Prologue: The Archmage

(688 A.C.)

At the top of the world, the Kilyin Mountains soared. The clouds rolled underneath their jagged bases, their peaks stabbed at the sun. Here was the roost of wyverns, their large nests hewn with bits of metal and wood from the towns far below; here was the sacred temple of the Umbeks, carved into the mountain side by a people that held the secret of finding these mountains close to the hearts of their elders. The cliffs of these mountains glimmered like iridescent ocean spray with precious gems, cursed by the old gods to punish the greedy that ventured there. Sometimes a wyvern would pry a glittering stone from its place and drop it into some poor farmer's field just to laugh when a man or child excitedly picked it up–only for their skin to break out in hideous boils. 

At the highest of the peaks, above even where the wyverns nested and the Umbeks pilgrimed, a small cave was tucked in a deep crevice. In its dark depths a creature slithered and waited, restless in its confines. It was known by many names–Blacktongue, Nellen, Warthor–but its creators called it Retklin, the Carver. At the back of its cave sat a pure blue crystal, not guarded by any curse, but by the magic of the Carver. Though the wyverns would swoop by from time to time to mock it, the only Umbek foolish enough to journey to the Carver's lair were never seen again. 

Any who told a lie in Retklin's presence were turned to stone. Petrified flesh was the only thing it was cursed to eat.

Most of its days were spent waiting anxiously for its next victim, bound to the black recesses of its cave. Time had little effect or meaning to the creature; the only thing it cared about was the gnawing in its stomach and whatever foolish mortal would trespass next. Beyond the dripping stalactites and the sharp stalagmites in the gaping maw of a cave, beyond the tiny imprints of feet impressed into the uneven stone floor from victims long since devoured, the Carver’s only companion was its hunger. Once, the old gods had cared to look upon its cursed form to ensure it had not failed in its task, but now even they have left Retklin, and the new gods never cared enough to forget. It was alone in its prison at the peak of the world.

But finally, another seemed eager to find its maw.

The proud sun threw a long, thin slit of light into the cave as usual–the sun rarely set in this place so elevated. In its reach, a shadow wavered into view. Retklin slithered out from behind the pedestal bearing the treasure, its hard scales perfectly camouflaged on the jagged stone, long body coiling around the walls of the cave, head hanging from the ceiling just above the entrance. The intruder would not be able to see its red eyes piercing through the darkness.

Sometimes the human sacrifices that came were small and afraid, collapsing in on themselves when stepping into the realm of legend. This cattle seemed to be of the other sort, shoulders thrown back, head held high on a string of foolish bravado, feet carrying her into the monster's den with a sense of dignity. The Carver flicked out its tongue. Yes, those ones always did have a richer taste.

Her head was crowned with a short swath of light blue hair. She wore a black robe as deep a color as the shadows of Retklin’s cage–didn't that hold some meaning? But then, every little thing seemed to be special to humans, Retklin couldn't be bothered to remember them all. It could only lick its lips with its tongues and imagine how good the human would taste. 

Her gaze slid around the cave walls before landing on the gem in the back. She stopped with a huff, crossing her arms and looking around again.

“Well, this has already taken long enough and if no one is going to introduce themselves,” she called in a tinny voice, “I guess I'll just take the artifact and be on my merry way.”

Retklin struck, winding around her in an instant, its long body forming a twisted prison. It was bound by the magic of the old gods, the ones of laws and rules, to leave her enough room to breathe. The very thing granting it life also restraining it.

The human grunted as Retklin peered down at her with its large, red eyes, blinking each one in succession. It opened its mouths again, tasting the air with its long, lithe tongue, its other, stubbier tongue lolling out at the delectable scent of prey. A few globs of spit dropped onto her head, but she could only make a face and shudder. She was helplessly pinned between the scales of its body, yet she only seemed mildly perturbed. She wriggled but was unable to escape from Retklin’s grasp, just like all the other mortals before her.  And then, she gave up–no doubt realizing how fruitless her endeavors were–and fell still. All she could do was try to blow away the strand of her bangs that had settled on her pointed face. The bit of blue lifted lazily and landed defiantly back in its previous place against her nose.

Had that been all she wanted in the first place? To get her hair out of her face?

“This is more along the lines of the reception I was expecting,” she said, blowing at her hair with another irritated huff. The strand landed across her eye, and she sighed.

The Carver hissed, but couldn't tighten its bindings. “Do you mock Retklin, mortal?”

