Desert Wind: 1.1
Desert Wind: Prologue
"Get in there, you!"
Knoll tumbled into his cell, sent sprawling from the kick of the avian guard who was escorting him through the dusty passages of The Warrens, Kalibane's massive subterranean jail. Knoll groaned as he picked himself up from all fours, leering at the horned owl guardswoman, who was looking back at the fox with an equally fierce glower. The young fox bit down his tongue, knowing better than to be glib in The Warrens. Instead he spat a glob of bloody phlegm into the complimentary bucket, slowly sitting upright as he watched the great-horned owl turn with a huff and a click of her beak.
Only after the clack of her clawed feet echoed into the distance of the stone tunnels did Knoll shout out at his door "And fuck you too!" His voice reverberated into distance, first losing volume and then growing louder again as the sounds echoed back through the winding corridors into his sensitive ears. The fennec leaned back and flopped hard on the hewn stone floor, his dirty alabaster hair fanning out behind his neck and shoulders. They'd never kick him around if he was as big as those guild bouncers. Of course it helped that the thieves guild greased the palms of half the guards here to ensure their assets weren't damaged during their detainment.
But Knoll wasn't a bouncer. He was... to be frank, he was a nobody. He was a scrawny, diminutive fennec who barely reached five feet. And that was counting his ears. The foxboy let out a little grunt of pain, before slumping onto his back again, laying in the dirt with nothing but sackcloth pants and ragged footwraps. He gingerly ran his hands across his emaciated form, feeling every bruise, some old and some brutally fresh. Slender fingers felt the shallow bumps of his ribs as his stomach growled in need. The rough stone cell was barren, save for the bucket and strong wooden door reinforced with iron bands. There wasn't even a torch bracket. The only light came from the hall outside. Knoll knew better than to try and pick the lock on that door. His tongue ran over the file and pick he kept under his teeth, allowing himself a moment of wishful thinking.. "Welcome home again," growled Knoll to himself.
Down the hall, someone cackled with cathartic mirth. "And it's the best home there is, ain't it foxboi?"
Knoll spat, recognizing the nasally tones of Moro, a hyena that was as tall and ripped as Knoll was petite and scrawny. Of course, Knoll couldn't see the other canine right now, but his obnoxious, incongruously high voice was unmistakable. "Keep laughing, bottom feeder."
"No need for names," mocked Moro, his obnoxious voice grating on Knoll's ears like knives. "We're all on the same level down here."
"Yeah, yeah," grumbled the fox. "How long're you in here for?"
"A few more weeks. Shemmar is paying to get me out quicker. What about you?"
"I'm paying with the whip, I think. Got no one to grease the wheels, do I? I have better things to do than rot in here."
"Sure you healed from last time?" The hyena's voice dropped an octave, sounding a little concerned now. "If you've got no money to grease palms you've got no money to visit a terramancer. You're on a one way trip to a crippled back."
"Do I have a choice?" asked Knoll, scowling into the darkness. "Besides, three strikes shouldn't be too bad..."
"Got any digits you aren't particularly attached to?"
Knoll looked down at his right hand, his weaker one. His two shortest fingers were gone already. The old trade off... could he lose another finger on his right hand and still maintain the level of skill he needed with it? And what about an infection? His trail of thought was interrupted by Moro's voice again, returning to its nasally, high-tenor quality again. "This is the third time in a month you're down here. You losing your touch since you decided to ditch the Sandworms?"
"Never," balked Knoll, sounding much more confident than he was. "It's bad luck. That's all. Now I can actually keep what I'm stealin these days."
"Pretty severe bad luck, if it's causing you to get your back sliced open."
"No one ever said this life was easy," grumbled Knoll. "Besides, at least the Inquisitors won't find me guilty by association if they actually catch Miranda."
"Catch the Queen Worm herself? She'll be dead and buried before that happens." Moro said nothing more, and both males retreated to the silence of their cells. The fox was still sore, from the rough detainment he'd suffered at the hands of Kalibane's guards. The Desert Star's finest were not known for restraint when it came to dealing with guttersnipes.
