[Birthday fic for Mockingboots] - Last Chance Part Three
Part Three
From this part on there will be Bulgaria/Romania.
Dragomir = Bulgaria
Constantin = Romania
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Arthur awoke slowly. His head still ached, a dull, throb behind his eyes, although it had lessened considerably since the day before. It didn’t quite demand his attention so much. What did demand his attention, however, was the warmth and weight around him.
As his mind slowly defogged itself from sleep, he realised that there was something around his chest holding him tight to something large and secure. Soft breathing disturbed the scruffy hair at the base of his neck, its warmth halfway between comforting and irritating. His stomach felt as if it was being dipped in a frozen lake as he grasped that Alfred was holding him.
Arthur went rigid, unsure of what to do next. He certainly wasn’t used to this, and he had no idea what to do in such situations. And, to his horror, he also realised he didn’t actually dislike the feeling all that much. It felt safe, in Alfred’s arms. It felt as if all the protection he would ever need in the world was there, around him, at that moment, so soothing and secure. Nothing would hurt him again as long as Alfred held him close like this. He’d never felt anything like this before in his entire life. Was this what other mages felt like with their guardians? Was this warm bloom in his chest normal?
He slowly relaxed, allowing himself to breath once again. His face, however, had turned brilliant red and didn’t show signs of mellowing out anytime soon. It was justifiable, he supposed. With a sigh he merely lay there, absently wondering when Alfred would awaken and whether it was right to feel like this. The fluttering of his heart and the small somersaults his stomach was doing… were they standard fare for a mage to feel towards his guardian?
Alfred began to stir, rousing Arthur from his thoughts. He wondered how Alfred would react to this… position they were in. Oh, God, that made it sound so wrong, didn’t it? With a yawn that was extremely close to Arthur’s ear, Alfred snuggled deeper into his neck, which just made Arthur go even redder than before. He scowled when he heard slight sniggering.
“Shut up, Greene,” he ground out between his teeth. He couldn’t really think straight when Alfred was pressed against him like this.
“Er, Alfred… D-don’t you think we should get up?” he asked weakly. Greene continued to snigger in the background. Behind Arthur, Alfred mumbled something incomprehensible. Then there was silence for a heartbeat or two, before Alfred ripped his arms from around Arthur and backed away.
“S-s-sorry, I didn’t mean that!” he babbled, his face a gaudy red. He was obviously trying not to look at Arthur, instead staring at everything else he could lay his eyes on. Greene had long since degenerated into throes of incontrollable mirth, which only made the awkwardness worse.
“No, it’s quite alright - I mean, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter…” Arthur stammered, waving a hand dismissively before he got to his feet. At least the pain had receded somewhat thanks to… whatever he could call the situation. Alfred offered a feeble grin as he stood up himself.
The two made their way around the cave, clearing it and preparing to set off. They seemed to get in each other’s way more often than not, causing them both to apologise and avoid looking at one another.
“You two are impossible, you know that?” Greene said in disgust the fourth time this happened. He flew out of the cave, shaking his head, leaving Arthur and Alfred to pretend to wonder what he was talking about, even though both knew perfectly well.
.
The sky was thick and pearly white when they set off again. Everything around them was still and muffled, obviously preparing for something nasty. There was no edge to it as when the troll attacked them, but there was evident anticipation. Alfred glared up at the heavens as if they had done him a great personal wrong.
“Looks like our good luck is running out,” he muttered. “Snow’s on the way.”
Arthur groaned. “Oh, that’s all we need, a blizzard!”
“Hopefully it’ll just be a brief snowstorm,” Alfred said optimistically. “Greene should go look for shelter though.”
The wolpertinger glared at Alfred, as if the very idea was ludicrous and Alfred should be ashamed of himself for such a suggestion, but a light tap on the rump from Arthur’s staff had him take to the air and swoop away. While the familiar was gone, snow began to fall, a little half-heartedly at first, seemingly testing the waters. By the time Greene returned, the flakes were thicker and more determined, and all three were glad to reach the sheltered overhang Greene had found.
“We’re going to make awful time,” Arthur remarked, tugging his cloak further around him with a scowl. Alfred sighed, poking at the small fire he’d gotten started.
“It was inevitable,” he said. “We’ve made good time so far. It might let up, although I wouldn’t bet on it. We’ve had deceptively decent weather these last few days, it was bound to happen eventually. But, hey,” he grinned at Arthur, “we made it this far!”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” Arthur drawled, tugging the clasp of his cloak over his nose and huddling into his clothes. Greene had burrowed into his hood and was dozing. The silence dragged on for a while, broken only by the discreet crackling of the fire, and Alfred snapping a stick or two. Unlike before, however, it wasn’t awkward, rather… pleasant, in a way. It was a comfortable silence Arthur had never really been a part of before. Until Alfred broke it.
“So, you have brothers?” he asked curiously. Arthur groaned.
“I hate talking about them,” he mumbled. In the end, whenever he brought up Andrew, Patrick and David, everyone always preferred them to him.
“Why? Are they, like, bullies or something? Because I hate bullies. There were loads in the Academy and I hated them all, picking on bards and healers like it’s a good thing to do… man, I just wanted to punch them all.”
“And did you ever act on those urges?” Arthur asked with a brief smile. The more he learnt about Alfred, the more he realised the boy had a true need to help people. Maybe he’d taken the compulsory reading of old epic tales the Academy demanded a little bit too much to heart. Alfred grinned sheepishly.
“Once or twice,” he admitted. “I got disciplined for it, but at least the bullies did too. I’m apparently a very convincing character, and I wasn’t lying, so… Master Gilbert got pissed. He’s a bit of a bully himself, though his heart’s in the right place…”
Arthur’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He’d heard plenty of tales about Gilbert the Black Eagle, none of them particularly pleasant. Gilbert and his mage were sent into warzones and dealt with a foot-long list of particularly nasty and difficult creatures, missions most mages and guardians would rather resign than take up, and it had hardened them both considerably. But, Arthur supposed, as Gilbert’s student Alfred would know him well.
“Who was your master?”
Alfred’s question shook Arthur from his thoughts, and he shrugged. “My master was Eirik of Askeland. His guardian’s Mathias Køhler, if it rings a bell…”
Alfred sniggered. “Oh yeah, Master Gilbert had nothing nice to say about him,” he said. “But then they go drinking together and I don’t get it. If they don’t like each other, why go to the tavern and get drunk together?”
Arthur shook his head with a laugh. “I’ve heard Master Roderich is high-maintenance, and I know for a fact Master Eirik is.”
Alfred smirked deviously, and Arthur realised he’d driven himself into a corner.
“Kind of like you, huh?” Alfred asked teasingly. Arthur grumbled something unintelligible which simply made Alfred laugh as he tossed another stick on the fire.
In the meantime, the snow worsened considerably, which meant that they probably wouldn’t get any distance covered that day. Arthur dozed off his headache and Alfred kept watch, sometimes humming or singing to himself. It was all very boring and very tiresome.
The snow finally stopped sometime in the late afternoon, when the sun was already fleeing quickly beyond the horizon. With a yawn Alfred stretched and stepped out. The chilly air slapped his cheeks, and he shivered. He could almost imagine an unpleasant laugh on the wind, cold and cruel and delighting in the pain in his chest, the dull ache of a cold blue brand on his skin. His hand wandered of its own accord to press over his heart as he frowned into the growing gloom. So lost in his thoughts was he that when Greene landed on his shoulder he jumped.
“It’s me!”
“Damn, Greene…” Alfred shook his head and clutched at his heart, for an entirely different reason now, and glowered at the wolpertinger. “Thanks. I could do with a heart attack.”
Greene had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry,” he muttered. He glanced back at Arthur, making sure he was truly asleep, before turning back to Alfred. “Are you going to tell him?”
Alfred eyed the familiar as if he was mad. “Are you nuts? And get myself ripped a new one? He’ll never forgive me for doing that, it’s better if he doesn’t know.”
“But you can’t lie to him, Alfred…” Greene said reproachfully. Alfred scoffed.
“Are you always this whiny?” he asked. Greene ignored that and gave Alfred’s chest a pointed look.
“Does it hurt?”
“It aches for now,” he replied absently, shrugging. “It’ll stop in time.”
“What will stop?”
Arthur’s voice was mistrustful. Alfred carefully erased all worried looks from his features and turned around with a grin. “The snow! And it has! We can’t continue tonight, but hopefully it’ll be ok tomorrow.”
