by Greg Curtis
“If we do not stop it, then one day the disease will take over the entire world and all life will end.” She wished she hadn’t added the last, or rather that she hadn’t had to, they had to know. But mostly she wished at that moment that she didn’t sound exactly like her old teacher, preaching of the end of the world.
There was an irony in that, bitter and cold, especially when she had never been one of his better students, and in truth had secretly scorned him for his words. Could she apologise for that? And Ashiel knew as the debate suddenly raged all around her, that she couldn’t. Master Jillan was gone, and if they weren’t lucky, the rest of them would be following him into death.
Chapter Thirty.
Ashiel made her way slowly across the plateau for the first time in what seemed like thousands of years, knowing a sense of pride in herself. It was good to finally know that she was doing something right, and it had been a long time since that had happened. It was good to know too that there was some hope in the world, and that too had been waning. And it was good to know that she was useful once more. Or at least that someone had a purpose for her.
How else could she explain the dreams that had begun assaulting her, night after night, and then during the day as well? Ever since the day she had discovered the nature of their enemy, and in that too she suspected, she had been guided. It was a message, she knew that. What she didn’t know was who had sent it to her, or why. But none of that mattered when she knew what she had to do. She knew where she had to go, and maybe, just maybe, when she got there and assuming the echo of the necromancer didn’t kill her outright, she would know what to do when she got there.
If only the unicorn had been more specific. But then unicorns weren’t known for their loquacious tongues even in dreams. Just their beauty and their magic.
So she would go to the fortress, the scroll tucked safely away in her clothes, and once there she hoped, the dream unicorn would guide her the rest of the way.
At least it was a safe enough trip. The dragons and Alan between them had finally started to clear up the undead infestation, leaving Agrin without his armies at least, but it seemed that no good deed would go unpunished, and so instead he had turned his attention inwards, and had started growing, the blight that was his essence spreading out across the cold, dead land. But then he wasn’t Agrin, he wasn’t even the necromancer as he’d been known for so long. He wasn’t anything mortal at all. He was a disease. A perversion in the life of the world, and like all diseases he was spreading. The world could not handle something like him. As once it could not have handled her people.
That hurt to admit even to herself, but it was true, especially so when she had to walk it herself instead of flying over it as she once would have. The world was vastly different to what it had been before she had gone to sleep, and most of those changes were not for the better.
Lands were missing, others destroyed, mountains had been levelled, others raised from out of nowhere, and here in the plateau where Agrin had once lived perhaps the worst of it was the way the land had risen so high. What had once been a pleasant land, a little chilly perhaps but with bright sunshine to warm the days and plenty of alpine plants to add a touch of beauty, was now a frozen wasteland. It would have been covered with a sheet of ice had there been any water to freeze. Instead it was just dead.
An entire plateau, a rocky desert of broken rocks, distant dead mountains and long since deceased volcanoes, rivers of frozen lava, and not a trace of life for as far as the eye could see in any direction. But the wind lived, it blew constantly, tirelessly and never from the same direction for more than an hour or two. It picked up what little remained of the soil and turned it into dust which blasted every piece of exposed skin it could find, and then it howled, day and night, making even sleep impossible.
Once she would have been able to deal with that easily. With her magic she could just have raised a shield of force all around her and the dust and wind would never have come near her. She would have simply cast a few fireballs at the ground all around, and let the heat of the cooking rocks keep her warm. And in truth she wouldn’t have even bothered with walking, she would have just floated lazily above it all. It was so much easier than scrambling up and down boulders the size of houses, weaving her way between more of them, and all the while trying not to fall or twist an ankle. It had been so much easier even when she had a horse to carry her, but no horse could have traversed this broken land and she had set it free several days before, at the foot of the pass.
If only she could have flown. But those days too were gone, and for her alone among all her people, it wasn’t the dragon’s doing. It was Afri’s, a miserable excuse for a man who even dead and gone she hated with a passion. Whose memory she hated as well.
He had condemned her to a life without her magic, although there were traces of it remaining, and he had made sure that now, when she finally had something she could do to redeem herself in her own eyes, she had to walk. Maybe though, that was a good thing. Small, alone, powerless, a tiny figure bundled up in thick furs and heavy robes, Agrin if he even saw her would never fear her. Most likely though, he would never even notice her. She was simply too small and insignificant for whatever he was to pay attention to. That was going to cost him, and she clutched the page of the book of days more tightly to her chest without even thinking of what it was going to cost.
Then once it was done, once he was gone, cured, or unmade, or whatever the correct term was, she would either be dead, the most likely outcome considering that she expected most of the plateau around her was going to be destroyed along with the necromancer, or if she lived, a woman once more with something in her past to know a sense of self respect for. Either way she wouldn’t have to live in shame any longer.
That was something to yearn for as she scrambled over the rocks on her hands and knees. So too would have been thicker gloves as the cold seemed to simply eat through hers.
