Wizard Trials: Chapter 146 (Patreon)

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          When Draevin got close to the floating island, he could see bright white lights emanating from the bottom. It was hard to make out in the middle of the day, but the closer he got the more undeniable it became that the light was actually coming from the floating island and not just reflecting off something else. The scale of the island also gave Draevin pause. From a distance he’d assumed it was maybe just the size of a small city, but as he flew closer and realized how far away it still was, he was forced to recognize it was probably closer in size to Mount Gailen. It was staggering to comprehend how something so large could remain airborne. Surely, he reasoned, the magic involved must be on the scale of moving—say—an entire moon.

          It wasn’t as though Draevin had never heard of the dragon’s floating island; he’d just never actually seen it in person before. There were rumors, of course. Some of the refugees in Fel’heem had claimed to see it before they were forcibly ejected from Kreet after it was absorbed into the Telnarim Empire. The emperor, Tarrish, apparently had no desire to shelter “non-dragonkin” in his domain and ended all diplomatic relations with Arena City shortly after re-establishing himself down South. He’d given some big dramatic speech about how they were going to lead the world to ruination and he wouldn’t let that happen to his people—Draevin hadn’t listened very closely. Kreet was probably the only place in Eldira where life was as close to as peaceful as it was before the fall. Their universities were even still operational!

          Tarrish and his dragons had made good on their promise. They’d kept their nation safe from everything from demons, to vampires, to even the damn Everstorm. Draevin was happy for their people… in a roundabout sort of way. Every time he thought about it though, he just got so angry at how selfish they were being with the power they’d hoarded. Somehow Tarrish had known Peter’s wish was going to blow up and he’d safely retreated to his icy demesne until it’d blown over.

          As he flew, Draevin worried about whether or not Tarrish and the other dragons would remember his habit of eating dragon-egg omelets. Considering how the supposedly wise dragon had walked Tenna into her grave, Draevin thought he should be the one holding a grudge, not the other way around. Sure, Tarrish had taught Draevin how to create the Tuan’diath reincarnation of Tenna, but that wasn’t at all the same as preventing her death in the first place. In fact, the more Draevin thought about it, the more he realized that everything back then had pretty much gone according to some grand “dragony” design. Tarrish had helped make sure Peter won the tournament, then set himself up as the uncontested ruler of the most powerful remaining nation on the planet. The more he thought about it, the angrier Draevin got.

          Eventually, Draevin was close enough to see what the floating island was actually doing. There was a beam of energy shooting out of it and smashing into the ground. The point of impact was almost too bright to look at, but the effects were hard to miss. The red earth that had spread South from Truntstown stopped where the beam hit. To the North was dead, red soil in every direction, to the South was slightly less dead sandy desert. Somehow the dragons were holding back the spreading corruption. They had a way to fight back. As annoyed as Draevin was that they had apparently found a way to shelter themselves from yet another threat that affected everyone else, he couldn’t stop feeling a little glimmer of hope at seeing the Blackroot had limits.

          A figure broke off from the floating island and flew towards Draevin. Between the massive wings and the fact it was coming from a place known to be ruled by dragons, Draevin had no doubt what it was. He stopped flying closer and waited for it to come to him. As far as Draevin was aware he was still in former Caldenian territory, so the dragons shouldn’t have had cause to contest his approach, but he decided it was better to be safe. Tarrish had been unequivocal about what he’d do to anyone that tried to approach Kreet without his express permission.

          The dragon that flew to meet Draevin in the sky was not the emperor himself, hardly a surprise. It was a black dragon, and considerably smaller than the silvery-blue dragon that ruled the Telnarim Empire. As it flew closer he saw it had black feathers instead of scales. They shimmered in the afternoon sun, reflecting hints of purple when seen from the right angle. The mouth was actually a black beak rather than a lizard-like maw. To Draevin the creature seemed like a half-breed between dragons and some kind of massive bird. He thought that seemed like the sort of thing Sylnya would warn Draevin not to mention out loud, so he resolved to keep the conversation strictly business.

          “Hark and listen,” the black feathered dragon announced as soon as it was in shouting range. “I bring word from the Telnarim Emperor, most glorious under the sun. Long may his scales shine.”

          “Uh, hi,” Draevin replied. Nobody had ever accused him of being a diplomat.

          “You are to vacate this airspace posthaste,” the dragon continued. “It is only by the benevolence of the mighty Earlinpheator that you have been granted this exiguous audience; that you might look upon the magnificence of your superiors and know thy place.”

          Draevin blinked. The feathered dragon flapped its wings, floating patiently while he tried to work out what any of that was even supposed to mean. “What does ‘exiguous’ even mean?” he finally asked. “I only understood half of that. Are you the earl-whatever?”

          The bird-looking dragon blew out a breath through its nose in annoyance, glancing over its shoulder before turning back to say, “Dude, you gotta get out of here.”

          “Oh. Why didn’t you just say that then?”

          “Because,” the dragon said. “I’m Tarrish’s official herald. I can’t just talk like you low-landers. You have to leave. If you don’t, I’m supposed to kill you to send a message to your friends. I’d prefer not to have to do that.”

