The Dragons Are Waking

The Thieves Guild written by Jake Kerr, Chapter eight, The dragons are waking. The room in the Thieves Tower was small, warm, and had all of the comforts of home that Darla had strove for. It was perfect in every way, with the exception of one thing, the presence of Prosper. He was curled in the corner, his red tunic stark against the gray wall. He wasn't screaming. Screaming would have been easier to handle. He was whispering a relentless, rhythmic patter that sounded like water dripping in some dark cave. They know, they know, they know, they want to come home again. Who was they? I have an eye, Maeler said, interrupting the drone of Prosper's ravings. Please let me know what it is. I fear will never free Prosper from his own mind. I think these are all echoes from his shattered mind. But they are echoes of real conversations, conversations with the wizards. They have these fears and understanding of home, this home. Darla got it. So he thinks that something has made the wizards in the other nests realize that this nest is ready for them, ready for them to come home. I don't know, but that's the closest I can come up with. Prosper, Who's coming home? Maeler's voice was firm, but gentle. Prosper's head snapped up. His eyes were wide, vacant blue holes that seemed to look through the walls, through the mountains to a place that shouldn't exist, the eastern sky. The silence is ending. They know the Ageless One is dead and the way is open. They will come. They will return to the high Stone. They will burn the memories. He scrambled backward, pressing himself into the corner, as if trying to merge with the stone. Hide. The dragons are waking. Darla stood up, backing away. A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty tower traced its way down her spine. By the gods, Maela, could that be it? The dragons have awakened him? Will come here? Maela looked at the broken wizard. I don't know, but his words aren't just ravings. They seem to make some sort of sense, like he's warning us of something. Maela stood up and walked over to Darla. But whatever it is, he is consistent. It is to the east. Do you think the magicians would know? Dahla had considered it likely, but they wanted nothing to do with ness. As far as they knew, the road was still closed. It seems like a possibility. They seemed to know so much more than us. Darla realized what they needed to do. Prosper had been struggling to say it since they had arrived. We need to return to find answers. Maybe it will trigger something in Prosper. But how are we to fight wizards, or at the least stop them from throwing us in a magical prison. Maeler began pacing. We can't fight them. She looked up, and for the first time in weeks, Darla didn't see the weary refugee or the domestic partner. She saw the blade. She saw the woman who had infiltrated the unassailable harvest house, who had lived in the vents and the shadows. Maeler's eyes were bright. Her posture shifted, the lethargy vanishing, replaced by a predatory grace. We can't fight, but we can investigate. We can steal, we can watch, We can slip into the dark. We can wear red and ask questions. We can follow the streams, to the creeks, to the rivers, to the source of the water. Darla watched her. She should have been terrified the idea of war looking into a city of wizards, infiltrating the city of the wizards was suicide. But seeing Maela like this it was electric. We will go, Darla said. It is a statement of fact, because that's what it was. We don't know the terrain, we don't know the language. Maela stopped and smiled as she looked at Darla. But we know how to hide. She reached out and took Darla's hands in hers. We go east. We find out if Prosper is crazy or if he's a prophet. If he's wrong, we come back and laugh about it. If he's right, we give a lard the warning he needs to hold the walls against. Maela looked up dragons. Darla looked at Prosper shivering in the corner. Then she looked at Maeler. The excitement in Maela's face was contagious. It was dangerous, yes, but it was better than waiting to die. We'll need supplies, rations, dark cloth. Red is hard to come by, but it shouldn't be impossible. Yes, gather the supplies and pack the bags. Maeler walked toward the door. I need to talk to a lard. She grinned a flash of white teeth. He's going to hate this. Maeler slipped out the door, moving silent and fast, leaving Dalla alone with the raving wizard and the growing certainty that they were about to walk straight into some arcane hell. Darla let out a long breath. She went to the wardrobe and pulled out two travel sacks. It's okay, prosper The Ageless One may be dead, but we are not. A Podcast Alchemy production