Damned cold. Damned incessant cold. These were the typical morning ruminations of Marvel, personal attendant to Archmage Lumin II. On this morning, that cold drove him to wake, and he rose from his bed and went to the window, opening the wooden shutters and taking in the familiar view.
His fortunate location for a bedchamber was in the uppermost floor of Castle Greystoke. He looked out lazily over the distant mountain peaks out in the hazy distance. From the southern slopes of Mount Shine, Greystoke faced inward towards the neigh-impregnable inner circle of forest surrounded by the high peaks that made up the Round Table. They reached towards the sky; sharp, steep things. Their distant tops were obscured by the fog on this morning. Were it not for that fog, he may have been able to see the tell-tale shimmer of the barrier kept up by a constant shift of sworn castle mages. He had only once seen all the way to the other end of the circle, to the looming castle Highguard at the other end. He had just been a young colt then.
Marvel leaned out the window, wincing where the cold stones touched his bare pelt. There was a shortage of activity in the courtyards. He thought it typical for a morning such as this.
He closed the shutters to keep the draft out and moved to the hearth on the far wall. He thought to use the firesteel, but Lumin’s words scratched in his ears as if the old mage was standing right beside him- Use every opportunity for practice, child. Do not waste life’s offers. And so on, he thought, scoffing audibly. His old master’s teachings held weight with him, though, and so he concentrated on the paper kindling and focused his magic on it.
His eye twitched with the exertion. Smoke began rolling off the paper, and a tiny, black-rimmed hole appeared at the center of his focus, but no flame sprung from it.
He sighed and instead focused on a more familiar spell- telekinesis, to pick up the firesteel and quickly strike a hot flame into birth.
After setting the kettle over the flame to boil, he sat back in the chair, sighing and looking over the meager decorations he had chosen to adorn his chamber with. The bare stone walls oozed trails of red-brown water stains in places, a product of the iron bacteria which was a component of the castle’s ancient mortar. His furniture was rickety and sparse but Lumin had taught him that material desires held little weight in the world. Personally, he found it wrong to use his position in the castle hierarchy to procure expensive trinkets while the commoners below burned their furniture for warmth.
He sat and sipped the coffee, a rare luxury that he only rationed to himself on important days- there was a reason he had left the warm comfort of his bed this morning, he reminded himself. A council meeting. The politics used to bore him immensely, but now was a time of much turmoil out in the world and the meetings grew more intense every month. There were some that resented his presence there- what business does a mere colt’s presence have here? They muttered. But he cared not for them. After all, Archmage Lumin was one of the most wise and learned Unicorns in all history, and he was the Archmage’s attendant. It would stand to reason he would sit in on the council meetings to assist the Archmage in hearing and to serve as personal scribe.
When it came time, he briskly trotted through the halls, noting how the wall sconces flickered with a draft that no one in three generations had managed to seal. When he reached the council chambers, the guards there took one sharp, synchronized step each, parting their golden halberds to let him pass. He focused a spell on the magical door, watching as it’s intricate cogs and pushrods moved, a mechanism older than his entire family and that he shuddered to imagine trying to fix.
The table inside was half-full, but Archmage Lumin was there at his place- a withered, gray-maned old stallion with a dull blue coat. His sea-green eyes still shone bright despite his age, and anyone who thought he was as dull as his appearance suggested was a fool. The old stallion was always first to the meetings. Marvel gave him a dutiful bow and a polite but curt greeting and took his place beside him. He avoided stares from the likes of Minister Lark, who in contrast to Lumin’s conservative appearance wore a silken gown adorned with rubies, a grotesque display of wealth in these times. His horn was wrapped in a thin gold lace to make it sparkle. One would be lucky to have clothing at all, Marvel thought. Let alone that atrocity of fashion.
The others filed in shortly. And there came the king’s squire. To announce his lord’s entry, the squire spoke in a confident voice- “All rise for the presence of His Highness King Lilac the First, Crowned protector of Castle Greystoke, Lord of the Round Table and rightful ruler of the Equine lands.” They all rose.
The squire bowed deeply as the King strode in. He wore a similar silk as Lark, mercifully without the ridiculous jewels, and he took for his crown a modest golden circlet with the mark of the castle. He was tall and lean, and his sharp horn jutted out from his head. His dark violet eyes scanned the table as he walked to the large chair at the head of it.
He cleared his throat. “Ministers. Thank you for your attendance, again. I’ll skip over the traditional pleasantries this time as I believe we have rather pressing matters to discuss. Duke Jian, if you would please.”