          “Wait!” Draevin said. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. When the seat of the Telnarim Empire moves over Caldenia, I think I deserve to know why. There’s some kind of heavy-duty magic going on.” Draevin pointed towards the beam of energy and the blinding light at the base of the floating island.

          “That’s strictly need-to-know,” the dragon said. “Seriously, you have to go. This land isn’t Caldenia’s anymore. Tarrish is annexing it to create a buffer against the problem you unleashed. Do you want to start a war, egg-eater?”

          The insult threw Draevin off. Obviously the dragons were aware of his former breakfasting habits—that just about confirmed Draevin’s personal pet theory that Tarrish had somehow been behind his omelets getting ruined during his last tournament. “But I—I didn’t—” Draevin stammered. He realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to claim they had no proof he’d even eaten dragon eggs before. He decided to change the subject. “There’s a corruption spreading underground, you’re clearly able to hold it off. We’re on the same side here. We have a plan to kick start a Conflux to stop those roots from taking over completely. We should work together on this.”

          The dragon shook its beak back and forth. “This isn’t a negotiation. I was sent to respectfully ask you to leave. Tarrish doesn’t care what happens to the low-landers up North. He’s annexing this half of the continent. If anyone tries to interfere, they’re dead.”

          “But what about the Blackroot?” Draevin asked. “It’s spreading underground and it can’t just—”

          “We know what’s happening!” the dragon said forcefully. His voice shook the air and vibrated in Draevin’s chest. “We also know that your people are the ones that caused it. Tarrish has been floating the idea in court of just exterminating all you people, says you’re more trouble than you’re worth. You’re lucky you still have some allies down South arguing against it.”

          “He wouldn’t!” Draevin shot back. “It’s not our fault demons keep invading!”

          The dragon shook its head again. “You think they didn’t try to invade us too? It is the primary duty of a governing body to protect its citizens from foreign invasion.”

          “Did you just… quote Victallian’s Nations of the World at me?”

          “You’ve read it?” the black dragon asked. “Then you know that you’ve lost your right to self-governance if you’re letting armies of demons invade this world.”

          “Of course I’ve read it,” Draevin said. “I’m just wondering how you’ve read it. Victallian’s is mandatory study material at Andorra Academy.”

          The dragon nodded its long neck. “Yes, that’s where I must have picked it up. Listen. We’re not here to discuss my past. Tensions are high right now. I don’t want to see things get worse, which is why I volunteered to come out here and talk to you. Sending your most powerful champion to invade our airspace is not a good look. Just turn around and go back home. This is going to be your only warning.”

          “If even a single spec of that root gets onto your—”

          “Tarrish has faced the Blackroot before! He knows what he’s doing. It’s time for you to leave.” The dragon extended its wings to their full length and sent out a net of black tendrils across the sky between them. Draevin responded on instinct by shooting an Icicle Spear, but it was just swallowed up by darkness without having any noticeable effect. The net expanded, moving closer. Draevin was forced to turn around and fly off on a jet of steam.

          “I’m telling Istven about this!” Draevin shouted as he retreated.

          “That was sort of the idea,” the dragon shouted back.

          Draevin wasn’t even the one with feathers, but he felt if he’d had any they’d be ruffled. The whole experience almost reminded him of shooing away a stray dog, except in that analogy he was the dog. He felt insulted… just not enough to go back. In one move the dragon emissary—who’d apparently attended Andorra Academy at some point, something Draevin was still trying to wrap his head around—had demonstrated it was stronger than him and that he couldn’t hurt it even if he wanted to. All he could do was run back home.

          It took the better part of a half hour to fly back. Despite leaving to get answers, Draevin was only left with more questions. If the dragons knew how virulently the Blackroot corruption was spreading, then what was their long term plan for keeping it at bay? If it wasn’t stopped, it would eventually circle the globe and start infecting their little continent from the other side. They only had one floating island. Were they planning to just live up there? Then why burn away the roots that were trying to extend South? They had to have more of a plan than that. It was just so frustrating! Once again they seemed to have all the answers, but just refused to help. How even a supposedly universal threat like the Blackroot didn’t change their mind was beyond Draevin. By the time he landed back at the top of the spire he was in a foul mood.

          “So, did you figure out what they were doing this far North?” Peter asked. He was filling up a hodgepodge of vases, mugs and wineglasses with mana potion now. Must have run out of bottles.

          “They sent some weird feathered half-dragon to shoo me away,” Draevin complained. “All he’d say was that they were taking the land and I wasn’t allowed to fly in their airspace. There was some beam of energy coming out of that floating island of theirs that seemed to be holding off the spread of corruption. I didn’t see how it was working. The guy that came out to meet me didn’t let me get very close.”

          Peter frowned. “You didn’t say that to his face, did you?”

          “Say what?”

          “The half-dragon comment.”

          “Uh, no,” Draevin said. “It didn’t seem like a good idea. I know people can be sensitive about that sort of thing.”

          “Good,” Peter said, “because you’re probably wrong anyway. You know there’s more than one kind of dragon, don’t you?”