It was amazing how one raised eyebrow could convey such scepticism, but Arthur did not elaborate on his suspicion. He merely yawned and stretched, rubbing his back against the stone he leant against to scratch it. “So tomorrow we might be able to head out again?”
“Seems like it.” Alfred flopped down next to Arthur again with a groan. “Best get some sleep.”
Arthur muttered a few words, pointing his staff at various parts of their encampment until a light veil of green light fell, and it suddenly felt warmer and more protected in their little enclave. The mage waited until Alfred had bedded down and was seemingly asleep before fixing Greene with a long, penetrating gaze.
“What were you two discussing?” he asked. Greene wasn’t very good at not glancing down guiltily, but he shrugged it off.
“The weather,” he mumbled, hopping over to where Alfred slept and burrowing into his arms. Arthur scowled.
“Traitor,” he muttered, settling down to get some sleep of his own.
.
The next day was still white, but certainly more agreeable than the day before. It didn’t so much threaten snow as consider the matter, pondering it in depth before it made up its mind. Alfred and Arthur had to make use of their snow shoes again, and soon both realised they were going to reach the pass within the day, and maybe pass it too. The trees had long since given out to plains of snow and bare rock here and there. The pass itself was nothing more than a wide crevice between two stern cliff faces, kept clean by the efforts of the people that came through. A small hut was on the right, no doubt where the toll master lived during the busy summer months. It was empty now, however, vacant and dreary-looking, but it was a welcome sight nonetheless.
“Are we going to try and make it past the pass before nightfall?” Alfred asked, throwing his pack on the ground and pulling out a rough-looking map. Arthur peered up at the sky and shrugged.
“If we can. We do need to make up for yesterday, after all, and when I was, er, convalescent, shall we say.” His ears turned red in embarrassment at that. He certainly didn’t want to be a burden. He’d made it on his own this far in life, without a guardian, he didn’t need one now. Alfred didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s inner turmoil. He merely sighed and rolled the map up again, sticking it back in its place.
“I reckon we can make it if we push hard enough,” Alfred said, slinging his pack over his back once more as he stood. “You feeling up to it?” he asked. Arthur glowered at him.
“Of course I do!” he snapped, stomping off down the path as well as he could in fir branch snowshoes. “I’m not some girl you have to look after!”
Alfred winced and hurried to catch up. “I didn’t mean it like that, Arthur,” he said, folding his arms in irritation. Arthur stopped and turned, and he looked positively furious.
“How did you mean it then, Alfred?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm and diplomatic. “How so?”
Greene shook his head fervently, knowing better than to anger Arthur further, but Alfred ignored him.
“I meant that you had a severe head injury less than three days ago. You’re damn lucky you’re not bleeding in your brain or something. I don’t want you to drop dead halfway, you know.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I care about you, as much as you don’t seem to think it.”
All of the self-righteous anger Arthur had felt up to that moment merely flowed out of him, leaving him empty and humbled. He lowered his gaze to the ground, flushing slightly, tightening the grip on his staff.
“I-I don’t need to be mollycoddled,” he mumbled. Alfred chuckled.
“I’m not mollycoddling you, Arthur,” he said. Arthur stiffened when Alfred’s hand touched his shoulder, but he relaxed under it. It felt strangely… good, to be on the receiving end of such a reassuring gesture. “I’m looking out for you. It’s different. It’s what friends do.”
Arthur couldn’t help but look up and stare at Alfred at that, his mouth wide in shock. Friends? Alfred considered them friends? “W-w-what…?”
Alfred just laughed again and set off, whistling some inane tune. Greene giggled by Arthur’s ear, but the mage was still in shock. It took him several moments before he managed to move, struggling to catch up with the warrior’s long strides even through heavy snow.
“D-did you mean that?” he asked, and he despised the hopeful tone that crept into his voice. “That you consider us… friends?” It was a difficult word to get out, he discovered. Alfred smiled, a smile like the summer sun warm enough to melt the snow around them.
“If you want us to be,” he said easily. “I know I wouldn’t mind.”
Arthur tried to resist his own smile. It threatened heavily at the corners of his mouth until he could struggle against it no longer and it broke out, lighting his face up in a way it hadn’t in years.
.
The air in the mountain pass was stale, still and cold as they trudged through the thick snow. The shadow were long and everything was eerily quiet. Sheer faces of dark grey, formidable rock rose up on either side, judgemental and threatening. The prickly, cold feeling of being watched was upon their necks. No one made a sound as they passed through. Perhaps it was for fear of retribution for disturbing the unnerving stillness and muted air. As stupid as it sounded, and as much as none of them would admit it except perhaps Greene, no one wanted to test their theory.
It took them two hours to head through the pass, and once it was far behind and they could think of the journey ahead, they breathed sighs of relief. Alfred made Arthur go first, and although the mage wanted to complain, he knew better than to do so. They trudged along down the invisible path, towards a patch of sparse pine trees, and Alfred dared a glance behind him. He wished he hadn’t. Something darted through the long shadows in the pass, something of human shape but not movement, black and terrifying. It filled the pit of his stomach with deep, icy terror and he tore his eyes forward again, trying not to tremble. Again, they didn’t speak until they were among the trees.
“Is everything all right?” Greene murmured. Arthur looked back, frowning. Alfred nodded jerkily.
“I’m just glad we didn’t stick around up there,” he muttered. Arthur nodded in turn, rubbing his arms.
“It was a horrible place,” he said. “Somehow, though, I don’t think it’s like that in the summer.”
“Neither do I,” Greene whispered, huddling into Arthur’s neck. Alfred once again went forward, and they continued on their heavy journey once more, the chilly feelings of fear being slowly left behind as they headed downhill.
.
“Alfred, I want to know… why on Earth you bothered with me at all?” Arthur asked, biting his lip nervously. Alfred stopped and looked back, puzzled.
“Why d’you ask?”
Arthur sighed. “I’ve never been anything but horrible to you since we first met,” he muttered. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave within the first day, the way I treated you…”
Alfred merely laughed. “When I saw you blush when we first met I thought it was cute.”
Arthur groaned and buried his face in his hands. “You saw that?”
“Oh yeah, hard not to, really. You were kind of, uh, staring.” Alfred grinned sheepishly, and Greene sniggered from behind his paw. Arthur wished the ground would swallow him up so he wouldn’t have to live through this humiliation.
“B-but even then… I was ghastly.”
Alfred shrugged and turned to stare at the snowy ground. He looked, of all things, slightly embarrassed. “To be frank, I was actually kind of happy you didn’t like me. Everyone else likes me right away, or at least pretends to - except Master Gilbert, but then again, Master Gilbert is a bit of a dick - because they think I’m attractive… I had to work with you. You hated me, and I saw that as refreshing. And… well, I guess I just thought you needed someone to be there. You needed rescuing from something inside you.” He raised his head again, and looked straight into Arthur’s eyes. “I wanted to be your hero.”
Arthur blushed to the roots of his hair and pressed his hand to his mouth. There was something so sincere and pure in the way Alfred spoke. The way he stood there, open and honest… Arthur didn’t think anyone had ever spoken to him like that before. Alfred seemed to realise Arthur wasn’t going to answer, and set off down the path again, the slump in his shoulders showing his regret at being so open.
“Alfred…”
Arthur slid down the path slightly and took Alfred’s wrist. The warrior stopped and turned again, looking hopeful. Arthur could feel his cheeks burn vividly as he stared at Alfred’s shoulder. He daren’t look him in the eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured. He didn’t need to look up to see Alfred’s brilliant smile. It was etched into him, burning brightly in his mind’s eyes. And he couldn’t help it. He glanced up and smiled a little himself.
“And Greene told me you were really nice when you wanted to be,” Alfred added teasingly. Arthur glared at the wolpertinger, who giggled again. Alfred joined in the chuckled, and pressed a finger between Arthur’s eyebrows.
“You should smile more, Arthur,” he said. “It suits you.”
The blush that had finally receded from Arthur’s face came back furiously and he aimed a punch at Alfred’s shoulder, which just made the warrior laugh.
.
They made better speed on the way down the other side of the mountain. Pulling out the map once they’d prepared a shelter for the night, Alfred made a few quick calculations. Arthur was surprised the boy was so good with numbers: he certainly didn’t seem the type.
“According to my numbers, and they aren’t wrong -”
“You sound very sure,” said Arthur with a smirk. Alfred stuck his tongue out before continuing.
“We should be about…” he poked a thin stick at a point on the map, halfway down the mountain. “here.”
Arthur leant closer and studied the chart. “We’ve made good progress today. Peculiar.”
