//------------------------------// // Daor // Story: Courts of The Magi // by Airstream //------------------------------// Vino ached. He ached from the tops of his ears to the bottoms of his hooves, and he ached especially in his ribs and head, which was throbbing merrily away in bright, hot flashes of pain that he recognized as being indicative of some variety of head injury. It wouldn’t have surprised him if his skull was cracked, considering the treatment he’d been given when he first arrived in camp. He’d put up as much of a fight as he could, laying about with his bladeband, but in the end, he was too exhausted, the snow was too thick to move around in easily, and the minotaurs had taken him, knocking him out with a blow to the head. He hadn’t been out for too long, perhaps the span of a minute, but when he had woken up, he had been trussed up tightly with sturdy ropes, and was slung across the incredibly broad back of one of the minotaurs, bouncing back to camp and hoping that wherever Cobblestone was, it was at least warmer than this. When they had taken Serale away, to the tent of the thane, he had tried to protest, but a cuff from one of the warriors had put an end to that and sent his ears to ringing. The next series of events had passed in a blur. His family’s tabard had been stripped from him with contemptuous ease, and even now probably adorned the wall of some stinking bull’s tent.Instead, he was given a shirt of rough brown cloth to wear, and over that a coat of what looked like hide, though of what creature he couldn’t say. Soon after this, he was dragged through the snow, half-limp with exhaustion and pain, and held down while a collar of rusted iron was hammered into place by a grizzled smith, who worked with the precision made of long years of the same act. Next came chains, fastened around his hooves and running to his neck. The process had taken perhaps a quarter of an hour, and had turned a knight of the Crown and the heir of House Hedera into a bedraggled prisoner, or, as he had heard them call him, a thrall. He had been told to sleep, then, and he had done as he was told, for though following the command itself rankled him, he was exhausted and sore and cold. He had been given a small pallet of dirty straw in the corner of a tent which seemed to be used mostly for storage, and several blankets of the same rough brown cloth as his shirt, which were surprisingly good at keeping the heat in. Light was rare here, at the top of the world, and Vino recalled hearing somewhere that in the winter months, some days would go without light entirely, while in the summer, the sun might never truly set. So it was with some dull surprise that he noticed the sun was up when he was kicked sharply awake and brought to the healer’s tent to see Cobblestone, stumbling over his chains and stiffened legs. Cobblestone looked like a corpse that had been dead on the ice for a month. Her coat was patched with frost and blistered with frostbite, her hooves were cracked and bleeding in much the same manner as her lips, and her breathing was shallow and quick. But all of that paled in comparison to her face. The magic that had brought them all here had cracked her horn, turning it into the black of burnt wood, and it hadn’t stopped there. Her eyes were gone beneath a layer of scabbed and charred skin, whether hidden by her fused-together eyelids or blasted from their sockets it was impossible to say. Her mane, such as it was, was ragged and burnt away in some places as well, exposing her coat and skin, and in some places, the glistening white of her skull. Vino had seen more than a few injuries in his training, but a broken bone or a torch burn was nothing compared to the stomach-churning sight of the young apprentice. “Come here, thrall,” the minotaur standing over the table on which she rested said. “You will need to hold her down while I work.” Vino had did as he was told then, too. Cobblestone didn’t buck or thrash as the minotaur peeled away layers of dead and rotten skin with a curved knife, nor did she stir when he began to rub a spicy-smelling paste into the wounds themselves. He only helped to hold limbs in place while the minotaur worked, bluish fur slicked with sweat as he applied bandages to what he could, namely her head and eyes. “You’re working awfully hard to save a pony who’s almost dead,” Vino said after nearly an hour of work. The minotaur had lifted his lip, either in a grimace, or a grin, or simply to show Vino his pointed teeth as a warning for daring to speak out of turn. “Were it my choice, I would say to slit her throat and be done with it,” he said in halting, stilted Eqquish. “She will do no good work with a broken horn and so scarred. And she will be blind. The thane commands she be kept alive.” And that, Vino