From the Pinnacle...

“There weren’t always Dragons in the valley… Hogwash and baulderdash!”

Bartholomew waved his hand through the air, dismissing the sentence. “I find it hard to believe, young Pippin, that you could find a more trite, unremarkable, and frankly,” he paused to find the magician in the lecture hall, “...and frankly banal opening line if you were allowed until the equinox for it!” Pippin slid down in his seat, trying to hide his face from the class. The Archmagister raised his chin and paced about the room.

“Histories, my dear students, must be gripping. They must pull the reader in! As mortals trapped in this quad-plane Metaverse, our most important teacher is the past! I would not dare to see how you might mistreat me in a treatise.”

He paused at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the Ithin Valley. A hand raised in the room, but the momentum was growing and he didn’t want to stop. When he spun around, his ceremonial cloak whirled behind him.

“You must face the past with alacrity and enthusiasm! The opening line is the most important of all!” He paused and looked out at the hundred or so students in his lecture hall. The hand had been lowered.

“Pippin!” The boy jumped. “When opening anything, try something like this…

“Dragons are drawn to places of purity, steeped in magic and overflowing with potential, where they might birth and raise their young to grow their own Metanic connections, reinforcing the species for the future, and driving the pursuit of knowledge," Bartholomew paused for a breath, "such that the way they and all else view reality itself is altered fundamentally due to being so sought and finally exploited by the greatest ability of an individual whose subtleties allowed them to go on such a journey in the first place, and be humbled themselves by the work that led to that great finality," Bartholomew took another breath "that allowed him to go down in history as the father of the modern world.”

The room was quiet for a moment. He smiled and allowed himself to revel for a moment. Then he scanned the lecture hall and said, “I hope you’re all taking notes on this.”

The sound of a hundred pens filled the air, all scratching away vague copies of what the Headmaster had said. He went back to his pacing, hands folded behind his back.

“Then, Pippin, might move onto how the dragons' migration into the valley, and how our ancestors, the Akkaïns, tamed and domesticated them."

The Headmaster looked up at all his magicians scribbling away.

He smiled. One head bobbed up. It was Li, the girl from gen65; an 11-year in a class of 17s.

He frowned. Her great many connections to the Meta made her a little headstrong and difficult to deal with at times. She had been moved ahead because she was more talented than the rest of her generation combined. She smiled at him, eager for more. Bartholomew spun his cloak around and sat on the throne behind his desk. When he looked up again, she had taken back to her notes.

One-by-one, other heads began to rise, and he looked at each one as it did. They all seemed to be the same, with the hallmark blue eyes that marked them as Arcane. Throughout the generations, the faces had seemed to get more and more similar. Some trends were lasting longer, too.

There had been an unbroken span in which every baby was born with small tufts of brown hair. Bartholomew had let his Magisters get distracted by the small curiosity, and even entered a wager that the trend would last at least ten years. A month and two days before the decade was reached, the Archmagister was in his mines, prospecting for rare gems. A messenger told him of the birth of a bald-headed child, and the shock could be felt through the entire valley. Archmagister the Second, Bartholomew Nebuchadnezzer of the Arcane of the Ithin Valley, had just lost a lot of money.

And his Second Magister, Gallagos Glass, had won.

It could never have been said that the Arch- and the Second Magisters got along. Gallagos was also the Headmatron, and the Matrons’ Halls had a unique ecology that punished outside meddling. Despite this, he still liked to keep tabs on the genes the Headmatron kept track of and what she believed caused it. When gen59 was born, those in class now minus Li, Bartholomew learned their Archpater had only been half Arcane. Gallagos claimed it happened under the watch of his predecessor. The issue threw everything off balance.

He sighed in his throne and gazed out at the students looking down on him. The evidence of their collective father's impure blood was obvious. A swirling of the skin and pigment under the right eye that made each face seem lopsided and dull. Maybe he could skip this generation, cut them out of the cycle so their blood didn’t continue to sully the school. He’d have to bring it up to the Grand Council.