“I reckon it’s because we’re nearer our destination. A downhill breeze, as it were.” Alfred scratched his head with the stick. “I’m not gonna complain. The sooner we’re down, the sooner we’ll be heroes.”
Arthur’s nose wrinkled at that. “Don’t be too sure, Alfred,” he said warningly. “Don’t go tempting fate.”
Alfred grinned. “Don’t worry, Artie, I’m the best warrior and you’re the best mage, what can go wrong?”
.
Greene waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep to hop over to where Alfred sat. He wasn’t sleeping, just staring into the night, leaning against the fir tree they’d chosen as refuge.
“You’re really not going to tell him, are you?” said the wolpertinger despairingly. Alfred looked away, scowling.
“The less he knows about it, the better,” he muttered. Greene huffed, fluttering up onto Alfred’s knees.
“You know you can’t keep it a secret forever!” he hissed. Alfred sighed.
“Greene, it’s better this way,” he said. His tone indicated the conversation was very clearly over before it had even started. The familiar shook his rabbity head and returned to Arthur’s side forlornly. Alfred cursed under his breath and bedded down, falling into a fitful sleep full of cold winds, twisted black monsters and icy laughter.
.
It was rather sudden. First they were heading through a mixed forest of evergreens and deciduous trees, the former looking smug next to the latter, which just looked sad, and then… and then they passed a burnt homestead. It was black and broken, like a beast whose innards had been picked clean, stark ribs sticking out from it. A fresh sprinkling of snow laid upon the wooden beams that poked from the ruins. Alfred shuddered. He could almost hear the laughter on the wind, as if nature were scorning the dead.
Arthur slowly picked his way into the ruin, making the sign of the Elder Goddess sadly as he looked around. “Nothing of interest,” he said. “Whatever was worth anything has been taken.”
“Are there any bodies?” Alfred asked shakily, stepping into what must once have been a main room alongside Arthur. Arthur shook his head, taking a deep breath.
“Orcs usually eat any meat they can get hold of, there’s not much on the Moors… It’s almost understandable that they attack the villages, and this has been a long and horrible winter…” He lapsed into silence, shaking his head. “We should press on. It will only get worse as we go.”
With one last look around the place, both left, leaving the blackened remnants of what had once been someone’s entire life behind.
.
As Arthur had predicted, the further they got to their destination, the more remains of skirmish and bloodshed could be seen. They had left the trees behind, and they could see the sick-looking shadow of the village a few miles away. Here and there on the white snow were scattered carts and gutted horses, and a few dead bodies, all charred black. Alfred covered his mouth with his hands, shaking his head.
“You’re not used to this, are you?” Arthur murmured. Alfred looked at him.
“You are?” he asked sceptically. Arthur sighed.
“My father’s lands are on the edge of Fellmoore. There are orcs just like these there, as well. Although not all orcs are the same. Hobgoblins aren’t such a bad lot. Goblins are sly bastards, but in the end it’s really the orcs you’ve got to watch. They say the Nameless One made them from corrupted dwarf and hobgoblin hybrids, perverting them until they were nothing like they used to be… I’d take that with a pinch of salt, though.”
“You know an awful lot of stuff,” Alfred said, sounding mildly impressed. Arthur glared at him with a snort.
“I’m a mage, I’m supposed to be erudite, aren’t I? You’re the muscle, I’m the brains. I’m not sure what Greene could be.”
The wolpertinger made an indignant noise, and Alfred laughed despite himself. “Your lovely assistant.”
“He’s not very lovely. He can be my passable assistant.”
It seemed a little soulless to be laughing in the face of something as ghastly as what lay around them, but they couldn’t help it. It seemed, horrible as it sounded, the right thing to do. Especially as Greene did lend himself to comical moments, however involuntarily.
They continued along the road, now quiet and alert, eyes darting in the rocks that lined either side of their path. They were quite out in the open, and not one of them liked it. Alfred’s hand remained on the grip of his sword and Arthur’s fingers prickled with a spell ready to be thrown without a moment’s hesitation.
The attack itself was sudden, with only a strangled, guttural howl to announce it. Alfred whirled around, his sword at the ready, and Arthur’s hand rose to send the spell flying, but all they saw was a dead orc. It fell to the ground in a clattering thump, muffled on the snow, an arrow through the back of its neck. The two looked up, still prepared for anything.
Arthur babbled a shield spell when a figure sprang upon the rock from which the orc had fallen, but it certainly didn’t seem like an orc. It wore a long white cloak, which would have made it blend in against the pearly sky if it hadn’t been wearing black beneath it. In its hands it held a bow, an arrow half-nocked.
“Are you the mage and guardian the Tower sent?” the figure called out. It’s voice confirmed it a male, and its accent was heavily north-eastern, of one of the many nomadic tribes that had wandered the woods and steppes for centuries.
“Yes,” Alfred answered. The man replaced the arrow in his quiver and leapt down the rocks, sure-footed as a goat. He landed gracefully by the side of the road, straightening and removing his hood. He was dark, but his skin was pale, and his eyes were hazel, more golden than green. He was tall and moved with almost cat-like grace, and something about him spoke of him not being entirely human. There was definitely elf blood in his veins. He studied them, his face impassive for a moment before breaking into a grateful smile. He deflated somewhat, his stance going from guarded to relieved.
“Thank Tarma, I thought you would never get here,” he said, and to both Arthur and Alfred’s surprise, he embraced them both.
“Who -” Arthur began, but he was cut off by a raised hand.
“Introductions can be made once we are inside the village. It is not safe to talk out here.”
And with that the man headed off down the road, his stride brisk and quick enough to warrant even Alfred jogging to keep up. The village gates soon loomed ahead, and they bore the signs of siege. They were fire-scarred and heavily guarded. Two men stood on guard towers on either side. Around the village, stretched out from the gate itself, were stone walls, obviously built to withstand most anything the Moor orcs could throw at them. As soon as they were close, the gates were opened and the man who had found them led them in.
Waiting for them was a small gaggle of men and one or two women, at the forefront of which was tall, muscular man with a greying brown beard and bleak grey eyes. His arms were folded across his barrel chest, and he had a hammer at his belt. The blacksmith, clearly.
“Well?” he demanded. The nomad grinned.
“I said they would arrive,” he said, not without a note of triumph in his voice. “And here they are.” He waved at Alfred and Arthur, who felt all of a sudden exceptionally nervous. Everyone’s eyes were on them, and even Alfred looked suitably anxious. The blacksmith eyed them appraisingly, and he snorted.
“That’s what the mighty Azure Tower sends us? A boy and a pansy?” he sneered. There was some laughter scattered in the group, and it was unamused. Mostly, though, there was merely head-shaking, and expressions of hopelessness. Arthur however, wouldn’t stand being talked about like that. He stomped forward before Alfred could stop him and glowered up at the man, undaunted by his breadth and height.
“See here, you! Be grateful the Tower had someone to send! We’re stretched thin across the continent helping everyone we can get to! You’re not the only people in need out there, you know!”
The man glared down, bristling. Alfred groaned and grabbed Arthur around the waist dragging him back. The nomad raised an eyebrow.
“He is right. They are already more than I expected. When I sent the message I was not hoping for anyone at all.” He smiled at the new arrivals. “I am Dragomir. I sent word to the Tower for aid. Even though you are clearly green novices, I am glad of even a little help.” He spent a moment studying Arthur. “Are you Kirkland?” he asked.
Arthur nodded, throwing Alfred off him. “Yes.”
“Eirik of Askeland is a great mage. I am glad to have his apprentice here. And you are…?” He turned to Alfred. The warrior cleared his throat and grinned.
“Alfred Jones, Master Dragomir,” he said. Dragomir chuckled.
“There is no need for formality, Alfred. We are all doomed together, here. Oh, and gruff as he is, this is Brenhald, he is the village… leader?”
“I am the blacksmith, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the man said, confirming the obvious. “I hope you two can pull your weight around here, young as you are. Now what did you find?” This was to Dragomir. The guardian ran a hand through his hair.
“I killed a scout. There will probably be an attack tomorrow or the day after. We should make preparations.”
Brenhald nodded and dismissed the people around him, who scurried off to tend to whatever duties they had. Dragomir remained and turned once more to Arthur and Alfred.
Please tell me you have the antidote with you?” he asked. He sounded desperate. Alfred nodded, and Dragomir breathed a sigh of relief. “Come with me.”
He headed across the village, towards a large building with a sign swinging above the door in the shape of a unicorn’s head.