She didn't respond for a moment. Her one eye was shut, but the other golden iris pierced through Retklin's intentions. She smiled. “I guess a little, thoudgh I didn't mean to offend.”

Retklin waited to see if her answer would have a petrifying effect, but she was still very much warm and soft many moments later. She cleared her throat in the silence that followed. “So can we move this along? I'm a very busy person.”

Retklin narrowed its eyes at the impudent mortal. “Do you know no fear, human?”

It could feel her tense as she tried to shrug, but it was hampered by her scaly prison. “Eh, not enough for my own good, probably.”

Still she did not turn to stone. Retklin lowered its head to level their gazes. She held its five eye glare evenly with her one. “What is your name?”

“Wanily Wane,” she replied easily. 

A moment to check and then, “And what do you seek in coming here, Wanily Wane?”

“The gravity crystal.”

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“Stop an ancient and destructive magic, as is my duty. I am the Archmage of the land below.”

That's what the black robes were. Retklin knew it had seen them before. It smiled with pale, bloodless lips. “The last Archmage Retklin met tasted very good. Retklin wonders how you'll taste?”

Her voice raised in volume a bit, the only sign of any fear. “I wouldn't know. And that wasn't a real question.”

Retklin drew away from her, flaring the folds of skin on the sides of its head. “Very well, Wanily Wane. Retklin thinks you know its rules but the old magic demands Retklin tell you anyway. Tell a lie in Retklin’s presence and you shall turn to stone.” She was blowing at the hair in her face again. “Give an incorrect answer and you shall turn to stone. Should you answer twenty questions correctly, you may do in this place as you please. Fail–” The human grinned as the strand of hair landed away from her eye, straddling the side of her face precariously. Retklin snapped its head back down. “And Retklin shall eat you.”

Wanily nodded, the strand of hair falling back against her nose. She let out a sound of frustration but didn't try to fix it again. “Sure. Do the questions from before count?”

The Carver narrowed its eyes again. “Yes.”

“Great! Six done, fourteen to go.” The human gave a smug grin. “What’s next?”

Retklin hissed, tongues striking the air. “A farmer plants a plot of trees fourteen by fifteen. Seventy percent of the trees grow an inch from every half inch of rain, thirty percent grow an inch from a quarter inch of rain. After four hundred days, fifty inches of rain have fallen, but fifteen percent of each group of trees have died. If six inches of tree must be left when they are cut, how many feet of wood does the farmer have? Round your answer to the nearest tree and foot.”

Wanily was silent for several minutes, face pinched in concentration. Retklin impatiently flicked its tongue. “Well?”

“One moment,” she said, brow furrowed. The Carver shifted restlessly. “Erm, eleven thousand two hundred twenty-seven feet.” She pursed her lips. They both waited several moments, but still she didn’t turn to stone. She breathed out a small sigh of relief. 

Retklin relaxed its grip a fraction to slither onto its belly, short legs tucked into its sides. “Do you love your family, Wanily Wane?”

She had enough room to move in his coils now, stretching and massaging her limbs where Retklin’s hard scales had rubbed. “By blood? No, never knew them.” 

The human’s honesty continued. The Carver began to circle her, but she didn’t even try to keep her gaze on it, just stared ahead at the crystal. “How many lovers have you had?” 

A pause. Retklin slowed. “One,” she said, voice tight. 

“How many pets?”

“Two.” It came more readily than the last answer. 

“Have you ever killed before?”

Her voice was pointed, defensive. “Yes.”

“Did they deserve it?”

Her tone turned careful. “It–I only did what needed to be done.”

It drew itself up eagerly, drinking up her hesitation. “You didn’t answer Retklin’s question.”

She stood up a little straighter. “Yes, most of them did.”

Retklin made an unhappy rumble deep in its throat. “The old gods approved of swift justice and were displeased by guilt. You answer correctly.”

She was still. “Next question, please.” 

“Are you a good person?”

The human crossed her arms. “These questions seem awfully subjective.”

“They are not Retklin's questions,” it replied with a flick of its tongue. Truly, many were the questions of the old gods, fixed into Retklin's mind with their magic. It paused in its ring around her. “Answer.”

She narrowed her eyes, golden slits tinted with the bloody crimson of Retklin's own. A tricky, thinking mortal this one was. It made Retklin ravenous. It wondered if that would make her brain taste better when it turned to stone. “No, probably not.”

Retklin seized her with its front leg, stubby black claws wrapping around her body. Still the human did not shake in fear or lose the perceptive gleam in her eye. “This is correct, as the old gods despise humans. None are good.”

