《The Scalesong Sagas - First Arc》


 Prologue and The First Hunt

    Prologue


    Historical Fragments found, mended, and translated by Siegyrd Swordsinger in 132 D.A.


    Fragment 1: Legend of the Fall


    Towers they had not¡­


    for what desire ¡­ can fly above the stars


    deep caves some¡­ were,


    ¡­ the core of planets basking warm,


    ¡­ most broad ¡­ fields and gardens lay,


    Scales shelter strong against ¡­ night [or] day,


    Basked ¡­ tens and hundreds in the verdant valleys


    ¡­ the world newborn.


    Homes ¡­ in curving rows.


    Boundaries true, [they had none?] ¡­


    there are no bounds upon the winds.


    Stonecraft they practiced not, nor wood, nor metal¡­,


    Song and story masters mani[fest]¡­,


    They sang the spheres in patterned moons[?]


    Aided Apeiron in the tapestry of worlds


    Linking each to each on subtle ¡­ symphonies.


    As all ¡­ [flying?] things, theirs was the realm of air,


    ¡­ notes hung thereon the vibrant resonance of sky.


    Soloists were some, but their choral chants [more?],


    The ringing singing scales of sonorous¡­


    Would dance the very day across the sky, ¡­ [play] in the night.


    If not for they the¡­ [Lost Name], then dance and song and story would be not at all.


    [Lost Name] were the first infused with Maker¡¯s joy,


    earliest and eldest of the races of the world.


    Rejoicing o¡¯er all that He had made.


    [Now forgotten, almost entire]


    Fragment 2: A Lay Of Ossian, husband, father, friend ¨C before he walked the path of silent stars


    Its song was incarnate joy


    Yet twisted soon to shame,


    Lost was the instrument to folly


    And to blame,


    Lost to all our kind, yet sought forever still,


    Instead we filled our bottomless hearts with


    Beauties lesser unfulfilled.


    Filled and filled and filled to bursting


    With echoing emptiness.


    The song was dead


    The sight was blind


    All to ash conferred.


    From such ash as this, I musn¡¯t ask,


    Must not I speak the question,


    Can such ash into beauty grow?


    Every scale upon my hide,


    resonates ¡®cross the ¡®spanse of sky


    ¡°No.¡±


    Chapter 1 ¨C The First Hunt


    ¡°I believe, there was a time when dragons gathered in their hundreds and their thousands. Built thriving and beautiful groves and communities among them. There was a time when family was everything to their kind, firstborn of all the creaturely races.¡± Siegyrd stood just below six feet in height. His hair was a striking, shining silver, and his eyes were pools of mercurial platinum. His face was porcelain white and smooth as silk, young, and vibrant. He carried the slight scent of snow lilies with him. His voice was a low musical tenor.


    ¡°Some believe angels live in heaven and devils in the hells too, rather than look into reflections and see the truth in their own eyes.¡± Mareth¡¯s voice had a severe kind of humor, middle tenor, and he spoke with an element of the minor key, somewhat darker than the bright major of Siegyrd. He was shorter than Siegyrd and their third companion, and somewhat squat. His eyes glowed with a blue sapphire sparkle that hinted power.


    The third man stood just a few inches taller than Siegyrd. His hair was white like fresh-fallen snow, but wispy like a willow tree. It cascaded down his back in a tight warrior braid. His face was an ashen sort of grey and his beard the same stark white though specked with flashes of molten silver. His eyes were like diamonds flashing in a pool of thick fog. He did not speak.


    The three stood at the crest of a small butte. Before them there was a landscape of broken crags and intermittent vegetation, mostly low scrub in browns and sickly greens. The strange rows of buttes and miniature cliffs, bluffs, and lowlands were like standing in the carvings of a giant stonemason whose engravings were upon the earth itself. Dust left grit in the air and in their teeth. It smelled of emptiness.


    ¡°I only claim that it is at least possible for there to be multiple dragons in a single place.¡± Siegyrd¡¯s voice sharpened.


    He nodded to his taller companion and the two jumped from the high bluff into the vegetation fifty paces below.


    Mareth yelled down, ¡°And I contend that possibility is not the same as likelihood. We ought to count on a single creature, based on the reports.¡± He then muttered something to himself, made some strange movements of his hands, spoke a word of power and stepped out off the cliff. He floated slowly down to meet the two who had already begun walking away from the base of the cliff.


    ¡°Not intending to change our current understanding of the situation, rather musing on the possibility of draconic gatherings, of families even ¨C community perhaps.¡± Siegyrd said absently but loud enough to be heard by his floating companion.


    ¡°Ha! A dragon of a size to gather her own horde suffers no opponents. Power does not play nice with power ¨C territorial creatures they are, right, Aerendir?¡±


    The tallest man looked back and cocked his head ever so slightly, opened his mouth, then paused.


    Siegyrd tensed, his hand gripping his sword hilt. Mareth let his spell waver and he dropped a few extra feet to the ground with a thud. Aerendir hissed at the noise.


    Mareth rose to his full height and narrowed his eyes on the surrounding landscape. All three held their breath. The slightest tremor moved beneath their feet. Siegyrd and Aerendir locked eyes in a flash, then both dove to their right side. As they did, the earth where they had been standing erupted in a geyser of rock and sludge and strange gases mixed with spurts of flame and purple fumes. Mareth staggered backward and watched as a great head, the size of a small hut protruded from the ground, followed by a grasping claw which dug out of the dirt and rocks, sizzling them with the heat of acid oozing from the creature¡¯s skin.


    Siegyrd sang a single warhorn note, and then plucked the note from the air in a golden strand of light which he threw toward Mareth. Mareth reached out his hand to receive the light and pressed it to his chest as he tried to step back away from the emerging draconic figure, massive, snarling, acrid smelling acid


    oozing, and spitting strange sickened fires. He didn¡¯t move fast enough as the creature fully emerged and spun in a wide arc and smashed Mareth in the chest with his tail. A light flashed as the golden glow flared into an aegis of force, cracked, and then failed and Mareth was thrown back ten feet.


    The creature turned to face Aerendir whose two-handed bone white greatsword was high above his head ready to strike. It snapped its jaws at the larger man in his dragonscale armour, snarling like a mad dog. Aerendir spun in the air, twisted his body and reoriented for a thrust at the dragon¡¯s neck which struck home, skidded on the oozing scales, hissing with acid, and then pushed between the scales into the great beast.


    Siegyrd wove his sword and hands in arcane motion and whispered a song of storm, slapped his hand to the hilt of his sword and released a bolt of lightning which attached to the dragon¡¯s skull linking the two. It burned at the dragon¡¯s eyes, as the beast screamed in rage and began to curse in the draconic tongue, filling the valley with fell utterances in a language made for song. Then it swiped up at its own neck with a wicked claw and caught Aerendir in its grasp and slammed him to the ground.


    The dragon roared then and spewed poison gas mixed with spiraling flame in a line toward Siegyrd who tried to dodge, but took a portion of the breath across his left leg, and limped away grinding his teeth as the flames grasped upward and tried to dig poison tendrils into his veins. The skin bubbled and stank. The lightning from his sword faded as he slipped away. The dragon turned its focus toward Aerendir held fast on the ground.


    The bonewhite greatsword still stuck out of the dragon¡¯s neck, but Aerendir couldn¡¯t reach it. The dragon looked down at him through burned eyes and specks of poisonous acidic drool dripped onto Aerendir¡¯s armour with a sizzle.


    Mareth drew himself up gripping a small staff about the size of a club and chanted in deep, booming song, before he slammed the club onto the ground as if trying to crush the universe. The earth erupted. A creature shaped like a giant hobbled man formed itself out of the earth. It shoulders loomed three times Mareth¡¯s height and set in a dull face were eyes of almandine.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.Arcane sigils covered its form and glowed in a flash of brilliant orange as it bull tackled the dragon from the opposite side of Aerendir. As the stone met the dragon¡¯s oozing acidic scales the elemental¡¯s form began to melt slowly and it made a rumbling moan that Mareth though must be the pain of stone.


    The stone form persisted though and the dragon was forced to refocus its strength, and just that fractional change gave Aerendir what he needed to grip the dragon¡¯s claw in both hands and press it straight upward with a heave of force that sent the much larger


    creature further off balance. A tumbling scramble between elemental, dragon, and man began. Siegyrd hailed a song of mending and a blue-green light bloomed around him, closing the wounds in his legs.


    Mareth chanted and ran in an arcing, waving dance, gathering storm energies around him that crackled with blues and pinks and reds and whites and a hint of golden light. As the three scrambled continually, Siegyrd, from his opposing position took up a mimicking dance, swinging his sword and chanting in harmony with Mareth. The arcing lights around each began to mesh and meld and synchronize as the scramble slowed to a standstill with the elemental holding the dragon by one wing and leg. Aerendir gripped over the dragon¡¯s large neck, his bare gray arms burning against the acid scales. Between Aerendir and the elemental, they managed to pin the dragon in place.


    The two casters, spun in a whirling dance of power and melodic song as they moved toward one another to reach the optimum position for resonance. Aerendir boomed in brilliant bass across the battlefield, ¡°Now!¡±


    Between the statement and the flash there was the barest fraction of a second where a kind of knowing grew in the dull eyes of the dragon. Those eyes were filled, Aerendir thought, with resignation, rage, and, oddly, relief. The dragon and Aerendir and the elemental were swallowed in a kaleidoscope of radiant electrical rays which flashed into expansive whiteness.


    Aerendir blinked his diamond eyes up into an azure sky, heard the ringing deafness tingling in his ears. He felt the heaviness of firm adamantine in his bones, and he lifted his head with great pains, turned and looked. There the dragon lay, a hole the size of a small wagon burned through its side straight through, tearing off one wing and leaving a clear picture into the internals of dragons. Where three hearts should have beat in harmony, there was only one in frail and sickly form, diseased. The lungs and breath sac were gone, but the other two hearts were nowhere seen.


    On the other side of the hole, Aerendir could see Mareth kneeling and leaning on his staff. Siegyrd reached Aerendir¡¯s side a moment later, and a burst of warmth like a plunge in warm ocean waves swept over him in a bloom of turquoise light. The ringing in his ears was gone, and his eyes refocused. Everything snapped back.


    ¡°Ta, Brother.¡±


    Siegyrd just smiled and pointed to the side of the dragon¡¯s neck where the sword was still stuck and sizzling against the scales.


    Aerendir¡¯s voice boomed low, ¡°Ah, yes.¡± He stood and retrieved his blade from the creatures hide, pulled a cloth and small flask from his pouch and sat down there in the shadow of the dragon to clean his blade.


    Mareth made his way around the body and raised an eyebrow at the image, a large white haired armoured man, burned and scarred, cleaning his weapon casually next to the smouldering corpse of a diseased dragon. ¡°Never seen that before.¡±


    ¡°A professional? You¡¯ll learn.¡± Siegyrd slapped Mareth on the shoulder and laughed. ¡°The path to professional is littered with corpses in your work.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so serious, Mareth,¡± Siegyrd prodded the wizard with a finger, ¡°if you end up a


    corpse at least you¡¯ll lose the weight you wanted.¡±


    The wizard huffed, and then grew more serious, ¡°Your warding song¡­¡±


    Aerendir broke in, ¡°We fill our roles, keep each other safe. Thanks is for the over and above.¡±


    Siegyrd walked around to the front of the dragon, and a sadness swept over him. In death the corruption that held the creature seemed to be fading away, and a miasma of purple rose upward away from the creature and sent a strange lilting song high into the sky.


    When it passed, the dragon¡¯s face was clear, no longer the scarred black, muck scales but a lovely copper sheen, eyes closed almost in sweet repose. Siegyrd said a prayer and set his hand on the nose of the dead dragon.


    #


    A vision fired through his psyche. A broad plain hosted a single massive tree, many stories high, higher than any tower made by giants or men that Siegyrd had known. Its branches stretched out over leagues and beneath it there were dragons of every color and shape and form. They danced on the ground in strange steps, and flew in whirling patterns in the sky but still beneath the gargantuan tree. Hundreds of dragons danced, and Siegyrd thought, if he focused, that he could make out the tiniest hint of a song, something resonating in some infinite distance he could not quite sense. There was joy, palpable playfulness and merriment, and it made his chest ache.


    The vision shifted to the same tree shrunken, shriveling and dying. The dragons were gone, and a great hoard of wealth, gold and gems, and artworks, were piled in great hills beneath the tree. A single dragon, copper complexioned but fading, lay atop it, eyeing Siegyrd through pupils burning with avarice. The vision zoomed, pulling Siegyrd to the foot of the tree and face to face with the dragon. It was huddled over something, clearly protecting it above all the rest of the treasures there. Siegyrd leaned to look at an ebonwood case, scrawled with sigils more ancient than any of which he had heard. Fear and desire were beings held within that case, tangible entities which called for him. He reached out, heard a series of notes like a distant crystal song in his head and withheld his hand. The vision ended.


    #


    Mareth and Aerendir were speaking and waved Siegyrd over. He shook off the vision and strode toward them, stumbled one, and looked side to side before sighing and moving on.


    ¡°Found the entrance to its lair.¡± Mareth said.


    Siegyrd had a distant stare, but replied, ¡°Let¡¯s take a look.¡±


    Aerendir said nothing.


    The tunnel had largely collapsed, but Mareth had dug into an adjacent one that looked connected to a giant root. He thought nothing of it, as they passed through the musk and decay of the dead earth and into a broad space of darkness. Mareth struck his staff, and light bloomed forth throughout the wide chamber which looked more like a pocket in dull earth than any sort of cavern.


    ¡°Never heard of anything like this.¡± Mareth mused aloud as the light revealed molten gold and silver, gems smashed to dust, what looked like art pieces scoured with fire and acid. In short all the treasures of the beast looked destroyed.


    Aerendir and Siegyrd looked at each other for a moment, and then Siegyrd spoke, ¡°Each dragon we¡¯ve slain in recent years has been like this.¡±


    ¡°All the stories say there¡¯s treasure where dragons lair!¡±


    ¡°Stories told by none brave enough to enter. As you said before, few professionals in such a deadly trade.¡±


    ¡°Legends have a hint of truth, eh?¡± Mareth pulled out a sketchbook and began capturing the space they were in as best he could.