Still... he wasn't much of a guttersnipe anymore... If his counting was right, he was reaching his 17th solstice. He couldn't keep coming back here. It just didn't seem too conducive to a long and healthy lifetime. Plus he was running out of fingers. He didn't want to lose any more on his right, it'd be practically useless then. And if he offered his left? He might as well give up any hope of a life performing a worthwhile profession if his main hand lost any of its dexterity. For that matter he'd be worthless as a thief too.
He was a pretty worthless thief now. He was such an idiot, trying to go for such a big steal. Why was he so obsessed with the big steal? The big job that would put him into the black market big leagues. The job that would prove that he didn't need to be a Sandworm to be a good thief. So far... All he got for his trouble was stripes.
Knoll sighed, his large ears drooping low. The great reinforced door loomed in front of him, taunting him with its indomitability. His tongue passed over the pick in his mouth again. He had to try SOMETHING. Knoll sat up and crawled slowly to the door, ears perked to the clatter of a guard's boots on the stone or the grumble of a bored prisoner looking out his bars. Nothing...
Leaning against the door, Knoll clenched his eyes shut, opening his jaws and pushing slender fingers back inside, stopping just before the top his throat before finding what he needed. With a painful POP, Knoll plucked loose the last, desperate tool in his tool box. Knoll bit down on his lips to stop from cursing, his mouth filling with the taste of blood again. The file wasn't iron or bronze, but a flexible, pliable steel that would have a hard time breaking. It was short though, short enough to conveniently fit inside the root of a previously plucked tooth. Shame it was a bitch and a half to get out. And back in, for that matter. A rune that symbolizes luck was obscured by the blood drawn from the extraction process. Still, a toothache was a lot better than talking to the whipping man.
Knoll peered into the lock, seeing a black abyss of tumblers and iron. He knew he couldn't pick that. His fingers danced along the door, trying to find a flaw in the heavy barrier. The wood was solid, the bars were iron, but scrupulously cleaned of rust. The nails were flat against the oak of the door, save for one. Knoll took a moment to pry it loose, shimmying the iron out of the wood with his short, pointed claws. It was a large one, almost like a knife. it was fairly sharp too, pricking the fox's finger as he tested the point, leaving a small bead of blood on his right index. It would certainly do.
An ironclad footfall echoed down the hall, making Knoll jump before scrambling to the back of his cell on well-honed instinct. He leaned against the wall, eyes down but watching the guard as he made his pass. He was big, a bull probably, and his armor could barely contain the muscle bulging beneath the armor. Knoll thought the horned helmet the guard wore was surprisingly small for such a big body. The moment the hollow stone halls were silent again, Knoll crouched and padded up to the door and checked the other nails, using the first to pry three more from the oak. Every tool mattered right now.
Ears poised to pick up the slightest of noises, Knoll inspected the great lock on his door. It was a deadbolt, sturdy and implacable. The keyhole was a fancy one, with at least four tumblers. But the bolt itself... Knoll pressed his face against the minute crack between the door and the frame. It was iron, like the rest of the warrens, but it looked older, rusted, and pitted with corrosion. He smiled. With a light schnick of metal sliding past metal, Knoll slipped the length of the tool through the door and shimmied it up against the bolt. A light scraping began to echo through the halls.
As Knoll continued to chip away at the deadbolt, a humming filled the hallways. It was Moro, humming an aimless tune in his unnaturally high tenor, letting the sound resonate throughout the halls. The fox cracked a smile, appreciative of the hyena's directionless melody and how it covered the sound of his file. He worked faster, reckless pace, not caring about the telltale sounds as other prisoners joined in the impromptu choir, directing the melody into something resembling Vinda's Aria, an old world hymn to the wind god.
