The Wizard of Welwyn

NOTE: This is VERY raw and unfinished work. It jumps around to places I have worked on over the years. Do not expect coherent narrative here at this point.


Rain fell on the Ellemar Highlands in great drops that impacted the dark soil loudly and sent gouts of mud spattering over anything unfortunate enough to be out in the downpour. The wind howled around the walls of the town of Caer Ellemar, erstwhile capital of the province, and cast the rain before it as it swept out of the mountains to the north and east. Lightning cast strange shadows on tree, stone and structure, and the dull throb of thunder rolled endlessly in the evening air.

The muddy streets were all but deserted because of the torrential downpour. Only a few guardsmen walked the sloppy byways of in the gathering gloom of evening, and even they pulled their hoods tight over their heads to prevent the incessant deluge from soaking in more than necessary to carry out their duty.

The rain was a windfall for the inns and taverns of Caer Ellemar. For once the establishments were full to capacity as travelers left the main byway and sought shelter from the unseasonable storm within their confines.

Melchior Mindanta closed the accounts book and, hefting the leathery tome carefully, slid it into its place on the wooden shelf. He leaned back against the wall of his office at the head of the stairs in the Golden Rooster and sighed gustily. From below he could hear the low mumble of voices and the clink of mugs and tableware as the citizens of Caer Ellemar ate and drank the evening away.

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At a tap on his door, Melchior looked up. "Come," he said, glancing down at his prayerbook for a moment before closing the it with a sigh.

"Begging your pardon, sor," said young Andrei, "but there's someone to see you, sor."

"I'm not expecting anyone," the innkeeper said with a frown. "Who is it? What does he want?"

"I don't rightly know, sir, and as for who it is, ah well," Andrei's face went through a variety of expressions as he tried to find the words. "It's naught what we see around these parts much."

"Who IS it, Andrei," Melchior said with more than a little exasperation. The young man bit his lip and gulped audibly.

"Tis a dwarf, sor. May Photios preserve us."

Melchior sat up and stared at the boy, then at the door, and finally back at Andrei. "A dwarf? Here? In Ruskyevets? Are you sure?"

"Well I can't say as I've ever seen one before, sir, but he surely LOOKS like--" He was stopped by Melchior pushing past him to throw open the door and face the visitor who waited just outside.

"Yer manners hae not gotten any better with yer age, magely one," said the stocky red-headed dwarf, standing hands on hips, water dripping from his cloak on the polished wood of the floor.

"Saints and ministers of Photios defend us!" Melchior stared a bit goggle-eyed at the dwarf who gave a rather frightening grimace that might have been a smile. "Kenelm Fairbane!"

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"I bring ye a message, old friend." Kenelm looked knowingly at the frowning greybearded man.

"A message?" Melchior asked irritably. "What message?"

"She is dying. She wants to see you."

The innkeeper looked up sharply, his face a mask through which no visible emotion was allowed to show. For a long moment he gazed at Kenelm, then closed his eyes and sighed. "No. That is past. Done. Over." He turned to look up at the ikon in its corner, the candle flickering before it. "Tell her...tell her I will pray to Photios for her."

"That willnae do, Mal. She needs you to come to her. To speak to you. You must come."

"I cannot. I..." The innkeeper's voice trailed off. After a moment staring blankly into the fire, he continued. "I have obligations, priorities. The things of the past are long dead, let them remain so."

"She will be dead before a fortnight is out. Would you have her passing to the bosom of Melania and the light of Photios without a word, without forgiveness for past wrongs? Would you burden her so in the ascent?"

Melchior's words were heated, and he shivered as he tried to control his emotions.

"She made that choice, not I. There is nothing she could say that would make me want to see her, let alone speak to her."

The dwarf sighed and looked at his old friend severely. Long minutes passed. Both of them fiddled with their beards nervously until Kenelm cleared his throat.

"She said you might be recalcitrant. She always did know damned well how you would react to things. A better wizard than you, when it came to relations between people."

Melchior scoffed and stared up at the rows of books on his shelves. The dwarf looked also.

"A nice collection ye have gathered. Ye always did say ye wanted yer own library." When the man did not respond, Kenelm continued. "She said I should tell you the wise in the darkest hour know that the light of hope burns still in the hearts of the righteous."

When he turned again to face the dwarf, Melchior's face was pained. "It is like her to throw my own words in my face. But there IS no hope anymore, not since..."

"She said to tell you that the girl had a child. And that child, after a time, had a child. A boy. Bearing the Mark of the Faith."

Melchior?s eyes grew wide. "No. It cannot be. NO. It is false hope at the end of all goodness. And I am too old now."

Kenelm growled and rose to his feet, his eyes flashing. "Damn it, Mal. She got word to me, and I came to her. The least you could do is go with me and hear her out."

A long, long minute passed and neither dwarf nor man would look at each other. Finally Melchior cleared his throat.

"Have you SEEN this boy?" he asked pointedly. Kenelm shook his head.

"No, she waits for you to come, since you were to be his guardian, his mentor. You've shirked that duty for too long. Now it's time for you to fulfill your oaths and vows, made in the hills above the Great City."

"That was nearly a century ago. I am too old."

Memories...

As the Belltower of the Temple collapsed into the blazing ruins, a great groan went up from the watchers on the hillside. Flames roared up madly into the sky as the dome fell, and the inferno engulfed the Palaces of the Kings.

"Nooooo," screamed Marina of Byrennios, watching all that her family had labored on for over a thousand years englufed and devoured by the flames and hatred of the minions of Dolg. She started down the path leading back to the City, but Melchior and Goran prevented her going.

"You must not, Majesty," the wizard said softly, tears flowing freely as he listened to the great timbers of the Temple of Photios crying out their pain the flames.

"The city DIES!" Marina screamed, and Goran enfolded her in his arms as she sobbed and screamed and beat at his chest.

Kenelm and Baal watched impassively as the Great City of Byrennios fell, as did Megarys. Yet even in their hearts lay a great coldness, for this was the greatest achievement of man and it was a sorry day that saw it falling to the forces of darkness and hatred.

"What are we to do," Marina sobbed. "What are we to do?"

Goran pointed north. "We shall go to Ruskyevets," he said, "And we shall summon forth the princes and the fathers and mothers of the Faith, and we shall come back again, when the days are fulfilled and the time is right."

"Do you promise?" the princess cried. "Do all of you swear on the relics of the saints and the Great Sun of Photios Himself? Swear it! Make your oath! Promise me!"

They swore, all of them, to see the House of Taverneiros returned to the Great City, when the time came.

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Some characters

Melchior Mindanta, a hedge wizard and innkeeper
Rhenion Khorobit, a young man, ward of Melchior
Father Symeon, the village sage and priest

Latirobes, a wizard and old friend of Malabar
Nereanos, companion of Latirobes, a skoromokh (nature man)
Cora Tealeaf (Coratyrisyasar Teleahfahrimelimon)

Theodora Tavereinos, a nun, formerly Marina of Byrennios
Goran, a warrior, formerly her lover and bodyguard

Megarys va'Symbelin. elven princess
Lindeldur vo'Erodanion, her bard

Kenelm Fairbane, dwarf
Baal Fairbane. his twin

Korag Dark-axe, a half-orc
Gratidios Fire-blade, a Sentinel of the Empire

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