“It is good to have a mage that can use magic among us once more.”
“A mage that can use magic?” Arthur asked as they entered, heading up the stairs. Dragomir did not answer, merely leading them into a room at the end of a long hallway. The fire was lit, burning with an odd-smelling herb which made the room smell fresh and clear despite the closed heat and the clammy sickness in the air. On a makeshift perch near the window nestled a weak-looking raven, its head under its wing. It didn’t even look up when they entered. The bed, beside which was a plain wooden chair where Dragomir sat, taking the pale hand that lay limp on the bed sheets, was in the centre of the room. The man in the bed was pale beneath a heavy red fever-flush. Sandy hair matted with sweat was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes flickered restlessly beneath heavy eyelids. His lips were an unhealthy blue, slightly parted. Arthur almost thought he could see pointed fangs. Perhaps it was merely his imagination.
Dragomir whispered soothingly in a language neither Arthur nor Alfred could understand, tucking strands of hair behind slightly pointed ears. Alfred’s heart clenched, and he couldn’t help but steal a glance at Arthur. Dragomir looked distraught, wan and it was plain to see his earlier lightness had been a show now he was alone with his mage.
Arthur began rooting in his satchel, pulling out a bundle of cloth embroidered with runes of protection. He gently unwrapped the delicate vial and handed it to Dragomir. “Undiluted,” was all he said, retreating to the end of the bed and wrapping a worried hand around the post. Alfred went to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and to his surprise Arthur leant into the touch, shifting closer to him.
Dragomir tilted the other mage’s head up and pressed the phial between his lips, pouring the liquid into his mouth. “Swallow it, come on…” he muttered, thumbing the other’s throat, coaxing the antidote down as one would with a cat or a dog. The mage’s throat moved, and Dragomir sighed with relief.
“Tarma be praised…” he murmured, kissing his mage’s forehead with trembling lips. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a smile.
“It’ll take a day or two for it to work…” Arthur said. “If we had gotten here sooner it wouldn’t take so long. We’re very sorry.”
Dragomir shook his head, sitting back in his chair. “Do not apologise, the mountains are perilous in winter. The locals have spoken of… something that lurks in the pass in winter. They do not go there. You were exceptionally brave.” He offered them a grateful smile. “Kosta is strong, he will make it.”
“Is that his name?” Alfred asked. Dragomir chuckled.
“No, his name is Constantin,” he said, blushing slightly. “Kosta… is just a nickname.”
“You’ve known each other long?” Arthur enquired.
“We’ve been mage and guardian for ten years,” Dragomir replied. Alfred couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Arthur. Would they still be together ten years from now? He caught himself a moment after thinking that. He wouldn’t be here in ten years, would he? Gripping the strap of his pack and biting his lip, he asked where they would be sleeping. Dragomir shrugged.
“I don’t think it will really matter, do you?” he said. “The inn is empty apart from the innkeeper’s family and Constantin and I. Go wherever you wish.”
Alfred nodded stiffly and left, much to Arthur’s confusion. He wandered aimlessly down the hall, checking a door or two before finding a room with two beds not too far from Constantin’s. He dropped his pack to the floor, unclasped his cloak and sat on the bed, placing his head in his hands. Was he always going to be catching himself thinking like this? Making stupid mistakes of time and wishful thinking? He lay down, staring at the ceiling above him. When Arthur came looking for him, he was already asleep.
.
Dragomir spent most of the next day talking to Alfred and taking him around the village, while Arthur stayed with Constantin. The mage’s fever had fallen considerably, and Arthur had remarked that this was surprisingly fast. He had also voiced his shock at Constantin lasting so long without healing. Dragomir had said something trivial about the village healer being very good, but neither Alfred nor Arthur was buying it.
Between Alfred and Arthur, however, the air was strained, and Arthur had no idea why. They had come incredibly far, he thought, considering where they had set out from, and he wasn’t thinking about the journey at all. Alfred was distant and quiet, quite a departure from the lad’s usual demeanour. It worried the mage deeply.
“Something troubles you,” Dragomir said. He was peering over the walls inspecting the shot body of another orcish scout. Alfred blinked for a moment, before shrugging.
“It’s not something I want to talk about,” he said dismissively. Dragomir smirked.
“Then it is something you want kept secret, obviously.” He turned to look at him, eyes narrow and shrewd. “Something you do not regret the outcome of, but which will change you.”
Alfred stared at him, mouth agape. Dragomir chuckled.
“I do not have quite the sight of my forbears, so I cannot see what it is precisely.”
It was Alfred’s turn to smirk this time. “I thought you weren’t quite human,” he said triumphantly. Dragomir arched an eyebrow, and there was something in the movement that was so unmistakeably elven that Alfred almost kicked himself for not noticing it before. That, and the fact that Dragomir appeared to hold Tarma, Lady of Shadows, as his guardian deity…
“You’re right,” said the nomad, “my mother was a dark elf. I did not inherit very much from her.”
“And Constantin?” Alfred pushed. He was quite sure the other wasn’t wholly human either. Dragomir glanced around nervously. The nearest guards were yards away, talking something over, and no one was beneath them on the ground.
“Keep this a secret,” he murmured, gesturing Alfred closer. “He is half-wraith. Human blood is strong and all he has are the eyes and teeth, but… still, it is not something I would wish to share with these people. They would not understand. I hope you will not be like them,” he added coldly, and Alfred could easily see the dark elven part of the other man swimming in the depths of his eyes, chill and feral. Alfred grinned.
“I trained under Gilbert the Black Eagle, and he certainly doesn’t keep his heritage secret,” he said breezily. Dragomir sniggered.
“Gilbert is arrogant and stubborn, and he has a mage that matches him. Luckily they can afford to be arrogant, with the power they have. Gilbert has inherited a lot of his wraith side. You honestly cannot really tell with Kosta.” The man leant back against the wall, folding his arms. Alfred stood beside him, gazing out onto the vast white moor in front of him. It stretched as far as he could see, a foreboding pale wilderness.
“And what of you?” Dragomir asked. “You and your mage do not seem very united.”
Alfred lowered his head, chewing his lip nervously. “I… I’m just one of many guardians. I’m trying to be something different, but I’m not sure it’s working as well as it should be.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I want to be Arthur’s guardian, so much, but he doesn’t make it easy for me at all.”
“Arthur of Kirkland is legendary in that sense. I have heard stories about him, even though I had never met him before now. But do yourself a favour: no matter what this burden you carry is, do not let it come between you. You should talk about it to him, but even if you do not, push it away. The relationship between a mage and a guardian, however you wish it to be, is based on trust. Much like any relationship in this world.”
“What are you two talking about?” Arthur demanded, stomping up the stairs to where the two guardians stood. Dragomir shrugged evasively, and Alfred grinned.
“Talking about how lovely and gentle you are,” he said. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Twit, I have a wonderful disposition, I’ll have you know,” he said sniffily.
“For a grouchy old dragon,” Alfred countered. He let Arthur shove him with a laugh and settled himself beside the mage easily.
“Gotten over our little funk, have we?” Arthur asked tartly. Alfred’s grin faltered slightly, but he nodded.
“Yeah, I was just being an idiot this morning, forget about it.”
Arthur had just opened his mouth to speak when a bell rang. Dragomir said something harsh, obviously swearing in his own tongue. He ran along the walkway to where the bell was ringing. Men were scurrying along now, all holding bows and arrows, crossbows and other projectiles. One little boy with a catapult was heaved bodily away by a woman, probably his mother. A bow was hastily thrust into Alfred’s hand and he winced. He wasn’t the best bowman out there, he was a melee fighter, but he couldn’t do anything about that.
Outside the village, howling and snarling in the dim light of late afternoon, orcs began to pool into sight. There weren’t as many as Arthur had expected, but there were still at least three score and a dozen, at least.
“Small band, independent,” Dragomir said, pulling his bow taut. “We’ve had bigger, small armies. Thank Tarma this isn’t one of them. Shield spell,” he ordered.
Arthur nodded, muttering words to deep magic under his breath. He waited expectantly for the familiar flare of power, ready to feel it fill every cell in his body and flow like liquid fire through every vein…
But it did not come.
Confused, he tried again. And again. Then he spoke the words out loud, something he had not done for years. He threw his staff to the walkway and used hand seals, something no true mage would ever need to do. Alfred stared at him.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. Arthur turned to him, his face stricken.
“My magic… I can’t use my magic!”
.
End of Part Three
From this part on there will be Bulgaria/Romania.