Someone cleared their throat, and he scanned the crowd to find the culprit. Li’s eyebrows were raised. Of course. She was as much a thorn in his side as the rest of them. If the swirl was collective evidence of Archibald’s discrepancies, Li was the sole evidence of his own. “Um… Headmaster?”

The child’s voice reached him like a chill breeze through winter trees.

“Yes, yes, I'm here." Bartholomew pulled himself a little straighter in his chair. “There’s nothing more today. You are all dismissed! I expect great things in tomorrow's papers! That includes you, Pippin!” He watched the magician flinch as everyone climbed down from their seats and made for the door. Li approached from the crowd and waited to be addressed. He raised his chin at her. “Yes, child? What is it?”

“Headmaster, I’ve been thinking about the dragons, and I have a question.”

The old man sighed. The girl was barely head-and-shoulders taller than his desk. Why should she have a question? About dragons of all things! “What is your question?”

“The dragons, you said our human ancestors domesticated them.”

“Correct, child.

“I was wondering why the dragons allowed the humans to domesticate them?" She looked at him as if it were a genuine question.

Bartholomew leaned forward on his desk. "First, child, they were our ancestors, not 'the humans,' and second, the dragons didn't have a choice in the matter."

Li furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I… don’t think so. The dragons wouldn’t have allowed the humans to get anywhere near their breeding rituals if they didn’t already trust us. They would see us as a prey animal, probably, and-"

"Our ancestors domesticated them, so they weren't seen as prey animals, they-"

“But the humans-”

He slammed his hand on the desk and stood up. “I AM NOT TO BE SPOKEN OVER!”

Li jumped backward and he continued, “And our ancestors’ means of dracohusbandry is not up for debate by a child. If you wish to question long-standing beliefs, you can write a paper about it. You are dismissed."

Li glowered at him.

"You are DISMISSED!"

She scrambled out of the room, and Bartholomew sat back in his chair. He did not like her, but if she would follow the rules, he wouldn't have to yell at her. The school bred Arcane, not free thinkers.

He stood and opened a portal to his study, gathered his things, and put them on the floor inside the wall. He lingered there for a moment, looking at his study. It was messy. He didn’t spend much time there anymore, and it showed. He could probably use it as a lesson on entropy.

With a deep breath, the Archmagister closed the portal. He grabbed his staff from the wall and made for the door. Li was just a child. She didn’t know any better. One way or another, she would fall in with the rest of them. He blew out his moustache and strode onto the hallway landing. She didn't know anything.

***

‘Any Arcane worth their salt can levitate,’ the words of his predecessor echoed in Bartholomew’s head. Archmagister Archibald Nabopolasser had built the higher Chambers of the castle to be accessible only through flight. Tubeways connected the upper Seven Chambers of the castle to each other to allow the Arcane to move freely, while the First, Second, and Third Chambers all had walkways for the supply hub, Matrons’ Halls, and Magicians’ Quarters, respectively.

The Archmagister glided down the tubeway. Other Arcane passed by, and he created a sound-proof orb to surround him. His magic advisor was a translucent head with a set of gesticulating hands that hung in the air inside the orb. It bobbed as it spoke.

“Headmatron and Second Magister Gallagos Glass, the Dexters, and Dragonknight Heinrich all wish an audience with you, Archmagister. Glass has questions about the efficacy of a proposal put forth by the new Archpater. The Dexters have concerns about the quantity of crystals left for testing. Heinrich has a new development.”

That last sparked his curiosity. Heinrich was out by the crystal mines, and might have news of a newly-uncovered vein. Or news of a peasant uprising. He couldn’t be sure. The former might aid the Dexters’ concerns, but the latter would just make everything more difficult. He was sure Gallagos wanted to make things more difficult, anyway, so best not to hope too hard. The advisor continued in its ethereal voice. “The Dragonknight is on the ground in the town nearest the third mine. The Dexters are in the Sixth Chamber’s lower section. Gallagos Glass is in her garden outside the castle.”