    Aerendir raised an eyebrow, ¡°Why draw this and not the dragon?¡±


    ¡°This is interesting. Why immortalize death? To draw a living dragon would be a great honor, though I hold little hope one will ever sit for me rather than eat me.¡± Mareth laughed and continued, ¡°besides, lack of treasure is disappointing but the truth of what dragons do with their treasures is its own reward for my research.¡±


    This time it was Aerendir who laughed a big, booming, beautiful laugh that filled the otherwise malign space.


    It was Siegyrd¡¯s turn to say nothing as he strode through the hollow tracing with his hand the giant root.

 The Rites of Ash

    The knight guardsman stood rod straight as if staked to the ground. He gazed distantly just above the horizon line. Mareth tapped his foot and gripped his clubstaff until white bled through his knuckles. The guardsman kept his poise beside a high archway in an even higher stone wall. The archway was barred by a portcullis through which could be seen, heard and smelled all the sounds of a bustling town on the verge of becoming a city. The wall was fresh finished, and the portcullis pristine, though the juxtaposition with the wafting scent of alleyway detritus and human waste somewhat minimized the intended splendor of the place.


    Like all large gatherings of human kind there was little order in the growth, an attempt to clean up only imposed after the fact. This wall was that strange marker, a barrier between the wild wastelands outside and what amounted to little more within, just with animals more prone to speech. Aerendir and Siegyrd has stayed behind some distance, leaving Mareth to the money-changing and negotiations. Though the air was temperate, he was sweating profusely having traveled far on foot carrying a few small proofs of their defeat of the dragon. Most towns did not have any real economy of scale to pay for a dragon hunt, and neither did these, but they had a newly named ¡°king¡± who had imposed enough order to begin levying taxes and pay for just such a guard here at the gate.


    Though he wore armour clearly not made for his stature, the guardsman stood as proud as a prince of empires of older worlds. A sun was emblazoned upon his breastplate with seven stars resting like a crown atop it. The craftsmanship was shoddy, but it would do.


    Mareth cleared his throat, ¡°AHEM.¡±


    The guard flinched, but otherwise maintained his look into the distant horizon.


    Mareth moved directly in front of the man and poked him gently in the gut with his clubstaff, ¡°Watchmen do more than watch ¨C meant to open the gate too.¡±


    The guard clenched his jaw and said nothing, though he was beginning to show signs of wear simply standing in the sun as it slowly descended in the sky.


    Mareth was half a head shorter than the man and jumped in a silly fashion to catch the guard¡¯s eyes, then said, ¡°Oi! Lad!¡±


    The guard looked at Mareth with a pleading look and then smiled. He was missing some teeth, and through the gaps Mareth saw, or rather didn¡¯t see the man¡¯s tongue. The man¡¯s eyes darted back to the horizon, and Mareth sighed heavily.


    He stepped away from the gate and looked up toward the wall where no one looked on. Beyond the portcullis it was a loud foolish revelry of some kind, and no guard was there either. Mareth tucked his staff under his arm and rubbed his hands together then cracked his knuckles before turning back to the guard.


    ¡°If you could speak would you help me in?¡± Mareth began to chant softly to himself and tendrils of blue-green wisps wrapped like vines around both of his hands.


    The guards eyes went wide, and he trembled as he tried to lower his spear to respond, but Mareth moved faster than he expected. The shorter wizard slipped past the spear and grabbed the guard by the face, just at the base of his jaw, and a bloom of blue-green light climbed into the guards mouth and poured down his throat like a rush of fresh water.


    He choked and dropped his spear and reached out momentarily to grab Mareth, but then paused and shook his head. The warmth he felt was not pain, nor the choking for lack of air. Something was in his mouth. Mareth stepped back and the guard ripped off his glove and put two fingers into his mouth. He smiled stupidly, then licked his lips. He began rubbing his tongue across his teeth and clicking it, and finally started laughing hysterically.


    Mareth let the man run through his disbelief, confusion, and eventual joy as patiently as he could. He felt in his pocket for the small gemstone he had been given, but pulled out a handful of finely powdered dust, barely recognizable instead. He should have known, but he felt the loss nonetheless. He stared at the dust in his hand, then looked back up at the man and cleared his throat again, ¡°AHEM, name, and then get me in would you?¡±


    The guard gawked and then opened his mouth to speak, paused, then tried, ¡°Amron¡­¡± his own voice startled him into silence. It was deep and powerful, far different than he had remembered.


    ¡°Amron, we are going to be fast friends I think. Now let me go in?¡± Mareth gripped his staff then tapped it on a small stone at his feet. A hint of a song, like a note played on a cymbal rang through the air, and then it was still.


    Amron replied, ¡°I don¡¯t have a key, and the guard on the other side has the lever.


    They locked me out ¡®til morning, said I had to keep my watch perfect or they wasn¡¯t goin¡¯ let me go back in at all. I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    Before the frantic young man finished speaking Mareth had jumped and with a slow upward movement, as if being carried by a giant hand made his way to the top of the battlements. The guard gaped.


    Mareth just winked back down and put his pointer finger to his own lips, then jumped down from the battlements into the streets below leaving Amron confused and babbling on the other side of the wall.


    #


    ¡°A strange vision.¡± Aerendir¡¯s voice was distant and musing.


    Siegyrd was on the edge of excitement, ¡°If even part true then there is something in it that may speak to the fragments we have found, of the lives of dragons long ago. It seems to confirm the wars at least.¡±


    The two sat on their rolled bedrolls in a small clearing near the dirty highway that connected some pieces of the burgeoning kingdom that as yet had no name. One day, they knew, there would be much more, but today it was a dirt path, barely big enough to hold a cart.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.¡°Perhaps it illumines the fragments. Perhaps it is something else. You¡¯ve had such visions before.¡±


    ¡°None so distinct, so detailed.¡± Siegyrd said briefly.


    Aerendir hummed in a low ¡°hmmm¡± and looked upward toward the lazy clouds hanging in a close sky.


    ¡°The disease was farther along by far in her.¡± Siegyrd¡¯s voice was twinged with sadness. ¡°It was. She was barely even dragon


    anymore, even her song was almost


    incomprehensible.¡± Aerendir leaned forward and looked directly into Siegyrd¡¯s face, ¡°It had to be done. Little brother. Though it pains us. It was an end of release.¡± Siegyrd closed his eyes against his rising emotion and took a deep breath in.


    Aerendir stood and walked over to Siegyrd. ¡°Little brother, we did right. She is corrupt no longer. She returns to ash.¡±


    Siegyrd took another deep breath and then looked up at his brother who was now sitting on his haunches, smiling. ¡°The rites. We forgot the rites of ash. Will she bloom


    again? What of her kin?¡±


    Aerendir put his hand on Siegyrd¡¯s shoulder and his smile grew sad, ¡°It has been three centuries since we met dragons who cared at all for their kin, even knew the term, little brother.¡±


    ¡°Can this really be the only way?¡± Siegyrd could no longer hold back his tears, and they began to spill as he spoke in a broken song.


    Aerendir knelt fully and embraced his brother, ¡°If anyone can find another way¡­ Don¡¯t look at me like that. For now we must find them, this is our order. This burgeoning world is not strong enough to contest them - perhaps one day, but not yet.¡±


    Siegyrd¡¯s face was streaked with the remnants of tears, but his look was stern and his voice strong as he replied, ¡°It is so, but we must conduct the rites of ash.¡±


    Aerendir sighed, but nodded. ¡°The wizard will take some time, and we will have the time to rest.¡±


    #


    The brothers stood in front of the fallen dragon, the giant hole still burned through it.


    The corruption had faded and the sheen of coppery scales were clear in the setting sun¡¯s vibrant rays. A portion of the giant branch they had seen upon entry to the cavern had begun to grow around the dragon¡¯s body.


    Siegyrd drew two blades of unique construction. Each was shaped with subtle holes through which air passed and generated sounds in different notes. Aerendir took up a position centered directly in front of the fallen creature and drove his white greatsword to the hilt into the dust of the earth. He held it with both hands and knelt there, head bowed.


    Aerendir set out a rhythmic bass chant, and Siegyrd sang a tenorial melody in an ancient tongue unknown to this world, and the swords he swung as he danced through forms filled in a harmonic resonance of haunting notes. The steps were precise, each movement guided at perfect angles, and timed with the bass of Aerendir which began to pulse in the ground until dust quivered. The dust rose and hovered above the earth. The air hummed electric with power that amplified the brilliance of the setting sun in a kaleidoscope of impossible colors.


    The growing tree spread more rapidly and twisted its branches around the dragon¡¯s corpse, closed its wound with wooden branches and a bush with blooming lilacs. The


    spread became more rapid, and expansive, and the scales distorted, faded into the earth in a dull gray that was pulled in and fed the expanding tree and roots.


    When all the song completed, there stood a small sapling, thin as a rail and half the height of a man, fed by roots the size of a dragon.


    Aerendir and Siegyrd stood in silence for a time, staring at the small tree, and then made their way slowly back toward the road.


    #


    Mareth stood in the low light of his staff as he sat on his bedroll next to the road and ate some fresh rations he had just purchased in town. There was also fresh bread that he set aside on a small cloth nearby. The sun was well down and the grasping ink of night had stained the sky to deep purple with only hints of the red-gold edge of day.


    He stared down the road, until his eyes began to grow heavy. ¡°Left me behind, eh?¡± He nodded off briefly, then looked up and the brothers were in front of him as if simply appearing from empty sky. He startled and stood, tripped on his bedroll and began to fall.


    Siegyrd caught Mareth by the collar and held him in a precarious half fall for a moment before speaking, ¡°Are you going to eat that?¡± He was pointing to the fresh bread on the cloth nearby.


    Mareth righted himself, and Siegyrd let go. Mareth took a deep breath. ¡°I was planning on it, but¡­¡± he looked at the two men in front of him and saw an exhaustion that strained his belief. He had never seen them exhausted. They barely even slept.


    Mareth shrugged, ¡°You can have it. More provisions in the couple of sacks over there too. Help yourselves. Pre-payment only though until the new king of Tivaer verifies the dragon is dead and any remains of the destroyed horde.¡±


    Aerendir and Siegyrd looked at each other briefly. Aerendir quickly raised his hand to head in a strange sign which Siegyrd tried to beat him to, but couldn¡¯t. There was an exchange which Mareth didn¡¯t understand and then Siegyrd turned and said, ¡°The dragon¡¯s remains are gone. Horde is closed up. Might as well move on.¡±


    Mareth dropped his jaw and his staff and stared at the brothers. ¡°Wha¡­¡±


    ¡°Get some rest.¡± Siegyrd said and started laying out his own bed roll.


    Aerendir walked over and put his hand on Mareth¡¯s shoulder, looked into the wizard¡¯s eyes and then just pat him twice before he walked away.


    Mareth shook his head, then slumped to fix up his bedroll muttering furiously.


    #


    Some distance away, a guard named Amron went to kick a rock in his frustration, and found it significantly heavier than anticipated. His toe throbbed intensely as he cried out, but still no one let him back into the gate.

 On the Road to Ruthaivan

    ¡°There are more ways to make money than hunting dragons, my friend.¡± Siegyrd¡¯s voice was tinged with the smile on his lips as he held up a well-crafted darkwood violin. The campfire¡¯s light danced in the polished wood. Siegyrd had been pacing back and forth playing a note here, a phrase there on the violin.


    Aerendir sat on a nearby stump along the road carving an apple in slices and savouring each bite as a few spits of meat were hung across the fire on a small grate that Siegyrd had made of thin wire.


    Mareth raised an eyebrow at the instrument before he spoke, ¡°I¡¯ve never played an instrument in my life.¡± He was sitting on his rolled-out bed, letting the fire warm his bare feet. The days were warm, but the nights were cooling a bit much for his liking.


    ¡°Perhaps no, but you can match resonance with spells, and together we could make quite the show.¡± Siegyrd¡¯s smile widened as he spoke, and he raised the violin to his upper arm and fiddled a few quick notes to accent his words.


    Aerendir continued his apple, though he shook his head slightly, his white hair unbraided and blowing in the slight evening breeze.


    ¡°What a preposterous waste of power.¡± Mareth almost spat the words.


    ¡°Waste?¡± Siegyrd said as he pulled the bow from the violin strings.


    ¡°Utter and complete waste. Frivolous. Foolish. Insane even.¡± Mareth leaned forward and stared into the fire.


    Aerendir¡¯s low ¡°Hmmmm¡± was a rumble in the background.


    Siegyrd look from Mareth to Aerendir and back before he spoke again. ¡°What then is a better use of such power?¡±


    ¡°Defeating dragons, monsters. Ending suffering. Building bridges. Healing people.


    There are dozens of better ways than some performance.¡±


    Siegyrd sighed as he walked over to a small case and tucked his violin away. He spoke as he did so, ¡°What if all the dragons were gone? All the monsters? What if there were no suffering left? No disease, no cripples, no bridges to be built?¡±


    ¡°That will never happen. There¡¯s always room to improve things, always suffering. Might as well ask when the sun and stars will cease, when the moon will fall from the sky, when air will become water and water, fire.¡± Mareth gestured toward the fire.


    ¡°Hmmm¡± Aerendir hummed again. He finished his apple and stood. He approached the fire and grabbed the wire grate and flicked his wrist to flip the meat the was there. There was a slight delay as the pieces stuck to the grate, but his force was perfect and they landed back on the other side with a delightful sizzle.


    ¡°But what if?¡± Siegyrd said, side-eyeing the food.


    ¡°What if black were white and clouds were made of the spirits of the dead? What if is practically useless. Such is the same as this waste of power.¡± Mareth said.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you become a wizard?¡± Siegyrd asked, switching tack.


    Mareth opened his mouth, ready to reply to what he thought Siegyrd was going to say.


    Instead he closed his mouth, then opened it and said, ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Why did you, Marwolaeth of the Adeleidwyr, pursue the wizard¡¯s path? You could have been a maker, a fighter, a powerful cleric, an artisan or academic. You might have made a master in the schemes and politics of your people, maybe a mover and shaker in the next generations. So, why the wizard¡¯s road?¡±


    ¡°I see where you are going. You want me to say I did it for power, and make me out to be some madman.¡± Mareth¡¯s eyes narrowed as he stared intently at Siegyrd.


    Aerendir chimed in in a facilitator fashion, ¡°Suspicion is unbecoming, my friend. Listen to the question he asked, not what you would be offended if he asked.¡± He sat on his haunches watching the cooking meat closely as he spoke.


    Siegyrd looked at Aerendir and nodded, then back to Mareth.