Dragomir = Bulgaria
Constantin = Romania
.
Arthur awoke slowly. His head still ached, a dull, throb behind his eyes, although it had lessened considerably since the day before. It didn’t quite demand his attention so much. What did demand his attention, however, was the warmth and weight around him.
As his mind slowly defogged itself from sleep, he realised that there was something around his chest holding him tight to something large and secure. Soft breathing disturbed the scruffy hair at the base of his neck, its warmth halfway between comforting and irritating. His stomach felt as if it was being dipped in a frozen lake as he grasped that Alfred was holding him.
Arthur went rigid, unsure of what to do next. He certainly wasn’t used to this, and he had no idea what to do in such situations. And, to his horror, he also realised he didn’t actually dislike the feeling all that much. It felt safe, in Alfred’s arms. It felt as if all the protection he would ever need in the world was there, around him, at that moment, so soothing and secure. Nothing would hurt him again as long as Alfred held him close like this. He’d never felt anything like this before in his entire life. Was this what other mages felt like with their guardians? Was this warm bloom in his chest normal?
He slowly relaxed, allowing himself to breath once again. His face, however, had turned brilliant red and didn’t show signs of mellowing out anytime soon. It was justifiable, he supposed. With a sigh he merely lay there, absently wondering when Alfred would awaken and whether it was right to feel like this. The fluttering of his heart and the small somersaults his stomach was doing… were they standard fare for a mage to feel towards his guardian?
Alfred began to stir, rousing Arthur from his thoughts. He wondered how Alfred would react to this… position they were in. Oh, God, that made it sound so wrong, didn’t it? With a yawn that was extremely close to Arthur’s ear, Alfred snuggled deeper into his neck, which just made Arthur go even redder than before. He scowled when he heard slight sniggering.
“Shut up, Greene,” he ground out between his teeth. He couldn’t really think straight when Alfred was pressed against him like this.
“Er, Alfred… D-don’t you think we should get up?” he asked weakly. Greene continued to snigger in the background. Behind Arthur, Alfred mumbled something incomprehensible. Then there was silence for a heartbeat or two, before Alfred ripped his arms from around Arthur and backed away.
“S-s-sorry, I didn’t mean that!” he babbled, his face a gaudy red. He was obviously trying not to look at Arthur, instead staring at everything else he could lay his eyes on. Greene had long since degenerated into throes of incontrollable mirth, which only made the awkwardness worse.
“No, it’s quite alright - I mean, it’s fine, it doesn’t matter…” Arthur stammered, waving a hand dismissively before he got to his feet. At least the pain had receded somewhat thanks to… whatever he could call the situation. Alfred offered a feeble grin as he stood up himself.
The two made their way around the cave, clearing it and preparing to set off. They seemed to get in each other’s way more often than not, causing them both to apologise and avoid looking at one another.
“You two are impossible, you know that?” Greene said in disgust the fourth time this happened. He flew out of the cave, shaking his head, leaving Arthur and Alfred to pretend to wonder what he was talking about, even though both knew perfectly well.
.
The sky was thick and pearly white when they set off again. Everything around them was still and muffled, obviously preparing for something nasty. There was no edge to it as when the troll attacked them, but there was evident anticipation. Alfred glared up at the heavens as if they had done him a great personal wrong.
“Looks like our good luck is running out,” he muttered. “Snow’s on the way.”
Arthur groaned. “Oh, that’s all we need, a blizzard!”
“Hopefully it’ll just be a brief snowstorm,” Alfred said optimistically. “Greene should go look for shelter though.”
The wolpertinger glared at Alfred, as if the very idea was ludicrous and Alfred should be ashamed of himself for such a suggestion, but a light tap on the rump from Arthur’s staff had him take to the air and swoop away. While the familiar was gone, snow began to fall, a little half-heartedly at first, seemingly testing the waters. By the time Greene returned, the flakes were thicker and more determined, and all three were glad to reach the sheltered overhang Greene had found.
“We’re going to make awful time,” Arthur remarked, tugging his cloak further around him with a scowl. Alfred sighed, poking at the small fire he’d gotten started.
“It was inevitable,” he said. “We’ve made good time so far. It might let up, although I wouldn’t bet on it. We’ve had deceptively decent weather these last few days, it was bound to happen eventually. But, hey,” he grinned at Arthur, “we made it this far!”
“I wish I shared your optimism,” Arthur drawled, tugging the clasp of his cloak over his nose and huddling into his clothes. Greene had burrowed into his hood and was dozing. The silence dragged on for a while, broken only by the discreet crackling of the fire, and Alfred snapping a stick or two. Unlike before, however, it wasn’t awkward, rather… pleasant, in a way. It was a comfortable silence Arthur had never really been a part of before. Until Alfred broke it.
“So, you have brothers?” he asked curiously. Arthur groaned.
“I hate talking about them,” he mumbled. In the end, whenever he brought up Andrew, Patrick and David, everyone always preferred them to him.
“Why? Are they, like, bullies or something? Because I hate bullies. There were loads in the Academy and I hated them all, picking on bards and healers like it’s a good thing to do… man, I just wanted to punch them all.”
“And did you ever act on those urges?” Arthur asked with a brief smile. The more he learnt about Alfred, the more he realised the boy had a true need to help people. Maybe he’d taken the compulsory reading of old epic tales the Academy demanded a little bit too much to heart. Alfred grinned sheepishly.
“Once or twice,” he admitted. “I got disciplined for it, but at least the bullies did too. I’m apparently a very convincing character, and I wasn’t lying, so… Master Gilbert got pissed. He’s a bit of a bully himself, though his heart’s in the right place…”
Arthur’s eyebrows rose in surprise. He’d heard plenty of tales about Gilbert the Black Eagle, none of them particularly pleasant. Gilbert and his mage were sent into warzones and dealt with a foot-long list of particularly nasty and difficult creatures, missions most mages and guardians would rather resign than take up, and it had hardened them both considerably. But, Arthur supposed, as Gilbert’s student Alfred would know him well.
“Who was your master?”
Alfred’s question shook Arthur from his thoughts, and he shrugged. “My master was Eirik of Askeland. His guardian’s Mathias Køhler, if it rings a bell…”
Alfred sniggered. “Oh yeah, Master Gilbert had nothing nice to say about him,” he said. “But then they go drinking together and I don’t get it. If they don’t like each other, why go to the tavern and get drunk together?”
Arthur shook his head with a laugh. “I’ve heard Master Roderich is high-maintenance, and I know for a fact Master Eirik is.”
Alfred smirked deviously, and Arthur realised he’d driven himself into a corner.
“Kind of like you, huh?” Alfred asked teasingly. Arthur grumbled something unintelligible which simply made Alfred laugh as he tossed another stick on the fire.
In the meantime, the snow worsened considerably, which meant that they probably wouldn’t get any distance covered that day. Arthur dozed off his headache and Alfred kept watch, sometimes humming or singing to himself. It was all very boring and very tiresome.
The snow finally stopped sometime in the late afternoon, when the sun was already fleeing quickly beyond the horizon. With a yawn Alfred stretched and stepped out. The chilly air slapped his cheeks, and he shivered. He could almost imagine an unpleasant laugh on the wind, cold and cruel and delighting in the pain in his chest, the dull ache of a cold blue brand on his skin. His hand wandered of its own accord to press over his heart as he frowned into the growing gloom. So lost in his thoughts was he that when Greene landed on his shoulder he jumped.
“It’s me!”
“Damn, Greene…” Alfred shook his head and clutched at his heart, for an entirely different reason now, and glowered at the wolpertinger. “Thanks. I could do with a heart attack.”
Greene had the grace to look ashamed. “Sorry,” he muttered. He glanced back at Arthur, making sure he was truly asleep, before turning back to Alfred. “Are you going to tell him?”
Alfred eyed the familiar as if he was mad. “Are you nuts? And get myself ripped a new one? He’ll never forgive me for doing that, it’s better if he doesn’t know.”
“But you can’t lie to him, Alfred…” Greene said reproachfully. Alfred scoffed.
“Are you always this whiny?” he asked. Greene ignored that and gave Alfred’s chest a pointed look.
“Does it hurt?”
“It aches for now,” he replied absently, shrugging. “It’ll stop in time.”
“What will stop?”
Arthur’s voice was mistrustful. Alfred carefully erased all worried looks from his features and turned around with a grin. “The snow! And it has! We can’t continue tonight, but hopefully it’ll be ok tomorrow.”