“Thank you. That will be all,” said Bartholomew. Most Wizards had names for their advisors, but naming the thing would take away its objectiveness, he felt. Best to leave it as a tool.

“As you wish, Archmagister,” said the ghost, and faded away.

Though Heinrich might offer a solution to the Dexters’ issue, Bartholomew believed it’d be better to visit them first, so he could know what it is they would be requesting. He floated down the tubeway that led to the Sixth Chamber. After this, he would visit Heinrich. Gallagos Glass could wait.

The tube that led to the Sixth Chamber was clear, and Bartholomew looked out at the beautiful mountains as he passed through. When he touched foot in the vestibule, however, he could barely see anything. The Dexters liked it dark, claiming the introduction of sunlight could alter an experiment’s outcome in unexpected ways, so they had shaded the entire Sixth Chamber. The Grand Council did not mind so much. There was a hallway that led into the upper portion of the Chamber, where the Council stored relics and sun-sensitive documents. There was also a sloping hole that led down into the Dexters’ domain. The Archmagister focused his attention into the air around him, and he floated over and down into the hole.

As he descended, a hissing started in the hole. When he landed, the sound had turned to a mechanical crunching, and was then replaced by a quieter fizzling that held for a moment before hissing again and crunching again and cycling over. This space was darker than above, and the metal walls of the corridor ahead of him were lit by small orange gems, set every ten feet in holders at Bartholomew’s sternum-level. Hallways branched off the corridor, but the sounds of hissing, crunching, and fizzling came from ahead, and he recognized those as sounds of the Dexters at work.

The end of the corridor opened up into a better-lit room with an enormous machine suspended from the ceiling. There were many crinks and strange angles in the shape of it, and Bartholomew couldn’t fathom what its function was, but the two Dexters were there, one fiddling with levers and wheels halfway up, the other holding a valve open on the floor as steam hissed out. The Dexter closed the valve, and connected the machine to the floor with a crunch. A fizzling substance shot into the floor, Bartholomew could hear himself think again.

He cleared his throat, and the Dexters’ heads shot up. The one up top flipped some levers and spun a wheel, gave a thumb-up to the Dexter on the floor, and slid down a ladder to meet with the Archmagister as the one on the bottom locked the tube into the floor and pumped a dial up to a green mark. “Hej hej, Allybashh,” said the Dexter from above. “Glad you could come to see us.”

He thought this one was Gruget. They stood up to his waist and had paste-white skin with green teeth that appeared black in the orange light, and pupilless eyes that never seemed to be looking at you. Their faces were androgenous, and even though the Dexters called each other sisters, Bartholomew couldn’t quite take their word for it.

“Hello, Gruget,” he said. The Dexter didn’t correct him, so may have been right, “I was told you were concerned with the quantity of crystals left at your disposal. Is this correct?”

Gruget turned to the other Dexter as they approached. This one would be Goddur. They were identical. Goddur’s smile looked like a toothless grin. They said, “Yes, we have not enough crystals for our next idea. Big idea and big experiments in mind, we have, and more shipments of crystal we need to start.” Gruget nodded along.

Bartholomew looked up at the machine. “What are these ideas of yours?” The Dexters both smiled in the ‘I’d love to tell you, but…’ fashion, and didn’t answer him. He shook his head.

“What do you need?”

They small, pale industrialists looked at each other, and Goddur made a small cough before speaking. “Five shipments.”

There it was. Bartholomew sighed. The mines had recently been struggling to produce any crystals, and five shipments would have been a lot when they were still full. He strolled his eyes around the large chamber, not really looking at anything.

These fellows were the only ones he could trust to work on the crystals without damaging them, but they hadn’t produced any real uses for the crystals in the entire span of their work here, and they were expensive. If the mines were dry and the peasants rioting, they might not be worth the headache anymore.

He took a deep breathe and let it out. The air down here had a unique smell, a sort of zestyiness. He wasn’t sure if it was the crystalline dust or the Dexters. He looked down at them, their pupilless eyes tilted up toward him. He smiled. They smiled back.

