. He also motioned his Commander to follow.
His house was the tallest so far in the city and had a flat roof, planted with grass. The wraith pointed to the correct direction, so Indrek held one hand up to his eyes against the sunlight. Despite the cold air, the skies stretched spotless blue above them.
“Well, what do you know … it is them.” The cursed dragon grinned. He could never mix up his brother’s silhouette with anybody else’s.
“What shall we do?” asked the scÿta, which made the Ruler’s grin even wider. He seemed almost joyful as he turned to the Commander.
“Absolutely nothing. Let him land. They came to pay me a visit, so I need to be a good host,” said Indrek as he headed downstairs, quietly laughing to himself.
Talon stayed a few moments longer, eyeing the approaching enemy. Then he swayed his head and started to make the necessary preparations.
Orderly chaos ruled the streets of the city—everybody had something to do, minding their business or helping others. Most wanted to finish their chores in time because soon every shop would be closed, according to the new calendar.
Next day was named Restday, which meant that the inhabitants could catch a break. Only some establishments were allowed to work, like inns, pubs, or theatres. Many prepared with shows, hoping for a bigger profit at the end of the day. They all were supervised by Indrek, who never missed reading the scripts or seeing the performances in front. Although he had the power to make them change something as he pleased, the cursed dragon rarely did so, only when there lay something truly insulting between the lines. He even let them ridicule him, if the joke had truth in it. Most of them he found really funny as he read, laughing out loud.
The main square was full of people, billowing all around. Its joyful noises filled the cold air, although they turned into screams and gasps as the citizens saw an unknown shadow dragon circling above the houses. They bolted in all directions like a wind rose, hiding everywhere they believed they could be invisible. At the same time, Guardsmen appeared, surrounding a cleared space. Their spears sparked in the sunlight. Their Commander watched everybody sternly, including the uninvited guests, ordering his men around. Talon stood at his side, eyeing his hiding scÿta.
“What a welcoming committee,” murmured Enargit as he watched everybody take their places and get ready to fight if needed.
He waited for them to settle, then started descending. When he thudded to the ground, he regarded the soldiers, worried. He had a bad feeling about this whole business and did not want to be the trophy of some sudden hero, who thought he would be famous if he slaughtered an enemy dragon …
However, everybody kept their cool; the soldiers stood patiently. Without an order, they did nothing, just looked very serious and intimidating. Neila slid down from Enargit’s back, facing the entrance of the palace, where Talon stood. Indrek obviously was late on purpose, wanting to make a dramatic entrance.
Which he perfectly achieved when he finally made an appearance. Even Neila had to admit that he looked truly majestic. She had never seen hi
m before, only heard stories, which could not catch the truth.
Indrek stood tall in the door as if he were perfectly aware that he owned everything and everybody around. His piercing red eyes with vertical pupils flared in the sunlight as he stared at the newcomers; his smoothly carved features stayed calm.
He obviously never missed a workout and took good care of his human body. His clothes highlighted his muscles just enough. He wore bright colours that day; only his black moccasins made an exception, in which he stuffed his tawny trousers. On top of his white, long-sleeved, thick tunic he wore a warm, black-and-red-mottled waistcoat. He did not have any gloves or further coats, showing that he had no intention to stay outside for long. His bright clothes made a contrast with his darker-than-tanned skin and his long, tied-back hair which streamed down his back.
Everybody stayed deadly silent; even the air felt frozen. Not even the staying, curious townsmen made a peep.
“I would say what an honour, but we both know that is not the case here.” Indrek broke the silence.
Neila was surprised how comforting his voice sounded. In every other situation, the Ruler truly would be a very appealing man. But in the current one, she reminded herself to be very cautious.
“Indeed,” Enargit replied with a twisted mouth. He too straightened up, which made him look down at his brother.
“So to what do I owe this … delightful visit?” Indrek asked charmingly, so Neila stepped forwards.
“We need to talk,” she answered, which made the Ruler smile.
“Then let us go inside and make ourselves comfortable.” He motioned his guests inside, so Enargit took his dragonman form. If Indrek noticed, he gave no sign of it.
Enargit walked beside Neila as they followed the Ruler into his residence. They passed Talon, who then joined them. Even as they walked, they both could feel his piercing eyes in their backs, as if he wanted to see into their souls. The friends could only hope that this gaze would be the only thing they felt …
Indrek led his guests into the study, then gestured them to sit where they liked. After, he ordered refreshments with something to bite. He played the perfect host, as if he were visited by his friendly neighbours. The almost lovely atmosphere was shattered by Talon, who stood at the door, blocking the only exit. He eyed the guests firmly; his hands were always close to his knives. He obviously was ready to act, whatever might come.
After Indrek sat in the armchair in front of Neila and the standing Enargit beside her, he flashed a charming smile.
“No courtesies are needed, I assume, so please make your point.” The Ruler broke the silence, as he poured himself and his guests a cup of fruit juice.
Neila took the drink, but set it on the arm of the chair, untouched. Indrek just sipped his, glancing from one to the other, waiting for an answer.
“You’re right,” she replied, catching his red gaze with her golden eyes. “I will be blunt: I want you to leave the Tower of Mysteries alone! You must not threaten it in any way, nor do anything which can be misleading about your intentions.”
Indrek gave a short laugh.
