Twin Dragon

The Twin Dragon

Published by Brett Fitzpatrick

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Brett Fitzpatrick

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

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Dedication

For Babsi

The Twin Dragon

by Brett Fitzpatrick

Map of Westermere

Chapter 1

The battle was over and the forces fighting for the sorceress were jubilant. The people defending the walls around her tower were a ragtag band of outlaws and undesirables, but it was starting to look like they would emerge victorious. The duke's forces were still besieging her walls, that was true, but word would soon spread that their leader had been captured and the day had been lost. They would then, Serveen suspected, retreat to some safer location nearby, to regroup and decide what to do. Some of them were already retreating. The sorceress was smiling along with everyone else, but she refused to get caught up in the mood of celebration. She turned to the leader of the tired and ragged band of defenders.

Imbalon, she yelled.

Her voice had something magical about it, something that cut through the din of celebrations.

Imbalon, an elf with blonde hair wearing light armor looked over at her. The black mark between his eyebrows, given by his people when they banished him, stood out against his beaming face.

Yes, Serveen? he yelled back, rushing over to his mistress, the sorceress.

Serveen stayed where she was, waiting till he was close enough to talk comfortably, without yelling. She was a tall human, had dark hair and was wearing the robes of a queen, with plate armor over her torso to show her willingness to stand with her defenders. Imbalon started talking as soon as he arrived at her side.

What is it, Serveen? he asked.

We must be ready to chase the retreating enemy.

Chase them? Imbalon said, glancing over the battlements at the imposing enemy forces, who didn't seem to be going anywhere just yet, but they outnumber us by a wide margin.

True, Serveen agreed, but they are leaderless and they will retreat. When that happens, there will be confusion as they quit the field of battle.

Do you intend us to butcher them as they run? Imbalon's voice didn't disguise the shock and disgust he felt at the idea.

No, Serveen answered, That would be counterproductive. They would rally and defend themselves. That would only lead to even greater casualties on both sides.

Imbalon breathed a mental sigh of relief. He knew that the duke's forces were still very dangerous, even if they had the duke himself in custody after a daring raid into the besieging forces to snatch him.

I'm glad to hear that, Imbalon said, So what will be our objective, if we are not to try and chase them down and kill them.

Your objective will be the siege towers and siege engines. Force the enemy to abandon them. We need heavy weapons, such as the ballista our enemies were using against us today. They will be a vital addition to our own defenses.

I will organize a force, Imbalon said, with a curt nod.

Good. Do it quickly. The enemy will only be confused for a short time.

Serveen, the man said, just before he went, Do we really need these machines? We may not have fancy siege engines, but we do have a dragon.

The grizzled old fighter was beaming from ear to ear, delighted at the way their dragon had dominated the battlefield, and his liege and commander, the sorceress Serveen, smiled back.

Get moving, she yelled, good-naturedly, bring me back some booty from the battlefield.

Imbalon rushed away and descended the stone steps from the battlements at a run. Serveen could hear him calling his lieutenants as he went. She watched him expertly mustering a force to sally out on the mission she had given him, then turned and looked out from the battlements again, expertly assessing the duke's formation and the likelihood either that they would retreat, or that they would rally and return to the siege. Most of the enemy forces were at the tree line, where they had been waiting for the massive siege towers to breach the walls. They were still dangerously close. All it would take would be a commander to emerge from within their ranks and take the initiative and the battle would recommence.

There were five siege towers, but only two of them were showing signs of movement. Two of the mighty siege engines were stalled and the other one was lying smashed against the walls of the castle, like a wrecked ship on the rocks. It was just a little way along the wall to the left of where she was standing. Another, the next-nearest one where the people inside had seen the magical forces arrayed against the first, seen its fate, was emptying as she watched, men and women were jumping from it and fleeing the battlefield. An excellent development, the kind of undisciplined rout that was infectious, that could spread to the rest of the force. But there were still two siege towers in motion, both still trundling, much more slowly and hesitantly now, towards the castle walls.

By the ax of the first emperor, she cursed softly to herself, this battle hasn't been turned quite yet.