It was amazing how one raised eyebrow could convey such scepticism, but Arthur did not elaborate on his suspicion. He merely yawned and stretched, rubbing his back against the stone he leant against to scratch it. “So tomorrow we might be able to head out again?”
“Seems like it.” Alfred flopped down next to Arthur again with a groan. “Best get some sleep.”
Arthur muttered a few words, pointing his staff at various parts of their encampment until a light veil of green light fell, and it suddenly felt warmer and more protected in their little enclave. The mage waited until Alfred had bedded down and was seemingly asleep before fixing Greene with a long, penetrating gaze.
“What were you two discussing?” he asked. Greene wasn’t very good at not glancing down guiltily, but he shrugged it off.
“The weather,” he mumbled, hopping over to where Alfred slept and burrowing into his arms. Arthur scowled.
“Traitor,” he muttered, settling down to get some sleep of his own.
.
The next day was still white, but certainly more agreeable than the day before. It didn’t so much threaten snow as consider the matter, pondering it in depth before it made up its mind. Alfred and Arthur had to make use of their snow shoes again, and soon both realised they were going to reach the pass within the day, and maybe pass it too. The trees had long since given out to plains of snow and bare rock here and there. The pass itself was nothing more than a wide crevice between two stern cliff faces, kept clean by the efforts of the people that came through. A small hut was on the right, no doubt where the toll master lived during the busy summer months. It was empty now, however, vacant and dreary-looking, but it was a welcome sight nonetheless.
“Are we going to try and make it past the pass before nightfall?” Alfred asked, throwing his pack on the ground and pulling out a rough-looking map. Arthur peered up at the sky and shrugged.
“If we can. We do need to make up for yesterday, after all, and when I was, er, convalescent, shall we say.” His ears turned red in embarrassment at that. He certainly didn’t want to be a burden. He’d made it on his own this far in life, without a guardian, he didn’t need one now. Alfred didn’t seem to notice Arthur’s inner turmoil. He merely sighed and rolled the map up again, sticking it back in its place.
“I reckon we can make it if we push hard enough,” Alfred said, slinging his pack over his back once more as he stood. “You feeling up to it?” he asked. Arthur glowered at him.
“Of course I do!” he snapped, stomping off down the path as well as he could in fir branch snowshoes. “I’m not some girl you have to look after!”
Alfred winced and hurried to catch up. “I didn’t mean it like that, Arthur,” he said, folding his arms in irritation. Arthur stopped and turned, and he looked positively furious.
“How did you mean it then, Alfred?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm and diplomatic. “How so?”
Greene shook his head fervently, knowing better than to anger Arthur further, but Alfred ignored him.
“I meant that you had a severe head injury less than three days ago. You’re damn lucky you’re not bleeding in your brain or something. I don’t want you to drop dead halfway, you know.” He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I care about you, as much as you don’t seem to think it.”
All of the self-righteous anger Arthur had felt up to that moment merely flowed out of him, leaving him empty and humbled. He lowered his gaze to the ground, flushing slightly, tightening the grip on his staff.
“I-I don’t need to be mollycoddled,” he mumbled. Alfred chuckled.
“I’m not mollycoddling you, Arthur,” he said. Arthur stiffened when Alfred’s hand touched his shoulder, but he relaxed under it. It felt strangely… good, to be on the receiving end of such a reassuring gesture. “I’m looking out for you. It’s different. It’s what friends do.”
Arthur couldn’t help but look up and stare at Alfred at that, his mouth wide in shock. Friends? Alfred considered them friends? “W-w-what…?”
Alfred just laughed again and set off, whistling some inane tune. Greene giggled by Arthur’s ear, but the mage was still in shock. It took him several moments before he managed to move, struggling to catch up with the warrior’s long strides even through heavy snow.
“D-did you mean that?” he asked, and he despised the hopeful tone that crept into his voice. “That you consider us… friends?” It was a difficult word to get out, he discovered. Alfred smiled, a smile like the summer sun warm enough to melt the snow around them.
“If you want us to be,” he said easily. “I know I wouldn’t mind.”
Arthur tried to resist his own smile. It threatened heavily at the corners of his mouth until he could struggle against it no longer and it broke out, lighting his face up in a way it hadn’t in years.
.
The air in the mountain pass was stale, still and cold as they trudged through the thick snow. The shadow were long and everything was eerily quiet. Sheer faces of dark grey, formidable rock rose up on either side, judgemental and threatening. The prickly, cold feeling of being watched was upon their necks. No one made a sound as they passed through. Perhaps it was for fear of retribution for disturbing the unnerving stillness and muted air. As stupid as it sounded, and as much as none of them would admit it except perhaps Greene, no one wanted to test their theory.
It took them two hours to head through the pass, and once it was far behind and they could think of the journey ahead, they breathed sighs of relief. Alfred made Arthur go first, and although the mage wanted to complain, he knew better than to do so. They trudged along down the invisible path, towards a patch of sparse pine trees, and Alfred dared a glance behind him. He wished he hadn’t. Something darted through the long shadows in the pass, something of human shape but not movement, black and terrifying. It filled the pit of his stomach with deep, icy terror and he tore his eyes forward again, trying not to tremble. Again, they didn’t speak until they were among the trees.
“Is everything all right?” Greene murmured. Arthur looked back, frowning. Alfred nodded jerkily.
“I’m just glad we didn’t stick around up there,” he muttered. Arthur nodded in turn, rubbing his arms.
“It was a horrible place,” he said. “Somehow, though, I don’t think it’s like that in the summer.”
“Neither do I,” Greene whispered, huddling into Arthur’s neck. Alfred once again went forward, and they continued on their heavy journey once more, the chilly feelings of fear being slowly left behind as they headed downhill.
.
“Alfred, I want to know… why on Earth you bothered with me at all?” Arthur asked, biting his lip nervously. Alfred stopped and looked back, puzzled.
“Why d’you ask?”
Arthur sighed. “I’ve never been anything but horrible to you since we first met,” he muttered. “I’m surprised you didn’t leave within the first day, the way I treated you…”
Alfred merely laughed. “When I saw you blush when we first met I thought it was cute.”
Arthur groaned and buried his face in his hands. “You saw that?”
“Oh yeah, hard not to, really. You were kind of, uh, staring.” Alfred grinned sheepishly, and Greene sniggered from behind his paw. Arthur wished the ground would swallow him up so he wouldn’t have to live through this humiliation.
“B-but even then… I was ghastly.”
Alfred shrugged and turned to stare at the snowy ground. He looked, of all things, slightly embarrassed. “To be frank, I was actually kind of happy you didn’t like me. Everyone else likes me right away, or at least pretends to - except Master Gilbert, but then again, Master Gilbert is a bit of a dick - because they think I’m attractive… I had to work with you. You hated me, and I saw that as refreshing. And… well, I guess I just thought you needed someone to be there. You needed rescuing from something inside you.” He raised his head again, and looked straight into Arthur’s eyes. “I wanted to be your hero.”
Arthur blushed to the roots of his hair and pressed his hand to his mouth. There was something so sincere and pure in the way Alfred spoke. The way he stood there, open and honest… Arthur didn’t think anyone had ever spoken to him like that before. Alfred seemed to realise Arthur wasn’t going to answer, and set off down the path again, the slump in his shoulders showing his regret at being so open.
“Alfred…”
Arthur slid down the path slightly and took Alfred’s wrist. The warrior stopped and turned again, looking hopeful. Arthur could feel his cheeks burn vividly as he stared at Alfred’s shoulder. He daren’t look him in the eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured. He didn’t need to look up to see Alfred’s brilliant smile. It was etched into him, burning brightly in his mind’s eyes. And he couldn’t help it. He glanced up and smiled a little himself.
“And Greene told me you were really nice when you wanted to be,” Alfred added teasingly. Arthur glared at the wolpertinger, who giggled again. Alfred joined in the chuckled, and pressed a finger between Arthur’s eyebrows.
“You should smile more, Arthur,” he said. “It suits you.”
The blush that had finally receded from Arthur’s face came back furiously and he aimed a punch at Alfred’s shoulder, which just made the warrior laugh.
.
They made better speed on the way down the other side of the mountain. Pulling out the map once they’d prepared a shelter for the night, Alfred made a few quick calculations. Arthur was surprised the boy was so good with numbers: he certainly didn’t seem the type.
“According to my numbers, and they aren’t wrong -”
“You sound very sure,” said Arthur with a smirk. Alfred stuck his tongue out before continuing.
“We should be about…” he poked a thin stick at a point on the map, halfway down the mountain. “here.”
