Nov. 9th, 2013

pegunicent: Default Setting (Default)
There is no way that Decimate can carry the sword. The weight was troubling for Zeke, but it was the shape that made it impossible for Decimate. It was a long bar of heaviness and sharp edges, that would have to be balanced perfectly along his spine so as not to interfere in his wings. Wrapping and sheathing the blade, then tying it and binding it to his familiar was just impractical. Not to mention the metal of the blade burned Decimate as silver did to Fiends.

Zeke could carry it, he had to carry it, but he already knew that carrying it too long and too far would kill him. Already from the mountain to the town beneath his back and shoulders had knotted into an aching, painful mess. To the next town only three days down the Lord's Road had left every muscle in his body twitching. He hurt. He felt like his lungs couldn't get enough air. His bones weren't built for the burden.

He couldn't touch his magic.

A mage without magic died. Slowly, painfully, usually in madness. This gift was killing him.

Noraja gave him the solution, and a debt he wasn't sure he'd be able to repay.

"Gran says you're cursed now, and the faster you and the devil leave, the better for RoughStone." She said, crouched at the doorway to the barn that he and Decimate were given to shelter in.

"Well, she might be right. We're leaving in the morning so I hope that's soon enough for her." Zeke sighed. The smith must have talked. Of course he had, what kind of news happened in a township so small that wasn't instantly spread and shared like summer sunshine.

Noraja liked Decimate, like many young children who didn't know enough to be afraid of what they didn't know, she saw not a monster but a creature that she'd never seen before.

"Can't you break the curse?"

"I want to, yes, but to do that I need a smith, a very good one. One that has worked on star-metal. The closest is in Vainfar, the Head smith that serves the Lords of the Land. At least, so the smith here tells me." Zeke explained. He was not one to hide or sugar coat or hide things from children, let alone young Witches.

"Is that a long way?"

"Yes, it's many, many weeks."

Noraja chewed her lip and reached up to stroke gently over Decimate's muzzle. He was tired, large ears twitching at their voices but otherwise his huge form barely moved. His breathing was slow and deep, Zeke felt certain he wasn't asleep but resting on the verge of it.

"You won't live that long, will you?"

Zeke thought about it, really thought, and wasn't sure. "If I have to carry the sword all the way, walking? Probably not. We'll be attacked by fiends or bandits, and I won't be able to fight. Or I'll get sick. Decimate won't be able to hunt well, we'll be very hungry and weak. If we have help, say a caravan or someone on their way who offers to carry us, that might get us there, but most people won't help us." He sighed, leaning into Decimates soft warm bulk.

He hadn't realized how much he depended on his small magics to get them through each day. He found food with magic, kept them safe on the road with charms, and convinced people to allow them shelter by trading his skills. Without his magic he had nothing anyone would pay for, and Decimate would scare off anyone with half a brain.

"What about horses?"

"Decimate scares them. Like people."

She didn't ask if leaving Decimate behind was an option, it wasn't. A Wizard didn't have to have a familiar, but a familiar had to have their mage. Decimate and Zeke were inseperable.

After a long moment Nojara nodded and stood up, dusting her hands off. "You got any coins left? Like two of the little ones?"

Zeke frowned and felt around in his pocket. The 'little' ones were the least valuable, made of thin gold stamped with symbols that had no meaning Zeke knew of. Gold was a pretty metal, and used for decorating as well as currency, but as a *useful* material even for magic it was rather poor. A Lord wouldn't be stupid enough to waste silver on coin when he could coat his Knight's weapons and armor in the protective metal. Iron and steel were for tools, weapons, and cookware. Brass, bronze and copper were the materials of the poorer folks who could not afford iron.

He had coins of a few sizes, all gold. taking out two of the smallest ones, he handed them to Nojara. He didn't know, or care, what she wanted them for.

"Will those be enough?"

"Yeah. It was nice to learn from you, you teach pretty easy." She grinned, but there was a seriousness in her tone.

"Thank you, I think. I wasn't trying very hard." he admitted.

"That's what made it good."