She wheeled on her heel and looked for the dragon. The creature was very young, little bigger than a pony, but he looked fearsome in the air, breathing fire. He was by the side of Willowtide, Serveen's apprentice. Willowtide was slumped against the battlements, exhausted after a prodigious display of magical power. It was she who had picked up the siege tower up, using her magical powers, and dashed it against the walls. Serveen had been amazed and impressed at the sheer power of the magic, though less so with the lack of finesse. She had to admit that her apprentice was a primal, wild magical talent, well chosen for her role. Serveen could provide the finesse, direct Willowtide's power. Together they would be unstoppable, if they survived the day.

Hark, Serveen called, and the dragon looked up, My brave dragon, I need you to do one more thing today.

But my friend, Willowtide, the dragon said, She is spent, she needs me.

It was wonderful to hear human language come from this magical creature's throat. Not all dragons learned the trick of it. Serveen admired the creature anew every time she saw it. Its scales were all a subtly different shade of gold and its wings had a wide span and heavy musculature, a healthy specimen.

The best help you can be to your friend is to secure this tower, to ensure she has a safe place to recover her might.

The dragon looked doubtful, the devotion it showed to Willowtide was so strong, not surprising since it was her who had found the egg, looked after it and been there when it hatched.

Archer is skilled with healing herbs, Serveen continued, He can tend to Willowtide and make sure she quickly regains her strength.

The dragon was finally convinced, taking a step away from Willowtide and raising its head, just as Archer, a young human boy in the same outfit as every other member of the outlaw band, arrived, his pouch of herbs, poltices and medicines already open.

What do you need me to do? the dragon asked.

I need you to give the soldiers out there at the trees a good scare. If you can make them run, their comrades in the siege towers will come running after them and they won't stop till they get back to Metraz.

The dragon soared into the air and Serveen watched it go. Its powerful wings beat as it climbed, the downdraft sending flags and battle pennants fluttering. Serveen wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but she thought she saw the dragon grow a little, edging closer to its colossal adult size. Serveen had assumed dragons grew gradually, just as every other animal, but now she remembered reading somewhere that they had some degree of control over their size.

He must be shrinking down so that he can follow his beloved Willowtide through these cramped castle doors, she said.

What? Archer said, from where he was crouching, tending to Willowtide.

Nothing, Serveen assured him.

She called over a couple of her band of brigands and they helped Archer carry Willowtide inside. Then Serveen turned her attention back to the dragon. It had already reached the troops at the forest edge. It was an intelligent beast, she knew, and it was displaying its cleverness in the way it attacked. It was setting fires to divide the enemy, drive them away in different directions and make it harder to regroup.

Clever boy, she whispered, as her attention was captured by something else.

The gates of her own castle were flung wide as Imbalon led a charge towards the nearest of the two remaining siege towers. It was too much for the soldiers within. Seeing their commander snatched, seeing their comrades behind them routed by the dragon and now seeing the doughty defenders charging right at them, they simply poured out of the siege towers and made a run for it. Yells of jubilation could be heard from the battlements, but Serveen watched a little longer because, from long experience, she knew it was moments like these that decided a battle, made or broke reputations and decided the course of history for periods that spanned generations.

Imbalon was leading a strong force, fifty of them, maybe more. The enemy was many times much more numerous, but spread out, leaderless, blind with fear, some of them had even left their weapons and shields in the siege towers as they clambered out. They were in such a rush to escape this terrible battle that had turned so suddenly and decisively against them that they weren't thinking straight. Serveen had no doubt that her people would have been able to chase them down and butcher a good number of them. She had seen it happen before, she had experience with the kind of fighters that wouldn't think twice about it. There were always people in any force who felt that blood lust, wanted revenge, closure, wanted to make sure the enemy didn't come back. Whatever the reason, there was a great danger there, because then they would be murderers in the eyes of the duke's people, and they would fight all the harder next time, and they would find allies all the easier.

It was with relief that Serveen saw Imbalon direct his people towards the siege towers to bring her the ballista inside, so she could position them within the castle walls. Then her relief dissipated with an exasperated snort, as she saw one of her brigands start to chase after the closest of the escaping fighters. Human nature, so predictable, forcing the warrior to disobey orders, look for revenge. She winced as two or three more of her outlaws started to join the chase. Imbalon was losing control of his force.

No, she whispered, Don't do it. You don't want to be simple-minded assassins.

The brigand in front let out a blood-curdling sound, half curse, half battle cry. Serveen couldn't catch the words from up on the battlements, but she understood the intent. She saw that Imbalon had heard too, had seen where the yelp had come from, and had started running. Now it was a foot race, Imbalon trying to reach his people before they reached their fleeing targets. More of her brigands joined the chase, though whether they intended to join in butchery or help Imbalon wasn't clear.