    Mareth glared at Aerendir then back at Siegyrd, clenched his jaw, and huffed and stood. Siegyrd saw that they were losing the opportunity to discuss and shifted his tone,


    somewhat higher, non-threatening, full of sincere curiosity, ¡°Masni, I am not trying to trap


    you. I want to know, what drew you to wizardry? To the arcane, to magic?¡±


    Mareth breathed deep as he closed his eyes and remembered.


    #


    The High Citadel of the Adeleidwyr pierced like a spear into a clear brilliant night. Lanterns floated high in the sky like a constellation of nearer stars as the Festival of Worlds began. The streets of the city were filled with people of every kind. Tall elves from every universe he had heard of, light skinned, brown skinned, copper, black, mixtures of crystalline forms shaped like elves. Shorter stauncher figures, dwarves (though few would call a dwarf such in any lands now), some of the gnomish folk as well as living constructs of multi-faceted types. There were beast people of every variety as well, lion people, cat people, mixtures of animals not known to Mareth.


    Some had eyes and faces that seemed humanoid, but others seemed monstrous, alien, even evil. Yet there was a sense of generalized joy, of immense fun and frolic in the streets. The scents of food, the play of varied lights, the sounds of multiple musicians plying their trade on street corners on instruments as varied as the people that passed through it all. It was only once in an age that a new world would come into being by the grace of Apeiron, and the Festival of Worlds gathered to witness the dawning birth of a new universe ¨C to hear its first note of brilliant song and to join with it.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.It would come soon, timed with the stroke of midevernight, the transition from one day to the next, one year to the next, decade, century, and age. It was a kind of eternal liminality. Here they all stood on the edge of something wholly new. The anticipation felt like a living thing sweeping and swirling through the masses of people and laughter filled the streets in symphonic resonance with the rest of the city.


    Little Mareth wasn¡¯t listening to the music though, nor was he paying attention to the skies. Little Mareth watched intently as a procession of men in deep scarlet robes hemmed and infused with golden arcane sigils walked down the center path from the entrance to the city on their way to the High Citadel itself. They chanted in lows and highs, a chorale music as they moved. The music hummed with rippling arcane power as they passed. It was tradition to hide one¡¯s eyes, close them or face away. To let the songshapers pass as if unseen, but to focus one¡¯s senses into the song. Only when the song reached its crescendo, in the moment of creation would people open their eyes.


    ¡°Son,¡± Mareth¡¯s father held his hand loosely, ¡°Remember the traditions. Why do we close our eyes?¡±


    Mareth was upset and fussing, but he answered, ¡°We remember the dark before light was born.¡±


    ¡°Why do we remember the dark?¡± His father stood taller than most, and wore the ancient robes of the Adeiladwyr Council - blue-green interwoven with silver threads. He was gaunt as a specter against the night sky of close lanterns and distant stars.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Its dark.¡± Mareth said.


    His father gave him a side-eyed look, ¡°Marwolaeth.¡±


    Mareth pulled his hand away and looked back at the procession of songshapers and watched as the power continued to grow as they marched toward the citadel.


    ¡°Marwolaeth!¡± His father¡¯s stern tone sent a shiver down the young boy¡¯s spine, and he stood stock straight but refused to look back at his father. He couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from their power, their strength, the awe of it. He wanted to see everything that would happen, to peak behind the veil they weren¡¯t supposed to see. He wanted to know.


    His father knelt next to him and put his own hand over the boys eyes which Mareth immediately tried to pull away, but his father wrapped him up and closed his eyes. The boy began to tantrum, ¡°I want to see it, to know, to see it. It must be so pretty. Let me see!¡±


    Mareth¡¯s father held him closer and whispered in his ears, ¡°When it is time, you may see.


    Until then, just listen. Do not bury the most fitting sense for a lesser one. Listen.¡±


    #


    Mareth opened his eyes as he finished his story. ¡°Once I only listened. As much as I struggled against my father at the time and tried desperately to see, the anticipation of the rising music in the darkness amplified everything. For minutes and almost up to an hour as the procession reached the citadel and the surrounding activities gave way to the central act, the excitement was a raging inferno in the air. When he did release me to watch the newborn world, I wept for sensations I could not comprehend.¡±


    Siegyrd and Aerendir smiled broadly but let Mareth continue. Aerendir separated out some strips of meat for each of them on small pieces of cloth and handed one to Siegyrd who walked it to Mareth and handed it to him.


    Mareth looked at Siegyrd, took the food, nodded thanks and said, ¡°many years later I walked the procession, only in practice. The Festival of Worlds will not occur again for many centuries, but what I heard and saw that day made me want to be a wizard ¨C to be at the source of such a thing - at the source of creation.¡±


    Siegyrd, ¡°That¡¯s a beautiful story my friend. How do you like telling it to others?¡± Aerendir handed him another cloth full of cooked meats and he began chewing on it.


    Mareth¡¯s look went blank as he raised a piece of meat to his mouth, then paused, then spoke, ¡°It feels good to share.¡±


    ¡°Then if you think it a waste of your power to use magic for performance, will you help me write a song to tell that tale instead? Or another. We really could use the money.¡±


    Aerendir chuckled deeply and began to devour his food in hungry bites.


    Mareth raised and eyebrow and then laughed himself, ¡°Oh why not.¡± He took a big bite himself and sat back down and chewed it blissfully.


    ¡°Why not indeed!¡± Siegyrd said. ¡°We¡¯ve only a couple days until we reach Ruthaivan. It¡¯s a reasonable size town. Might make some coin with a tale or two plus a song, and we can develop a plan for our next hunt.¡±


    The three ate in silence for a time.


    ¡°Have we any clues?¡± Mareth asked after a long silence, when almost all the food was gone.


    Aerendir responded, ¡°Just one.¡±


    Siegyrd stiffened, ¡°Not yet, brother.¡±


    There was a softness in Aerendir¡¯s voice as he responded, and sadness, ¡°It must be soon, little brother.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± there was a small choking sound, and a pleading, ¡°not yet.¡± Mareth chimed in, ¡°What are you two talking about?¡±


    The brothers glanced over and Mareth paused, then shrugged.


    Aerendir sighed, ¡°We¡¯ll see if we can find another lead in Ruthaivan, but Siegyrd,¡± his voice was firm, ¡°it must be soon.¡±


    Siegyrd took a deep breath as he stood and walked away from the firelight into the surrounding night. Mareth looked at Siegyrd¡¯s back then toward Aerendir, ¡°What was that all about?¡±


    Aerendir walked up to Mareth and set his hand on his shoulder, ¡°In time. Nothing for you to fear for now.¡± Then he walked past Mareth and followed Siegyrd out into the darkness.

 The Mad Martyrs Inn

    They arrived at the village town of Ruthaivan just before midday. The high sun baked away a low morning fog, and people milled about to varied places. Three men with packs and armour earned glares almost immediately. There was no wall, but a high fence of sharpened pikes surrounded the town on three sides, and it was tucked into a small cliff on the fourth. A large home stood atop that cliff and a rough back and forth staircase was cut into the side of it.


    The three walked past a few hovels that had spilled outside the town fence, with mud walls and thatched rooves. Cattle and sheep lowed in the air around the town, and the occasional dog barked and horse whinnied.


    As they passed through the human size gaps in the fence, they were greeted by a wiry thin bent over man with a cleft palette.


    ¡°New to Rutven, RHUTven, van, vain. Spare a, spare, a a, pit pit pppppppitttttttance.¡± He held out his hand and wiggled his fingers as if coaxing the desired offering from the air.


    Aerendir was at the lead and looked down at the man who cowered under his gaze.


    Aerendir reached into his pocket and the man scrambled backward, almost falling. ¡°Ssssssso sososo sosoory, saer.¡±


    Aerendir, pulled out a silver trophe and held it out.


    The frightened man caught the glint of the silver and started forward, then cowered again like an animal.


    Siegyrd spoke then, ¡°Brother, even imperious in your generosity.¡± He stepped past his brother, grabbing the coin and flipping it in the air before catching it. He knelt low and spoke to the cowering man. ¡°Honest pay for honest work, friend. Lead us to the inn?¡±


    The man looked at Siegyrd with almost more fear than he had Aerendir, but stood, slapped his face with both hands, shook his head and then strode forward to grab the coin. ¡°Innnnnn in I n. Thisss, this wah.¡± And he turned and walked, suddenly strutting like a prince down the dirty streets toward the inn.


    Siegyrd glanced at Aerendir who shrugged. Mareth chuckled to himself as the three followed to a long strange look from a heavily bearded shopkeep shaking his head and chewing on the back end of a pipe as he started pulling leather wares from inside to hang in the morning light.


    #


    The Mad Martyr¡¯s Inn was tucked against the base of the cliff beneath the mansion. A wood sign hung with the words scrawled in black paint faded by the sun. The door looked brand new, the sign older than the town, and the patrons were an eclectic mix of young children running between and beneath tables and old timers sipping ale at midday and eating a corn soup gruel that looked barely fit for a bovine.


    Despite the looks and sounds, the scent upon entering was wonderful, a hint of warmth with fresh hay mixed with some cooking meats. A squat woman in her forties welcomed the three, though she gave the mad beggar a deadly look when he tried to enter before the team of adventurers. Siegyrd smiled and nodded to the beggar who had showed them the way, and Aerendir waved the man away.


    The man sprinted off into the streets and the three turned to face the woman at the front counter who smiled toothlessly and said, ¡°Wellcome in huns, good to see some fresh faces in Ruthaivan for a change. What can we manage ya for?¡±


    ¡°Food,¡± said Mareth, huffing from the quick walk through the streets. There had been little wait as the odd beggar had marched through the streets with all the importance, fury, and forcefulness of a man marching to war.


    Siegyrd laughed and nodded, and the lady led them to a table fit for four under a window that looked out into the disheveled streets of Ruthaivan. It had been a long while since they had actually eaten anything but rations.


    The lady dropped them off and said ¡°Daughter¡¯ll be with you shortly. Don¡¯t mind her, she¡¯s a bit of a clutz, but she¡¯ll take right good care of ya no matter what.¡±


    The squat woman waddled away and the three sat surveying the inn. A little boy, perhaps five or six, with a bit of dark brown smudged across his face peaked from beneath a nearby table, then stuck his tongue out at Siegyrd. He replied in kind though with a tiny flurry of magic that sent a spark from the tip of his tongue. The boy jumped and pulled himself back under the table. His parents, a simple couple who looked to be merchants by their simple traveling garb and nearby traveling packs, glanced over and then away from the strangers.


    In a short while a slender, medium-height young woman with strawberry blond hair and a smile like the morning dawn walked up to the table tentatively. She spoke in an almost whisper, ¡°What can. Um, can I get you?¡±


    Aerendir¡¯s deep booming voice startled her as he said, ¡°What¡¯s good for meat? It¡¯s been a long travel.¡±


    The flustered young woman shook herself and then continued into a list as she stared at Aerendir¡¯s face with wide eyes, ¡°Some steaks are available, butchered fresh just today, and um. Uh, we have some pork¡± Mareth¡¯s face contorted in a kind of disgust, and she pressed past that one, ¡°also some fine wildcat meats. We may also have some bear jerky left over that has been salted and cured. Not fresh though.¡±


    Siegyrd asked, ¡°What to drink, lass?¡±


    ¡°Oh um, ale¡­ and uh, darker ale.¡± She broke her gaze from Aerendir to Siegyrd and blushed at his eager silver eyes before speaking, ¡°There might be a bit of mead if you wait longer. We were making it before, but we had a batch go bad on us for some unknown reason. Also, some wine though I will admit it is a bit,¡± here she leaned in for a real whisper, ¡°a bit watered down. We haven¡¯t much left.¡±


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!Siegyrd simply smiled in reply and leaned back nodding.


    ¡°A simple ale is fine for me¡± Said Mareth, ¡°and a steak. Please lords beyond, a steak.


    Medium rare.¡±


    Aerendir and Siegyrd looked at each other then back at the woman and said in unison, ¡°Steak, rare.¡±


    #


    It wasn¡¯t completely the last of their money, but it was close by the time they paid up.


    The three leaned back in the seats having enjoyed their meal, and then Siegyrd made his move. The afternoon had come and the windows were thrown open to let a breeze through into the streets. It wasn¡¯t horribly hot, but it wasn¡¯t likely to get cooler any time soon. Siegyrd unstrapped his violin from his pack and then pulled the violin out of its case. He plucked a string with his finger and twisted the tuning toggles briefly as he moved toward the center of the tavern space where there was just enough room to stand, and he could be seen and heard by all.


    There were a few odd looks and glances as he walked to the center and some talk silenced, other talk shifting questioningly about him. After finger picking a few more notes, he pulled a bow seemingly from the thin air next to him, and then drew it across the strings.


    A wave of cool air filled the space along with the first stroke, and by the third there was no sound but his. The owner had paused with a new customer at the door, the barkeep was standing stock still with his hand covered in a wash rag fist deep in a mug. A little girl had her mouth open and a small piece of fresh bread spilled out of it into her lap.


    The silence of the audience didn¡¯t bother Siegyrd who played his lively tune with a kind of rapturous joy. A few more measures in, Aerendir spoke up and gave a hearty ¡°Whoop!¡± And a few others of the audience were shaken from their stupor and began to clap along to the song that Siegyrd played. Soon the whole place was in an uproar. People stood and danced in the spaces between tables and even around Siegyrd himself as he played. Kids made funny motions they thought were dancing, and everyone smiled.


    Mareth shook his head trying to resist a smile, but soon stood pulling on the strings of songweave around him. His fingertips glowed with a rainbow light and he closed his eyes as he tied visible threads to the waves of sound that Siegyrd¡¯s violin produced filling the space with a dancing vibrancy.


    Aerendir smashed his empty mug on the table in beat with the clapping, but stopped as soon as the waitress refilled it.


    Siegyrd slowed his song to a crawl, transitioning from the lively upbeat music to a seamless flowing melody that was made for couples to dance to. The merchant couple was the first and the kids kind of huffed and stepped away, bored somewhat by the slowness of the steps. As the song shifted, Mareth¡¯s light spell shifted colors to a bluish white and another light-misted wave of cool filled the otherwise warm tavern space.


    The music lilted and drifted out into the streets outside as women gathering groceries and men on their way to and from various events paused to listen.