"Exactly what are you singing back there?" The imperious voice of a female broke through the music. The humming stopped with a string of curses. Knoll indulged himself in a few of his own. The clank of heavy metal feet on stone announced the arrival of an inquisitor. The priestess, a short but heavyset lioness draped in the slate grey iron armor and lavender robes of the Clerics of Four. She was flanked by a corpulent, black furred mole wearing spectacles of tinted glass and clad in thick plate: the head warden known as Kinqaid. The mole's star-shaped nose quivered as the two furs examined the hallway. The lioness spoke first. "Do you cretins want to add heresy to your charges?"
Knoll focused only on his filing, grateful that he was at the end of the hall of cells. He filtered out the incoming clerical tirade, sawing through the deadbolt a millimeter at a time. His eyes zeroed in on the deadbolt, unhappy with his progress. Biting his lip, he worked faster still, so fast that sparks seemed to fly from the door. They were flying from the door. Knoll actually had to recoil his hand, the deadbolt so hot it had turned white, melting in the socket with the stench of smoking wood and boiling metal.
The fox's eyes widened in astonishment, both amazed and terrified. He had no idea why he had melted the door, but now was not the time to ask questions. His reverie was violently interrupted by the roar of the cleric. "What's going on in the far cell?" Knoll had neither the time nor the inclination to answer. He wrenched the door open with a heave of his whole body, gripping the old nails in his hand and dashing down the hallway towards the cleric and the warden, his long, ragged hair fanning out behind him as he blitzed down the corridor.
Knoll may have been small, but he was certainly fast. His feet propelled him forward with blazing speed, pushing so hard off the ground that he was practically airborne. His body was slung forward and low to the ground, his arms spread wide for balance as he rocketed down the corridor. "STOP HIM!!" roared Kinqaid, fumbling with a large trident strapped to his back.
The priestess was ready, releasing a leonine growl as she drew a mace from her belt. The iron weapon struck with wicked speed for such a crude instrument, but Knoll ducked beneath its arc with a deft twirl. He tucked into a roll, slipping beneath the lioness' legs and turning around. With a dart of white hands, Knoll fitted two nails between his index and middle fingers of each hand and thrust them behind the knees of the cleric, finding the tiny chink in the inquisitor's armor and sinking deeply into the cat's flesh. Her roar nearly split Knoll's sensitive ears as she tumbled to the ground. Darting around, Knoll sprinted away at breakneck pace, already outstripping the pace of the portly warden.
Knoll let out a laugh that was between a pant and a cackle as he rushed through the maze-like corridors of The Warrens, letting his frequent visits to the facility steer himself towards the exit. Clattering footsteps, angry shouts, and the jeers and encouragements of incarcerated furs followed the fox at every turn. Suddenly, Knoll stopped, dancing from bare foot to bare foot in indecision.
Could he leave it? Should he leave it? Knoll looked at his two missing fingers. If he left it, this whole escape would be worth nothing. He'd gone through hells and high water, and gods damn it he'd not be leaving The Warrens without the reason he was sent here in the first place. The fox darted off, taking a left to go deeper into the complex rather than the exit on the right.
The guards were closer now, Knoll having sacrificed his lead as he weighed his options. Knoll used one of his nails to disable a guard in a similar manner to the lion priestess, but for the most part Knoll just ran. He only had one nail left to use as a weapon, and he couldn't fight everyone anyway. His mind raced almost as fast as his legs. Where would the guards have put his things when he was searched? The armory? The barracks?
At a loss for direction, Knoll decided to go with the most thorough approach. He kicked open the nearest door, his eyes glancing about the room. It was an armory, with an array of pikes, swords, and shields hanging on racks. The fox moved on without a second glance. The next door yielded a shout of protest as the fox kicked open an occupied privy. The next door was an empty office of a low ranking officer. The fourth elicited a clamor of plates, armor, and swords as Knoll accidentally opened a mess hall, occupied by numerous soldiers about to start or end their duties. "Great," groaned Knoll to himself as the guards fumbled with their weapons. "This day keeps getting better and better."