Come on Imbalon, Serveen yelled, but nobody down below heard her.

The brigand leading the charged looked to be male, from the broadness of his back, and was already raising a sword to deal a deathly and cowardly blow from behind. Serveen couldn't see any way to stop him now, and once one of the fleeing enemy fell, the others would soon follow. A stain on the honor of their nascent city that would take an age to erase.

The brigand yelled in triumph, pulled his sword back another couple of inches to make his blow even more telling, and that was when Imbalon managed to grab the blade, right at the very tip. He was wearing armored gauntlets, sword catchers they were called. And though he couldn't stop the blow, he took the force out of it, defected it, saving the intended victim's life and sending his own man sprawling in the turf. He ran a few steps further on, carried past his fallen subordinate by the momentum of his breakneck sprint, and then turned. He held out his hand, palm out, in an unmistakable gesture, commanding his troops to halt.

Serveen saw the handful of brigands that had lost discipline and followed the hothead all come to a stop. Imbalon held the moment, kept his hand extended, his chest heaving, fighting to pay back the oxygen debt he owed to his burning thighs and calves. The group was frozen, Imbalon with palm outstretched, his soldiers standing before him, also gasping with the exertion of their run.

Serveen watched, entranced, wondering what the comparatively slight elven man was going to do next. The hothead had climbed to his feet and now stood facing Imbalon. Imbalon balled the gauntleted hand held out in front of him.

He was staring into his subordinate's eyes, and the hothead seemed to be staring back, judging by the angle of his head. Serveen's brows knit together in concern. How was the skinny, lightly built elf to keep his authority over the brute standing in front of him. But, of course, his authority wasn't personal. It derived from his rank among the Outlaws of Finsterdel. The hothead's gaze fell, his head bowed slightly. The natural order of things had been restored. They were again an honorable band of brave and disciplined outlaws, the sort of people that youngsters could look up to, that legends could be told about and songs could be sung about.

How thin the line between honorable outlaw and pitiless cutthroat, Serveen mused, and the hothead had come perilously close to crossing it.

Serveen turned away from the battlements and descended the stone steps to city-level. The city was gone, of course, had been for centuries, all apart from her sorceress's tower, but Serveen finally had hopes that it would grow again. Finally she had amassed a group of people, even if they were outlaws, who could settle the ruins anew.

She smiled and went to find their prisoner. It didn't take long. She just looked for the largest group of brigands standing among the ruins of the city. She saw a group of seven or eight and she walked over to them. One woman saw her coming and tapped a comrade on the arm, he looked round and nudged a friend in the ribs. Soon they had all taken a step back, exposing the duke to her gaze. She walked right up to him, enjoyed the feeling of having him lying at her feet. The duke was still unconscious.

It's been a busy day, she said to the little band of brigands.

They all smiled.

Yes. That it has, milady the bravest of them replied.

Where is his gear? Serveen asked, Many of his items are enchanted, and anyone interfering with it could potentially come to harm.

In that sack, the woman who had first noticed her said.

Serveen saw she was armed with a longsword and her green cloak had a big rip in it.

Thank you, Serveen said, and paused.

Rexiana, the woman said, but everyone calls me Rexy.

Rexy, Serveen repeated, could you make sure to deliver that sack to the tower. They'll be expecting it.

Yes milady.

And why not take this big lummox, she pointed at the man that Rexy had first tapped on the arm, to help you carry it.

Yes, milady, Rexy said, then to her comrade, Come on Dankeen, you grab that side.

They gathered up the sack of equipment between them and staggered off towards the tower.

Now, Serveen said to the bandits that were left over, we had better find some sort of dungeon to throw our illustrious guest into.

As the bandits discussed different options for improvising a prison, Serveen finally let out a sigh of relief. The day was now really won. All the details had been dealt with and nothing was going to snatch it away from her.

Chapter 2

Willowtide told Serveen that she wanted to go just a few days later. They were, as usual, in the chamber of the tower where Serveen performed her magic. It was a comfortable space, full of magical paraphernalia with a view through large windows of the ruins of Gamaforeen. Willowtide wasn't concentrating on her studies, and Serveen was starting to get angry with her. It wasn't like Willowtide to daydream, in fact it was her almost superhuman ability to concentrate and commit things to memory that was a huge component of her power. Without that she would just be another wild talent, a powerful one, but far short of her potential.