“This is good.” He sipped, still chuckling. “This is very good, Neila. I have not received such humorous demands in a while, and I had a few of those … imaginative threats from those who do not like me in the city.” The cursed dragon smiled, although when he glanced at the friends’ stern gazes, he became suspicious. It could be very interesting why they came before him with these ridiculous demands. They must have some kind of leverage, something they knew he could not dismiss.
“All right, let us say that for a moment I take your … I would not call it threat, but something like that … seriously,” he mused after a short break, whirling his cup in his fingers. He looked from one to the other inquiringly. But he could read nothing from their features, as if they were made of stone.
“I will need more information than this, you know that.” He gave a mirthless smile, his eyes sparkled curiously.
“Of course,” agreed Neila with a lifeless tone as she sipped from her cup. “For exchange that you acknowledge the Tower and its lands’ independence, your little Nightfall Empire and yourself will be safe from the Tower.”
Indrek narrowed his eyes. Truth be told, he believed that whoever lived in the Tower of Mysteries wanted to overpower him, or maybe kill him. And now he had proof of that. Still, he could not overlook the fact of how terrific an actual alliance would be with it.
On the other hand, he knew all but nothing of the Tower, so maybe he should not fear it at all.
The only certain thing at that point was that Neila and Enargit probably lived there, or formed an alliance with it. So if he decided against the truce, he would face them alongside who knew what.
“It is a tempting alliance—” he started again, albeit Neila cut in.
“I’ve never said anything about an ‘alliance’.”
“—but there is a problem.” Indrek continued as if he did not hear her. “Namely, that I know nothing of that Tower. It is obvious that if I decide against this … alliance, I will be facing you two. But how should I know this whole offer of yours is not just a trap or decoy? How can I be certain that I do not want to fight you?” From his eyes it was obvious that he liked that building too much to just give it up for a few words.
Neila took a deep breath and glanced at Enargit, who stood there as if he had become a statue. He obviously was there as an attendant only. It was her choice to be here; she needed to decide what she would reveal.
“Alright, I will tell you who lives in the Tower. Then you can decide whether it is worth attacking them or not.” Neila stared deeply into Indrek’s eyes. She caught his full attention; pure curiosity shone in his red eyes. “The Tower was created by me and Halgor.”
“The dark elven,” he interrupted; she nodded.
“Then we decided that we would take apprentices. I assume that you know of the dark mage castes?” asked Neila, although it sounded more like an announcement.
The dragon swayed his head at first, but then nodded.
Before the Dragonwars, many mage castes existed, formed by mages who liked to work together. Some of them used their powers to help only themselves, to gain more power, or anything that they wanted, and did not care on whom they stomped to get it. These mages and their castes were sealed as ‘dark’, ‘evil’, or ‘black’ by the others.
Because all castes kept in touch, if a mage was called ‘dark’ enough times, it spread. Mages liked to know at least on a big scale what the others were up to, so they kept an eye on each other. This meant that if one became a dark mage once, they probably would never get rid of that.
Not that anybody wanted to, or cared. For some, like the kobolds, the adjective ‘good’ or ‘dark’ was a free choice, just like what dress or trousers they should wear. Neither type became an outcast or was bullied to change their mind.
In truth, if anybody discovered that their business partner was a dark mage, that only meant that they needed to be cautious not to be ripped off.
Despite some stories, a dark mage usually did not use their power to actually hurt another being. Extreme cases existed, of course: those who made a living from killing or became a marauder. Others liked to spy on people for good money or simply became mercenaries. But most just behaved selfishly, caring about nobody else’s problems.
On the other side stood the ‘good’ castes, made by mages who actually helped others by healing or teaching. In rare cases they protected anybody with their lives who had enough money to buy their loyalty. Others used their powers to create beautiful homes or gardens to make somebody’s life more comfortable.
But whatever side a mage chose, they almost always belonged to a caste because they worked as schools mostly. Masters took apprentices, spreading their knowledge amongst those who wanted to learn about magic. Many such castes existed, starting from the more ambitious spy schools to the really high-class mages. Some became well known; others remained small. Nobody
knew of a secret caste who managed to remain unknown.
The castes usually worked in peace alongside each other; the mages did not really care if the other belonged to a different school, or side even. The whole system was created to keep the mages in order through strict hierarchy, which also brought them close. So when a new apprentice wanted to join a caste, they had to vow unquestionable obedience towards the Masters.
This meant that anybody who wanted to learn magic must look around thoroughly, choosing carefully. Leaving a caste was not really an option, and if somebody was forced out, there would be no other school that then accepted them. After all, if the loyalty disappeared once, it could again.
This was inexcusable for the Masters, mostly because they could not allow a weak link in the chain. If the caste came under attack, all of its participants had to fight, together. Similar to giving somebody a punishment, if needed. Whenever somebody made a mistake, everybody had to agree with the penalty, although the Master had the final word. This was important because in rare cases the punishment had to be executed by everybody at once, working together in harmony.
On the other hand, the Dragonwars changed everything. Most of the castes ceased to exist because of the too-many deaths. This was especially true with the human castes, but even the kobolds disappeared, meddling no more with everybody else’s business as before. The elvens were always a mysterious species. Only a few existed who knew anything about their mages, who almost never left their Home to live amidst others.
Only a handful of castes survived after the Wars, and one of those was Varomor, which soon became the ‘the dream of every dark mage’. Only the best and strongest could get into their lines, with the personal invitation from its Masters. Interestingly, every black mage heard of this caste, yet nobody knew for certain that it existed. The legends and stories of it just appeared, spreading like wildfire after.