The seventh door yielded what Knoll was looking for. It was the evidence room. Veritable mountains of contraband covered every flat surface. Coins, jewels, purses, and other valuables laid about, practically unguarded. The owl guard who had thrown Knoll into his cell was examining an unsheathed scimitar, her face sagging into a look of dumbstruck surprise. The blade was made of a curious green metal, highly reflective and luminous despite the gloominess of The Warrens. A pentagonally cut emerald, the size of a child's fist, was inlaid above the leather wrapped handle.
"That's my sword, bird brain," shouted Knoll. His legs snapped beneath him as he leapt from the floor to the desk. All ninety pounds of his alabaster body collided into the guardswoman with surprising force and a clang of flesh on metal. The owl sprawled backwards, too surprised to brace herself against such a blow. The guardswoman didn't miss another beat, and she started to pick herself off the ground, reaching for the dagger in her belt. Knoll took the opportunity to snatch up the emerald sword before turning around, beginning to dash towards the door. The owl's knife buried itself into the doorframe next to Knoll's ear, but the fox's tail was already curling around the door and out into the corridor.
Every fur that Knoll had blazed past on his journey to the sword was now filling the hallway in front of the fox, a wall of metal and bodies between incarceration and freedom. To Knoll, there was no choice in his actions. Like a gust of wind he burst forward, tucking, rolling, and tumbling between the forest of ironclad limbs. Swords and pikes thrust forward, but Knoll actually found refuge in the crowd, as the guards had bunched themselves up so close that they couldn't swing their weapons properly. By the mercy of the gods, Knoll remained unscathed as he slipped out of the tangle of bodies. The fox did not wait, and dashed towards the exit.
Just as he thought he was free and clear, Knoll felt the wind knocked out of him as he bodily collided with a veritable wall of metal. The fox's head echoed with the collision as he shook himself, staring up at what looked like a living suit of armor. It was an animus, a Gaia by the looks of its heavyset, bull-like features. It emitted a metallic grunt at the impact before looking down, glowering at the fox. "An escapee," it growled, its voice somewhat tinny despite its low pitch. Letting out a squeak of fear, Knoll rolled sideways along the ground before dashing between its legs. The fox was followed closely by the heavy clang of the automaton's movement.
As Knoll kept up his blistering pace, A veritable train of pursuers followed, somehow keeping pace with the fennec's sprinting. Damn tiny legs of his. The fox panted, knowing he couldn't keep up this pace for long. He ducked and weaved through the streets of Kalibane, kicking up dust as he tumbled between the legs of furs who were coming to or from one of the Desert Star's bustling bazaars. With a clatter and a roar of outrage, the fox dived through an open-air fruit stand, sending produce and people flying everywhere. He didn't stop to examine the chaos he created, only to keep running, letting his knowledge of Kalibane's fetid low district guide him to a hidden nook, safe from the prying eyes of his assailants.
All the while he waited, Knoll looked at the sword in his hand. He held it like he would a lover, keeping it close to him so that it wouldn't catch the light and alert any nosy bystanders. It's single, sloping edge was like the finest razor, so brutally sharp it could slice the air itself. Knoll scored the keen edge with his right hand, earning himself a few light cuts that he sucked on so that the blood wouldn't stain the curious green metal. It was the most beautiful thing the fox had ever laid eyes on in his seventeen years.
"And therein lies the problem," thought Knoll. He couldn't walk around with the sword. It was too noticeable, too unique, too beautiful for a street rat. Everyone would know he stole it. There was no way to pawn it either, for the same reasons. It had taken nearly a season for Knoll to orchestrate the events he needed to steal this blade, and all he could do was hang it above his fireplace. If he had a home with a fireplace. Or a home, for that matter.
Maybe, just maybe, he could carry it around if he got a proper scabbard for it. Something nice enough for such an elegant weapon but common enough that no one would think it was something special if Knoll didn't draw it. The fox eyed the curvature of the blade. It was too sharp of a curve for just any sheath. He'd need something custom made.
