The Pilgrim- Chapter Five

Hey there! It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm going to be continuing this series till (I hope) the end, so for now please enjoy this shorter Chapter that happens to reveal a lot. 

As always, rip it to shreds.

Morning light crawled over the mountains, setting the snowdrifts alight. A breeze shook the tips of the trees. The arched stone of the Grey Pass threw a shadow over the valley below.

Aazil watched several dark specks soar lazily over the valley. Then, the whirling sound of wind. A cold breeze bit into him, and he shrugged his cloak around his shoulders. Light fabric, the colour of ash, tailored for a land far warmer than this one. He flared his power idly, and a warm aura embraced him. He let his Pyromancy hang a few moments-- Perhaps longer than necessary-- before dropping the warmth. The cold surged forward immediately, and Aazil accepted it with the smallest curl of his lip.

I wonder how they can stand the damned cold.

The people mimicked the weather, he supposed. Blunt, coarse and bitter.

Savages. Speaking of which...

He rose from his perch on a flat boulder, hopping down, his boots sinking into the snow beneath-- now melted into a loose sludge by his brief pyromancical blast. He leaned on the boulder for balance, his back arched slightly, aching.

Time is catching up.

He drove the thought away quickly, straightening himself.

He found his gaze levelled at a similarly clothed man, far younger. Dark skin, darker hair, and striking blue eyes. A true Shahandran.

The boy bowed, his ashen cloak flapping behind him in the wind.

“Master. The men have returned, with a dozen sparked villagers.”

Aazil paused. A dozen? The rumours were true, then. This place is swimming with magic. I owe Ophamin an apology.

Strange that there should be such talent in a place like this. Such a dismal place! The hails hardly stopped during the night, sheets of white lashing the mountains.

Aazil nodded, allowing himself a small smile. The boy seemed to take this as encouragement.

“They’ve taken the mayor, as well” He erupted, “Not sparked, but the men-- Well, Merrik thought, that he could be used. That you’d like to use him”.

Aazil nodded briskly. “Lead me to him.”

The boy began leading, practically at a trot. Aazil had a moment to consider before they reached the camp.

Merrik? The child is becoming bold. Of course, bringing the mayor had been a wise decision, but…

The thought slipped away as the smell of the camp hit him.

The plateau was shaded by rising slabs of rock, trees clinging to the bare stone. Tents of goatskin filled the space-- At least three-dozen of them. Dispersed between them, was the source of the stench.

Great bonfires, spewing broad plumes of curling smoke. Within the bonfires were charred remains. A maw lined with teeth, gaping half-open. A ribcage, it’s bones darkened, limp pieces of foul meat still visible. The scourge. Dark beasts that stalked the night, like living shadows. Blasted things had torn through their forces, in their first weeks in Izalea.

Fortunately, the things feared fire like a plague. And now, their reeking corpses filled the flames of the camp. Allegedly, the stench would ward away more Scourge. It had worked so far. Shame the smell had the men keeping strong alcohol nearby to sniff if the stench became too dizzying.

Eventually, the boy halted before a tent-- Larger than the others, with a domed top. Aazir’s quarters. Two ashen-garbed men guarded the tent flap.

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Aazir sent the boy away, and entered his tent, one of the guards closing the flap behind him.

The tent was extravagant, at least in comparison to the rest of the camp. A long, short table of polished wood sat in the centre of the room, surrounded by several cushions for seating. A few chests sat filled with tomes (Largely detailing Pyromancy), and his bedroll was concealed by a purple veil threaded with gold. There was even a small wine-rack in the corner, stocked lightly. An oil lamp hung from the sloping cloth roof, lighting the room, as well as the chiseled features of the man seated at the table, knees folded beneath him on the cushion.

Aazir waved the guard away. As he faced the mayor, he adopted what he hoped was a friendly smile, and spoke with as much charisma as he could manage.

“Ah, greetings. I hope you’ve been showed hospitality?” He glanced at the untouched food as he seated himself opposite the wrinkled man.

The old man opposite stared sternly, expression too hard to seem placid.