    #


    Siegyrd pulled the bow across the strings for the last drawn out note that hovered magical in the air as the sun drift low in the sky. He had played for hours, and yet there was no sense of fatigue, only joy. The crowd had grown and shrunk over the course of the afternoon and into early evening, but it was now at its peak. As he lowered his bow and violin to bow, the cheer that went up was uproarious and overwhelming. Some people had tears in their eyes, others wore smiles wide enough to split their faces.


    An older man, perhaps in his forties, yelled from the doorway, ¡°Encore! Encore, good skald!¡± And the cheer erupted even louder, shaking the walls of the small tavern and carrying up the hillside.


    The man who called wore a well-fitted deep blue tunic with white frills around the wrists and neck, and called out again, ¡°Please, good skald, please one more. But not here.¡±


    The deep rumbling ¡°booooooo¡± quivered the walls.


    The man raised his hands and the people quieted. ¡°Please please. People, would you begrudge I desire my ailing wife to hear? Perhaps among you are others too that could not be here for health or time. I invite this Skald to perform before the wall, for all the city, tomorrow night. Let us extend to all the town such a grace as this.¡±


    There was a cheer at that, and more clapping and chattering and talking as the well- dressed man pushed his way through the crowd toward Siegyrd. Siegyrd flourished with his bow and dropped it into nothingness and then placed his violin back in its case to a mix of groans and applause. When he was done the well-dressed man had reached him and held out his hand.


    ¡°Mayor Mathin Morrow.¡±


    Siegyrd shouldered his violin case and took the man¡¯s hand, ¡°Siegyrd, just Siegyrd. And my companions,¡± he gestured to the table where Aerendir and Mareth sat. The two rose and worked their own way through the crowd.


    Mathin smiled graciously at the two as they came and then leaned in close to Siegyrd, ¡°I have heard of you, the Dragon Slaying Skald, and your companion, the Knight Tumult. I do not know the third. I can pay for your performance, but we have more to discuss than that.¡± He slipped a sealed letter into Siegyrd¡¯s hand, and then smiled and nodded at Aerendir and Mareth before walking away.

 Fogging in the Morning

    The letter contained a series of scrap notes in an increasingly frantic hand. The early pages were full with flowing script, but as the narrative continued there were scribblings in the margins, small drawings, unintelligible symbols, and eventual nonsense. The innkeep had offered a free room to the ¡°Troupe Triumphant¡± as she had taken to calling them, though most of the performing was really just done by Siegyrd.


    A collection was taken from those who had witnessed, and they were now much better for their next steps and journey, and with the promise of Mayoral patronage for the next show, they had all they needed to repair gear (still somewhat singed and sizzled from their previous fight), gather provisions and make some inquiries.


    There were only two beds in the upper room, so Aerendir rolled his bed out into the center of the room. Mareth and Seigyrd only lightly protested, but Aerendir wouldn¡¯t have any of it. Now the three sat on their respective beds and as Siegyrd finished one page of the letter, he passed it to Aerendir, who passed to Mareth when he was complete.


    Siegyrd read quickly, but Aerendir had collected quite an extensive middle pile and Mareth had only a couple of the first pages in his hand which he had already read three times each before he received the next. Mareth¡¯s patience eroded like the silt on a fast- rushing river bed.


    Soon Siegyrd had no papers, and the stack in Aerendir¡¯s hands was somewhat awkward and Mareth stood up and ripped them from the larger man, tearing one page.


    Aerendir looked sheepish, then looked up and boomed in his low voice, ¡°Sorry, wizard.


    Should have just given them to you.¡±


    Siegyrd chuckled, but Mareth was wide-eyed like a crazy person. He jumped back onto his bed and began speed reading through the pages, turning them in his hand to read the marginalia and then rapidly threw each page back to Aerendir who took them back up and picked up where he had left off.


    It took a while longer of silence. Siegyrd pulled out a small pouch filled with small whitish stones and tucked one into his lower lip. He did not chew it, but a slight fog began


    to fill his mouth which he would puff and let fall to the ground at intervals. A light scent of snow lily accompanied the fog that was pleasant in the close night of the warm, by the candle light under which they read.


    Eventually Aerendir set down the papers, and sat somberly. ¡°Well.¡± Mareth¡¯s voice was almost shrill.


    ¡°Earlier stages than we have seen, little brother¡± Aerendir said.


    Siegyrd puffed again, the curl of fog around his chin, then spoke, ¡°Or a different cause.¡± ¡°Stages of what? What is this last script? It¡¯s the language of dragons but, not.¡± Mareth was frustrated


    and intrigued.


    Aerendir stood next to his bedroll. His broad bare chest was ghosted with grayish silver scales that Mareth had often been confused about.


    Siegyrd turned his body so he was facing the center of the room, feet dropped to the floor. ¡°He may speak to us.¡±


    Aerendir stroked his jaw with a hand. ¡°He may.¡±


    ¡°What are you two talking about? Care to fill me in? I know I am new to this little troupe, but you hired me. What is this treasure this man is talking about? And what is the language? You seem to have understood something more than I managed.¡±


    Aerendir and Siegyrd locked eyes for a moment, and Aerendir nodded.


    His deep voice filled the space as he turned to face Mareth, ¡°You know we have been slaying dragons throughout the realms for some time.¡±


    Mareth nodded and raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°That has been the sad consequence of our true quest. We are seeking the kin, any kin who have not lost their minds.¡±


    Mareth interrupted, ¡°Dragons are devilishly smart creatures, to say they¡¯ve lost their minds seems odd.¡±


    Aerendir nodded again, ¡°perhaps mind is the wrong word, but let me continue. The kin once, we believe, were part of great communities of dragons, powerful gatherings filled


    with joy and song. Siegyrd has seen this in visions in many places. Most forcefully in our last engagement.¡±


    Mareth looked at Siegyrd whose gaze was distant but intense.


    Aerendir continued, ¡°We don¡¯t know truly, but something changed the kin. By nature, by madness, by disease, by magic. We don¡¯t yet know, but you saw the dragon we fought.


    Your first, but our ninth. Each was more corrupted than the one before it. She was barely even dragon anymore.¡±


    ¡°She?¡± Mareth questioned.


    Siegyrd interrupted now, ¡°Yes, she. Most humans don¡¯t well tell the distinctions between male and female kin, but the erasure is dangerous. They respond differently in life and combat and existence. The one we slew a fort night past was a woman. Beauty marred by some wretched brokenness.¡±


    ¡°You two seem to think dragons are somehow good, or once were. They are monsters, bred for destruction and powerful beyond measure. Fascinating and brilliant but forces of natural disaster. I study them, have studied long. There has not been a dragon who cared for beauty in any age known.¡±


    Siegyrd¡¯s eyes were very sad, but it was Aerendir who spoke, ¡°It is often humorous how little the most well-read really know. You have studied, but we have seen. You have read, but we have lived in their midst.¡±


    Mareth¡¯s eyes went wide, ¡°How many dragons have you known, spoken with? Would invite you to dine with them and not be dined upon?¡±


    Siegyrd laughed this time, ¡°None, in the way you think, yet some few. If these letters and scraps are to be believed, there is one who has heart enough left to speak to us, though not for much longer.¡±


    Mareth looked even more confused, ¡°some mad wizard or mage or bard wrote those notes.¡±


    ¡°No mad wizard, mage or bard knows the ancient script. What you know as Draconic is a derivative, a twisting of the High Tongue of the Dravok - the kin.¡± Siegyrd said calmly.


    Aerendir gave a warning grunt.


    Mareth looked back and forth between the two and shook his head in anger. ¡°Fine keep your cryptic secrets. I¡¯ve just enough curiosity left for one last hunt, then I am out.¡±


    Aerendir sighed and continued, ¡°He spoke of a flute with some great reverence, almost clarity.¡±


    Siegyrd spoke, ¡°I noticed that too. Perhaps a cure, or a magic against the corruption?¡± Mareth huffed loudly and turned his back to the room, tucking his pillow under his head,


    but his eyes were wide as he listened.


    Aerendir went on, ¡°Perhaps. This is all too disjointed to reveal much, but there is at least hope.¡±


    ¡°A dangerous hope, brother.¡± Siegyrd said.


    ¡°Is there any other kind?¡±


    #


    The mayoral manor was spacious and decorated with some of the best of human craftsmanship. The wood frame and internal walls were of a kind not known to the region speaking to the wealth here that could afford to gather materials from distant lands. The stonework was most likely dwarven, if Siegyrd¡¯s eyes served him well.


    Elven scroll-work was etched into the wooden joins and pillars. This house alone was more valuable than the entire town that sat beneath it. Mayor Mathin Morrow sat in a stretched cushioned frame in front of a low fireplace filled with the ashes of the night before. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and his salt and pepper hair was disheveled as he leaned back against the single armrest. He wore the same clothes that Siegyrd had met him in. He had none of the air of poise and command now that he had held in the inn. In truth, he almost looked as though he had been crying. His face was drawn and thin.


    He rose slowly to meet his guests who were guided in by a servant boy of perhaps twelve years old.


    ¡°Gentlemen, be welcome.¡± Mathin extended a weary hand toward Aerendir who led. Aerendir shook his hand firmly, and felt a strange weakness. ¡°Are you ill,The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    saer?¡±


    Mathin sighed heavily, and Mareth and Siegyrd looked warily.


    ¡°In a manner. Nothing you need worry yourself about at the moment.¡± The man¡¯s eyes were sunken, but his voice was steady if soft. ¡°Have you read the letters?¡±


    ¡°We have.¡± Aerendir said.


    Siegyrd broke in, ¡°May we inquire where you came upon such writings? They are rarer, perhaps, than you know.¡±


    Mathin chuckled at this and waved his hand toward a couple cushioned chairs, then looked around as if searching for another. ¡°Just a moment. Gideon.¡±


    The servant boy returned to the room and nodded.


    Mathin continued, ¡°Be so good as to grab another of the cushioned chairs from my study please.¡±


    The boy nodded again and was out of the room in a flash.


    Mathin fussed a bit, but pointed to the couch he was just lounging on and the two chairs and said, ¡°Please, gentlemen, saers all, please sit sit.¡±


    Mareth shrugged and took the nearest chair, but Aerendir and Siegyrd remained standing for the time. After a moment sitting staring up at the other three men, Mareth awkwardly stood back up and crossed his arms.


    Mathin looked pleadingly at the lot of them, ¡°Please sit, I insist, the chair will only be a moment and I will sit as well.¡±


    Siegyrd gave a slight bow, glanced at Aerendir, and then stepped smoothly to the couch. He lay back quite at ease. Mareth took his seat again, but Aerendir remained standing a few moments longer, locking eyes with Mathin.


    ¡°You look near to collapsing, Mayor. Please, I will take the final chair when it arrives.¡± Aerendir said and firmly but gently grasped the mayor¡¯s shoulder and guided him to the open seat.


    Mathin¡¯s eyes went a little wide, but it was clear he did not have the energy nor strength to resist. Before he knew it he was seated, and, for all his pride as host, he all but collapsed into the chair.


    ¡°A boorish kindness,¡± Mathin mused aloud, but then his voice grew thankful, ¡°but a kindness nonetheless.¡± He nodded to Aerendir who didn¡¯t have to wait but a few more


    moments until the small servant boy was dragging a cushioned chair into the room. The chair had small wheels it seemed, but the large rug in the sitting room was resistant to rolling. Aerendir relieved the boy quickly, lifting the whole chair with a single hand and spinning it into place in front of him. He winked at the boy as thanks, and the young man skittered away giggling somewhat frighted.


    There was a pause for a time while the four men sat in relative silence as the morning sun shone through slats in the windows. It was a cool morning, but would soon be warmer than the day before. Siegyrd pulled a small pouch from his belt, drew a smoky white stone, and placed it into his lip. The bit of fog began to roll and snow lily scent filled the room.


    Mathin looked perplexed, ¡°What is that? Some sort of pipe smoke? But how does it not burn you? Though what a wonderful idea! We all should have a smoke, relax us in the morning. Apologies its dreadful the state you find me in, and invited you were.¡± He began to pat his clothes and look around the seat clearly looking for something.


    Mareth said, ¡°About the letters. My friend asked where you came by it.¡±


    Mathin was still scrambling, and Siegyrd began to look in the couch he was on and soon found a pipe which he passed to Mathin with a smile.


    Mathin said, ¡°Oh bother about the letters in a minute,¡± to Siegyrd, ¡°thank you, now where¡¯s my tobacco? Could I have some of yours?¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t tobacco, Mayor. It¡¯s not made for a pipe.¡± Aerendir said.


    ¡°But the smoke,¡± Mathin said, watching the fog drift lazily from around Siegyrd¡¯s lips. His face went quizzical, ¡°is falling downward?¡±


    ¡°More a fog than a smoke,¡± Mareth said, ¡°suppose I have yet to really ask about it.¡±


    Siegyrd was breathing and puffing bits of fog between his teeth, eyes closed, head leaned back, blissful it seemed.


    ¡°A habit of a kind, it might work a fraction in a pipe though, with a bit of magical aid.¡± Siegyrd said as he opened one eye and looked over at Mareth. ¡°Willing?¡±


    Mathin¡¯s eyes looked brighter than they had the whole morning, alive with the curiosity, ¡°Oh please, saer. It is an oddity I do wish to try.¡±


    Aerendir shook his head, ¡°Little brother, we don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    Siegyrd jumped in, ¡°No we don¡¯t, but what can be the harm?¡±


    ¡°Death.¡± Aerendir said bluntly.


    Mathin and Mareth looked at each other strangely and gulped.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be dramatic. It¡¯s not that pure. Let them try it.¡±


    Aerendir sighed deeply, ¡°Oh fine, but if we are doing this, I don¡¯t want to hear you complain that we need to go quickly to the ice floes to get more. It¡¯s a longer journey than I care to take again so soon.¡±


    Siegyrd smiled and jumped up, ¡°Delightful!¡±


    Mareth had no pipe of his own, so one was borrowed from Mathin. After a bit of a to do, another run around from Gideon, and some reorganization of the room, Siegyrd gave the instructions.


    ¡°Half a crystal for each of you should be plenty. Careful not to touch it at all. I will place it in the pipe. Then just a drop of water in each should do.¡± Siegyrd said.


    ¡°Why are we wearing winter gloves?¡± Mareth said.


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t ask so many questions,¡± Mathin said, ¡°he seems to know his business. Before we start though what is it called?¡±


    Siegyrd squeezed his face trying to think. ¡°In the common tongue, I actually don¡¯t know. In the kin tongue it is Karafel.