It was not until the cover of the early morning that Knoll left his bolt hole. He didn't even know what part of the city he was in right now. It was close to the Warrens, so that meant Lowtown, He'd certainly passed the Lowtown Bazaar during the chase, so that meant he was potentially close to the Scale District, which was where most of the local trade went on. If he could get to Sandworm territory it was possible he could talk to Kos... Knoll immediately squashed that idea. He couldn't come crawling back to the Worms whenever he needed something. Maybe Muston could help him... but he was across the city, in the Ivory District.
Knoll's musings were interrupted by a heavy clank of metal on cobblestone. The foxboy jumped, his fur bristling as he looked around. It was only an animus, another Gaia like the one in The Warrens. The magical machine was burdened by what looked like the contents of an open air stall, overlooked by an old goat of a shopkeeper, leaning on a knobby cane. The fox growled to himself. He couldn't be so jumpy. If he acted guilty, he'd just get caught again, sword or no sword. Knoll trotted off, trying not to look too much like he was in a hurry. Just one of Kalibane's countless foxfolk, off to do whatever he needed to do. At least, that's what Knoll thought he looked like.
The morning grew later, and more and more furs joined Knoll on the street, too busy with their own daily affairs to notice a dirty fox boy, even if he was carrying a naked sword. But as Knoll left the Scale District, another thought crossed his mind. He'd need money for a sheath. Gods, it always came down to money, didn't it? Knoll's green eyes darted about the street, searching for a mark.
The art of finding a mark was a complex one. Stealing from a beggar was easy, but if the beggar had anything worth stealing, he wouldn't have been a beggar. Nobles tended to be too vigilant or too well guarded to risk petty pilfering. It was that middle area that yielded the best results. In the flurry of morning activity, a bump and run would be the smartest thing to do.
Knoll's mark revealed himself after ten minutes of careful crowd watching. He was a dragonkin, tall, so tall that he seemed to cast a shadow over the rest of the street. He was powerful, with a tight, corded body garnered with bright blue scales that contrasted with his golden throat and horns. He practically glowed from beneath an elegant black robe, adorned with silver and green embroidery at the hem and sleeves. A blue sash at his waist held a fat leather pouch, held together by a silver clasp adorned with a pale amethyst.
Knoll licked his lips, feeling that bubbling glee that welled up in his chest right before a heist. As the dragon crossed the nook the fox was hiding in, Knoll darted out, weaving through the crowd. He collided into the dragon's scaly legs with an umph and a hurried "sorry," before pulling away, his fist clutching the fat purse. Just as Knoll put on a burst of speed away from his victim, his arm was yanked so hard that he dropped his sword and nearly separated his shoulder from the socket.
"You must be a terrible thief," said a deep, nonchalant voice, exceptionally casual despite the fact that its owner was almost a victim of thievery. The dragon pulled on Knoll's arm again, lifting the fox onto his tip toes as the dragon examined his right hand, still clutching the purse. "I rescind that statement. You are a terrible thief." Two scaly fingers tapped where Knoll's hand ended at the knuckles.
Knoll struggled the whole while, his legs kicking feebly at the dragon's hard body. "Let me go you overgrown lizard." His resistance only made the dragon grip harder. Knoll knew when he was overpowered, and now was just such a time. He channeled his frustration into an incoherent tirade of spitting and curses. By this point a ring of people had formed to spectate the commotion.
With a rush of wind and a flurry of dust, both Knoll and the Dragon were blasted off their feet by an invisible force. Knoll landed on his back, his hand still clutching the purse. His head span with impact, and he coughed up the dust of the street. The fox had no time to question things. All he knew was that he had the purse in one hand and his sword was in reach of the other. Only thing left to do was to get his legs moving.
But as Knoll regained his bearings, The dragon was already standing over him, blocking out the morning sun with his tall profile. The fox grunted as he scrabbled to his feet, running for his life with his prizes clutched in his fists. There was roar that thrummed with power behind the fox. "SERAJAKA!" With a rush of wind, the scaled male was lifted off the ground as if on wings. He flew in a graceful arc over the heads of the crowds and landing right on top of Knoll, his arms pinning his wrists and one knee pressed into the small of the foxboy's back. "If you value your life, street rat, you will do what I say and you won't move a muscle." The words were a low hiss, so that only Knoll could hear each perfectly enunciated syllable.
