The Dragon Mage

Chapter 1: Dragon Mage

Of Mountains and Magic

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley,” the young man recited, “and it is not known where they first came from. But it was the dragons who brought the magic, and we who brought the ruin that caused them to turn away.”

The young man read slowly, though he had been instructed in the runes and languages his entire life. Always something holding this one back, Halvesa thought, eyeing the man from across the small chamber. The chamber was plain, with book shelves lining most of the walls, and several seats around a large table in the center of the room. The walls were rough stone, as most of the areas for instruction were built into the mountainside. A few simple tapestries hung here, depicting dragons and stately figures.

Halvesa placed both hands on the wooden table, which was carved with runes along it’s surface. These runes were used for instruction, and held no real power. Leaning forward, Halvesa raised an eyebrow, becoming more intent on the young man. He had stopped reading. Halvesa was a foot taller than the man, and his eyes were of an odd, golden hue. Those eyes were tilted, so the ovals were nearly vertical.

“A question?” Halvesa asked. “Does the text give you trouble still?”

The young man stiffened, and took a moment to push his brown hair back from where it fell while he was bent over the tome. “Alvetra was the author of this writing, but he writes as if the actions of Javensora were the fault of all of you,” the young man stated.

“We are not like you humans,” Halvesa began, “we are one, even as some of us have been corrupted. We have a share of blame in all things the Kasorend have done. The Dragons will see it no other way. To be of the Dragon, to share in the glory of that power, we must bear more of the burden than most. Endyne, your time with us has opened many possibilities, and many are shocked by how much you have been able to accomplish. But you will never be of the Dragon, for good or ill.”

Lies. Lies to tell children who want to sleep well at night.

The thought came to Endyne like a bolt of lightning. Where did it come from? He had always been treated fairly, if not with great kindness. What would make him think they were lying?

“I understand,” Endyne said. Although he truly did not. A human raised in the mountains, raised by creatures who call themselves The Kasorend, worshipers of Dragons. Bearers of magic.

“Very well, we have reached a fine point of rest,” Halvesa said as he stood from his chair. “The further musings of Alvetra on the origins of Dragons will need more time than we have, as you must still tend to your physical training.”

Endyne silently closed the book and placed it on a nearby shelf. He then walked out of the chamber, still thinking of the crimes of the few. Javensora turned the Dragons’ magic to all sorts of evils, and caused a rift between his people and the Dragons. The texts said that Kasore magic once held the power to shape the land, and do amazing feats. The rift, however, seemed to have made that power wane.

Do you not wonder? Does the real question not eat at your very soul?

The real question? These thoughts were troubling, and had been building in him for some time. Almost as if they were not even his own. But the question was there. He had danced around it before, and the Kasore had danced with him. But he was afraid of the answer. Why am I here? The only human. The outcast. The anomaly of generations. A human wielding magic.

Endyne walked on, through a well-lit corridor of the same rough stone. The light was soft, emanating from runes along the walls. He exited the corridor to bright sunlight, standing on a plateau over looking a valley between the peaks of the mountains. Many paths wound up and down from the plateau, with many more entrances to corridors all along the mountain. The valley was short, only having room near the bottom for several large buildings and some grazing land for animals. This was not the valley spoken of in the text. That valley was thousands of miles away, in the ruined ancestral home of the Kasorend. This small valley was all that was left of the once great Children of the Dragon.

Endyne took a path on his right, winding down to the valley floor. He moved among the much larger Kasore, most of them intent on their own tasks, paying him little attention. Most wore robes or simple clothes in many colors. The rare Magi, a master in the arts, was wearing jeweled bracers or necklaces, and carrying various scepters or magical items. The others would move aside in silent respect, some offering a simple gesture of honor, one fist to opposite shoulder. The Magi returned the salute with a nod.

A fine parade of weakness.

Where did that come from? By all accounts, a Magi was the strongest among them. Despite the weaker connection to any Dragons, they could still conjure powerful magic, and imbue many runes. During one lesson, a Magi had summoned a ball of flame that was almost as big as he was. Weakness?