You seem to be having a problem concentrating, Serveen hissed, tapping a huge book that was spread on their work surface.

There is something on my mind, Willowtide said.

Well get it off your mind, Serveen said, This language we are studying was never designed to be easy to read or remember. You must have an almost instinctive command of it if you ever want to master half of the spells in the books on these shelves. This language is like a key. It will unlock power that you can hardly imagine.

Willowtide nodded, but Serveen wasn't convinced she had gotten through to her young apprentice.

I can't stay here, Willowtide told her, It just isn't possible for me to ignore this any longer.

Ignore what? No wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to talk about whatever this is right now, Serveen said, raising her hand in a gesture that made it clear she wasn't joking, Just take the rest of the day off and we'll talk about it later, okay?

Okay, Willowtide nodded.

She gathered up her notebooks and went out, probably off to study in her own quarters, or, more likely, spend time with her dragon. Serveen could feel that she had made her apprentice angry.

Serveen was a little disturbed that Willowtide had said she wanted to leave the tower. Especially so soon after starting her apprenticeship. There was so much she still had to learn. She was so young, so capable, but so restless. There was nothing Serveen could do to make her stay, but that didn't mean she was completely powerless to influence Willowtide. What she could do was try to make sure that her apprentice would come straight back. There were a million different tempting offers that might catch a young woman's eye, once she had left the tower. Serveen had to make sure that the tower was always a more enticing goal than anything she found outside the walls. She had to come up with a way to make sure that she would always return. Serveen knew that she had built up quite a relationship with Willowtide, but was that enough?

Serveen was pretty sure she knew why Willowtide wanted to go. Her mother was still living in the elven city that she and her father had been banished from. She wanted to get her mother out, reunite her family here in her new home in Gamaforeen. Her father, Imbalon, would go with her, of course, and she would probably also take her friend, Archer. And it went without saying that wherever Willowtide went, her dragon, Hark, would also be going. The little rescue mission that Willowtide was undoubtedly planning would deprive the city of their most senior military commander, the second most powerful magic user and the dragon. There was nothing to ensure they all came back except a vague promise to serve the tower. Serveen wasn't convinced it would be enough. Their defenses would be seriously compromised. Serveen angrily slammed shut the giant book of magic that she had been studying with Willowtide.

Serveen put her hand against the brickwork of the tower.

She is grateful to us, she said to the giant, inanimate structure, But she isn't a believer. Not like me. I have to find some way to bind her to us. I have to weave a thread that will always bring her back.

The bare walk didn't answer, but Serveen nodded her head as if it had, solemnly listening and inclining her head to hear better.

Your right, she said, Willowtide, Archer and the Dragon are the ones from the prophecy. I should know, it was me who foresaw this, and the other thing I foresaw was that if that dragon does not return to Gamaforeen, it will fall.

Serveen's voice was becoming a little unhinged. Her words came in a flood, then a pause, then a flood. Then something caught her eye and she turned her head to see what it was.

Look, she said, waving an arm towards the window.

The dragon, glinting gold in the sun, could be seen flying acrobatic sweeps through the air. A group of her brigands, pledged to her service, were watching from the battlements. Their cheers when the dragon performed a particularly daring swoop or roll could be heard inside the tower.

Look, she repeated, The dragon has returned, and our city starts to grow again. It is just a band of woodland brigands, the undesirables pushed to the margins, but it is a start. The mightiest cities of Evermere, over the sea, are built on foundations no more auspicious than these buffoons. A dragon has returned, and Gamaforeen awakens.

Serveen fell silent another moment longer, following her train of thought to its logical conclusion.

The dragon follows Willowtide. Their bond is stronger than that for its own mother. If we keep Willowtide here, the dragon will stay too-

Serveen paused as if interrupted.

Of course not, she is too powerful to be imprisoned for very long, even if we were to try something so stupid. No she will only stay because of love. She must grow to love your old stones as much as I do.

Serveen laughed.

It is impolite to mention a lady's age, she laughed again, but yes, my love for Gamaforeen took a long time to blossom. A very long time. We have to give her a chance to feel this emotion...