Knoll slackened after only a moment, again recognizing that he was overpowered. He hissed, "what are you going to do to me, lizard?"
"Save your godsforsaken pelt, if you keep your muzzle shut," whispered the dragon.
A clatter of armored feet echoed through the street as a commanding, female voice roared a command. "By order of The Four, cease your spellcraft!" It was the lioness Knoll had injured during his escape. Her knees looked relatively undamaged from the previous night, but the cat walked with a slight limp still. She locked her brown eyes with Knoll and glared, mouthing the word "you!"
The dragon stood up, gripping both of Knoll's wrists with one hand and lifting him like a sack of potatoes. Knoll grunted, feeling like his arms were being slowly wrenched out of his shoulders. The dragon spoke in a calm, carrying voice. "My name is Kuzon Yukari, Loremaster of the Ivory Spire. I have willingly and knowingly cast two aethermancies in an attempt to retrieve my identification amulet from this urchin here."
The lioness crossed her arms, glaring at the two males in the street, flecked with dust. "You openly admit to casting spells without proper identification or authorization?"
"To the contrary, I had the proper identification," said the dragon known as Kuzon. "It was merely temporarily removed from my person by this urchin here." He indicated Knoll with a nod.
"But surely you knew that unauthorized without an identification amulet could be grounds for witchcraft?" The lioness crossed her ironclad arms, glaring at the two of them.
"Again, I must speak to the contrary," said Kuzon, his tone laden with something that wasn't quite sarcasm. "I was merely executing my right to recover a highly valuable church artifact. If you were to find me casually walking throughout the city without my amulet, it would be grounds for arrest on a charge of witchcraft. In order to prevent myself from being charged with such a heinous crime, I did everything in my power to ensure I was following the rules your priesthood laid down for me." The dragon's smile was wide, gleaming white in the morning sun. If Knoll didn't know any better, he'd have sworn Kuzon was enjoying this little exchange.
The lioness glared, now lightly slapping the head of her blunt mace against her gauntleted palm with a light clank. "Just... just give me the urchin then. He's wanted for escaping prison, the theft of a sword, and now, apparently, the theft of your coin purse and amulet."
"If it would please you, I'd like to exercise the Ivory Spire's right to prosecute those who steal our property privately. You are aware of the procedure, correct?"
"Yes... I know your... your ancient rites," The priestess' voice practically oozed exasperation. "Are you claiming that sword is also property of the college?"
"Yes. I know for a fact that this weapon was commissioned less than a year ago. My amulet was issued by the church, but provided by the college, and my coins are from a stipend for research materials." Kuzon's smile widened, although not to the point of being disrespectful.
"And what about the charge of breaking out of prison?"
"What was he being charged with before he escaped?"
"Stealing that sword," the lioness' face fell, knowing what Kuzon would say next.
"If that's the case, it still seems like I am operating within my right to deal with the boy privately. Unless you can provide a law indicating the contrary."
The priestess growled her frustration before grumbling. "Fine, fine! Just... just take him back to your blasted tower now. Your shopping can wait until later."
Kuzon nodded his assent before turning around, still holding Knoll be his two wrists. He carried the boy like this for more than three blocks before Knoll piped up. "I can walk, you know."
"If I let you walk, will you run away?" Knoll didn't answer, and Kuzon repeated himself. "Will you run, boy?"
Knoll didn't answer. Instead he asked, "Where are you taking me."
"To the Ivory Spire, if you value your life."
"What are you going to do to me at there," said Knoll, trying to keep his tone neutral. He'd heard the rumors about that place. "Are you going to make me a test subject or something? Turn me into a cactus?"
Kuzon let out a low rumble of a laugh. "Nothing of that sort. But I tire of carrying you boy. I'd advise you not run, if you value your skin. I can't pull the same trick twice."