Arthur leant closer and studied the chart. “We’ve made good progress today. Peculiar.”
“I reckon it’s because we’re nearer our destination. A downhill breeze, as it were.” Alfred scratched his head with the stick. “I’m not gonna complain. The sooner we’re down, the sooner we’ll be heroes.”
Arthur’s nose wrinkled at that. “Don’t be too sure, Alfred,” he said warningly. “Don’t go tempting fate.”
Alfred grinned. “Don’t worry, Artie, I’m the best warrior and you’re the best mage, what can go wrong?”
.
Greene waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep to hop over to where Alfred sat. He wasn’t sleeping, just staring into the night, leaning against the fir tree they’d chosen as refuge.
“You’re really not going to tell him, are you?” said the wolpertinger despairingly. Alfred looked away, scowling.
“The less he knows about it, the better,” he muttered. Greene huffed, fluttering up onto Alfred’s knees.
“You know you can’t keep it a secret forever!” he hissed. Alfred sighed.
“Greene, it’s better this way,” he said. His tone indicated the conversation was very clearly over before it had even started. The familiar shook his rabbity head and returned to Arthur’s side forlornly. Alfred cursed under his breath and bedded down, falling into a fitful sleep full of cold winds, twisted black monsters and icy laughter.
.
It was rather sudden. First they were heading through a mixed forest of evergreens and deciduous trees, the former looking smug next to the latter, which just looked sad, and then… and then they passed a burnt homestead. It was black and broken, like a beast whose innards had been picked clean, stark ribs sticking out from it. A fresh sprinkling of snow laid upon the wooden beams that poked from the ruins. Alfred shuddered. He could almost hear the laughter on the wind, as if nature were scorning the dead.
Arthur slowly picked his way into the ruin, making the sign of the Elder Goddess sadly as he looked around. “Nothing of interest,” he said. “Whatever was worth anything has been taken.”
“Are there any bodies?” Alfred asked shakily, stepping into what must once have been a main room alongside Arthur. Arthur shook his head, taking a deep breath.
“Orcs usually eat any meat they can get hold of, there’s not much on the Moors… It’s almost understandable that they attack the villages, and this has been a long and horrible winter…” He lapsed into silence, shaking his head. “We should press on. It will only get worse as we go.”
With one last look around the place, both left, leaving the blackened remnants of what had once been someone’s entire life behind.
.
As Arthur had predicted, the further they got to their destination, the more remains of skirmish and bloodshed could be seen. They had left the trees behind, and they could see the sick-looking shadow of the village a few miles away. Here and there on the white snow were scattered carts and gutted horses, and a few dead bodies, all charred black. Alfred covered his mouth with his hands, shaking his head.
“You’re not used to this, are you?” Arthur murmured. Alfred looked at him.
“You are?” he asked sceptically. Arthur sighed.
“My father’s lands are on the edge of Fellmoore. There are orcs just like these there, as well. Although not all orcs are the same. Hobgoblins aren’t such a bad lot. Goblins are sly bastards, but in the end it’s really the orcs you’ve got to watch. They say the Nameless One made them from corrupted dwarf and hobgoblin hybrids, perverting them until they were nothing like they used to be… I’d take that with a pinch of salt, though.”
“You know an awful lot of stuff,” Alfred said, sounding mildly impressed. Arthur glared at him with a snort.
“I’m a mage, I’m supposed to be erudite, aren’t I? You’re the muscle, I’m the brains. I’m not sure what Greene could be.”
The wolpertinger made an indignant noise, and Alfred laughed despite himself. “Your lovely assistant.”
“He’s not very lovely. He can be my passable assistant.”
It seemed a little soulless to be laughing in the face of something as ghastly as what lay around them, but they couldn’t help it. It seemed, horrible as it sounded, the right thing to do. Especially as Greene did lend himself to comical moments, however involuntarily.
They continued along the road, now quiet and alert, eyes darting in the rocks that lined either side of their path. They were quite out in the open, and not one of them liked it. Alfred’s hand remained on the grip of his sword and Arthur’s fingers prickled with a spell ready to be thrown without a moment’s hesitation.
The attack itself was sudden, with only a strangled, guttural howl to announce it. Alfred whirled around, his sword at the ready, and Arthur’s hand rose to send the spell flying, but all they saw was a dead orc. It fell to the ground in a clattering thump, muffled on the snow, an arrow through the back of its neck. The two looked up, still prepared for anything.
Arthur babbled a shield spell when a figure sprang upon the rock from which the orc had fallen, but it certainly didn’t seem like an orc. It wore a long white cloak, which would have made it blend in against the pearly sky if it hadn’t been wearing black beneath it. In its hands it held a bow, an arrow half-nocked.
“Are you the mage and guardian the Tower sent?” the figure called out. It’s voice confirmed it a male, and its accent was heavily north-eastern, of one of the many nomadic tribes that had wandered the woods and steppes for centuries.
“Yes,” Alfred answered. The man replaced the arrow in his quiver and leapt down the rocks, sure-footed as a goat. He landed gracefully by the side of the road, straightening and removing his hood. He was dark, but his skin was pale, and his eyes were hazel, more golden than green. He was tall and moved with almost cat-like grace, and something about him spoke of him not being entirely human. There was definitely elf blood in his veins. He studied them, his face impassive for a moment before breaking into a grateful smile. He deflated somewhat, his stance going from guarded to relieved.
“Thank Tarma, I thought you would never get here,” he said, and to both Arthur and Alfred’s surprise, he embraced them both.
“Who -” Arthur began, but he was cut off by a raised hand.
“Introductions can be made once we are inside the village. It is not safe to talk out here.”
And with that the man headed off down the road, his stride brisk and quick enough to warrant even Alfred jogging to keep up. The village gates soon loomed ahead, and they bore the signs of siege. They were fire-scarred and heavily guarded. Two men stood on guard towers on either side. Around the village, stretched out from the gate itself, were stone walls, obviously built to withstand most anything the Moor orcs could throw at them. As soon as they were close, the gates were opened and the man who had found them led them in.
Waiting for them was a small gaggle of men and one or two women, at the forefront of which was tall, muscular man with a greying brown beard and bleak grey eyes. His arms were folded across his barrel chest, and he had a hammer at his belt. The blacksmith, clearly.
“Well?” he demanded. The nomad grinned.
“I said they would arrive,” he said, not without a note of triumph in his voice. “And here they are.” He waved at Alfred and Arthur, who felt all of a sudden exceptionally nervous. Everyone’s eyes were on them, and even Alfred looked suitably anxious. The blacksmith eyed them appraisingly, and he snorted.
“That’s what the mighty Azure Tower sends us? A boy and a pansy?” he sneered. There was some laughter scattered in the group, and it was unamused. Mostly, though, there was merely head-shaking, and expressions of hopelessness. Arthur however, wouldn’t stand being talked about like that. He stomped forward before Alfred could stop him and glowered up at the man, undaunted by his breadth and height.
“See here, you! Be grateful the Tower had someone to send! We’re stretched thin across the continent helping everyone we can get to! You’re not the only people in need out there, you know!”
The man glared down, bristling. Alfred groaned and grabbed Arthur around the waist dragging him back. The nomad raised an eyebrow.
“He is right. They are already more than I expected. When I sent the message I was not hoping for anyone at all.” He smiled at the new arrivals. “I am Dragomir. I sent word to the Tower for aid. Even though you are clearly green novices, I am glad of even a little help.” He spent a moment studying Arthur. “Are you Kirkland?” he asked.
Arthur nodded, throwing Alfred off him. “Yes.”
“Eirik of Askeland is a great mage. I am glad to have his apprentice here. And you are…?” He turned to Alfred. The warrior cleared his throat and grinned.
“Alfred Jones, Master Dragomir,” he said. Dragomir chuckled.
“There is no need for formality, Alfred. We are all doomed together, here. Oh, and gruff as he is, this is Brenhald, he is the village… leader?”
“I am the blacksmith, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the man said, confirming the obvious. “I hope you two can pull your weight around here, young as you are. Now what did you find?” This was to Dragomir. The guardian ran a hand through his hair.
“I killed a scout. There will probably be an attack tomorrow or the day after. We should make preparations.”
Brenhald nodded and dismissed the people around him, who scurried off to tend to whatever duties they had. Dragomir remained and turned once more to Arthur and Alfred.
Please tell me you have the antidote with you?” he asked. He sounded desperate. Alfred nodded, and Dragomir breathed a sigh of relief. “Come with me.”
He headed across the village, towards a large building with a sign swinging above the door in the shape of a unicorn’s head.