Jian was Duke of Castle Highguard, the castle built into the northernmost peak of the Round Table. The view from it’s towers provided an expansive panorama of the great forests to the west, the expansive, windswept plains to the east, and dividing them down the middle, The Scar. That mountain chain was nigh-on impossible to cross but for a few choice spots.
Jian himself was a small stallion of middle-age, with a well-kept beige coat and a mane of splotchy gold and silver.
“Firstly, pressing internal matters continue to make themselves well apparent. We continue to deplete our resources at a rate ever-increasing with the cold. We have less than a year left before we will need to take measures to alleviate this situation. Highguard’s larders are running dry, and as for those of Greystoke-”
“I need not a report on the stocks of my own castle.” King Lilac cut him off. “You spoke of urgent developments in the west.”
Jian bowed his head before speaking with some excitation in his voice. “A scouting party has reported after a moon in the field, sire. Storm’s Break has fallen to the pegasi forces. Chief Rockjaw is dead, and his line is extinct. The castle keep lays in ruin.”
“I hadn’t expected Rockjaw would keep that hold. A dumb barbarian he was, not a battle commander. But this move by High Commander Cirrus is most curious.” Spoke Minister Wick, a grizzled old mare and second oldest present.
“Cirrus wasn’t present at that raid. It was carried out by Lord Gale.” Said Jian.
“His son?” Lilac asked.
“Second son. A curious move sending one inexperienced in command to siege such an important earth tribe redoubt.” Muttered Wick. “Their moves smell of-”
“-Desparation.” Minister Lark cut her off, with his conniving, hoighty tone. “Their atrophy finally pushed them to the breaking point. They struck to plunder the castle.”
Jian nodded. “And that they have. That is the importance of this meeting. Some of their supplies they move by air, out of our reach. It is not the right time to strike Cloudwatch, not yet. But such is the volume of their spoils, they must move it on the ground. And in order to get from the western forests to the plains of the east..”
Marvel suddenly understood. “They will have to cross The Scar.” He spoke without realizing it. Lark’s eyes burned with disdain at Marvel’s speaking out of turn, but Jian nodded approvingly. “Indeed, young one. They must transit The Scar with their goods in tow. Probably using captive labor. Your highness, this gives us the perfect opportunity to strike!”
King Lilac had been listening to this all unfold with a keen interest. “For thirty years we’ve kept the barrier. And now you believe is the time to finally strike out at them?”
Marvel understood the king’s hesitation. For the barrier was not there to keep out the other two tribes. Militarily, they were no match for the magical strength that Unicorns possessed. The barrier was constantly staffed with the hold’s top mages because every old mare could still tell vivid stories with haunted looks in their eyes- stories of draconys, the great black dragon that had besieged their home a generation ago. The beast had come from the endless wilderness to the west, seeing the Round Table as a suitable territorial expansion, the theory was. The ruins of Castle Blackiron served as a gruesome reminder as to the battle. Marvel’s own grandfather had perished in the battle, he was told. From that day, the Barrier was materialized by seven hundred mages and never had fallen since.
Jian nodded in earnest. “We must strike while the iron is hot, sire. The pegasi have lost a great number of their fighting forces and are headed this way right now with food enough to replenish the larders of both castles.”
Lilac stroked his beard in thought. “The pegasi nor the earth tribe have seen naught of us for nearly thirty years. But we may soon grow just as desperate as the pegasi were. For all of our magic, still we can not grow the food of the earth tribe.”
He turned to Marvel’s corner of the table. “Archmage Lumin. You are quiet as ever. What is your council?”
Lumin looked up. He truly had been deep in thought for the length of the meeting. When he spoke, he did so in a scratchy but powerful voice. “We should let them pass, highness.”
Wick and Jian eyed him with a curious glance each, but Lark blustered “Have you gone mad, old one? Our citizenry stands to starve and you would let a bounty walk right past our doorstep?!”
Lumin gave him a steely gaze. “I fear that you don’t recognize the true threat. We have been studying intently for months. The climate shows no signs of warming. On the contrary, all evidence says that it will only get colder. There will be little use for food when we are frozen to death.”
Lark cursed. “It’s the pegasi, it must be. This trickery with the weather is their doing. Somehow-”
Lumin shook his head. “It is not their doing. They are not capable of it. Something else is causing this, some magical force we cannot comprehend. Stuck in the Round Table as we are, we can still observe the happenings in the other lands.”
Lark scoffed and shook his head, but everyone else at the table stared at Archmage Lumin with a sort of terrified interest. Finally, he sucked in a raggard breath and spoke with finality-
“It is unmistakable. With each battle, the land grows weaker.”