Music.
And more.
The path through the mountain was not a simple tunnel, but a small city unto itself.
Dwarves in leather and mail nodded curtly as Token led Rafe through halls,
humming with the sound of life.
Rafe heard animals grunting and wondered what kind of animals could be used,
or even living inside the mountain.
There were grim faces, all of which seemed intrigued with him,
but there were also rooms off the corridor he walked echoing with gruff, booming laughter.
The air was warm and smelled of sweat and close living, but also of vibrant life and roasted meats.
They climbed a final winding staircase carved from the living rock and arrived
at a heavy iron-banded door.
Token knocked once, a sharp, resonant rap.
Enter! A voice like grinding stone called from within.
The room was nothing like Rafe expected. He had imagined a barracks or a throne room.
Instead, he stood in a circular library. Books, scrolls, and tablets lined every
inch of the curved stone walls, climbing so high into the shadow-draped ceiling
that he couldn't see where they ended.
In the center of the room, a massive table was covered in maps,
each held down with a polished stone.
Sitting behind one of those maps was a dwarf, so old his braided beard was the
color of snow, and so long it was tucked into his belt.
He was staring into a book spread atop the map, and didn't look up as Token bowed his head.
Loramaster, I have brought the human, as requested.
The old dwarf finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were not the dark brown of the other dwarves.
They were a piercing pale blue, like ancient ice.
Token nodded and retreated, the heavy door closing with a definitive thud behind him.
The old dwarf gestured to a stone chair by the map table.
I am Cray, and you are Rafe, the one who knows of a treaty but not the man who forged it.
Sit, tell me what a boy from a cursed city knows of Barros. His directness was disarming.
Rafe took the seat, his mind racing. I know he created the Barros Treaty.
It established Dragon Road and free trade between the cities of the continent.
I know it promised peace.
Cray grunted, a sound of affirmation. It did more than that.
It promised balance. But you've found this in a book, a single piece of paper.
You do not know the man.
He leaned forward, his ancient eyes locking onto Rafe.
One more question and then you may ask questions of me.
The thought of asking questions of this lawmaster filled Rafe with an indescribable joy.
You are of a city of guilds, Barrows the man.
To which guild did he belong?
Rafe racked his brain. He didn't know, but he wanted to know.
He had a reasonable guess based on his research, however. Was he with the State Guild?
The dwarf's face brightened. A fantastic guess, but wrong.
The State Guild was established after the Barros Treaty came into effect.
Kray leaned back, looking satisfied. Still, you are an ardent researcher.
What questions do you have for me? The invitation was all Rafe needed.
The questions he had held back spilled out. Who was Barros?
And this place? Gallic called it Dragon's Watch. What does it mean?
What are you guarding against?
A slow smile crept across Kray's weathered face.
One question at a time, boy.
One question at a time. He tapped the map in front of him.
Barros was a magician of immense power.
The most powerful of his age. He didn't just write the treaty.
He wove its protections into the very fabric of the land, ensuring that no single
city could dominate the others through greed or four.
A magician, the word hung in the air.
Rafe had seen the books and the name of the old guild, but to hear it spoken
as a simple fact was staggering.
He was of the Magic Guild then? He was the Magic Guild.
Now for your second question.
Kray's smile widened, revealing teeth worn flat with age.
What does the Order of the Dragon guard against?
Why, we guard against dragons, of course.
The statement was so casual, so utterly matter-of-fact, that Rafe let out a
nervous, disbelieving laugh.
Kray did not join him. His pale blue eyes were deadly serious.
Rafe's laughter died in his throat.
A dragon? But they don't exist, they are myths.
Of course there are dragons. Have you not seen the remnants of your fields that
its breath laid waste to?
The ash fields. The stories of a fire. The blighted land that nothing could reclaim.
The realization hit Rafe with the force of a physical blow.
The history of his home, the very ground it was built on, was a lie.
Then, then what is the great forgetting?
Rafe almost feared to hear the answer. Kray's face grew grim,
the smile vanishing completely.
He stood and walked around the table and stood before Rafe, looking serious
and powerful despite his stature.
The great forgetting was a punishment.
The lords of Ness grew greedy.
They broke the Barros Treaty by summoning a dragon, the only thing that could
surpass Barros' magical restraints.
They had hoped to use its power to rule the continent. They failed.
The beast could not be controlled, and it turned on your city,
laying waste to your golden fields.
It was only stopped when your city's greatest magician cast a spell of his own.
A spell so powerful it not only defeated the dragon, but it ripped the memory
of it and the entire history of the lands from the minds of everyone within your walls.
Kray scratched his beard. No one knows if the forgetting was part of the spell
or an additional goal added by the caster as punishment lest they be foolish
enough to ever try such a thing again.
Regardless, the result was the same.
A city that had already made enemies forgot who it was.
Rafe's mind was reeling, trying to piece it all together.
A dragon, a magical war, a spell that erased memory, and a single great magician
who had cast it. Who was this magician?
Rafe had an idea, but he doubted his own mind. It was impossible.
Cray looked down at him, his ancient icy eyes filled with a sorrow so profound
it seemed to contain the weight of all the forgotten centuries.
The same man who had two great spells remaining in him, one of which was to
extend his own life to watch over your city and hide its secrets and guide its future.
Do you know the great tragedy in that young Rafe?
He paused, peering deep into Rafe's eyes.
In Cast in the Spell, he lost his own memory completely, and he wandered the
centuries not even knowing why he was doing so.
With a suddenness that startled Rafe, Cray turned and made his way back to his chair.
But you asked a simple question.
This man was the greatest magician history has known.
Pietro was his name.
Music.
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