The human smirked. “Yeah, figures. Once you know the old gods were assholes, it's pretty easy to figure out the answers they want. Next question.”

Retklin passed her along to one of the legs on the lower half of its body, head hovering a dozen feet up so the human had to crane her neck to look up at it. She still seemed so sure, so relaxed. Cocky. Retklin tasted the air, belly tightening in hunger. Yes, Retklin knew what to do.

Retklin lowered its head as it spoke until it was mere inches away from her face. Its hot breath dragged her blue hair behind her head, its eyes crossed to peer at her tiny, frail face, “Is the human arrogant?”

She didn't flinch at its proximity. She scoffed, “Damn straight I'm arrogant.”

Retklin drew back, smiling as it flicked out its tongue again. “Does the human deserve to be arrogant?”

She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. “This is a trick question,” she said loudly, golden eyes roaming around the cave as if to watch her voice echo off the walls. “This is a trick question but mists swallow me if I'm going to say no.” She finally wrestled her hand free and started counting off her fingers. “I mastered magic lost to time, I became the champion of the people, I was officially named the greatest mage in all the land–I've had the emperor bow down to me. Damn right I deserve to be arrogant. And I, Wanily Wane, the Archmage, will have your artifact.”

Retklin smiled and licked its lips. It set down its meal, eliciting a resounding crack. The human glanced at her feet as the stony ground of the cave began to expand to her shoes and legs. “Ah, Gehenna.” 

Retklin cackled with laughter. “Foolish! Stupid! Retklin knew you'd say yes. The old gods say no, no, humans are little worms. Not deserve to be arrogant. But humans have such pride.” It piled up around her again but patiently left her a few feet of berth. Once she had fully transformed, then it could feast. “And now you are no better than the others! From Moss you came, to Retklin's belly you'll go!”

She wasn't panicking like most its food did. She watched her legs turn to the smooth gray of stone with little more than an irritated huff.

“Dammit, I didn't want to have to do this,” she muttered. Retklin watched with its wide head cocked as she undid the clasp of the pouch at her hip. She pulled out a vial of a metallic liquid, like mercury. “What a waste. This was such a pain to make.” She uncorked it with her thumb and drank it all in one swallow.

The gray evaporated from her legs in a fine mist. It rained back to the ground with the hoarse peppering of dust. She tucked the empty vial back into her pouch, smirking. Retklin took several long moments to process this as she jumped, arching over the tall mounds of its coiled body in a display that a human shouldn’t have been capable of–without magic, at least. She landed lightly on the other side of the prison Retklin had made and strode over to the gravity crystal, plucking it from its pedestal. 

“What is this? What human treachery is this?” Retklin demanded. The human rolled her eyes and moved to step around it, but it blocked the exit with its massive body. “Retklin saw Retklin’s magic! That isn’t possible!”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Amera above, you are so simple.” She jabbed a finger at Retklin. “Alright, you listen here, monster. I made that potion with leaves from a lava bear’s den–the bastards hoard them to keep their caves molten. Took me one month to deal with all of that, took me two months to get the Umbek to show me the way up here, and I would have rather saved it but the old gods’ curse outranks my magic. Just by a little.” She sniffed, stuffing the crystal into the sack on her back. “I am the greatest mage in all the land. I make the impossible possible. I deserve this crystal, and I deserve to be arrogant.”

Retklin snarled at her, the sound rocking the cave and raining dust down on top of them. The human danced back, watching the ceiling warily. “Human may have outsmart god magic, but the challenge is over. Retklin can still kill you!”

It lunged at the tiny human, massive body snapping out what should have been faster than any mortal could react. And yet Retklin found itself slowly inching its way through the air, the human still a dozen paces away from it and not getting much closer. She gave a huge yawn and simply strode around Retklin. 

“Not the greatest mage in all the land for nothing,” she quipped, tugging her bag–and plundered treasure–closer. She climbed up Retklin's body, using its large scales as grips. Retklin tried to change directions and crush her in its powerful double jaw, but its trajectory seemed fixed in its thrust forward. “Thanks for the artifact!”

She slid down the other side of his body, the jaunty sound of her footsteps growing softer until it disappears altogether. Retklin was stuck for another minute before it slammed into the floor where the human had stood before. It gave a strangled cry and pulled at the magical bindings holding it to the cave, craning to peer down the mountain. 

But the human was gone. The only thing Retklin could see was the haughty wyverns soaring from ridge to ridge, forever out of its reach.