The Dragon Lords: Warlock

Chapter One

I

The Dragon Lords – Warlock

We have been watching you from the beginning. A million Dragons. That's how many we lost. We were among the first children of the Universe. Our lives were simpler then; it was just us finding our way learning about our world. We realised we were special as we got to watch the Universe grow and give birth to new life. We knew we would be responsible for them, for you.

It became a burden, as was our age and the power and knowledge that came to us with time. We decided to watch over the worlds. Worlds like yours. We would protect them, help them and guide them from across the plane as best we could. But in time, we came to realise.

War spares none of us.

Butterfly

'I'll take you home.'

This night is darker than usual. A lone orange glow pierces the abyss like a solitary candle. Cries of anger from the villagers break the silence of the countryside. People gather in the street following behind a tall and broad beast banging on every door summoning the residents to his cause. Morin's voice bellows over those who blindly follow him; his long unkempt ginger hair and impending presence compliment the pulsating fire of his torch. At the end of the street, he stops and turns.

Looking over the heads of the crowd, he tries to gather their strength in numbers.

'How many of us are there?'

'About twenty, maybe more, most of them have heard of this demon already.'

Mavrea, ever loyal, watches his master with the devotion of a dog seeking approval. Especially now, on this uncertain evening.

The sleepy villagers rub their eyes, still hazy but demanding an explanation from the local bully. He makes what there is of his case.

'MY SON EGAN SAW A YOUNG GIRL HIDING IN THE BOWD HOUSE! SHE WAS DIFFERENT. MISHAPEN, SHE WAS SCARED AND RAN FROM THE WINDOW WHEN SHE SAW HIM! THEY'RE HIDING SOMETHING, IT COULD BE MAGIC AND THAT'S ILLEGAL!'

Silence falls over them. A presence of magic in the village could bring the Dragon back for yet more destruction like that of Terlé. Or even the king to enforce his brand of justice.

'Tell them boy!' He commands his son.

'It's true.' He stumbles over his throat. 'She didn't look right, she was odd. We stared at each other, but she went back in.'

'What did she look like Egan?' A voice comes back at him.

'She, she had a big head. Her arms were too short, and her hands were too small. She didn't look right.'

The young boy has said enough to sign her death warrant. Dwarves, little people or halflings as they may be called are non-existent on Galthrea. Since the destruction of Terlé, and the disappearance of thousands, Mersidia has turned its back on their Dragon Lord. By decree of the king, Dragon sympathisers are traitors. But his legacy lives on. Magic is real, and his students still live on the fringes of society. Whatever this is, it's too close.

Morin gauges their silence. He raises his torch. 'LET'S GO THEN! To the mayor's house—let's find this demon!'

The crowd cheers, surging through the streets with their tools, weapons, and torches held high, flowing like an unholy river through the underworld.

The mayor hears the crowd approach. He hasn't slept this night; his mind has been awash from the day's troubles. His council reported rumours earlier that day. Letting out a big sigh, Everett sits up in his bed, preparing to rely on his political skills more than usual this time. He drags his legs over the side of the bed.

'What's that?' His partner asks.

He looks over his shoulder, 'a few concerned citizens.'

'It sounds like a mob. Is that what those men were here about earlier?'

'You weren't supposed to hear that.'

'I'm your partner. It's my job to know. Especially if you won't tell me.'

'Spying on us, were you?'

'They looked apprehensive earlier; they came and went quickly. I knew something was wrong.'

Everett huffs, 'I was just trying to protect you.'

Despite his efforts, his sworn other still sees through the thin, weak veil of attempted secrecy.

'Don't worry; I'll take care of them.'

The noise is close, the mayor reaches for his clothes, dressing in only what's needed. As he takes his coat, he looks at this small, thin gold chain hanging beside it. He leaves it. He walks downstairs to see the orange glow of torches casting invading shadows inside his home like giant claws scraping at the walls.

The door bangs wildly, pushing evenly from top to bottom threatening to break its hinges. Everett takes a moment with a deep breath before opening the door. Surely enough, Morin is standing before him.

'What is the meaning of this at this hour?'

'My son said he saw a child hiding in the Bowd's house, he saw her in the window. She didn't look normal; he said she looked odd and misshapen! She was scared to be seen; she didn't cry for help. They're hiding something!'

Everett's shoulders slump, he looks away then back at Morin. 'And that means what exactly?'

'That couple the Bowds are odd. They're new, we know nothing about them, they keep to themselves. You let them in here; I wouldn't have had them here in Varamis!'

Using the village's name to win favour from the ignorant and fearful. Another dabble in politics undermining the mayor. It doesn't go unnoticed.

Mavrea chimes in. 'And they're too small, who knows why. What else are they hiding? Maybe they're dabbling in magic!'

The crowd murmurs in agreement, their faces twisted with dead-eyed rage. Everett glances at the torches but notices none are too close to the houses. Residents peer out from their doors and windows, watching the commotion unfold in the village square.

'And this is the proof you have?' Everett asks.

'Are you calling my son a liar?' Morin barks.