    Come up with one for yourself after you¡¯ve tried it.¡±


    The two men with pipes looked silly holding them in winter gloves as the room grew in warmth, but they did as they were told. Siegyrd pulled a single crystal from his pouch and broke it in two which sent a small wave of chill in to the air around them and expanded the snow lily scent. He dropped half into each man¡¯s pipe and then took his water flask and dropped a single drop into each.


    Immediately there was a kind of sizzling and a slow fog began to fill the pipes and then spill over. Mathin was the first to put his lips to his pipe and take a breath. His eyes flared wildly aware, pupils dilating to an insane degree and then he pulled his head away from the pipe and breathed out in a half cough sending fog and condensation into the air.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± Was all he said, and then took another shallower draw from the pipe.


    Mareth was more tentative, and so less affected by the initial puff, but the two men found themselves alert and yet frighteningly calm, as if they could see the future and were ready to respond in the fraction of a moment, but knew it held no fear. Anxiety could not exist in such a state, with perfect knowledge of the next few seconds, and a sense of infinite readiness, they were at a peace upon the knife¡¯s edge of the moment, no grasping for what was next nor behind.


    Aerendir laughed as he looked at Siegyrd, ¡°It may be a bit before they are ready to converse now.¡±


    Siegyrd smiled and spoke to Mareth and Mathin, ¡°How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Astonishing.¡± Was all Mareth said.


    Mathin started to speak, paused, and took another draw instead, closed his eyes and


    then breathed out the fog and condensation with a sigh of relief, like a great burden had been lifted for the moment, ¡°Brilliant. I feel, brilliant.¡±


    Siegyrd¡¯s smile widened and the fog played around his lips as he responded, ¡°Delighted to hear it. Now about those letters.¡±


    Mathin¡¯s tone changed not at all, ¡°Oh yes, the letters. My wife¡¯s. She¡¯s become quite ill, and as you can see, somewhat mad. You adventuring types know these things, and some of the scrawls are of dragons and dragon kind. Can you help her?¡±


    Aerendir and Siegyrd¡¯s glance at each other was full of a mix of hope and fear and uncovered surprise.


    Mareth¡¯s mind was sharp enough under the draught of whatever the non-tobacco was that he noticed it all in that split second and didn¡¯t think it the slightest odd to say what he saw, ¡°Why so surprised, gentlemen? You know more than you let on.¡±


    Aerendir just nodded, ¡°We do, but it¡¯s likely best we show you.¡± He turned to Mathin and spoke. ¡°Where is your wife now?¡±

 The Hidden Gallery

    It shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise that the cliffside held something more than just solid rock, but Mareth¡¯s eyes stood wide again ¨C a common occurrence in his wanderings with the two brothers. The cavern that rested beneath the manor behind the cliff¡¯s wall was immaculately carved and fabulously adorned. The entrance seemed small, but inside were rows and rows of well-preserved ancient treasures, artworks that could not have been from such a young world as the one they inhabited.


    There was a magical clockwork sphere which pulsed with rainbow lights and hovered in the air. Statues of creatures Mareth had never comprehended in alabaster and jade and some oddly glowing blue marble substance stood as sentries throughout the room. Gold, silver, and precious gems, on their own and in ornate settings, were ordered in neat cases. The value of the treasure in this cave was beyond imagining.


    Siegyrd and Aerendir were also stunned, but their reaction was somewhat more reserved, almost guarded. There did not seem to be anyone present in the giant chamber that Mathin moved through quickly as if it were the most mundane thing in the world.


    ¡°It¡¯s magnificent,¡± Mareth breathed, trailing behind the rest.


    ¡°Yes yes, very nice.¡± Mathin¡¯s voice was anything but impressed.


    Siegyrd whispered to Aerendir, ¡°Second stage? Or earlier?¡±


    Aerendir said nothing, admiring the works around him while he kept step with the shorter, but fast moving Mathin. At the other end of the large room was a giant curtain, thick, made of dark velvet. It was at least the height of four or five buildings, but a small gap was opened in it, wide enough for a man, for Mathin to squeeze through and into the semi- darkness beyond.


    Siegyrd called back to Mareth, ¡°There will be time to marvel later. Come.¡±


    Mareth paused in front of a statue that appeared to be made from flowing ice that glowed almost black, yet was solid. Even standing back from it some distance he could feel heat emanating off of it unnaturally. The form was simple, a humanoid shape,


    androgynous, with a faceless head. There was something at once devilish and divine about it. At the base there was a golden tablet with words written in that similar script he had seen in the letters. Siegyrd had called it the ¡°High Tongue.¡±


    ¡°Mareth! Come.¡± Aerendir¡¯s voice had the hint of command, but it was the urgency that drew Mareth away from the faceless form. He rushed to the gap in the curtain and heard a roar unlike anything he had heard in his life. The sound made the whole room quake violently. He fell to the ground, and hid his head beneath his hands. His heart was pumping raw liquid fear through his veins and only the sound of the roar and the thump thump thump of his presto pacing heart.


    The quaking stopped, and he gathered his courage as best he could, drawing himself up. His whole body shook, the forgehammer of his heart rattling his bones. The ground was steady, but his legs were not, as he began a song of warding around himself and stumbled toward the opening.


    The woman¡¯s roar was an immense incredible thing, but not outside of what Siegyrd and Aerendir had expected. She was clothed in a white samite shrift, her skin the color of dark ebon, eyes golden as the dawn. Her black silk hair rippled in wondrous waves down her shoulders. Even with her muscles strained, her mouth wide in roar, all her strength showing in her graceful form, she was elegant and beautiful beyond compare. She stood atop a hill of gold and gems and silver coins. A four postern bed made of solid ivory was at the base draped with elegant silks and padded with embroidered cushions .


    Mathin¡¯s voice was pleading, ¡°Darling, darling please.¡±


    Her roar ceased, and the rage and madness drained out of her like a pitcher slowly being poured out. She seemed to shrink, and before Mathin could reach her,


    she fell forward into the coins and jewels and slid downward. He rushed to the base and caught her partway down, scrambling against the mound.


    ¡°Oh Zaralai, Zara, Zara.¡± He held her to his chest, ¡°My life my love, Zara.¡±


    She was still when Mareth breached into the space, staff raised high, quivering like a schoolboy in front of a bear. He was wreathed in a silvery gold magic from head to toe.


    Aerendir spoke calmly, ¡°A prudent measure, wizard. How long?¡±


    Mareth shook his head, ¡°Not long, few minutes, a quarter hour at most. Where is the beast?¡±


    ¡°No beast, Mareth. We may be in time.¡± Siegyrd said.


    Aerendir spoke, ¡°Hold it as long as you can wizard. This feels like the eye.¡± Siegyrd nodded and Mareth did as well.


    The three approached Mathin cautiously. He held the woman in his arms, and she


    appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He was muttering to himself, ¡°If only we had it. If only we could find it. We could save her. I could hear it again. I could have it again.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes opened in a stark flash of gold and she began to sing, a soft, sad song without words, just the airy notes of a remembered melody.


    Mathin stiffened, then closed his eyes and calmed. ¡°Oh Zara¡± he breathed.


    The two embraced as she sang, and the three visitors got the distinct sense that they were intruding upon a sacred moment, a profoundly personal moment. With a wave, Siegyrd, Aerendir, and Mareth left the room and stepped back out into the gallery.


    ¡°What in all the voidstars was that?¡± Mareth asked.


    ¡°A reunion of sorts. Though she is very ill.¡± Siegyrd mused.


    Aerendir did not speak, instead walking toward that same faceless statue Mareth had been eyeing before. He read the inscription and committed it to memory.


    ¡°Not that. The roar. What kind of creature made it? Or was it magically produced?¡± Mareth questioned.


    Siegyrd spoke, ¡°It was her.¡±


    ¡°Preposterous. No human could make such a sound, not without magic.¡±


    Aerendir walked away from the faceless statue and joined Siegyrd and Mareth, ¡°No human, correct.¡±


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.¡°Also correct on the magic.¡± Siegyrd said. ¡°What are you two talking about?¡±


    Aerendir replied, ¡°I expect it will only be a few minutes until you see for yourself.


    Explaining would be a waste. Now¡¯s the time to enjoy the gallery.¡±


    Mareth was torn between two curiosities, on the one hand to explore the magnificent collection and on the other to know what the two brothers were keeping from him. He huffed and walked away toward the collection.


    Siegyrd spoke quietly but there was fear in his tone, ¡°She¡¯s on the very edge it seems.


    We know no cause, no cure. If she turns, are we strong enough?¡±


    Aerendir took two deep breaths before he replied, closing his eyes as he exhaled and spoke, ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He drew the greatsword from his back, it¡¯s bone white blade almost glowing in the low light. He knelt and laid the blade on the stone floor and placed both his hands on top of it.


    Siegyrd understood, and knelt to place his hands on it as well. ¡°Are you sure? We¡¯ll be useless for weeks, maybe more.¡±


    ¡°Only if we have to invoke it, and if we do,¡± he paused and looked up toward the gap in the curtain, ¡°she deserves the cleanest we can give.¡± Then Aerendir did something Siegyrd had not known him to do in many centuries, he prayed. ¡°Apeiron grant it not be so, that this life may in beauty grow. Please.¡±


    Then Aerendir nodded and the two brothers began their song. It was a low melodic hum with an eerie harmonic resonance at the top end. The blade itself seemed to fill the middle with a quavering wavering series of notes as arcane glyphs in ghosted blue-black wove their way into the blade in a stunning pattern throughout.


    Aerendir paused toward the end of the song and locked eyes with Siegyrd who understood and pulled away his hands from the blade and withdrew his voice from the song. The final note was a low bass which buried itself deep into the surrounding stone and the incantation was complete.


    #


    ¡°You bring the song of Aeternum Rasa into our midst?¡± The woman¡¯s voice was melodious beyond measure and filled with a polite playfulness. Zaralai sat on the edge of a chair at the base of the piles of treasures.


    Aerendir and Siegyrd nodded, somewhat apologetic, but spoke nothing.


    Mathin and Mareth looked confused, but the woman kept her smile, her dazzling radiant smile.


    ¡°A worthy precaution. I do not begrudge it.¡± Her tone became wistfulness mixed with worry, ¡°In fact it is a kindness.¡± She turned her golden gaze on Mathin and smiled again as she rubbed his worn face. He reached up and gripped her hand and then kissed the palm and held it again to his cheek.


    Aerendir and Siegyrd approached and both knelt, ¡°M¡¯Lady Zaralai vox Niki. I am Aerendir first son of Osian and his beloved Angharad.¡±


    Siegyrd spoke, in time right after, ¡°I am Siegyrd second son of Osian and his beloved Angharad.¡±


    Together they said, ¡°It is our honor.¡±


    Zaralai¡¯s eyes spread fractionally, and she smiled again, ¡°Osian and Angharad are names I have not heard in half an age. What a tale of sorrows theirs. Sons¡­ I think I knew them.¡± A quizzical look crossed the woman¡¯s face, as if a veil was lowered over her eyes.


    ¡°Darling, can you hear us?¡± Mathin¡¯s voice was strained.


    The woman blinked and her eyes were clear again, and she responded, ¡°Sorry, I drift from time to time. We were speaking of. Ah, I see you bring a song of Aeternum Rasa, friends. A kindness, I am sure.¡±


    Aerendir and Siegyrd locked eyes from their kneeling position both nodded and stood. ¡°Lady Zara, please tell us of your letters. Of the flute.¡±


    A flash of something near to anger rippled across her face, and then was gone as soon as it had come, replaced with a deepening sorrow as she spoke, ¡°The loveliest song in all the world. It was as if before it I had never even heard a song, though I¡¯ve been musical all my years. Imagine.¡±


    Mathin took up her refrain, ¡°A pure, invulnerable delight it was to hear played from your lips, my darling.¡±


    ¡°And from yours, Mathin my love. What sweet symphony we made with but a simple flute of crystal craft.¡± Zara¡¯s voice was wistful.


    Siegyrd spoke, ¡°Lovely songs are a dear friend. How came you by this flute?¡±


    Mathin and Zara turned in subtle suspicion at Siegyrd, ¡°What do you know of our flute, our lovely songmaker? Have you found it again?¡± Zara¡¯s voice held a twinge of hope in a


    sea of despair. ¡°You seem a skald, or so Mathin has told me. Would you gather it for us?¡± Aerendir spoke, ¡°You have lost it then? This instrument?¡±


    ¡°Taken, stolen from us. Some time ago now. We had hardly had it at all. Hardly the chance even to learn to love those lilting notes.¡± Zara was still speaking to Siegyrd as if transfixed, ¡°I swear to you, skald, that even your oldest, loveliest song would seem like a new and more beautiful friend if played upon this flute. The maker¡¯s magic I sensed in it, an Aspect of Apeiron, I would wager.¡±


    ¡°An aspect is world bending magic. A fragment of creation.¡± Mareth spoke.


    Zara¡¯s eyes grew brighter, ¡°Not just a fragment, maybe even a source. My whole collection in the gallery you have seen would I trade for a single note further from that flute.¡±


    Aerendir¡¯s eyes narrowed, ¡°The whole collection, M¡¯Lady?¡±


    ¡°The whole,¡± she said with a sweeping gesture. ¡°There is no joy in any of it, no pulse of possibility, no flavor of forever left to me without it. Please, find it for me, good brothers of a dear friend ¨C what was his name again?¡±


    ¡°Osian,¡± Siegyrd said sadly.


    Zara tasted the name on her tongue as she said it and a fog fell across her gaze, ¡°Osian, yes. How is dear Osian?¡±


    Siegyrd could not speak. Aerendir could, ¡°He is dead.¡±


    Zara continued, eyes fixed on some distant place, insensate ¡°Oh that is lovely to hear. Dear Osian, and his wife Angharad was frightfully dear to me. One day, I¡¯m sure, they will have children.¡±


    Mathin¡¯s jaw dropped, and he spoke softly, ¡°She loses much time. I am¡­¡± He choked back his own tears as he saw Siegyrd clenching his teeth, ¡°I am terribly sorry. I will walk you out.¡±

 A Tale Told Across Time

    The low sun painted the sky in brush-stroked lazy flame shades as all the town gathered in a square at the base of the large cliff beneath the mayor¡¯s manor. A hasty stage, just a step above the ground, stood waiting, and a crowd gathered as shops moved their wares into the streets in wagons and pop-up tents. The impromptu afternoon music of the day before and the Mayor¡¯s invitation for Siegyrd and his troupe to perform had spread through the whispering vines of the town and produced a ripe fruit of anticipation.