Knoll stewed for a moment, thinking about his options. It seemed unlikely that this Kuzon person would do anything particularly cruel if he was so insistent on keeping him safe from the clergy. Plus his arms were getting sore. "Fine. Let me down. I'll even give you your purse back."
"And lo, he's actually reasonable," chuckled Kuzon before placing Knoll back on his feet. Knoll's first instinct was to run, but he didn't for some reason. Maybe it was the dragon's stare, a piercing gaze of golden eyes. "I'd like my money back, if it would please you."
Knoll hesitated only a second before handing the leather pouch back with a clink of gold. "I'm... I'm sorry for... for taking it." The fox was unused to apologies.
"Thank you, boy. Now, would you care to tell me your name?"'
"Knoll," said the fox. "Just Knoll."
Kuzon nodded and moved on. "I want you within arm's reach at all times. I can't hold your hand in the street. People will think it's suspicious. If you run, I won't hesitate leaving you to the mercy of an inquisitor."
Knoll gulped and obeyed. The walk across the city felt like miles, even though their destination was only one district away from where Kuzon had caught him. The Ivory Spire loomed over them, casting a shadow over the city like a great sundial. Kuzon moved at a brisk pace, forcing Knoll to jog to keep up on his shorter legs.
Kuzon traveled with an air of confidence that denoted a casual intimacy with the underbelly of the city, like he had lived in Kalibane for years. He led them away from the main roads, down side streets that were less frequented. Knoll knew why he did this. The fox couldn't win an outright chase, and he couldn't lose Kuzon easily without the throng of early morning market goers. But still he didn't want to run.
Perhaps it was the morbid curiosity he'd always held with their destination, the Ivory Spire, ever since he was a kit. Most everyone in Kalibane looked down on magic, and many with the potential to be a magician chose to forgo cultivating their talents, dismissing spellcraft as the art of the lawless or the unrighteous. But Knoll had always envied those with the talent to bend the world to their whims, and now he was being taken to the place where they were all gathered. Even if they did turn people into cactuses, it would be cool to see how they did it.
The two males were met by a great wall of sandstone bleached the color of bone. It loomed above their heads, casting a cool shadow that shielded them from the desert sun. The only way in was a great, black iron gate, adorned with silver engravings and a massive quartz knocker polished so fine it looked almost like a diamond. Kuzon placed a hand upon the quartz and grumbled a word. With a low hum, the silver engravings turned deep, moss green before opening of their own accord, revealing a grandiose courtyard.
Knoll couldn't resist being in awe. So much green! There was a garden here, a real garden! Next to the native cacti and shrubbery of Oken's great desert were fruit trees and flowers. They even had fountains that gurgled and splashed so that a cooling mist filled the courtyard and combated the heat of the desert sun. Knoll's stomach growled in need, keenly aware it hadn't been filled since before the sword was stolen. A hand reached for a succulent looking orange, hanging low off a drooping branch, but Knoll snatched it away. He was in enough trouble as it is.
Kuzon seemed to notice Knoll's arm as well as how emaciated the fox looked. He plucked two red pomegranates from a branch before leading the fox inside. He opened the first door he found and, finding it empty, ushered Knoll to a straight backed wooden chair.
"Sit, boy." Knoll obeyed, eyeing the fruits hungrily. Kuzon pulled up another chair and sat himself, snaking his long, scaly tail through the gap in the back. "I'll let you know from the getgo, that I'm fairly impressed with you. How old are you?"
"I'm reaching my seventeenth solstice, if my counting is correct." Knoll answered in his most bland, neutral tone, most of his attention still on the round red fruits in Kuzon's hand. "Why are you impressed?"
"Because you've lived seventeen years of your life and never once been captured for witchcraft. Evidently you were charged with thievery at least twice, but if you had been charged with witchcraft, we would not be speaking here right now." Kuzon was casually rolling the two fruits over and over each other in one hand as he spoke. "When I caught your hands in my purse you released a blast of magic so powerful it swept decades of dust off the street. How long did you know you were an aethermancer?"
"A what?" Knoll's eyebrows rose in incredulity.