“I will have one shipment for you the night after next, and we will see what we can do afterward.” He tried to maintain a regal poise.

Gruget tilted its head, picking up on something. “Are the mines still producing?”

The Archmagister raised a hand and said “One shipment in two days, with the possibility of more afterward.” He turned on his heel and walked back down the long corridor, leaving the Dexters confused in the space behind him. Heinrich better have good news.

***

A bump nearly knocked Bartholomew off his bench in the wagon’s bed, and he cursed under his breath. He was not used to travelling like this, but he didn’t like leaving the castle undisguised with the possibility of a peasant revolt brewing. Astyages, his Tenth Magister and Shepard of the Dragons, offered to fly him out, and when the Archmagister had declined, requested that he at least a have skyguard.

“What use is a skyguard if trouble comes from the ground?” asked Bartholomew, seeing full well the absurdity of the question, but being too tired to care. Astyages raised his eyebrows and walked away without responding. The lack of formality irked the him, but he let it go. He dressed himself in plain brown robes and summoned a wagon from the village at the base of the castle.

Mountains rose up on his left, sharp with many cliffs, and ran south, where they met the mountains from the other side of the valley. There they formed the singular great peak that hosted Laniakea, the Arcane castle.

The castle spiralled up from the foot of the mountain, circled westward around its back, and rose to sit itself on the very peak. The ten distinct buildings were connected to each other through a complex network of tubeways that looked like a someone threw a net over a mountain and didn’t bother to straighten it afterward.

He needed good news from the mines. Even though Heinrich was barely out of his adolescence, Bartholomew saw fit to appoint him leader of a wing of Dragonknights. The boy was exceptionally gifted, and had strong natural leadership skills and more and stronger connexions to the Meta than three generations to either side of him. Only Li surpassed him, and the difference was negligible.

The lecture halls were in the Fourth Chamber, and Bartholomew tried not to think of the girl. If she continued to act out and question him, she would have to be brought to heel. Crushed into submission, if need be. Part of him hoped that wasn’t necessary.

His eyes refocused onto the castle, and he watched it for a moment before realizing it was bigger than he ever noticed before. The repetitive nature of his schedule made the inside seem small, but now that he was looking at it from outside, he was amazed at the size of the thing. It actually climbed up an entire mountain. It was a feat of construction.

The first Archmagister and his predecessor, Archibald, had inherited a small community of Arcane that he molded over the course of a century. Archibald had envisioned a great Arcane Empire, spanning the wider Encircled Lands with Laniakea at its heart, and Archibald’s vision was Bartholomew’s vision. He dreamt of filling the Ten Chambers with powerful Wizards, of all the rulers between the Walls of Columbar’ii and the Dead Sea coming here, to his castle, to pay homage to him. The thought warmed his chest.

A shadow passed over the road, and it spooked the drakelings pulling the cart. Bartholomew looked up to see a small dragon circling overhead. Heinrich must have spotted him and wanted to escort them the rest of the way.

The trees that surrounded the village offered a great respite from the sun, and after the wagon had pulled off the road, those trees began to shake with the buffeting of a dragon’s wings. The villagers had gotten used to the Dragonknights coming and going, so the metallic grey dragon descending into a clearing, mounted by an armoured man with a red helmet, drew few eyes. Some children stopped to stare for a moment, but screamed with laughter and chased each other away again playing a game Bartholomew couldn’t fathom.

The dragon lowered its head, and the knight dismounted with grace. It was amazing how fast the boy had grown! When Heinrich removed his windmask, it was clear the boy’s face had lost all the chubbiness of youth, and his cheeks were now sharp as knives under his glowing blue eyes.

“Nebuchadnezzar!” Heinrich threw his arms wide as if greeting a beloved uncle. Bartholomew returned the embrace, and held the man at arms’ length to look at him.

“You’ve grown so much in the past month,” he said. Heinrich laughed.