Aazir turned, speaking to the guard just sent out, who was halfway through the tentflap.

“Quan! Please, bring us the Azolian wine! From the second cart, I believe.”

He turned back. The old man hadn’t eased in the slightest. Aazir’s smile broadened slightly, suddenly genuine. So many of these Northerners begged outright, offered tribute, themselves, even. It would be refreshing to have someone to break.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Aazir, of the South. Shahandra, to be exact. And you are?”

The man remained silent.

“Come, now. We’re both gentlemen, aren’t we? No need for hostility” He spread his hands placatingly. “After all, I’m granting your townsfolk a great privilege. It would be a shame if you weren’t cooperative. For you and your townsfolk.” There was a threat at the edge of his voice, and he knew it well.

The mayor straightened slightly, eyeing Aazir disdainfully.

“I am Julian Farlin.”

“See? Far simpler to cooperate.”

Julian furrowed his brow. “Now, what is it you want my people for, savage” He didn’t say it with spite. His expression and tone remained perfectly calm, as if stating the weather.

Aazir grinned, leaning forward, elbows on the table, fingers interlocking.

“I’ve been told-- And will see for myself soon enough-- that your townsfolk are sparked. That is, they have potential for magic. So, I’ve taken it upon myself to… take them as pupils, you might say. Teach them the ways of Pyromancy.” His eye twinkled slightly in the lamplight.

“Pyromancy, strongest of the magical branches,” He continued with a flourish of his hand, “Reigning in the chaos of the soul, to create--”

“I’m familiar, savage.” Julian said, seeming almost bored. “You won’t go around spreading that poison among my townsfolk.”

“I’d suggest you make this simple”.

“I refuse”.

For an instant, Aazir faltered, his smile disappearing. Slowly, it returned as he leaned in closer. But without any sign of that feigned friendliness. It was very much a wolf's smile.

“Do you know,” He said softly. “Why we brought you back here? You don’t have an iota of magical talent, and you’ll likely be a trouble to transport with us. But you are important to my new students. They care for you, and you care for them, isn’t that right?”

Julian stared for a long moment, eyes dull and unreadable. This time, he leaned forward, his features glowing under the oil lamp.

“I will not, under any circumstance--”

He froze as a lance of searing heat gripped him. Eyes wide, he struggled, hands fumbling for the invisible source of the heat. Aazir held his grip, staring directly into the mayor's eyes.

“You know, my old mentor was quite a pyromancer, in his day. He once caught one of his old rivals. A miserable creature, a swindler, a Kindreth worshipper, from what I remember. And, day after day, he was fed the most wonderful food, the finest in Shahandra, wine even Nobles would slaver over. But the stubborn fool, even when given such lenience, wouldn’t speak. Not a word about his companions, his connections…”

For an instant, Aazir released the pain.

“In the end, the man was kept screaming for every moment of his waking life for six months. My mentor stationed five of us on him at a time to practice our pyromancy.” Aazir smiled apologetically. “I know, a rather bad story. I don’t generally bring it up at parties”.

Suddenly, Julian gasped as the pain returned, flaming daggers piercing every point, blinded with pain, every thought dissipating in a pulsing wave of torturous, stabbing light. After what seemed an eternity, the pain dulled, then disappeared. The man was left gasping for breath in his chair.

“Yes, it’s a shame stories like this rarely have a satisfying ending.” Aazir leaned back, face cold. “But I’d like to change that. And I’d like your full cooperation. It would be a shame to destroy even one of my new students-- they have such potential.”

Suddenly, the guard from minutes ago entered at a crouch through the flap, presenting a bottle of deep liquid. He quickly fetched two glasses.

“Quan, none for me, if you please” Aazir said, nodding politely, his air of menace disappearing. He gestured to Julian. “Just a glass for him. He has much to muse over”.

Aazir rose, giving a small bow.

“I hope you’ll consider helping me. Your people have been chosen. Give them some encouragement for me”

For an instant, a low heat filled the tent, the edge of a threat. Aazir paused, halfway through the tent-flap.

“I think you’ll choose wisely.”