"An aethermancer, boy, a wind mage. How long did you know you could cast spells?"
"I've never cast a spell in my life, sir," said Knoll, clearly nonplussed. "I tried to learn some magic from the Worms, but they couldn't teach me anything. Said I didn't have the spark, or something."
"The... eh, the Worms?" inquired Kuzon.
"They're uuuh, they're friends of mine," faltered Knoll, never willing to rat out his colleagues, or at least his ex-colleagues. "It's not important. But they told me I'd never so much as light a candle with a spell."
"hhmmmm..." Kuzon said, scratching his brow with a clawed finger. "Curious. Generally the potential for magic manifests by ten years of age. You've never had anything weird, anything supernatural happen to you when you were younger."
Knoll's stomach growled again, and he eyed the fruits. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked, his mouth watering now. He hadn't even drank properly since before yesterday.
Kuzon shrugged before scoring a clawed finger halfway around the pomegranate. "Crack it open and suck on the seeds. It'll get some water in you." The dragon tossed the fruit over to Knoll split the fruit with his hand and buried his nose in the fruit, sucking the seeds dry before swallowing them. Juice fell down his chin, staining it like blood. Kuzon frowned. "Good gods, slow down. When did you last eat?"
"fhree dayz ergo," said Knoll, thickly.
"Do you know how to eat like a civilized person, or do you just wolf down whatever is put in front of your nose?" Kuzon's expression was tightened into a disgusted frown.
"If you wait to eat, someone steals it out from under you," said Knoll, wiping his mouth. "It's a now or never thing." He dived back into the fruit, reducing it to a rind in seconds. He ate the rind too, crunching it with a slight wince. It was certainly thick and hard to chew. "Can't let it go to waste, eh?"
Kuzon just shrugged, tossing him the second. "Slow down this time, I promise I won't take it back."
Knoll caught the second fruit, this time pausing for a brisk "thanks," before splitting the pomegranate open. Instead of burying his nose into the fruit, he put it to his lips and tipped the seeds into his muzzle, almost as if he were drinking the sweet and sour fruit. He sucked on the seeds, reminding him of the few times he'd stolen hard candies.
"Much better," said Kuzon. "But I digress. You've never had anything weird happen to you when you were angry, when you were in trouble? I mean besides that wind blast in the street."
Knoll stopped to ponder, stroking his chin. "Well... when I was in The Warrens, I burned a bolt off a lock." Kuzon's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "I had snuck a file into my cell, and when I was filing the bolt, it just sort of... melted. Singed the door and everything. It let me escape before I ran into you."
Kuzon simply sat in his chair for a while, peering at the young fox in his sackcloth pants and no shoes. "And here we sit. Curious... It seems that I am in a position to offer you an ultimatum." Knoll's ears pricked, anxious but also intrigued. Kuzon continued. "If that blast of wind you produced was any indication of your potential, you could learn to be a student in the Ivory Spire. If that were the case, I must warn you that petty larceny and other crimes are not tolerated here. If you decide you'd prefer your life on the streets, I must warn you that if your magic ever decides to bubble to the surface, it's quite possible you'd be charged with witchcraft, and without me or anyone else to help you."
Knoll didn't speak for more than a minute. "Why are you offering this choice to me? I've just tried to steal from you. Why am I more than an urchin to you?"
"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'don't look a gift animus in the core?'"
"No," said Knoll, unfamiliar with the saying. "But I could guess it means to not question good fortune?"
"Something of the sort," said Kuzon, waving his hand. "The short version is that you're a ragamuffin of a fox who could become a fair aethermancer, and by your own account, a decent pyromancer as well. And I've been of the opinion the world needs more magicians. So, I ask you again, will you learn in this place and discard your criminal habits?"
Knoll nodded wordlessly. It didn't feel like much of a choice. "Yes."
"That's yes sir," said Kuzon, standing up and crossing his arms. "If you're to be an aethermancer, then I'm to be your tutor. Stand up, boy. We have work to do."
"Saula save me," moaned Knoll. "What have I gotten myself into?"