'Yes, and they have too much food for only two people. The woman almost never comes out, maybe she's some sort of soothsayer or witch.' Morin's partner Sari brings the women into the protest more, playing on the concerns for the safety of the children and resources for their families.

'Yes, we know the Bowd's keep to themselves. There's nothing wrong with that; and it's not hard to see why.' Everett tries to look over Morin's shoulder at the crowd behind him.

A woman's voice cries out, 'magic's forbidden! We can't have that here!' The crowd jeers again, Morin looks down at the mayor with a contented smirk.

'I doubt they're hiding a demon child,' he replies with a hint of sarcasm. Attempting to take the sting out of their accusations.

'Prove my son wrong if you're calling him a liar! Ask to see inside the house.'

Everett knows there is only one way to settle this. With a gripping chest, he pictures the small quiet couple he's so fond of. 'Alright,' he says at last.

The crowd cheer: Morin turns raising his arms, claiming victory. The citizens of Mersidia have had little to feel good about in recent years. He'll take this little victory. The crowd begins to march towards the Bowd's house on the South edge of the village.

The approaching noise wakes Mison and Ellin. They haven't slept well since she arrived. As they sit up to look out the window, they see the stream of torches and angry people coming directly toward their home. Anyone else would ask why something so daunting and unusual was coming for them. But for the small quiet couple, they know it's because of their daughter.

The fear of what others might think has haunted them for years. Her birth drew curious looks from their village that day. Since then, their survival has depended on fleeing from place to place.

Mistel hadn't told her mother she ventured upstairs earlier that day to look outside. For years, the basement has been her secret home—a place where she's kept hidden because of how different she looks. Small, disproportioned but still beautiful. There isn't much for her here, except her diary.

Writing is important to Mersidians, a practice taught by the Dragon Lord. They write for themselves and for one another, knowing their thoughts and prayers can travel beyond this world. Since learning about the astral plane—a place between their world and the other side, where the two can meet—they've become more careful, more curious. Mistel's diary is filled with drawings of butterflies, just like the walls of her little space. No two the same. The walls are her final barrier to the one rule she lives by: never look outside. But today, her frustration and curiosity got the better of her in this new village.

'Mi's what is it?' Ellin's voice trembles but is starkly clear with urgency.

Mison sits up to see the mob.

'They're coming, I think they've seen her.' He turns to his wife. 'Did she get out today? Did anyone see her?'

Ellin freezes, speechless, her face pale. 'I fell asleep,' she whispers.

'Damn it!'

'It was only for a little while.'

'Go to her—get her safe. I fear this is it now. Be ready to get her out.' Ellin hesitates, but Mison doesn't wait. He's already out the door, heading downstairs. Ellin follows, she gets to the basement and throws the doors open, tearing down the stairs.

'Mistel! Mistel!'

The little girl stirs, clutching her old blanket and mum's handmade doll tight.

Ellin kneels beside her, trying to hold herself together.

'Darling, you need to get ready, alright? You have to leave now. Grab your blanket, come on.'

The noise of the crowd filters down the stairs, echoing through the house. Mistel rubs her eyes, still confused. 'Where are we going, mummy?' Ellin frantically packs a small bag, forcing herself to ignore the noise from upstairs.

'You may have to go alone, alright? You're a brave girl; mummy's proud of you. Do you remember the place in the woods we showed you that night?'

Mison calls down, 'they're here!'

'Go straight there, and mummy will meet you soon. Alright?' Ellin's smile trembles, tears brimming in her eyes. She's never seen her mother like this before.

Mistel, used to the vague and confusing world she's been kept in, wonders if this is what her mother's cryptic talks about the outside world have always been leading to. Upstairs, Mison opens the door to face the crowd. He hopes Ellin has gotten their daughter out through the window—the door wouldn't have lasted much longer.

A wall of heat and noise hits him as the flames of the torches flicker dangerously close. The roar of angry voices is deafening, reminding him of the Dragon's old stories of terrible worlds. He stands firm.

'What's the meaning of this? Why are you here?'

Everett steps forward, seizing the moment to assert his authority. 'Mison, the people want to know—are you hiding something from us?' Mison feigns innocence, his brow furrowing in confusion.

'What do you mean? There's nothing here.'

Morin scoffs, his voice dripping with contempt. 'Oh, he's lying! You're hiding a child.' He turns to the crowd, roaring, 'A demon child!' The mob erupts, torches waving in the air, their voices a deafening roar. The hostility is immense on the small family man. He has no friends here—no one to stand with him, no place to hide.

'Mison, just let us in so we can put an end to these rumors.' Everett, now desperate, tries to calm Morin, but the crowd's shouting grows louder. What little strength Mison has left drains from him. She might be out, but there will be signs. His grip on the door weakens, his resolve faltering. For a brief, agonising moment, there is silence.

He stumbles through a breaking voice, 'no... no, you can't. This is my home—you can't come in.'

Morin groans in frustration lunging forward, shoving Mison to the floor.

'ELLIN, GET HER OUT!'

The crowd freezes. Ellin and Mistel glance up at the door.

'TO THE BASEMENT!' Morin shouts.

Ellin grabs her daughter, frantically pulling the cover off the shallow window. She yanks at the loose stones, prying it open. She shoves Mistel through the gap into the empty street behind the house.

