The Age of Dancing Dragons? 2 (Patreon)

It didn’t take long for me to find an answer to my questions about the frequency of threats common to places where the Veil is thin.

“Abominations and revenants? Yeah, they pop up every now and then, s’why we still got a few o’ the Faith’s templar buggers around,” one of the enchanters grumbled, gesturing off to one of the Faith Militant that were on duty at the Harrenhal Circle, clad in gleaming plate mail with a sword on his belt and a shield on his back.

I resisted the urge to sigh at the confirmation. Abominations and revenants, two things that I hated dealing with, no matter what kind of demon was doing the possessing. If it was an Abomination, a demon possessed a mage, the best case scenario is that the Abomination acted as a mindless monster, the worst case was that the demon retains enough control that it can use the mage's magic. Revenants are the same, just when the demon possessed a corpse instead of a living mage.

Still, I couldn't help but notice that the enchanter I spoke to didn't tell me anything about the presence of blood mages. Given the presence of templars in Harrenhal, that probably meant that there were some blood mages about.

“That is it, there have been no reports of blood magic being performed in the vicinity?” I asked, just to confirm that they didn't have a blood mage running amok. I wasn't too sure what the Harrenhal Circle was doing if there were blood mages, but they couldn't just ignore the problem, right?

“Ah, well, about that…” the enchanter looked a bit hesitant before finally answering my question. “We did have one problem recently.”

I waited, but it seemed like the enchanter needed prompting before continuing, “That problem being…”

The enchanter coughed, his face turning slightly red from embarrassment as he looked towards me, a sheepish expression on his face.

“It took us a month before we realized there was even a blood mage here,” he said. I raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. “When we finally found out about the maleficar, well, the templars had a rather large...misunderstanding, shall we say?”

“Oh, a misunderstanding,” I repeated with a flat expression.

He flushed, glancing around, looking somewhat nervously at Artur, before finally saying, “It was a rather large misunderstanding, at least in their opinion.”

“And how was it from your side?”

“I was unconscious.”

I waited for more information, but when I realized I was going to be getting nothing more than what was said, I resisted the urge to bury my face into my hands and scream in frustration. Instead, I settled on a more subtle action: banging my forehead into a nearby pillar.

“Let me make sure I have this straight,” Artur said, and even without turning to face him I could hear the sarcastic expression on his face as he spoke. “Your templars, people who are literally the people the Faith of the Seven put charge to protect against demons, abominations, and other magical dangers, beat you so bad you had to stay unconscious for a month to recover from the pain?”

”Yes,” the enchanter agreed, the embarrassment plain on his face as Artur looked over the bandages on the back of the man's head with an unimpressed expression.

“So you had an unidentified blood mage running around your circle for a month before you were finally able to apprehend him,” I stated.

“Her,” the enchanter corrected. “Merylla Rivers, a cheerful, friendly girl who insists on calling demons spirits, refuses to wear shoes, and, from what I was told, believes she knows what she’s doing with her blood magic.”

“Why wasn't she killed?” I asked, genuinely confused at what could have happened that made the templars keep a maleficar alive. The templars, no matter how corrupt some of them may be, are meant to kill any mage who uses blood magic, that was their official purpose, after all.

“She ran off,” he answered. “Did something that destroyed her phylactery in the process, so the templars can’t use it to track her like they wanted to. I’ve heard more than a dozen different ideas as to where she went when she fled, and I don’t doubt there’s dozens that I haven’t heard.”

I pinched my forehead as the enchanter shrugged helplessly at me. I could practically see the waves of awkwardness coming from the poor man. It hadn't been a serious consideration, butI was already done with the idea of trying to make a long term stay at Harrenhal. With blood magic still running around, an unreliable Veil, and an either corrupt or incompetent Circle, I wouldn’t have a moment of peace if I wanted to conduct the research I came out here to do.

“I don’t suppose I can visit the Isle of Faces?” I asked, half rhetorically as I tried to ward away the oncoming migraine. The odds of something positive going my way after the conversation thus far was-

“A raven will need to be sent to the Green Men, but it should be doable,” was the unexpected response, making me look up at the enchanter in surprise. He noticed my shock and shrugged, some of the awkwardness fading from his body language as he explained, “The Green Men are the inhabitants and caretakers of the Isle of Faces, and while they do not have a Circle, we do have a raven trained to visit them for when we need to communicate with them.”

Well, that was surprising. The idea that a Circle had an agreement with what was almost certainly an organization of mages outside their influence was unheard of in the Circles further to the south. I didn't expect to encounter anything like this until after crossing the Neck into the North.