Endyne arrived on the valley floor and approached the training yard, where several young Kasore were already sparring with sword, spear, and shield. All wore leather jerkins glowing with runes. The yard was a large circle, surrounded by wooden fencing. There were several racks of weapons, holding all manner of swords, spears, and other weapons. The weapons were all made of wood. There were racks holding the leather jerkins, as well. Two older Kasore stood over the fighters, watching and directing them. Tavrest, the senior of the two, was yelling something at one pair on the far side of the field. Yatra, the other trainer, watched Endyne approach. Endyne put on a jerkin and took a wooden sword from the nearest rack. The runes on the jerkin kept them from being injured, but still managed to transfer the pain of each blow.

Endyne found himself tensing even before he walked into the yard. The Kasore were all much bigger than him, and born to magic, which made them faster, and stronger. He was lucky to hold his own against most of them. Today he was paired with Ulvast, one of the senior students, and a good two feet taller than Endyne. Yatra continued to watch as Endyne readied himself.

Listen. The thought was in Endyne's head, but he was sure it was not his.

Feel. Reach out. Endyne was about to step into the circle, signaling the beginning of the round. He stopped, shaking his head. What was this?

Ulvast was smiling, but not without warmth. Ulvast was a good fighter, and always enjoyed a good fight.

Surrender. Endyne hesitated at the edge of the circle. He closed his eyes, thinking to steady himself, to banish the thoughts.

Then something happened. Endyne felt something, just beyond his reach. Something strong, like the fast current of mountain stream. In his mind, Endyne recalled a lesson on forces of magic. Not all were safe, and some could destroy you. Endyne pulled his mind from the current, but it surrounded him, swallowed him. A bright light flashed in his vision, and then all was dark.

What seemed like days passed, and Endyne opened his eyes. He was standing in the circle, but not near the edge. Ulvast lay in front of him, one eye swollen and bulging, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He was breathing, but it was very shallow. Endyne looked at the wooden sword in his hand, and saw blood spattered along its blade. He recoiled at the sight, but something kept him from dropping it. Something like a current.

The instructors were moving toward Ulvast, while the other students stood in silence. They had varying levels of shock imprinted on their faces. Endyne had never outright won a duel. But when he came forward against Ulvast that day, moving and striking like lightning itself, the runes on Ulvast's jerkin had cracked under the blows. Cracked and shattered.

The Bastard Knight

Sarian stared across the bridge, being careful not to let his horror show plainly on his face. He was young, and though this was his first command, he knew that the men would need to see his courage today.

His first command. The thought would bring joy and pleasure to any Knight of Rolanis. But, he though wryly, I am not like the others. This post, that sent him half way around the world from Rolanis, was far from the glory of most of the King's Anointed. In fact, it was likely done to remove him from....

Stop. He could not go down that road. Not now. Not facing this.

Across the short span of the bridge stood a half dozen....creatures. They walked as men, but had gray and black skin that appeared burnt. Their eyes were of yellow and red hues that seemed to glow. They wore simple clothes, dirty rags and rough leather, but carried swords and axes that looked sharp and strong. The faces.... were wrong. A missing nose, an ear in the wrong place. Looking at them made Sarian feel sick. He could hear their breathing from where he stood. Long, ragged breaths, as if they labored to breathe.

Eight of his men stood behind him. Knights with no standing, unable to avoid falling under his command. There were two villagers with them. The rest had run at the sight of the creatures. Fifteen would have been better than ten, Sarian thought. Of the two villagers left, only one looked steady enough to count on.

“They....are real?” the less steady of the villagers spoke. “Gods, Hanel, they are real?” He held a short bow, arrow nocked, but he looked as if he may drop it at any time.

Hanel, the other villager, stood close by him. He was tall, and wore a leather jerkin, stitched and detailed with a magnificent stag. His long blonde hair was tied back, his blue eyes did not leave the things on the bridge. “If they are ghosts, we will know soon enough. Otherwise, we are going to put some arrows in them. Real things bleed, Will.”