    Those who had caught even portions of the show at the Mad Martyr Inn shamelessly promoted its magnificence, and the troupe could no longer move around the town without requests or nods or smiles or cheers of excitement. When the three exited the mansion around midday the market area had been largely empty, but now it was a brilliant bustle of sounds and sights and new smells of fresh foodstuffs cooked for the festivities.


    ¡°A small town needs only the slightest reason to throw a party.¡± Mathin had said to them, ¡°And you are more than a slight reason.¡±


    Siegyrd, Aerendir, and Mareth hadn¡¯t had much of a chance to discuss their next steps with the concert looming. Siegyrd sat at the base of the cliff, behind the stage, one leg up, one down, playing lightly upon his instrument which the surrounding crowds could not quite hear through the din. Aerendir held the greatsword which still held its invocation etched in black upon the blade. Mareth spun his clubstaff in his hand nervously.


    ¡°What are we going to do?¡± Mareth said, a bit of sweat on his brow.


    Siegyrd¡¯s eyes were closed as he played softly, a few notes here, a phrase of notes there, as he spoke, ¡°Do what comes naturally, wizard. Though I know you do not like to use your powers for such silly ends. Perhaps you could stomp a beat for us?¡±


    Aerendir boomed in, ¡°The beat is my forte, don¡¯t go giving that to the wizard.¡± He laughed his deep laugh.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a joke. Gods below and maker above it¡¯s,¡± he tucked his staff under his arm and wiped the palms of his hands on his robes, ¡°worse than preparing for battle.¡±


    ¡°You can just stand up there and look pretty then. It¡¯ll be grand.¡± Siegyrd said between a few more flourishes on the violin.


    A few small boys from the town carried sticks and ran up on the stage to pantomime a great battle. Some of the crowd watched, but most paid no mind. The leading boy, with a stick a bit longer than the rest and what looked like a linen table cloth for a cape made his best impression of a regal lord just as a smaller boy faked to stab him in the back. The twisted contortion of his face was a mocking seriousness as he sprawled out on the stage in tortured hollow, silent gasps, and then reached out to an insensate crowd for help.


    Siegyrd looked up at the sun, just retreating into a starry night, and stepped on the stage next to the fake dying boy, giving him a little nod and saying, ¡°Bravo. Bravo. A worthy introduction.¡± He winked, and the boy gawked but did not move.


    Aerendir stepped on stage with a flourish of his dark cloak, tossing back the hood and letting his height and the bright silvery whiteness of his hair shine in the firelight and dimming light of day. Aerendir caught the boy¡¯s eye, and this time, the boy jumped up, tucked his tablecloth cape around him and leapt from the stage rushing into the street whooping.


    Whispers and commotion filled the air as people noticed the comers to the stage.


    Siegyrd looked down at Mareth who still stood behind, quaking.


    ¡°You¡¯ve faced a diseased dragon rotted almost to the bones and covered in acidic scales, certainly you can step on a puny stage in a no name town.¡± Siegyrd said quietly.


    ¡°Ruthaivan, thank ye very much.¡± Said a cheeky fellow very close to the stage.


    Siegyrd smiled a dazzling smile, and the man couldn¡¯t help but smile with him. ¡°Too true, friend. Ruthaivan.¡±


    Mareth stood still.


    Siegyrd wheeled to face the crowd and spread his arms wide as he held the violin in one hand and the bow in the other. He shouted, though it did not seem a strained shout. With the cliff behind him, his voice carried through the whole space. ¡°Ruthaivan! Thank you for your fine and friendly welcome!¡±


    People crowded closer and closer, grabbing their food or drinks, and picking up their little ones trying to reach the stage.


    ¡°We do; however, have a friend of ours who is less than comfortable. Will you give him a particular welcome, a little encouragement. Please welcome our esteemed wizard, Marwolaeth!¡±


    Aerendir began to clap and whopped once, and the crowd began to cheer as well. Siegyrd ¡°Well, Mareth. Please.¡±


    Mareth, with a little more goading stepped on stage, and the clapping and cheering grew


    louder. A woman at the back whistled, and the wizard blanched.


    Siegyrd moved close alongside Mareth and whispered, ¡°Trust yourself, as you did yesterday. You may think it a waste, but this too is practice for battle for resonance and synchronicity.¡±


    Mareth raised an eyebrow, but had no time to object as Siegyrd spun away with a flourish and drew his bow across the strings in a rapid succession of notes, and Aerendir stomped in a rhythmic pattern on the stage as he layered in base note singing as depth to Siegyrd¡¯s melody.


    Siegyrd sang in a foreign tongue, that no one knew though they did not seem to mind. There was a rhyming and alliterative pattern both running alongside each other, almost dueling with each other.


    The image that flashed in Mareth¡¯s head was just that, a duel. Illusions had never been his strength, but he wove a song of seeming into the air above the stage where a cloud appeared shaped as a single being split into two figures. A large steady man quick as lightning with a pinpoint blade flourished it in a duelists salute against the velvet backdrop of night. Little lights like eyes flickered in the cloudlike form. A smaller man, staunch and broad shouldered hefted a hammer and nodded in his own way. The forms were muddied at first, almost indistinct, but as the song progressed the image of the battle solidified in Mareth¡¯s mind, and his song of seeming grew more detailed. A series of notes from the violin served to carve the illusion into an immaculate cut of the tall man¡¯s jaw, a few bass notes filled in a beak on the helm of the shorter man. More notes from the violin shaped a fanciful handguard on the sword, a firm and subtle stomp combined into a raven¡¯s head pommel on the hammer as it reached the end of a strike just missing its mark.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.Mareth¡¯s eyes were closed, his song all his being, as he heard and felt the songs around him pour through him and back out into the seeming. His eyes could not see, but everything was clear as crystal in his mind.


    #


    A broad field stretched as far as the eye could see from horizon-to-horizon bleeding as if with setting suns on every side. The detritus of a battlefield, slain upon slain, broken bodies and battered war engines were strewn across it. Flags, torn and weathered of at least seven varieties flew, or were stomped into the grounds, faded to blank gray where once great houses had placed their crests. What remained moving there were two men, locked in combat. A tall dark-haired dark eyed monster of a man, a head taller than any other man Mareth had seen, wielded a rapier that seemed made of some kind of black crystal that exuded dark radiance. A shorter man in thick armor, dwarven craft with a raven¡¯s beak helm, wielded a hammer that looked as though it would quake all the worlds, made of a solid white metal.


    The tall man lunged forward, extending his reach. The dwarf allowed the blow to glance off his large heavy pauldrons and spun with ease to swing out his hammer one-handed inside and extending his own reach. He caught the tall man in the side and sent him reeling backward. The large man rolled, caught himself and was back on his feet and shifting directions again, little the worse for wear.


    The tall man drew a dagger from the night and tossed it flippantly at the dwarf¡¯s visor.


    The dwarf batted it away with the hammer, losing sight for a split second and the tall man, knee slide from the side and attempted a slash at the dwarf¡¯s knee. It caught part of the knee armour, but sunk in just past the cap creating a small cut. The dwarf roared and stepped sideways, turning to keep the larger man in view as his leg buckled.


    The rapier twisted in the man¡¯s grip and he contorted to pierce toward the visor gap. The dwarf slipped his head left just in time and grabbed the blade of the crystal sword with a gauntleted hand. He pulled the taller man in and made a swing with the hammer. The man released his rapier entirely and let the hammer strike downward into the ground, burying deep and sending an earthquake crashing through the stone which opened the ground and swallowed bodies, gear, siege engines, all.


    The man drew a knife and used his left hand to twist it between the plates of the dwarf¡¯s armour, just beneath the armpit. The dwarf howled in pain, and Mareth knew it was a fatal blow. He felt a deep sadness at the blow, as if something beautiful had been ripped from him, as if all the world would go to ash and be blown away by oblivion winds. But then the


    dwarf dropped his hammer and clamped his arm downward on the wound and the man¡¯s extended hand and arm. The dwarf¡¯s grip was a vice. The man tried to pull back, but he was helpless to escape.


    The dwarf turned the crystal blade in his hand, and headbutted the man as he tried to grasp for it again. With a final effort, the dwarf used the man¡¯s own blade and drove it through his heart. The tall man gasped and choked, a fire in his eyes giving way to tears and then to the silence of the soul echoed in an empty shell. The dwarf let the man slump to the ground, releasing his arm. He took one step away, withdrew his helmet, smiled up at the sky, sank to his knees, and then his head fell upon his chest, and he too was gone.


    #


    The sound of the cheering crowd reached Mareth over an immense distance, as if heralding from another world, and then suddenly he was there, fully aware and awake to himself, standing with his hands raised. Above him on a spinning cloud carved with immaculate detail was the still scene of the dwarf and the man, both fallen on the field of battle.


    ¡°Why cheer?¡± Mareth said, fighting back tears.


    Siegyrd smiled, ¡°because they already moved past the sadness of the tale, into the joy of witnessing it retold. Of being part of a magnificent show.¡±


    Mareth looked around and saw that many faces were damp from tears, though they were now ecstatic with praise for the show. ¡°How do you do this so freely? My heart would break.¡±


    ¡°The trick is to be a conduit for the tale, not to relive the tale. Let it pass through you.


    Don¡¯t try to capture it, just guide, my friend.¡± Siegyrd said.


    Aerendir strode up and placed a hand on Mareth¡¯s shoulder, ¡°That was immaculately done. You¡¯ve a gift for the song.¡±


    ¡°Gift?¡± Mareth¡¯s eyes were somewhat dazed, and he stumbled. The crowd gasped briefly, but Siegyrd caught him.


    ¡°Never fear friends, our magnificent wizard will return, for now let¡¯s let him rest, and I will play another tune.¡± Siegyrd said.


    Aerendir nodded and helped Mareth off the stage as Siegyrd began to play a fiddle tune, lively and fun, an old favorite of the world of men. Soon the whole crowd was singing along.

 A Dying Voice

    It was deep into the night before the ¡°troupe triumphant¡± finished their set and the crowd released them. The women were enthralled, the men rejoiced, and the children smiled and cheered. Atop the high cliff above, a dark woman in a thin silken dress sat next to a man who looked older yet younger than he was. They too smiled.


    Mareth, Aerendir, and Siegyrd left the stage and made their way to the inn, trudging with heavy steps. Mareth stumbled like a drunken man though he had not imbibed.


    Aerendir too listed to his right as he walked. Siegyrd had the lightest step, born as he was to the stage, but still moved more languidly than normal.


    The two with beds threw themselves upon their beds, and Aerendir sunk first to one knee, then a second on the floor, pulling his sword from his back and setting it beside him. He rolled over onto his back crossed his hands over his belly and began a breathing routine inhaling, pausing, exhaling, pausing, inhaling, pausing, exhaling. The space between pauses and breaths extended, and everything slowed.


    #


    The three men stood atop a precipice, ankle deep in crystal clear water looking over a waterfall that careened downward for half a league or more into a verdant jungle canopy beneath. The high blue sky was scintillating sapphire burning with the light of opposing twin suns. They looked like mirrors of morning and twilight. One hung just above rising, and the other painted the opposite sky on the way to sunset.


    ¡°Days of days, brief stints of night,


    The elder grove in tireless light,


    Here caressing, there scorching,


    Oft a blessing, n¡¯er a torture,


    Strange still for days of days


    As cosmic melody plays and plays.¡±


    The voice that spoke was nowhere. It was everywhere. It was between and around. It was loss hopelessly found. It was the crashing waterfall and the bubbling of the stream, the scent of snow lilies in the high pine forests and deep musk of jungle floors. It was the taste of home and the sound of longing.


    Two golden eyes opened in the sky the size of moons between the suns. The irises were cosmic portals. The voice continued.


    ¡°True notes with false note carry


    The tune of creation,


    the beat of continuance,


    Rally the spheres to desperate conclusion.


    A path, a scale, a note,


    a song, a rest, a resonance,


    A sneaking sibilant hiss of intrusion,


    This false refrain


    delivers the dissonance.¡±


    Siegyrd forced himself to speak, though he could not hear his own words through the din of a rising cacophony that shook the mountains, the trees, and sent birds fleeing from the jungle below ¡°What dissonance? How can we aid?¡±


    The cacophony rose louder, and he clapped his hands over his ears flinching away. Mareth buckled to his knees in the water of the stream at the edge of the world.


    Aerendir stood firm through the pain, solid as the stone at the very base of the mountain on which he stood. ¡°Where, Zaralai?¡±


    The voice from the sky, the eyes, the whole place flickered at the name, like a mirage retreats at your reproach in the midday sun, then returned, no longer some distant alien thing but solid and in front of them. Zaralai Vox Niki hovered in front of Aerendir at the peak just above the water.


    ¡°I am almost lost, Ossian¡¯s son. Please...¡± She took his hand, and for the first time he realized that his greatsword was in it with the invocation still etched upon the blade. She stepped back, pointed to the sword, nodded, and then pulled aside her collar just over her heart and put her finger there. Aerendir understood but shook his head.


    Siegyrd tried to speak, and she twisted to look at him. Her stare alone forced him to one knee. He gasped but said nothing. Mareth crawled his way slowly away from the edge


    toward a bank away from the stream, chest pains wracking him any time he glanced in Zaralai¡¯s direction.


    ¡°Please, Aerendir, son of Ossian, before there is no Zaralai left, before all I am is swallowed in the rising madness. It must be here and now. You have seen what happens to our kind when it takes hold.¡±


    Aerendir shook his head again, ¡°My father said where life is, there hope is.¡±


    Zaralai smiled, sadly, and then began to weep, to plead, ¡°Please. I don¡¯t want to lose. It. I can¡¯t. Too much. So beautiful, and lost, and I. Kill me!¡± Her weeping grew frantic and eventually gave way to laughter, first bitter, but soon manic, beyond hysterical.