“It’s been several months, Archmagister! I’ve been busy keeping the peace around here, and clearly you’ve been busy making trouble in the castle!” Bartholomew’s smile faded slightly.

“What do you mean by that?”

Heinrich was confused for a moment, but shook his head and said “Oh I was just making a joke, I suppose. Things out here have been getting difficult, and I’ve been keeping the knights in a higher spirit with humour.”

“Ah yes, of course,” said Bartholomew. “Tell me of this development. I wish to hear some good news for once.”

“Abolutely, Archmagister! Here, follow me,” said Heinrich, and motioned for Bartholomew to walk alongside him. “The new development has unsettled the people, but I promise this is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“You keep me in suspense, my boy!” They both laughed as they passed through the village. As they walked, they spoke of small news. Bartholomew mentioned his headaches with the Council, and Heinrich talked about the traders that came to the mouth of the valley.

“They say there is a plague in Domarra, to the west,” said Heinrich. “Bones that fly over the ground and dead that rise from their graves!” He seemed to believe the nonsense. “Everyone calls it the ‘Deathscourge’, a direct translation, and the traders all fear it might spread east far as the Windless Ocean.”

“We’ll make sure it stays out of our valley, won’t we?” said Bartholomew, smiling at the man next to him.

“Yes,” said Heinrich, smiling back. “We will.”

When they reached the mines, Bartholomew noticed the corral of empty carts outside. He wished Heinrich would tell him they had found more crystals, but whatever the discovery was, he would find out soon enough.

Inside the mine, there was a small orange shard on the ground, and Bartholomew picked it up. It lit enough of the mine to see where they were going. There were usually crystals in the walls to light the tunnels, but demand had dictated this mine be stripped bare. The shard must have been all that was left. He watched the gaseous swirls in the gem move as he walked, as if the crystals were a window into another realm, and it moved in that realm as it moved in this one.

He’d discovered the crystals over a decade ago. Years of research, but he still had no use for them. As it was, the mines were his expensive hobby, ignored by the Council.

Occasionally, the crystal in his’s hand would darken. If there were others around, they would have darkened, too. When they had had enough crystals for a large enough sample size, they learned that the crystals all seemed to look into the same realm of gas, and the moments of darkness were caused by some sort of wave passing through the gas, seen through the crystals.

They still had to puzzle out the nature of the realm the crystals showed. The waves all seemed to emanate from a single point, due to their arc and trajectory, but what or where the point was was still a mystery. The gem in his hand darkened and came back, but…

It was much quicker this time.

Heinrich’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “We’re almost there. It was originally discovered from mine 2, but we opened 3 back up to get a better vantage of the chamber.”

Bartholomew looked at Heinrich. “Chamber? My boy, what is the nature of this discovery?”

Heinrich didn’t answer. They were there.

It was an enormous cavern, illuminated with the glow of a million crystals.

Bartholomew was awestruck. His blue eyes sparkled in the orange light. His eyes were drawn to the center of the cavern, where an enormous crystal ball was held up by a crystalline pillar. The orb’s center swirled with dark clouds that shot tendrils out into the crystals, passing through them as dark waves.

He watched the gem he held darken with the waves and tendrils. He couldn’t speak. There was nothing to say. This was… Just… It was the greatest discovery. Ever. This might be it, that would allow him to fulfill his ambitions and bring the Arcane into the wider world. He…

He needed space to store all these crystals.

He needed people to mine them.

He needed his Magisters.

***

“We are already birthing 1,000 children a year, Archmagister,” said Gallagos, as if it that number were almost beyond their capabilities. Bartholomew’s voice echoed down from behind the Archmagister’s Podium.

“What of quality controls and vetting procedures? What do you believe can be eliminated to expedite the process?”

“The controls and procedures are quite alright as they are, Archmagister. We do not have the capacity to raise the birthrate.” Gallagos Glass was appalled. She sat second from the left amongst nine others that mostly agreed with her at the crescent table that dominated the Grand Council Hall.