“It is good to have a mage that can use magic among us once more.”
“A mage that can use magic?” Arthur asked as they entered, heading up the stairs. Dragomir did not answer, merely leading them into a room at the end of a long hallway. The fire was lit, burning with an odd-smelling herb which made the room smell fresh and clear despite the closed heat and the clammy sickness in the air. On a makeshift perch near the window nestled a weak-looking raven, its head under its wing. It didn’t even look up when they entered. The bed, beside which was a plain wooden chair where Dragomir sat, taking the pale hand that lay limp on the bed sheets, was in the centre of the room. The man in the bed was pale beneath a heavy red fever-flush. Sandy hair matted with sweat was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes flickered restlessly beneath heavy eyelids. His lips were an unhealthy blue, slightly parted. Arthur almost thought he could see pointed fangs. Perhaps it was merely his imagination.
Dragomir whispered soothingly in a language neither Arthur nor Alfred could understand, tucking strands of hair behind slightly pointed ears. Alfred’s heart clenched, and he couldn’t help but steal a glance at Arthur. Dragomir looked distraught, wan and it was plain to see his earlier lightness had been a show now he was alone with his mage.
Arthur began rooting in his satchel, pulling out a bundle of cloth embroidered with runes of protection. He gently unwrapped the delicate vial and handed it to Dragomir. “Undiluted,” was all he said, retreating to the end of the bed and wrapping a worried hand around the post. Alfred went to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and to his surprise Arthur leant into the touch, shifting closer to him.
Dragomir tilted the other mage’s head up and pressed the phial between his lips, pouring the liquid into his mouth. “Swallow it, come on…” he muttered, thumbing the other’s throat, coaxing the antidote down as one would with a cat or a dog. The mage’s throat moved, and Dragomir sighed with relief.
“Tarma be praised…” he murmured, kissing his mage’s forehead with trembling lips. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a smile.
“It’ll take a day or two for it to work…” Arthur said. “If we had gotten here sooner it wouldn’t take so long. We’re very sorry.”
Dragomir shook his head, sitting back in his chair. “Do not apologise, the mountains are perilous in winter. The locals have spoken of… something that lurks in the pass in winter. They do not go there. You were exceptionally brave.” He offered them a grateful smile. “Kosta is strong, he will make it.”
“Is that his name?” Alfred asked. Dragomir chuckled.
“No, his name is Constantin,” he said, blushing slightly. “Kosta… is just a nickname.”
“You’ve known each other long?” Arthur enquired.
“We’ve been mage and guardian for ten years,” Dragomir replied. Alfred couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Arthur. Would they still be together ten years from now? He caught himself a moment after thinking that. He wouldn’t be here in ten years, would he? Gripping the strap of his pack and biting his lip, he asked where they would be sleeping. Dragomir shrugged.
“I don’t think it will really matter, do you?” he said. “The inn is empty apart from the innkeeper’s family and Constantin and I. Go wherever you wish.”
Alfred nodded stiffly and left, much to Arthur’s confusion. He wandered aimlessly down the hall, checking a door or two before finding a room with two beds not too far from Constantin’s. He dropped his pack to the floor, unclasped his cloak and sat on the bed, placing his head in his hands. Was he always going to be catching himself thinking like this? Making stupid mistakes of time and wishful thinking? He lay down, staring at the ceiling above him. When Arthur came looking for him, he was already asleep.
.
Dragomir spent most of the next day talking to Alfred and taking him around the village, while Arthur stayed with Constantin. The mage’s fever had fallen considerably, and Arthur had remarked that this was surprisingly fast. He had also voiced his shock at Constantin lasting so long without healing. Dragomir had said something trivial about the village healer being very good, but neither Alfred nor Arthur was buying it.
Between Alfred and Arthur, however, the air was strained, and Arthur had no idea why. They had come incredibly far, he thought, considering where they had set out from, and he wasn’t thinking about the journey at all. Alfred was distant and quiet, quite a departure from the lad’s usual demeanour. It worried the mage deeply.
“Something troubles you,” Dragomir said. He was peering over the walls inspecting the shot body of another orcish scout. Alfred blinked for a moment, before shrugging.
“It’s not something I want to talk about,” he said dismissively. Dragomir smirked.
“Then it is something you want kept secret, obviously.” He turned to look at him, eyes narrow and shrewd. “Something you do not regret the outcome of, but which will change you.”
Alfred stared at him, mouth agape. Dragomir chuckled.
“I do not have quite the sight of my forbears, so I cannot see what it is precisely.”
It was Alfred’s turn to smirk this time. “I thought you weren’t quite human,” he said triumphantly. Dragomir arched an eyebrow, and there was something in the movement that was so unmistakeably elven that Alfred almost kicked himself for not noticing it before. That, and the fact that Dragomir appeared to hold Tarma, Lady of Shadows, as his guardian deity…
“You’re right,” said the nomad, “my mother was a dark elf. I did not inherit very much from her.”
“And Constantin?” Alfred pushed. He was quite sure the other wasn’t wholly human either. Dragomir glanced around nervously. The nearest guards were yards away, talking something over, and no one was beneath them on the ground.
“Keep this a secret,” he murmured, gesturing Alfred closer. “He is half-wraith. Human blood is strong and all he has are the eyes and teeth, but… still, it is not something I would wish to share with these people. They would not understand. I hope you will not be like them,” he added coldly, and Alfred could easily see the dark elven part of the other man swimming in the depths of his eyes, chill and feral. Alfred grinned.
“I trained under Gilbert the Black Eagle, and he certainly doesn’t keep his heritage secret,” he said breezily. Dragomir sniggered.
“Gilbert is arrogant and stubborn, and he has a mage that matches him. Luckily they can afford to be arrogant, with the power they have. Gilbert has inherited a lot of his wraith side. You honestly cannot really tell with Kosta.” The man leant back against the wall, folding his arms. Alfred stood beside him, gazing out onto the vast white moor in front of him. It stretched as far as he could see, a foreboding pale wilderness.
“And what of you?” Dragomir asked. “You and your mage do not seem very united.”
Alfred lowered his head, chewing his lip nervously. “I… I’m just one of many guardians. I’m trying to be something different, but I’m not sure it’s working as well as it should be.” He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I want to be Arthur’s guardian, so much, but he doesn’t make it easy for me at all.”
“Arthur of Kirkland is legendary in that sense. I have heard stories about him, even though I had never met him before now. But do yourself a favour: no matter what this burden you carry is, do not let it come between you. You should talk about it to him, but even if you do not, push it away. The relationship between a mage and a guardian, however you wish it to be, is based on trust. Much like any relationship in this world.”
“What are you two talking about?” Arthur demanded, stomping up the stairs to where the two guardians stood. Dragomir shrugged evasively, and Alfred grinned.
“Talking about how lovely and gentle you are,” he said. Arthur rolled his eyes.
“Twit, I have a wonderful disposition, I’ll have you know,” he said sniffily.
“For a grouchy old dragon,” Alfred countered. He let Arthur shove him with a laugh and settled himself beside the mage easily.
“Gotten over our little funk, have we?” Arthur asked tartly. Alfred’s grin faltered slightly, but he nodded.
“Yeah, I was just being an idiot this morning, forget about it.”
Arthur had just opened his mouth to speak when a bell rang. Dragomir said something harsh, obviously swearing in his own tongue. He ran along the walkway to where the bell was ringing. Men were scurrying along now, all holding bows and arrows, crossbows and other projectiles. One little boy with a catapult was heaved bodily away by a woman, probably his mother. A bow was hastily thrust into Alfred’s hand and he winced. He wasn’t the best bowman out there, he was a melee fighter, but he couldn’t do anything about that.
Outside the village, howling and snarling in the dim light of late afternoon, orcs began to pool into sight. There weren’t as many as Arthur had expected, but there were still at least three score and a dozen, at least.
“Small band, independent,” Dragomir said, pulling his bow taut. “We’ve had bigger, small armies. Thank Tarma this isn’t one of them. Shield spell,” he ordered.
Arthur nodded, muttering words to deep magic under his breath. He waited expectantly for the familiar flare of power, ready to feel it fill every cell in his body and flow like liquid fire through every vein…
But it did not come.
Confused, he tried again. And again. Then he spoke the words out loud, something he had not done for years. He threw his staff to the walkway and used hand seals, something no true mage would ever need to do. Alfred stared at him.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. Arthur turned to him, his face stricken.
“My magic… I can’t use my magic!”
.
End of Part Three