          “Do I look like a dragon-ologist or something?” Draevin asked, not even bothering to hide his annoyance.

          Peter chuckled. “Not in the least. Don’t worry about it. It’s a good sign that they’re still friendly enough to give us a warning. Exterminating their brethren then farming their offspring for a few generations can build up some animosity. And I don’t give me that look; I wasn’t even alive when their nation was destroyed. I certainly never participated in any dragon farming.”

          “And I did?” Draevin shot back.

          Peter raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you basically give the farmers money every time you bought an omelet?”

          “Don’t be ridiculous! I gave the restaurant money. For someone that claims to be so smart, you sure have a lot to learn about economics.”

          Peter just shook his head and turned his attention back to his work. “If you say so,” he said.

          “Well, anyway,” Draevin continued, “that hardly explains the entirety of their attitude. The eldrin certainly never participated in, nor benefited from, dragon farming, but Tarrish still put them on his Shit List with everyone else. You’d think they could at least help out a little bit with a crisis like this. They have to live on this planet too, after all.”

          Peter shrugged. “What’re you gonna do?” he said, like there was nothing else to say about the subject. He wasn’t wrong, once the dragons decided what they wanted to do there was little anyone could do to convince them otherwise. “Think you can bring these mana potions downstairs for me?” Peter asked. “And be careful not to spill them, we’re down to odd containers without any lids now.”

          Draevin waved his hand over the crate of mismatched glass containers and created a layer of ice over each of them to keep them from spilling. “There. No spilling.”

          “Oh, good idea,” Peter said. “I guess you’re still useful to have around.”

          Draevin refused to comment on the subtle dig; no doubt Peter would have a biting comeback ready if he said anything. “What even is the point of all these potions?” he asked instead.

          “It’s about surpassing the limitations of the mana engine,” Peter explained. “The mana might be infinite, but Istven damaged it when he drew all that power out of it. It can’t safely run at its maximum setting anymore without risking more damage. I shouldn’t have to explain how that’s a problem, considering Aaron was the only one that understood it enough to repair it. I talked this over with Danidel. By preparing a store of mana potions we can supplement the maximum output for short durations in case of an emergency. It just takes time and effort to recharge them between emergencies. This is how we’re going to get enough power to move the moon.”

          “And how exactly do you plan to transport a thousand mana potions?” Draevin asked.

          “We don’t need to. Istven will handle it.” Draevin arched an eyebrow. Peter’s answer had almost come too quick, like he was ready for it. He opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but Peter seemed to anticipate that as well and pre-empted it. “Do you really think he can rebuild his body from scratch and not handle something as simple as transporting a few mana potions?”

          “Fine,” Draevin said. “Where am I taking these?”

          “Ground floor,” Peter answered.

          Draevin grabbed the crate of ice-capped containers and jumped down the empty lift shaft. He let gravity do most of the work getting him down. At the bottom he found crates and crates of mana potions stacked against the walls. He added his new delivery to a stack that barely had room, nearly scraping as it was against the expansive ceilings. He stopped and looked around. There were thousands of potions, far too many for Peter to have delivered all the way up and back down the spire on his own. A cluster of Dwyra’s soldiers were sitting around near the stairwell for some reason. Draevin almost stopped them to ask how all these mana potions got down here when Grrbraa and a small group of werebeasts came bounding down the spire’s stairwell with tightly bound crates strapped to their back. It looked like the metal crates had been crafted specifically to house the potions while the werebeasts carried them. They had to be carrying close to fifty each.

          “Oh, hi friend-Draevin!” Grrbraa said when he saw Draevin. He was panting heavily, but his mouth was split in a smile anyway, and his tail wagged lazily back and forth. “Are you helping friend-Peter too?”

          “I guess you could say that,” Draevin replied. It wasn’t as though there was anything better to do. “Do you know if Istven is back yet? Peter said he went somewhere.”

          “Yes! He’s back! He loves these bottles we keep bringing him. Friend-Peter says to let him drink as many as he wants, but he’s not allowed to touch the glowing wire anymore. Come! I will show you.” Grrbraa stopped to bark out some orders to the trio of werebeasts with him. They flopped on the floor in front of the soldiers to let them remove their burdens. Grrbraa led Draevin through a maze of tall shelves, the bottles on his back clinking softly with each step. They eventually found Istven near one of the exits to the spire. Armored soldiers were bringing him crates of mana potions, which he was sucking down as fast as he could get them.

          There was one person among the soldiers that wasn’t armored: an elf, dressed in fine silks, with his hair coifed in a swooping style Draevin hadn’t seen for years. He was carrying a notebook and seemed to be directing the soldiers as they went about their work. When he saw Draevin and Grrbraa approach he turned around and Draevin was surprised to realize he recognized him.

          “Draevin!” he said. “Nice to see you again. I heard you helped Istven save the city. That was really nice of you.”

          “Kranin?” Draevin asked in stunned surprise. He looked nothing like the half-starved, bald vagrant they’d taken on their airship all those months ago. He’d claimed once to Draevin that he used to be a high-ranking Caldenian noble before becoming a farmer. This was the first time he actually looked the part.

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