Behind them was a window that looked out at the valley of Bess’Arbad. Bartholomew was chagrined to have the Hall in the Ninth Chamber, but the dragons roosted in the Tenth, and he thought better than to poke a dragon’s nest. His Magisters might disagree.

“What is this about, Nebuchadnezzar? What are you proding for?”

The Hall was silent, waiting for his reasons. The silence stretched as he gathered his thoughts.

Finally, he said. “There has been a great development in the mines. We have-”

“Archmagister,” said Third Magister Je’tarn, “with all due respect, the Council does not wish to hear of your pointless and expensive playthings.” He had charge of the young Arcane after they left Gallagos’s Chamber. She and a few others murmured their assent. He continued, “Second Magister Glass has an urgent matter she wishes to bring to the Council. The Archpater-”

“The Archpater is not important,” said Bartholomew. He stood and projected his prescence into the room as if it were a lecture hall. “What is important is that we have found the heart of the gas inside the crystals. With more research, we will learn the true nature of these miracles, and then we will use them to project ourselves into the wider Lands.”

Gallagos stood from her seat.“To what ends? Domination?” She pressed her hands to the table. “Your predecessor Nabopolassar sought the same things, and we fought him just as hard. There is no reason for us to mingle with the outside Lands any more than we already do. The Council is united on this, and you will not sway us.”

Tenth Magister Astyages was sitting at the far right end of the table. Bartholomew’s gaze drifted over to him, and he asked the man what he thought. Gallagos stood up and crossed her arms at having been ignored. When Astyages spoke, it was with the confidence of a well-worn thought.

“We would need more dragons.”

Gallagos Glass slapped a hand on the table and shouted, “I will not stand for this nonsense! Bartholomew, you’ve run the patience of this Council thin.”

The Archmagister stamped his foot and pointed at Gallagos. “Watch your tone, and sit down, Magister! I have not finished my-”

Gallagos spoke over him, the weight of her words drowning him out. “I, Second Magister Gallagos Glass, accuse Bartholomew Nebuchadnezzar, Archmagister of Laniakea, of abuse of position and carelessness in the sacred role of High Leadership,”

“Silence yourself!” Bartholomew tried to shout over her, but she kept on.

“The punishment being,”

“Second Magister, I command you to-”

“THE PUNISHMENT BEING,”

“GALLAGOS!”

“DEPOSITION AND EXILE!”

The last words hung in the air like a peal of thunder. Bartholomew stood being the podium, scanning a cruel gaze over the Magisters. His eyes flicked to Astyages as he stood.

“Tenth Magister Astyages Qerunnur offers his assent.” He looked back at Bartholomew and held his gaze as one-by-one, the rest of the Council stood and and offered their consent.

It was over.

The room filled with Dragonknights, and he was hauled into the center of the room. He was stripped of his ceremonial robes, and Astyages approached him with a knife.

“Bartholomew Nebuchadnezzer, the Council has found you unfit to lead the Arcane people. As Shepherd of the Dragons, I hereby disburden you of your symbols of power.” He put the knife against Bartholomew’s throat and paused, looking into the old man’s eyes. The knife sheared Bartholomew’s massive beard in one clean swipe. Astyages cut the patches out of his vestements and removed the small blue gem from the top of Bartholomew’s orante staff before breaking it in half over his knee. Bartholomew was thrown to the ground, humiliated and stripped of everything. He watched his tears darken the beautiful floor.

“You, take him away.”

Bartholomew was hefted to his feet. He looked up to see Heinrich, face cold as stone. Tears rolled down Bartholomew’s face as he raised a shaking hand to Heinrich’s cheek.

“Heinrich..?”

A portal was opened to Bartholomew’s study. He was thrown in by Heinrich and four other Dragonknights entered the room after him.

“You have 30 minutes to pack your essentials before you are to serve your sentence.”

Heinrich turned on his heel, leaving him with his wardens. The portal closed on Heinrich’s back and Gallagos’s smiling face. Looking at his mess, Bartholomew wished he had spent more time cleaning his room.