She walked around her chamber, her fingers lingering on one magical artifact after another. Her fingers lingered on a jar containing a glittering golden ring, then a rolled up parchment, held closed with a clasp in the shape of a human skull, a rack of potions in delicate little globe-like bottles, then at the edge of one of the sturdiest tables, a helmet.

Of course, Serveen said, How could I forget you, old friend.

The helmet was ancient bronze, tarnished, and here and there a few runes were carved into it. The runes were in an ancient language, little more than notches made with a knife blade, but they were powerful, made at a time when magic was less subtle, less dilute, more wild and direct. The helmet had a plate protecting the face, leaving two little black holes for the wearer's eyes. Even though they were empty, they seemed to hold some kind of presence. Serveen stroked it lovingly, and then went to find her apprentice. She would have to smooth ruffled feathers, give her a hearing.

She found Willowtide on the way to her father's tent. It was pitched with the rest of the bandit tents, within the walls of Gamaforeen and near the base of the tower. Willowtide noticed Serveen, and let out an exasperated gasp.

What is it? Willowtide asked.

Oh, nothing, Serveen said, I was brusk with you before, and I wanted to apologize. Please, let's go and see your father. We have to take the time to enjoy our victory. You used your magic very bravely, and undoubtedly saved many lives during the battle.

Thank you.

Let's see if your father is home, Serveen said, He has a very proud eye on you.

Willowtide gave the older woman a hug, which Serveen uncomfortably returned, and ran over to see if her father was in his tent. He was, and he called for Willowtide to come in. Serveen followed her apprentice into the tent to see Willowtide and her father already hugging.

I'm so proud of you, he whispered. For the first time, I'm starting to think this crazy community here might actually have a future.

I've always thought that it did, Willowtide said, her voice suddenly serious.

But, Willowtide, her father said, I've also been thinking that things here would be even better if your mother joined us. We could be a family again.

Serveen sucked her lip in annoyance, but managed to hold her tongue. Willowtide didn't say anything for a moment, but it was obvious from her eyes that this was what she most yearned for.

After all this time in the wilderness, for both you and I, she said, Nothing would give me greater pleasure. But, she lives in the elven city.

Then that's where we'll have to go, her father said, as soon as possible.

Willowtide just smiled.

There is a lot happening here right now, Serveen said, Our attempts to bring Gamaforeen back from the dead, and to protect it from those who would see us fail.

These things are important, Willowtide said, the fates of thousands of people, whole kingdoms, hang in the balance.

Imbalon nodded, and hugged his daughter again.

It's true, he nodded, The duke's forces are still close, even if the duke himself is our prisoner. There is more we need to do before we get your mother back.

Serveen couldn't help but smile, a smile she quickly suppressed.

I'll leave you two to chat, she said, Come see me tomorrow Willowtide, and we'll carry o your training.

The next day, Willowtide arrived with her notebooks, but Serveen wasn't in her usual spot, she was by the window.

Put your books down on the table, Serveen said, and come over here.

Willowtide did what she was told and went over to stand beside her mentor.

Our kingdoms these days are so petty and small, Serveen said, We have divided up this land into ridiculous little potentates, even Evermere is divided up in the same way.

I have heard of Evermere, Willowtide said.

Good, Serveen said, But this land, which we have carved up amongst ourselves, this land called Westermere is worse. Much more divided.

But, Westermere has never been completely united, even under the Old Empire.

Not politically, no, Serveen admitted, but the Old Empire left its mark. Most people, and also many monsters, have a smattering of the language of that gilded age, Old Imperial. There was peace then, not this constant bickering between rulers, this constant war.

Would you like to bring back the Old Empire, Serveen?

Serveen turned to look at Willowtide, still side by side but no longer looking out one of the large windows of Serveen's study, now looking directly at her apprentice.

This tower, this old ruined city, was the capital of the Old Empire, Serveen said, gesturing out of the window at the tumbled stones.

Willowtide's eyes followed her hand, seeing the usual sea of grass and rubble, but also, here and there, tents, wooden shelters, and even a handful of stone structures, all in various stages of construction.

If Gamaforeen is coming back to life, Serveen said, Why can't it form the core of a new empire, a new empire that will unite all the quarreling fiefdoms of Westermere and bring peace once more.

It's quite a dream, Willowtide said.