A quick feeling of liberation to be outside again comes over her. But she doesn't want to be alone out there.

'Mummy come on.' Ellin knows she won't fit through herself.

'Go, darling, go to that place in the forest I showed you that night.' Mistel begins tugging at her arms.

'No, come with me, climb up.' The crowd see Ellin halfway out of the window. Morin knows the demon is on the other side of the wall. Ellin shoves her daughter away, screaming in desperation to scare her into the forest. 'GO! GO NOW!'

The half-ling girl begins to cry, having never seen her calm and compassionate mother turn to such intense anger at her for no reason. Confusion and tears take over as she turns and stumbles with tiny buckling legs down the street, towards the forest. That one special place her parents took her that night. Like a treat, she hoped they would give her again.

As she runs, she glances back—just in time to see her mother dragged through the window, screaming as if being swallowed by a monster. The image burns in her mind. Though she wants to keep running, she finds herself unable to leave. Mistel hides behind the corner of a house at the village's edge.

I can't leave them. Not like this.

The mob drag Ellin upstairs and throw her onto the floor.

'GET OUT THERE, FIND HER!' Morin comes into his own as the new voice of leadership amongst the primitives.

Everett, too tired and broken spirited with time crumbles under the pressure. He can only watch in silence as the mob takes charge. This couple are quiet and harmless; he only wishes more of his villagers could be more reasonable and behaved. The idea that their child is a demon because she is simply small and different is absurd. But Everett knows reason has long left this place. How have the Dragon's teachings been forgotten so quickly?

'WHERE IS SHE? WHERE'S SHE GOING?' Morin shouts. They look at each other, remembering the pact they made. They will not speak; they will give their little Mistel every moment they can to escape.

Morin looks at Everett. 'You've never done enough.'

To her horror, she hears her parents being dragged into the village. Their desperate screaming and pleading are in vain; the few outside looking for her give up quickly, choosing not to miss out on the event.

As the noise fades into the distance, Mistel feels the coldness of her solitude. The realisation hits her—she is truly alone in the world. Her mother's last words echo in her mind.

'Go to the second clearing in the forest; you'll be safe there. We'll come for you.'

She turns and runs. Her small, atrophied body battles through the tall, wet grass. Her little heart pounds her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Cold air dries the tears on her cheeks, but her mind is too scattered, too terrified to notice the ominous dark woods rising before her. Entering the forest, the darkness becomes absolute. She shrieks, trees loom over her, their branches clawing at her as she pushes forward. But she forces herself on, step by step, with buckling legs. Her stomach tightens, bile rises in her throat, and she tastes the salt of her tears.

Further ahead, she sees the faint clearing bathed in moonlight. It doesn't matter if it's the first or second—she can't go any further. Staggering to the soft ground, she collapses, burying her face in her arms. She sobs, breathless, her body heaving. Her mind begins to break as it blacks out to protect itself, but not before a final thought. Please, just let it be a nightmare.

Time passes further into the night; the sky now becomes brighter with the blue haze of the stars and moons. The silence is broken by approaching footsteps crunching the grass, twigs and leaves.

A hermit stands over her. The thin and pale old man leans on his staff with a huff. His robes are ragged and moth-eaten, his hair and beard are long and unkempt, yet the smell of this hermit fails to wake her.

He inspects her. She is different, not proportioned like a typical person yet still so pretty. Her lips, like her cheeks, are full; her long black hair shines in the moonlight. So feminine and well-kept such a scarce sight for him. He remembers people of all types described by the Dragon a long time ago but has never seen someone like her before.

Who is she? What is she doing here?

He pokes her in the back with his staff. She stirs with a weak grunt. He jabs harder, her eyes flutter open. Before she can remember anything, he crouches and grabs her by the shoulders lifting her up.

'WHO ARE YOU? WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? THE VILLAGE?'

The girl freezes, still waking up her ears now ring in pain like her head.

'ANSWER ME!'

She quietly vomits her words, 'no, no!'

'TELL ME THE TRUTH!'

'I'm not like them' she gasps. 'I ran away.'

Overcome by emotion and now fearing for her life alone with this mad man, she begins to break down crying in silent terror, struggling for breath.

The hermit shakes her, 'DID THEY SEND YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE?'

'No, no!'

'DON'T LIE! TELL ME!'

Mistel, with almost her last breath, musters one last sentence. 'They killed my parents.' She slumps down as the last of her energy drains away, gasping desperately for one last scream. She now, like her parents, resigns herself to her inevitable fate. The hermit catches and embraces her.

'I'm sorry,' he murmurs, his voice softening. 'I had to be sure.'

He cradles her head in his hands, taking a moment to truly look at her. She is so small, so fragile. 'By the gods, you're just a child,' he whispers, his grip tightening as she cries into him.

They stay. He gives her time to calm down, her weeping and sobbing into his chest gradually stops. Exhausted and hollow, she surrenders to whatever will come next.

Eventually he stands wiping the tears from her cheeks and looking into her eyes. 'It's alright,' he whispers. 'It's alright. Come with me child. I'll take you home.'