Noises ahead though took her thoughts off her frozen fingers as she realised that all here was not as dead as it seemed, and for a moment she worried that the necromancer might actually have spotted her after all. But it didn’t sound like the undead. They didn’t really make a lot of noise except for the bones banging on the rocks. And they didn’t breathe, and whatever was making the noise was breathing. Snorting in truth.
Could a horse perhaps have made its way up here? It seemed impossible, there was nothing to eat, and in any case it would surely have snapped its leg bones long ago on the uneven rocks. A cat though, a wolf maybe, they could be more agile, more able to move around where she was on her hands and knees much of the time. But cats didn’t snort, horses did.
Taking her courage in her hands, she crawled quietly up the side of a boulder, as quietly as she could at least, and then risked poking her face above the top hoping that nothing would bite it off.
“Powers be!” Ashiel was stunned when she looked over the boulder to see a creature standing there. It wasn’t the horse she’d dreamed of, though one would have been welcome as she tried to make her way across the rocky wasteland; it was a unicorn, the same one from her dreams, and the sight of the beast just took her breath away.
It was simply too beautiful for words, resplendent in white, magnificent and proud and yet graceful beyond words. And the horn, even to her limited abilities, it was a whirling vortex of living golden magic.
In all her life she’d never seen one. The last unicorn had vanished from the world long before she’d even been born, and not because of the war. She remembered her grandparents telling her that once they had roamed the lands in great herds. But they had vanished along with so many other magical creatures, gone from the world without a trace. And no one as she recalled, had been able to tell her why. In truth until then she’d never really given the matter much thought. It was just something that had gone. Something she’d never seen. Yet seeing the beast standing there in front of her, she suddenly knew that it was something she should have wondered about. Som
ething that she should have missed. Something too precious to lose.
For the first time she understood the dragons’ will. The destruction of the world in a war, that was one thing, but as they’d said, the world had been being slowly destroyed long before. As her people had sought greater and greater power, torn more and more magic from the land, they had been tearing the very heart and soul, the life itself from the world. It was that that the dragons could never allow to happen again. And despite her beliefs, it had had nothing to do with the druid.
Secretly she had still blamed him a little for the binding of her people’s magic, she had even clung to that belief in private as she saw her people, her family struggling to find new lives in this strange new world without their magic, even when the dragons had told them at length that they did not take orders from mortals. The unicorn told her the truth of that. In its own way it was the same as the dragons, something not to be used by magic, but of magic, and something beyond mortal understanding.
“Stones I’m going to have to apologise to him!” The thought was an anathema to her. He was a druid, and as powerful as he was, never a true wizard. And seeing the unicorn in front of her she knew one thing more; he was right. Of course he was never the sort to crow about his victories, he would undoubtedly be understanding and tell her he had nothing to forgive her for, and that was somehow even worse. The man had absolutely no vices, no sins, nothing to even feel sorrow for. He wasn’t mortal!
Yet it was worse than that. As she stood there staring, she remembered what he had told Sera on the day of his return, of what had happened to him, and though it made no sense she knew she was staring at the proof of everything he’d said. It was madness, and it was truth. The druid was touched. Had been touched by the divine. More than touched, used.
She’d never met anyone who’d been so used, never heard of anyone among her people who had been. So what did that mean? Was he now a high priest of some sort? A prophet? And how was she supposed to speak to him? Did she need to bow? Speak in hushed tones? Obey him? That could not be borne. Maybe she could just kill him instead.
Of course that would probably be frowned upon. Sera might be upset as she seemed to regard Alan as a child, or perhaps a favoured pet. It was sometimes hard to be sure which. And in any case he was extremely capable with those weapons of his as well as his magic. Still it was something to think about as she considered what she was going have to say to him when next they met.
On the other hand he had helped to return such a wondrous creature to the world, and as she stood there staring she knew that had to be applauded. Eventually though, she decided that something had to be done and nervously she cleared her throat.
“Are you here to see me?” Ashiel felt stupid for asking the question of a creature that couldn’t answer her, but it was all she could think to do, and surprisingly it seemed to work. The unicorn nickered a little like a horse, though its cry was far more musical, and then trotted calmly over to her as if she’d offered it food. Actually it didn't trot so much as glide. Its gait was so smooth, so perfect that it was almost as if its hooves didn't touch the ground. And that she guessed was why it could cover this terrain where a normal horse couldn't.
Then as if it was the most normal thing in the world, it simply lowered its head a little, and offered her its nose to rub. Ashiel did just that, at first tremulously placing her hand on its forehead and rubbing its impossibly soft fur, and then without thinking wrapping her whole arms around its neck in a giant hug, and rubbing her face against it. It didn’t seem to mind, and she loved it.