Still, I needed to ask, “Is it possible for me to travel there on my own?”

“The Green Men do not allow strangers into their domain, at least not without one of their own to supervise and chaperone them. Even our Grand Enchanter, Frederik Tarley, will have a member of the Green Men escort him onto the Isle whenever he needs to speak with them, which has been very rare in the time I have lived here,” was the response I received, and my hopes of being able to find someone on the Isle who could teach me were dashed.

While I wanted to be hopeful, it didn’t look good for the odds of me finding someone with enough knowledge about shapeshifting magic that could teach it to me. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask, and I could probably still learn something new from these Green Men.

[hr][/hr]

Turns out that the Green Men only allow one person associated with the Circles over to the Isle of Faces at a time, meaning Artur stayed behind while I was ferried over on a small boat. It wasn't too long a ride, only taking perhaps half an hour for the ferryman to reach the Isle and dock at what looked to be a small hut on a nearby beach.

It looked to be a modest dwelling, no larger than a one room home of the sort a small farm family could own. Still, something about it made me feel… calm, it was peaceful. The Veil wasn't any thicker than it was on the shore by Harrenhal, but the difference was so stark it almost felt like I was on an entirely different continent.

It didn't make much sense, the idea of feeling so relaxed after entering a place that I'd only ever heard of through stories, but it wasn't something I wanted to complain about. Even the ferryman who was acting as my escort, a man named Samuel, seemed relaxed and calm despite being so close to a place of magic.

“This place has that effect,” Samuel commented as I stared out at the Isle, only glancing back when I realized he had noticed me observing the place. I coughed, my cheeks turning red in embarrassment at being caught, only making them redder when Samuel laughed at the sight. “Don't be too surprised, boy. Everyone reacts that way, the Green Men have been living with their magic for a very long time and have learned much over the years. Don’t know much about their magic meself though, I just ferry people back and forth.”

“For which you have my gratitude,” I said with a nod, which made Samuel bark in laughter before waving his hand for us to enter the small dwelling.

The interior was just as humble as the exterior, there was only a table and chairs with a large bed off to the side and a single door on the opposite wall. The place seemed more suited as a way station, a place that was temporary in nature and not built to be a permanent dwelling.

As Samuel started a fire in the hearth, I was able to hear a new noise coming from the only other entrance into the room: footsteps on the dock outside. I turned just in time to see someone new entering the building: a woman dressed in the furs and skins of a hunter, though she didn't seem to be armed.

It was the first time I was able to see someone who might be a member of the Green Men. The stories say that their skin has the appearance of a forest floor, their hair of the leaves and vines, but this woman only had a healthy tan, just like practically every other woman I had met that didn’t spend the majority of her life within the Circles. I supposed it was a bit silly to expect a magical people to be visibly marked by their magic, after all.

“So you are the Circler,” the woman said, her voice a touch harsh, and I leaned back slightly.

“Circle mages aren’t the most popular here, I take it?” I asked, half rhetorically.

She grunted, taking a seat at the table as she responded, her voice still gruff but lacking any heat. I could almost hear the eye roll as she spoke, “Aren't you going to ask if the Green Men really turn into trees and grow plants from their arms?”

“It is an intriguing concept,” I said, making her roll her eyes. “And somewhat related to a personal ambition, but not what I'm here for.”

Her gaze snapped to me as I spoke, eyes narrowed as she slowly asked, “What ambition would that be, Circler?”

While it seemed extremely likely that she probably wouldn’t be calling me anything else, I still felt a need to be polite, “My name is Prestan Chapmyre, officially of the Citadel Circle. I am assigned a research project to chronicle and examine the differences between the dragons of the Targaryens and the wild high dragons. I personally wish to meet with mages who retain and practice the magics of the First Men. “

“For what purpose?” she asked, not introducing herself.

“I read documents suggesting that mages of the First Men were capable of turning into animals. I have been intrigued by the possibility for years and wish to learn that ability,” I answered.

She stared at me for a full minute before, her voice as blunt and dry as a maul made of sandstone, saying, “You want to turn into a dragon.”

With a half nod, I confirmed, “I want to turn into a dragon.”

Samuel barked out a laugh and I almost felt the need to defend my reasoning, but the woman sitting across from me snorted in laughter as well. It took a moment for them both to calm down and I resisted the urge to groan at how stupid I must look. I did, after all, walk up to the home of a mysterious magical people with nothing to defend myself with beyond my magic and announce I want to be a shapeshifting dragon.

“I must say,” the woman said through her chuckles. “You’re certainly the most entertaining Circler to come by in quite some time.”