    Aerendir stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder and spoke, ¡°Zaralai, hold. We may yet find a cure for you, for our people.¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Zaralai¡¯s laugh subsided momentarily and there was a severe crystalline clarity in her golden eyes as she spoke, ¡°You cannot restore what you cannot know has been lost ¨C it is the yawning emptiness which nothing can fill and the vague sense that it was not always so. As if that which would fill it is all around, yet that these eyes are blind, these ears deaf, this tongue mute. This heart dead. I can see it all shimmering beyond the veil, but I cannot reach it. Please, before the emptiness explodes from me.¡±


    Aerendir looked torn for the first time. He stared at his empty hand, flexed it, and looked up into Zaralai¡¯s pleading face. Even weeping, her beauty radiated in pulsating waves that passed straight through all his defenses. How could I ever destroy such beauty? ¡°No. I will protect you, as will my brother.¡±


    Her face slumped, and the glimmer of the hope of death faded from her. Her tone grew cold, and the water at Aerendir¡¯s feet froze solid grasping him tightly. The cold spread down the waterfall freezing the water all the way to the jungle floor where cascading waves of cold swallowed up all the heat, shriveling leaves and branches and petrifying trees.


    Aerendir looked down at his feet, and when he looked up, Zaralai the woman was gone. Hovering above him was the true from of Zaralai Vox Niki, last of the dragon queens. From the tip of her nose to her tail was more than three hundred paces and her wings stretched their ephemeral rainbow radiance to triple that size. Her upper body was brilliant, almost translucent, golden scales which refracted the light around her giving her an aura of kaleidoscopic color. On her underbelly her scales were a shiny black hematite, polished and cold that seemed to suck in the surrounding light.


    She had all the regal splendor and terror of a dragon, yet the lithe precision and elegance and delicacies that made it clear she was a woman. Her raw beauty disarmed and pierced without a claw or tooth or implement. She wounded Aerendir with his own glance. He saw her and deep pains vibrated through his chest as she flapped her wings slowly in the bright sky. He gripped his chest hard with his left hand and closed one eye with pain, then slammed the other shut as well trying to shake her fearfully radiant image from his head.


    Siegyrd struggled to rise, breaking himself free of the frozen stream, but could not keep himself from looking up. He too was struck with the glance, and keeled over afresh with wracking pains in his chest.


    She swept no claw, nor roared like she had in the cavern. She merely hovered there in all her splendor, and the brothers could not bear to witness her.


    Mareth, on the other hand, looked up at her and felt awe and fear, but was not stricken. There was a kind of longing in him, and a recognition of her grace and form and presence, but he could endure. He looked around, seeing that the two brothers were incapacitated. Zaralai turned her golden gaze upon him and he froze, momentarily, but shook his head and gripped his clubstaff all the harder as he bashed his own feet free of the stream¡¯s ice. As he did so he began to thread a very simple song of air, something that required little of his movement.


    Zaralai seemed puzzled when Mareth did not fall. She swept downward toward him and landed with a graceful series of steps perched at the peak of the icy waterfall, Aerendir gripped his chest next to her and Siegyrd wept in choked gasps. She walked to within a few human paces of Mareth and lowered her giant golden head to look at him.


    Under his breath, he wove his simple song. A trickle of wind whipped Aerendir¡¯s sword from its place at his side and lifted it behind the dragon into the air out of her vision.


    Zaralai¡¯s voice was still lovely, but a deep and foreboding, almost alien sound, proceeded from dragon lips around a hot breath that smelled fresh like new fallen rain.


    ¡°Resistance to my particular aura issss,¡± she let the sibilance linger before she finished, ¡°rare.¡± Her tone seemed almost curious, almost delighted.


    ¡°SSStill, with you three dies my hopes of release. I will take the long death road.¡± The dragon sighed again, Mareth¡¯s face right up against her giant face, and he finished his song.


    He wanted to think of something clever to say as he did it, but fear and awe and wonder and the urgency of action shut his mind down to all but one thing. He tugged on his spell and pulled Aerendir¡¯s sword into a flat point aimed like a spear at Zaralai¡¯s exposed side where she had stepped past Aerendir and Siegyrd to reach him. One more tug. The bonewhite greatsword etched with an invocation Mareth did not understand flew straight as a bow shot into the scales behind the dragon¡¯s left leg digging in the full length of the blade¡¯s almost four feet. A sound like a colossal gong boomed into the space, a single, loud, long, bass note. An explosion of dark light bloomed from the wound and engulfed Zaralai whose face rapidly went through first surprise, then resignation, and ended in a rapturous joy. Her golden scales faded into a vacuous black, and her hematite scales grew darker still, swallowing light. Her basic form remained roughly the same, wings and tail and legs and all, but she shrank to less than a quarter of her original size and all the distinguishing aspects of her faded into a vague, dark shapeliness reminiscent of the essence of dragon without any of the individuality of any particular dragon.


    The sky dripped its color like a canvas painting splashed with water before it dries. The forms around the three lost their firmness and everything shifted, flickered, and just before it all went black Mareth saw a beautiful flowing dark ice statue of a dragon that could have been any dragon, emanating a heat he could not bear.


    #


    On the cliff overlooking the town, Mathin and Zaralai sat on a small bench, holding each other and watching the stars. Zaralai had gone distant some time ago, as she had been wont to do for some time. Mathin was grateful to be next to her, to hear her breathe. The night grew cold and he hugged her as she shivered. Suddenly she shot up, she turned her golden eyes toward Mathin and spoke in a hushed whisper, ¡°Kiss me, my love.¡± They embraced, and there was joy in the touch of their lips, the warmth and intimacy of the moment. His eyes were closed when their lips parted, and he opened them to see her beautiful face, those golden eyes gleaming back at him. He blinked, and she was gone.

 The Men Who Wait

    Mathin and Mareth stood over the two sleeping forms of the brothers. Aerendir looked like a statue in slumber, regal with his hands folded over his belly. He looked meditative. Siegyrd was more awkward to move. His body was stiff as stone but in the position of a half fetal sleeping pose, one leg tucked up, the other straight, one arm wrapped underneath his own head, the other laying at a ninety degree angle from the body.


    They were in Mathin¡¯s manor. The morning after the show, Mathin showed up in a rage which woke Mareth, but the brothers were still as the grave. They breathed, though very shallowly. The two were deposited on the large rug in the main sitting room next to the fire. Both their bodies were ice cold to the touch.


    ¡°Blankets,¡± Mathin said to his servant boy, and he fell onto his couch face forward, a wave of despairing sadness washing away what little strength he had. They had hired young men to help move the brothers up to this house. Mathin rolled over and faced Mareth, an icy glare in his eyes, ¡°What did they do to my Zaralai?¡±


    Mareth faced away to receive the blankets just arrived from the servant boy. He spoke over his shoulder, ¡°As she requested, we have done.¡± A tenor of sadness tremored in his voice.


    ¡°She disappeared in my arms.¡± Despair transmuted its enervating power into a cold rage as Mathin stood from the couch and turned, ¡°IN MY ARMS!¡± He threw over a side table which crashed its contents out across the rug. An hourglass shattered into broken glass buried in the sands of time and dug itself into the fibers of the carpet. ¡°She was there! We kissed.¡± He stumbled his way toward Mareth who stood and faced him, head hung low.


    ¡°I held her. She smiled and then¡­¡± Mathin¡¯s voice trailed as he reached for Mareth¡¯s neck, but then anger fled back into the blackhole of his confused sorrow. He rested his hands on Mareth¡¯s shoulders instead. The wizard held the man up as best he could. Mathin leaned heavily on Mareth and wept.


    Words could not answer such a sorrow. Mareth held the crying man upright until his legs ached. His arms spasmed with exertion, and he thought he would pass out. The only thought that went through Mareth¡¯s head was that he couldn¡¯t let the man fall. He had to help him stay standing, as long as he could. He gave the only support he knew how to give, a physical propping up. Just as he thought he would give, that it would not be enough, Mathin stopped crying and stood firm. The weight lifted off Mareth, and he felt the rush of strength against empty air.


    Mathin¡¯s voice was cracked like a broken well, ¡°I am sorry.¡± He fruitlessly wiped the wetness of his tears from the wizard¡¯s shoulder and said again, ¡°I am sorry. It¡¯s not your fault. I knew her mind. She told me the request she would make. I didn¡¯t have the heart to stop her. I hoped you would simply say no.¡±


    Mareth stepped lightly over the unmoving form of Aerendir and sat in one of the chairs, motioning to the other for Mathin before he spoke.


    ¡°He did say no, emphatically.¡± Mareth¡¯s voice was layered with emotions tenuously vying for control.


    Mathin took his seat again and then looked into Mareth¡¯s eyes and nodded.


    ¡°She tried pleading, but he would not. He spoke of the hope of life, some reference to his father. I missed some of it. I was stricken the moment we entered that world, whatever it was.¡±


    ¡°A kind of dream,¡± Mathin whispered.


    Mareth nodded and continued, ¡°When it was clear he would not, she transformed, or appeared. I don¡¯t quite know which. She was a woman, and then there was a dragon, resplendent and magnificent. I regained myself then, though the brothers, it seemed were assailed in some way.¡± Mareth glanced at their still forms and shuddered. ¡°She did not speak or threaten or even really move, but they gripped their chests as if pierced. Aerendir collapsed, Siegyrd too. Or perhaps the other way. I don¡¯t recall, but I knew she would not let us leave. She approached me, face to face, but I was already casting. I¡­ used Aerendir¡¯s sword.¡±


    Mareth pointed to it laying next to Aerendir¡¯s body on the rug. Its white blade was clear as glass.


    ¡°Whatever song they played into the blade released when it struck, and then the dragon was transformed into a statue the likes of which I have seen only once, the moving black ice that emanated heat in your gallery below. The world collapsed, and I woke. They didn¡¯t.¡±


    Mathin leaned forward and tented his hands in front of him, elbows on his knees, a pensive look coming over him. He whispered, ¡°Aeternum Rasa¡­¡±


    Mareth¡¯s ears perked and he inquired, ¡°What is that? She mentioned it when we entered yesterday.¡±


    Mathin shook his head, ¡°I don¡¯t know. There was much I never knew. I knew there was magic and age and spirit. No beauty such as hers is purely natural.¡±


    ¡°All beauty is supernatural,¡± Mareth responded.


    Mathin laughed, just a small chuckle, ¡°I suppose you are right.¡± The two men stared at each other for a second, then stared into some space between them, eyes intent upon memories.


    #


    Siegyrd and Aerendir had a sensation something like waking but they both knew immediately that it was not precisely waking. They had no sense of space or time or movement. They held only raw consciousness hovering weightless in a vacuum of soundless, endless, deeper than blackness.


    They did not speak, though they communicated, after a fashion, devoid of the context of embodied being.


    Aerendir ¡°How long this time?¡±


    Siegyrd ¡°Decades? Centuries? Who knows. Maybe only a few days.¡±


    ¡°The wizard resisted her presence.¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.¡°Only when she changed. Is it really any wonder?¡±


    ¡°I suppose not.¡±


    In the raw sea of thought there was simultaneously immense speed in their communication and long, nigh infinite stretches of companionable silence.


    Siegyrd, ¡°I miss her.¡±


    Aerendir, ¡°You hardly knew her.¡±


    ¡°You know who I mean.¡±


    The thought-sense of knowing flooded from Aerendir to Siegyrd. ¡°Him too.¡±


    A flush of anger pulsed then thrummed with sadness. Another long pause draped itself over the infinite.


    Aerendir spoke without speaking,¡°I don¡¯t remember them well.¡±


    Siegyrd¡¯s sadness was a ripple in the thoughtsea, a resonance and understanding, ¡°You were orphaned the day you left home, longer than me.¡±


    Aerendir, ¡°I wanted to save her.¡±


    Siegyrd, ¡°You weren¡¯t even there.¡±


    ¡°You know who I mean.¡±


    Another thought-sense of knowing drifted through and Siegyrd replied, ¡°You meant both.¡±


    #


    ¡°Come on, wizard, move your legs.¡± Mathin¡¯s voice was stern, but playful.


    ¡°Torturer,¡± Mareth huffed between breaths which puffed little clouds in the cool morning. The two jogged on a series of trails that rounded behind the manor house and down the opposite side from the town.


    ¡°You said you wanted to learn to keep up with them. This is the only way I can think how.¡± Mathin¡¯s breathing was steady for his apparent age. His body was built for this it seemed. He ran barefoot in his small clothes, letting the sun bronze his weathered skin.


    Mareth had thin slips of leather lashed to his feet. He lumbered heavily from side to side with each step, and his breathing was ragged. He didn¡¯t have the wind to argue, so instead he flashed a glare and kept running. Slowly but surely, fighting through the pain. The trees around them shaded them.


    It was a week since the passing of Zaralai. The funeral was held with great ceremony, though the casket was empty for the rites. So few of the townsfolk had known Zaralai, but they seemed to respect Mathin, so they wept alongside him. It was their way in those lands to exercise a week of silence after the death of a loved one. No notes of instruments, no banging on the rafters, no speech in the taverns. A kind of mourning language of hand signs and pointing had become the way during those times. Today at dawn, was the first day of new speaking.


    Mathin¡¯s voice sounded strange to his own ears as he ran alongside Mareth and tried to encourage him, ¡°You will grow used to it. Stronger.¡± He had transmuted the weight of his sorrow into a strange manic energy which he channeled into his morning runs and all his other activity.


    Mareth stared at the trail floor, its conglomeration of roots and rocks and earth, choosing his steps carefully, barely running. He did not see how near they were to the end. He didn¡¯t know why he¡¯d bothered to come along. His muscles felt wobbly, his lungs burned icy against his thumping heart.


    Mathin broke into a clearing in full view of a rising glorious sun, slowed, stopped, and raised his eyes to the sky and extended his arms as if to embrace the world though there were tears in his eyes.


    Mareth reached him some few minutes later huffing and heaving and bent over double. Mathin approach and gently placed his hands on Mareth¡¯s chest and lower back and pressured him to stand up straight to open the man¡¯s lungs.


    ¡°Breath is life, and soul, and force. Or so my love once said.¡± Mathin¡¯s face grew dour, but he shook himself and continued. ¡°Breathe in deeply and hold it.¡±


    Mareth tried, but immediately failed. His gasps grew worse and worse, a panic rising in his face. Mathin placed his hand on Mareth¡¯s chest and changed his method, ¡°With your magics, you must control the tempo of your song. Control your breath like you control the tempo.¡±


    Mareth couldn¡¯t quite think, but his training in the songweave was substantial, it made sense. He sang, starting at the pace his breathing gave him, and then slowly, with effort, transitioned to a slower tempo, just humming. It took some time, but he managed to pull in, to regain control. ¡°Thank you.¡± He breathed followed by a deep sigh. ¡°I¡¯ve more work to do it seems.¡±


    Mathin turned away and walked further out into the clearing. The woods around them formed an almost perfect circle, and here in this field was a series of low bushes and brush on the outer edge, and a broad flat area with soft grass.