Every summer comes the season of war, Serveen muttered, Battles are directed by the king or queen, behind their shield wall, but it is the people who suffer and die. They are butchered on the field of battle, starve when their crops are requisitioned to feed some marauding army, or put to the sword in reprisals for some slight or other.

It was ever so, Willowtide said, Even the elves, who were my people before I was banished, protect their lands.

Ha, Serveen snorted, The elves are as rapacious as the most venal human lord. The difference is they plant trees on their conquered lands, instead of flags.

That's not how it is taught in our history lessons in the elven forest, Willowtide said.

I don't doubt it, but the truth is that the elves are no different. But it didn't have to be this way. The whole of Westermere was united.

Almost all, Willowtide reminded her, The Old Empire never covered the entire landmass.

The first emperor was called Koth.

I know that name. There is still a Queen of the Koth line, Willowtide said, In the neighboring realm.

Yes, but where her ancestors once ruled the whole land, she is confined to a corner, a mere shadow of the Old Empire. Her realm is poor, by old standards. The Old Empire was rich. Wine, spice, silk and pottery was imported from Evermere. The land was indeed wealthy but there was not the huge gap between lords and paupers that there is now.

There were no poor? Willowtide said, incredulous.

Of course, Serveen said, Some had more and some had less, but there were no destitute families groveling in the filth of the city streets, nobody was outlawed and forced to live wild for failing to pay taxes.

Everyone paid their taxes? Willowtide said, even more incredulous.

It was easier back then, because the lords paid their fair share.

But lords do not have to pay tax. Only ordinary folk have to pay tax.

That's my point, and there was no wild zone to run to. Now, just beyond the cultivated fields, civilization ends and fell creatures roam almost unchallenged, the domain of monsters and bandits. But back then the whole land was cared for and tended.

You speak of these marvels as though you had seen them with your own eyes, Willowtide said.

Serveen turned away from the window and moved toward the center of the chamber. She stood among her books, jars, wands and other magical paraphernalia. She picked up a helmet from a shelf. The helmet looked primitive and battered. It was bronze, an inferior and soft metal that would offer little protection from a modern knight's mace.

I suppose that is today's lesson, Serveen said.

She came back over to Willowtide, carrying the helmet somewhat reverently.

It looks a rather meager artifact, Serveen said, does it not.

I have never noticed it in here before, Willowtide said, It has never attracted my attention.

That doesn't surprise me. So therefore, you have never tried it on?

No, Willowtide admitted.

Serveen held the battered old helmet out to her. Willowtide took it, immediately feeling its weight. It was large and heavy, too big for Willowtide's delicate elfin head.

Well, Serveen said, What are you waiting for?

Willowtide gave her a confused look in reply.

Put it on, girl.

Willowtide raised it gingerly above her and then lowered it into place on her head. She felt something, even before the helmet was properly in place, an electricity. The helmet was so large that it covered her eyes. All she could see was the inside of the helmet. But then she saw something else. It was an image of overcast skies, but it wasn't being received through her eyes. She was seeing it through her mind's eye.

She felt wind gusting past, even though she knew herself to be inside Serveen's chambers. The wind was bitter cold. She hadn't experienced anything like it since she was banished from elf society. That first winter after banishment, before she had found shelter, before she had proper clothes, before Archer had found her. That was the only other time she had felt such a freezing wind.

She snatched the helmet off her head again, and was immediately returned to the warmth of Serveen's chamber. Her vision was dark and blurry and her ears seemed stuffed with fabric, but it soon passed. The chill in her bones took a moment more to pass, but soon Willowtide was completely back.

Where were you? Serveen asked.

Did I disappear? Willowtide asked.

No, of course not. Physically, you were here the whole time. I mean, what did you see?

I didn't see anything, Willowtide said, just clouds, gray clouds.

Yes, perfect, Serveen said, That's how the story starts. Don't worry, he'll look down in a second, and you'll get a better view. Now put the helmet back on.

But-

But what?

It's so cold, Willowtide said, despondently.

Oh, Serveen was caught off guard a little, You could feel the wind?

Yes.

Serveen took a second before reacting.

Your powers are impressive, my apprentice, to be able to feel the wind on your flesh. I could only ever see and hear. But I suppose it can't be very comfortable, as you haven't spent much time up in the north.

Gamaforeen is in the north, Willowtide said.

Yes, true. But there are islands even further to the north that are much colder, covered in snow for the best part of the year.

"I've never felt cold