“You are so beautiful.” And it was. More than beautiful in truth. It was something far beyond the normal understanding of such things, just as she realised it was probably far beyond the normal understanding of everything. But she didn’t care as she kissed its cheek and rubbed her face against its; she was simply too happy. The unicorn was a blessing in this cold, dark world, perhaps somehow a forgiveness for all she had done wrong. Which reminded her of one legend she did remember of its kind.
“You know I’m not pure.” Ashiel didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to even remember it, and there was probably no point in even speaking of such shame to a creature that couldn’t speak. But she had to. She had to confess. And as easily as the words flowed from her mouth, the tears flowed down her cheeks. But the unicorn didn’t care about such things, it didn’t care about anything at all except for what it was, and it was a creature born of love and it loved her.
For ages it seemed she just stood there, holding it, crying for her shame, and it let her. It didn’t judge her, didn’t condemn her, didn’t reject her, didn’t do anything at all except speak to her of its love, and somehow that was enough. In time the tears dried and the pain went away, and she felt so much better.
“So what do I do with you?” It was the obvious question to ask, even if Ashiel knew the beast couldn’t answer her. Still as she stroked the unicorn’s neck, her hands revelling in the feel of its impossibly soft coat, she wasn’t that sure she cared about an answer. It was somehow enough that the unicorn was there with her as she walked into what was likely to be her last fight. And her first.
The unicorn didn’t answer her of course, just snorted a little more in the freezing cold air, sending little streams of fog shooting out, and rubbed its cheek against hers, almost like a hug, and somehow that little gesture filled her with warmth and lifted her spirits. It was probably magic of some sort, druidic magic, and she didn’t fully understand it, but it didn’t matter. It gave her the strength she needed to carry on, and there was still a very long way to go to reach Agrin’s fortress.
Maybe that was why it was there.
“You’re coming with me?” It didn’t answer her, it couldn’t, but as she stood there holding it, she knew it for the truth. The unicorn had come, perhaps it had been sent to her, to help her with her mission. First the dreams, now the unicorn. If she had been a more religious person she would have wondered if someone, the Goddess or the Mother, was guiding her in some way, and maybe she was.
Maybe she was being offered a gift as she headed towards what was probably going to be her grave. And maybe she was being offered a hand, a way to help her do what she had to do.
Chapter Thirty One.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Alan wasn’t quite sure he could believe what the man was telling him, except that deep down he knew it was true. He just didn’t want to accept it.
First the dream, and that had been no ordinary dream but rather an almost prophetic nightmare that had instantly woken him out of a deep sleep knowing that Ashiel was in deadly trouble, and that she needed his help. Then the news when he’d asked, that she was indeed gone, confirming his nightmare. And no one had noticed her leave, no one could even tell him how long she’d been gone. It could have been days or even weeks.
The worst of it though was that he knew where she’d gone. He could still remember the frozen wastes of the plateau as the bitter wind beat down on his flesh, still feel the hairs standing so hard on end on his body as his skin crawled, just from the nearness of the necromancer. She had gone to his fortress. Why he didn’t know. What she planned on doing there he had no clue. But that was where she’d gone.
And he had to follow her.
He knew that, and at the same time knew it wasn’t just him who knew it. The dream was a vision of some sort, a guidance, and while he might not understand all of it, or actually very much at all, he knew that he was meant to go to her. It wasn’t even about saving her. It was more than that. He cared for her, probably more than he should, he felt concern for her as well, especially knowing how much she’d suffered, but there was something more at work here.
He had to go to her and it had something to do with the war.
“Tell Sera of her leaving, and that she’s at the necromancer’s fortress.” The man stared at him for a moment, shocked, and with good reason, but then he raced off down the tunnels to reach the royal chamber as if his feet were o
n fire. He knew his duty, and rightly or wrongly, his duty was to relay Alan’s message. That gave Alan the time he needed after the man had disappeared, to head in the other direction, making for the nearest entrance. Somehow he was certain that when Sera found out she was going to want to see him, and at that point she would try to stop him doing what he knew he had to do.
He reached the terrace quickly enough, for it was late and there was no one about now that the threat of the undead was largely abated, at least for the lair. Outside in the rest of the world the undead armies were still attacking, creating a terrible danger to anyone not protected by an army, a dragon or his elementals, and they kept slipping around lines, to attack civilians. The creator only knew how many were dead, but fifteen towns and two cities had been attacked by bone dragons, and the deaths in those raids alone numbered in the hundreds of thousands.
On the terrace he quickly found the edge of the platform, leapt on to the stone hand rail, extended his wings and launched himself out into the cool night air. It might be a nuisance being stuck in draglet form, but the flying was always wonderful, and he rejoiced as always as he felt the air currents flowing under his wings, lifting him higher and higher almost without his having to exert himself. Of course he did, he was in a hurry, and soon the ground was disappearing far below him as he soared into the clouds, heading north as fast as he could, knowing that he was going to be quick. The form he had been gifted was a powerful flyer.