The next morning as the mother sun broke over the horizon, Decimate and Zeke started down the road, aching and weary and hungry already. Heading to the Akademy with the sword was suicidal and stupid, the Circles would demand the blade be handed over for examination, and then a great many stupid and terrible things were likely to take place, not least of which being an all out war between the Circles over who was truly in possession of Decimate and his Wizard.

Politics. Powerful men needed no excuse to seek more power, Zeke was no one's pawn.

Heading to Vainfar was suicidal, but at least he'd keep the sword out of the hands of Wizards like Jonar.

Jonar was a student, though he may have taken the Trials already. He was a White student who saw Zeke and Decimate as threats to the stability and sanctity of the Akademy. More than once he'd tried to corner them in the Light Halls and bully them into admitting to evil deeds or forbidden magics. He was a young man filled with fervor and purpose and nothing approaching restraint. This weapon in the hands of someone like him would be sure to lead to a massacre.

To be honest Jonar was one of the few Wizards who scared Zeke. There was something in his eyes, something shining and bright and mad that yanked all the memories of Landier to the forefront of Zeke's mind.

"What are you doing?! Leave Vence alone!" Zeke yelled, his tiny hand throwing a stone with uncanny accuracy at his older brother.

Landier backed away from the serving boy, face an angry mask as he glared downwards. "Go away you pest, we're playing a game. A *Wizard* game from Akademy."

"I don't believe you, you're lying, leave him alone or I'll..."

"You'll what you little afterthought? I'm a *Wizard*, what are *you* going to do to me?"

Zeke picked up another stone. "I'll beat you to death in your sleep!"




"Where are you going?" Vence asked, looking confused and frightened.

Zeke hugged the older boy hard. "I have to go to Akademy. I'll be back at High Summer, I promise. Don't forget about me?"

Vence laughed softly, nosing at the unruly ringlets. "How could I? I'll be right here waiting for you to come home."

"If he survives." Landier laughed from the kitchen entrance, teeth gleaming in a mockery of a smile.



The wall was rough and cold at Zeke's back, making the bruises on his back flare with pain. "I told you to stay out of trouble you little shit."

"I *did*, my scores are perfect!" Zeke argued, swatting ineffectually at Landier's arms.

"You think *scores* matter here? You're a Purple, you *stay* in the damned Purple where no one gives a shit about you."

"Or *what*?" Zeke growled, booted foot connecting solidly with Landier's shin.

The look in his brother's eyes promised a terrible, painful beating. "Or I'll show you what happens to stupid pretty pieces of shit. You think I'm bad Zeke, huh? I'm your brother. I'm the only one keeping you safe here. You want to make waves and break rules, then I'm not going to save you anymore."




The Green laboratory was a place of many small rooms and a single observatory. Each room was sound proofed.

Zeke couldn't help screaming anyway. The blindfold and darkness kept him from seeing who was hurting him, the ropes kept him from escaping, and the pain kept him from thinking. Between the screams came sobs and begging, shameless and helpless.

He wouldn't remember much in when it was over, his memory didn't want to hold onto such trauma so it easily bent to the amnesia charms, but while it happened he was aware only of fear, pain and violation. He knew Landier was there, listening, watching. He knew because he knew his brother. He knew this wasn't the first time, though he couldn't remember any other. He knew this wouldn't be the last, because landier lived and delighted in his screams.

He begged anyway because what else could he do?




There on the road, just out of sight of the small township, they met company. Nojara was waiting for them, holding the reigns of a dull eyed roan work horse. It flicked its tail and swiveled its ears, but otherwise didn't seem to notice them.

"Nojara, does your Gran know you're out here?"

"Course, but she's pretending she doesn't. Witch business. First coin got you a horse, second got you the stuff to go with, saddle bags, pad and such." She shrugged then handed Zeke the reigns. Bemused he took the thin leather straps, looking the animal over.

Its withers were high, feet large and splayed. It had a rough coat, brown and gray mixed together in a color that could have been pretty but mostly looked old, worn and dirty. Over it's pale eyes was a thick film, like cataracts, which might have explained why it wasn't trying to run for it's life from Decimate. Except that it could smell the un-natural scent of his Familiar's musk.

"This is Coal, used to be a mine horse, pulling carts out of the coal mine. Nose is dead, eyes is dead, still breathing but maybe not too long cause his teeth is pretty dead."

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