    ¡°Ready to learn some other things?¡± Mathin turned and flashed a smile that was joyous and sad.


    ¡°You are just torturing me to keep from torturing yourself aren¡¯t you? Is this the way to honor her?¡± Mareth¡¯s voice was steadier, but still accented with difficult breathing.


    Mathin paused and breathed, fighting back tears that kept trying to overwhelm him. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t want me to stop for long. When the brothers wake, you will need to leave, and you will need to be as strong as you can be.¡±


    ¡°I may have to leave sooner,¡± Mareth gripped his chest and started running calculations in his head, ¡°Why do you care?¡±


    ¡°About you, you mean?¡± Mathin¡¯s voice was edged with anger. Mareth nodded.


    Mathin looked back with hard eyes and stared into Mareth¡¯s, ¡°You killed my love. It may have been Aerendir¡¯s sword, but it was your spell, your action.¡± He walked up and towered over the wizard a rage marring his face, ¡°Make no mistake, I want you to suffer.¡±


    Mareth went pale.


    Mathin continued, his voice softer, ¡°But I want your suffering to mean something. She¡¯s gone, and as much as I want to hate you, I know it was her choice. She forced your hand. She had that way about her, giving you a choice that was no choice at all.¡±


    ¡°You want me to make it right? I don¡¯t know how.¡±


    Mathin sighed and walked away into the broad field. He turned back and beckoned Mareth forward.


    Mareth obeyed, out of curiosity. Out of guilt. Out of something he could not place. He could have torn the man to shreds with a spell, or fled on wings of air. He could have done a thousand things with the magic in his blood and bones and soul, but he obeyed.


    Mathin waited as Mareth approached. Then he took a low fighting stance, left leg forward, hands forward crouched, and said ¡°Defend yourself.¡± The man moved much faster than the wizard expected. His first instinct was to weave a song of warding, but he could not complete it before Mathin had shot straight to him, dipped his knee and driven his shoulder upward into Mareth¡¯s hips, lifting him skyward before driving him back down. Air escaped his lungs in a mad rush, fleeing the hard impact.


    Mathin was atop him now, straddling. Mathin struck twice, palm out, chest, then chin. Then Mathin leaped back, stood, and reached out his hand. Mareth took it warily. Mathin


    helped him up. The two stood tall, now, Mathin taller by half a head, and then Mathin spoke, ¡°Defend yourself!¡±


    Mareth tried to shift his weight, to side step, but Mathin¡¯s hand shot out and grabbed him behind the head, and then Mathin had Mareth¡¯s arm as well, and Mareth was thrown over onto his back. He didn¡¯t see the movements. He was standing, and then he was on his back, his arm still in Mathin¡¯s hand and Mathin¡¯s knee resting on Mareth¡¯s sternum.


    Mathin released, and stood again. Mareth stood more slowly this time, eyes darting in every direction, not sure which information mattered most as he took Mathin¡¯s hand to rise. Mathin walked away again, giving space between the two, then took another stance.


    Mareth began his warding song, but stopped part way through. Instead he chose to mimic Mathin¡¯s stance. He had hated physicality his whole life, preferred his books and spells and distance, but there was something rising in him. He gritted his teeth, and rushed Mathin with a shout. ¡°Defend yourself.¡±


    Mathin laughed, received the charging Mareth, shifted his weight and simply pushed the wizard¡¯s shoulder as he went by. Mareth tripped, fell and rolled out onto his back. His heart beat fast. Mathin¡¯s hand went out again, ¡°Good, now we can train in earnest.¡±

 The Brothers Wake

    Siegyrd opened his eyes to indigo darkness. The hint of light revealed that he was inside, though he had no idea where. A soft rug was beneath him, and a blanket of wool draped him. His joints cracked as he forced himself up from his side into a half sitting position. He popped his neck and rubbed it. He blinked through the haze of night and odd sleep. The room was vague shapes and angles. Fragments of pale blue light spilled through a far wall through slats. He rose and almost fell as his limbs remembered how to stand. Then he recalled how to walk, the flood of sensations, even in the darkness, jarring and overwhelming after his long slumber.


    He reached the light and saw it to be a window, bulwarked against the night. He fumbled around until he found a latch the raised the shutters, and pale moonlight flooded the room with ethereal glow. It was a sitting room that he only distantly remembered, as of some half-forgotten dream. There was a fireplace, though cold, some chairs, a long couch, and a body. The moonlight revealed Aerendir¡¯s form, on his back, hands folded across his stomach.


    Siegyrd moved to it and knelt at his brother¡¯s side. ¡°Aerendir.¡± His voice was choked with long disuse. He cleared his throat which brought back some of his normal timbre, ¡°Brother.¡± He touched the body and found it cold, very cold, and relief crossed his face. ¡°I suppose I made it back first.¡± He looked around again and noticed the greatsword, mounted to the wall above the fireplace. Its blade was clean and clear, gleaming faintly in the nighttime lights.


    Siegyrd sighed heavily, shifted his weight back, and sat next to Aerendir. He stretched his arms and shoulders and felt a wave of exhaustion. He crawled toward the longer couch and pulled himself up onto it. He settled in on his back and took a similar pose to his brother, closed his eyes and whispered a prayer as he sought fresh sleep, ¡°Thank you, Apeiron.¡±


    #


    ¡°Mareth!¡± Mathin¡¯s voice carried through the morning light and up the stairs into the guest compartments.


    Siegyrd heard and lifted his head. He opened his eyes to see Mathin staring wide-eyed at him. Siegyrd spoke softly, ¡°Good morning, Mayor.¡±


    Mathin laughed then stopped of a sudden, ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure you would wake.¡± A look almost of anger flashed across his face, but Siegyrd ignored it. He had not expected a warm welcome.


    ¡°Awake I did, though, Aerendir it seems has not. How long?¡±


    A stout, well-built man came into the room wearing simple pants and a linen jerkin that was open at the chest showing good strong musculature. Siegyrd blinked at him, then gawked, ¡°Marwolaeth?¡±


    Mathin looked back at Mareth, and the two men smiled knowingly. Mareth, spoke up first, ¡°Had to find some way to kill the time with you two getting your beauty rest.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve almost no softness left,¡± Siegyrd said, though he corrected himself, ¡°except perhaps in the eyes.¡±


    Mareth smiled the kind of smile a mischievous boy smiles when he¡¯s caught, but you love him for it. ¡°I¡¯ve learned a lot in the months you¡¯ve been gone.¡±


    Siegyrd gulped, ¡°It took that much.¡± He sat up completely and swung his feet to the floor facing away from the other two.


    ¡°I imagine it had something to do with your invocation? Aeternum Rasa, it was?¡± Mareth said, all his curiosity unabated by his hard-earned strength.


    ¡°Her words,¡± Mathin said with a fleeting spark of sadness.


    ¡°You saw.¡± Siegyrd said, ¡°There¡¯s not much more to explain.¡±


    Mareth pressed, ¡°But what is it? What was that statue? What kind of magic is it? It is


    nothing the Dinistrwyr ever taught.¡±


    ¡°It was not theirs to teach.¡± Siegyrd said. ¡°Nor is it mine.¡± He looked at Aerendir¡¯s still form on the ground. He had been tucked into place as a center piece to the room, the furniture was arranged around him.


    It was Mathin¡¯s turn to press, ¡°You must know something. Can she be brought back!? Mareth told me what she became.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve been studying the statue in the gallery as well. Though I have no understanding of it even after nigh half a year.¡± Mareth¡¯s boyish excitement leaked through.


    ¡°It is not a song I know. I provided accompaniment only. With two it can be survived. Had he been alone, he would not be in soulsleep, he would be ash.¡± Siegyrd¡¯s voice was strained.


    Mareth spoke, ¡°Ash?¡±


    A look of pleading came over Siegyrd¡¯s face as he glanced upward at the wizard, ¡°I know no more.¡± Then his face went blank, kind of vacant. His eyes stared into the distance.


    Mareth and Mathin looked at each other and Mareth stepped forward to place his hand on Siegyrd¡¯s shoulder. He spoke softly, ¡°Siegyrd?¡±


    The albino man with his shining silver hair and silver eyes blinked and shook his head, some semblance of clarity returning, ¡°I am sorry, Mareth. It will be some time before I have fully returned. I can still hear Aerendir¡¯s lifesong though, and it grows. He should return soon.¡±


    ¡°Shall we go for a run?¡± Mathin smiled almost wickedly.


    Mareth flashed a look, but it was Siegyrd who responded, ¡°Perhaps a walk to start. I do not yet remember how to run.¡± He played the word on his tongue as a child when he discoveres a new word and savors it, ¡°Run, run, run.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    #


    Mareth had run this pathway dozens of times now, perhaps hundreds, often multiple times a day. To walk it felt wrong. The soft light between the autumn leaves which were late winter and early spring when he had begun his training, seemed gentle, as if it cradled the three as they walked, supporting them here, comforting them there.


    ¡°When he wakes, we¡¯ll have to make our way.¡± Siegyrd said.


    Mathin questioned, ¡°We may have some leads on the flute my wife spoke of. I know what it looks like at least, and we have tried to gather stories from anyone who passed through town. I would hear it again.¡± His voice became somewhat distant with longing as he looked up at the sky through the leaves.


    Mareth spoke, ¡°And there are refugees from a distant land where they say a dragon has been settling in. Both the tales of the flute and the dragon are from the same direction ¨C


    southeast. Further inland from the coast, much further.¡±


    ¡°They traveled far in wagons and on foot. Some moved along to the walled town of Tivaer where the proclaimed king offers protection. Some of his people have passed through toward the southeast, hunting parties they looked, though none have returned.¡± Mathin chimed in.


    ¡°Anything strange in the stories?¡± Siegyrd said.


    ¡°Strange?¡± Mareth tilted his head.


    ¡°Out of place. Different from the typical legends of dragons you have heard?¡±


    Mareth spoke, ¡°There are not many tales of dragons left, Siegyrd. Sightings are fewer and fewer in the last generation. Until I met you and your brother, they were only stories. Always distant things. It¡¯s what made my research so engaging.¡±


    ¡°Hmm¡± Siegyrd mused then continued, ¡°how about anything that just seemed silly or ridiculous, perhaps made you laugh?¡±


    ¡°Nothing like that comes to mind,¡± Mareth mused.


    ¡°Southeast alone isn¡¯t much to go on.¡± Siegyrd said.


    Mathin spoke up, ¡°Perhaps not, but staying here won¡¯t get you anywhere.¡±


    Siegyrd, ¡°I can move Aerendir with us. You¡¯ve been far more than generous, Mayor.¡±


    ¡°As I told your wizard friend, I have a vested interest in your success. My Zaralai¡¯s sacrifice will be granted meaning only if you succeed. Otherwise. I will have you all killed.¡± His voice was flat and toneless, no humor or anger, just fact.


    Siegyrd simply nodded. Mareth laughed nervously.


    ¡°Until your brother wakes,¡± Mathin said with a winning grin, ¡°You are welcome to stay, and to train. Whatever the path forward might be, I expect added strength won¡¯t be wasted.¡±


    ¡°We are grateful.¡±


    #


    The autumn leaves had given way to denuded trees and the first gray-silver of frost before Aerendir awoke. When he did, he was greeted by a warm air and the sounds of three men speaking between the crackling of flames. As he sat up, they stopped. He could hear, but could not yet see, staring around blankly at vague, dark shapes.


    ¡°Brother!¡± Siegyrd¡¯s voice leaped with joy as he moved directly to Aerendir¡¯s side and place his hand on his upper back. ¡°Brother, breathe deeply.¡±


    Aerendir obeyed and took a broad inhale which he held for a few moments before painfully pressing it out of his lungs. His vision snapped back, and he saw Siegyrd¡¯s face, and Mareth and Mathin sitting in nearby chairs in the dancing light of a roaring fireplace.


    His deep voice seemed filled with gravel, ¡°Never has the return been so bad.¡±


    ¡°We survived by fractions, and by Apeiron¡¯s mercy I am sure.¡± Siegyrd said.


    Aerendir raised one of his hands with difficulty, his muscles shaking at the exertion, and he stared at it. ¡°A song of returns might aid.¡±


    Siegyrd nodded and left to retrieve something.


    ¡°Good evening, Queenslayer,¡± Mathin said, most of his anger and sorrow emptied so long since his loss, but there were the hinted remains of daggers in his voice.


    Aerendir looked up, his stunning silvery eyes boring into Mathin who could not help but look away. Aerendir¡¯s booming bass responded low, ¡°You don¡¯t know how right that title is, friend. She was not merely your queen, but the last of the queens of dragonkin. Zaralai Vox Niki ¨C the beautiful voice of victory.¡±


    With great struggle he sat up and transitioned to his knees and bowed before Mathin, almost prostrating himself. ¡°I extend my deepest sympathies for your loss. I ask not for forgiveness, only the staying of your hand long enough for us to set the world aright.¡±


    Mareth began to speak, but Mathin jumped in first, ¡°We are of the same mind then. Good.¡±


    Aerendir rose unsteadily, and Mathin reached out to help him just as Siegyrd entered with his violin.


    ¡°Any requests?¡± Siegyrd said, as he pulled his bow from the surrounding air and prepared to play.


    ¡°Is it not just a spell anyway?¡± Mareth said, ¡°What does it matter?¡±


    Siegyrd shook his head, ¡°How little you know of the spellsong, my very young wizard friend.¡±


    Aerendir looked at Mathin, the lines of sorrow mixed with a kind of mad hope, a desperate purpose. ¡°Something bittersweet, little brother, with all the flavor of loss steeped in a marinade of hopefulness.¡±


    Siegyrd smiled a broad, knowing, smile, ¡°As you like, brother.¡± And he drew the bow across the strings. The wood of the violin wept mournfully, but was accented with an airy lightness in the upper end, a delicate dance of melodies and harmonies overlapping.


    Aerendir felt his strength return, and slowly stood to his full height as the music played. As the last note lingered in the close air, he was almost himself again, and the others in the room felt lighter than they had in many months.