Will seemed to steady at Hanel's words, and did not look quite as ready to drop his bow.

Sarian liked Hanel, though he had not known him long. A well-off huntsman, Hanel was quite full of himself. But he seemed steady. Steadier than some of his knights. Sarian could hear them shifting nervously in their armor. He could hear their whispered prayers, the edge in their hushed voices. Most had never seen real battle. None had ever seen this.

Sarian's armor was plain, a steel breastplate and helm, with matching bracers and pauldrons. Simple, but of good quality. He wore no helm, and his short black hair was beginning to soak with sweat. Some of it was the heat, but not all of it. His green eyes hardened as he stepped forward onto the bridge.

“Drop your weapons, and do not step across this bridge. This land is under the protection of the Knights of Rolanis, and you will not pass without cause.”

The burned creatures did not stop. They did not slow. They kept moving forward, raising their weapons. Sarian was startled to see an arrow land squarely in the chest of one of the creatures in the center. The thing did not fall, or even seem to notice. Hanel grunted, and drew another arrow.

“Forward, Knights!” Sarian yelled as he drew his blade. Like his armor, the sword was plain, but well made. He heard the others behind him follow suit, swords freed of scabbards, their armor shifting as they moved at his back. Raising a round shield, Sarian charged into the creatures, his knights close behind.

Several more arrows fell as the knights closed with the creatures, with mostly the same result. One arrow did find the eye of the closest creature, which caused it to lurch and stumble. Sarian used the momentum of his charge to swing wide and high, taking it's head before it could recover. The remaining five closed with the knights quickly, with a surprising burst of speed.

The knights were formed well, and trained from a young age to work as a unit. A fight against any five men for even the greenest Knights of Rolanis should have been no contest at all. But these were not men.

Gods, they are fast! Sarian had time to think, before the remaining creatures struck their line. An axe pulled at his shield at the same time he brought his sword back for a parry on his right. Sarian fell back a step, making some space, and thought the others must be doing well if two were on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his men going down with an axe buried in his neck. Another of his men fell in front of him, causing him to step back again.

On his left, a creature was swinging wildly at three of his knights. The thing had two swords in its stomach, but moved as if nothing was wrong. Another was next to it, with both arms severed and still charging into two more knights. The two burned things that had first swung at Sarian were now over the dead, and bearing down on him. The axe on his left, sword on his right.

Sarian stepped left, bringing his shield into the axe. The axe caught and held in the shield. Sarian's sword came down quickly, severing the hand that held the axe. As he turned into the creature, he charged forward, knocking the creature back. Sarian spun around, raising his shield against the sword of the second creature, the axe and severed hand still attached.

The sword blow was strong, and the shield shattered, sending axe, hand, and splintered wood in all directions. Sarian's footing was off, and the blow sent him backward, his left hand going numb. Tripping on the body of a fallen knight, he fell to the ground. The creature was on him in no time, sword poised for a thrust. Sarian knew it was going to be sent through his neck.

The thrust came forward, but it was off the mark. The blade buried in his left shoulder, sending searing pain all through his torso. His arm, numb no longer, screamed out as well. The creature fell on top of him, and Sarian saw a sword lodged in its back. But the creature was not dead. It turned its ruined face on Sarian, breath smelling of fire, eyes burning a dull red. One hand still on the sword, pulling and turning, the other hand on Sarian's throat.

Fighting through the pain, Sarian found that he still held his sword. He reversed his grip and brought the cross guard into the creature's face with as much force as he could muster. The cross guard pierced the thing's eye, and it recoiled, loosening its grip on his throat. Screaming, he brought the sword in front of him and held the blade against the creature's neck, one hand to each side of it's head. At the same time he shoved upward, an armored boot came down on the back of the creature's head.

The blade did not make it through, but lodged deep in the creature's neck. It fell against Sarian once more, and lay still. Under the weight of the creature, bleeding and broken, Sarian fell into blackness, and knew no more of that day.