sensed, was the end of that. It was only after most of the damage had been addressed, largely by application of that strange paste, which dried to a hard shell, that Cobblestone had been lifted from the table and placed into a great basin, filled to the brim with water. This had drawn a response from her, and Vino had rushed to keep her shifting from sending her head below water. He had spent nearly two hours putting her back together, and he’d be damned if she went and drowned herself right after. “So,” the minotaur, who he had learned was named Guyut, said as they looked over her. “You know the ways of the wound-weaving, and I have heard of your clan-sign and blade. An odd thing, a warrior that heals.” He fell silent, as if waiting for an explanation from Vino. “I was trained in battlefield medicine,” Vino said. “All of the Kingdom’s soldiers are.” Guyut’s eyebrows raised a bit. “Of the wood-crown’s lands, are you?” he asked. “You have truly come far away from your home. Was it the will of the Evening Sage that you wandered so?” Vino nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I was charged with protecting her daughter.” Guyut indicated the tub. “Her?” “The one that was taken away,” Vino said. “Lady Serale.” Guyut shook his head. “The thane knows not what he holds,” he said. “An ill-sign, I name it.” There was silence for a moment. “I have need of a helper,” Guyut said thoughtfully. “My craft is not one of great mind’s-worth, and you know the ways of mending wounds. I am owed favor from the thane, for keeping this unicorn alive. Perhaps I shall lay claim to you. Tell me, thrall. What else can you do?” Vino sensed that if he wasn’t judged useful enough, then Guyut would have no problem suggesting his throat be opened to the thane. “Since I was a child,” he said slowly, “I was trained to fight. Of the best fighters in all the Kingdom, I was one of six chosen by the Lady Serale to guard her, and to lead the soldiers of her guard.” “The thrall of mine that touches a weapon is a thrall that has surely killed me,” Guyut said. “What else?” “My family were traders,” Vino said. “I was to lead my House in trade when I finished with my service. I can read and write, I know math well enough. I was trained in tracking and survival in harsh environments, and I’ve got skill with tents and the like. I know how to sail ships and load wagons the right way. And like you said, I know some medicine.” Guyut growled, drumming his fingers on the rim of the tub. “Not entirely useless,” he groused. “Hmph. Watch the tub, boy. I must go piss, and then pass word to the thane.” He re-fastened Vino’s chains and left the tent, leaving him alone with Cobblestone. It gave Vino time to take stock of the situation, which looked to be dire indeed. On his way to the tent, he’d seen more than a few ponies, and while not all of them wore chains or collars, none of them looked to show a spark of defiance or spared him a passing glance. the minotaurs were numerous, numbering easily in the hundreds, and well-armed with axes and spears, as well as lengths of cord that he assumed were lassos. Even if he were to escape, there would be no way he’d ever make it back to something approximating civilization. The area was vast, cold, and wide open. Not to mention that several tents sported pelts and skulls from wolves that seemed to be bigger than any two ponies put together, and Vino felt sure that the wolves they had come from were probably not too far off. He might have to bide his time. There was no guarantee that an opening would arise, but he’d have to remain vigilant and ready to capitalize on the opportunity if it did come. The first thing to do would be to ensure that Serale was alright. He trusted Cobblestone to be able to take care of herself, once her eyesight came back, but Serale wasn’t familiar with the skills she’d need to survive on her own. If there was any way at all to get close to her, he needed to take it. Even if it meant leaving Cobblestone alone. There was a stirring, a sloshing of water, followed by a pained groan.Vino turned to see that the young thief, who by all rights should be unconscious, was awake and moving around in the tub, her face hidden beneath bandages but questing for sight all the same. “Cobblestone?” he asked quietly, unsure if she was truly awake or simply shifting in her “sleep”, if it could be called that. The unicorn coughed, grunted. “V...Vino?” Vino rushed to the tub, making sure that she wasn’t going to slide under the water. “I’m right here, Cobblestone,” he said, relief welling in his chest alongside amazement that she was up so soon. He knew what he needed to do next. “I need to go get the healer, okay?” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her shaking her head, and felt a twinge of regret at leaving her side, but he had a job to do. Heading back towards the door, he stepped out of the tent and stepped into the clearing outside. He was standing in a space that might be called a street, if one were feeling generous, surrounded by other tents of dyed hides and layered furs, called yurts. Around him were the light of campfires, for in the few hours he had been in the tent, the sun had set once again. A few minotaur cows worked nearby, skinning some sort of large beast for dinner, but he couldn’t see… “What is it, slave?” Guyut asked, stepping from the side of the tent and shifting his breeches back into place. “Cobblestone,” Vino said breathlessly. “She’s awake.” In retrospect, Vino thought to himself through the pounding of his head and the ringing in his ears, it might have been better for both of them if Cobblestone had remained unconscious. While he hadn’t been blamed for the fact that she had bolted, on bleeding hooves and shaky legs that moved much more quickly than he could have anticipated, he had been roundly beaten on his way to the thane’s tent. So it was that when he arrived in front of the imposing structure, at least five tents put together, one of which being three times the size of any other tent in the camp, he was limping and bruised and bleeding from a sizeable cut on his lip. Despite this, he tried to hold himself erect as best he could, though it was difficult to look dignified when you were being dragged in chains past half a camp’s worth of minotaurs. The interior of the tent was smoky, lit by braziers that kept the air inside much warmer than the air without, warm enough that Vino had to stop for a moment to adjust to the sudden change in temperature. The minotaur holding his chains jerked them sharply, and Vino stumbled forwards once more, through the crowd that had gathered in the smallish tent and into the larger tent beyond. This tent, the tent of the thane, was not nearly as crowded as the first, but the Minotaurs that were graced with this gesture of favor remained to two sides, leaving a small aisle down which Vino was marched. To either side of him, sitting on benches or lounging on cushions, were minotaur warriors and courtiers, speaking quietly with one another in the guttural tongue of Taurish. Among them, Vino could see slaves, some of them ponies, but most of them other minotaurs. He supposed it would make sense that minotaurs from other tribes would make the majority of the slaves taken in raids. He had a feeling they were a long way from Equestria. They reached the foot of a dais, made of wood carved with intricate knots and patterns,, and Vino felt his heart drop. The minotaur sitting in the high-backed chair of dark wood in front of him was massive, easily dominating the monolithic seat, and his graying coat was streaked with the white bands of numerous battle scars. A great beard, braided and meticulously kept, dangled from his chin, and by his side was an axe that reached up to the pits of his arms, with a single blade the size of Vino’s torso.His dark eyes were fixed firmly on Vino, and the young knight could almost swear he saw fire and ice glimmering in their depths. “So,” the minotaur rumbled, his voice carrying through the tent with ease and causing all present to fall silent. “Another wood-warrior, sent to wander the wastes. A rare thing, to be so blessed by the gods as to get new thralls without making trade for them. You have traveled far from home indeed. Kneel.” A minotaur who had been standing behind Vino lashed out with the haft of his spear, striking him between the shoulder blades and causing Vino to collapse with a chuff of air. “Most of your kin come to us born thralls,” the thane said. “Their ancestors are those who were taken under star-cloak, or plucked care-wretched from the ice cold sea by the Khan and his ilk. They know their place, and know it well. And since they know their place, they come to us undamaged. But you did not. Tell me why you are here.” Vino drew a ragged breath, still getting his wind back. “I was taking part in a duel,” he said. “A duel against a pony who was better versed in the sword than I was.” Vino didn’t know much about minotaurs, only what he’d heard from secondhand accounts and old legends, but what he did recall was that they cared greatly for martial prowess, honor, and not much else. The thane said nothing, merely gesturing for Vino to continue. “I trained for a full month, thirty days, with one of the best warriors I knew, but it wasn’t enough,” Vino said. “My Lady, whom you keep in your tent, tried everything to prevent me from dueling this pony. But I could not refuse the challenge by law, and he would not withdraw it. On the day of the duel, he meant to kill me, and he would have, too. But my Lady, and her friend, the pony I was treating earlier with Guyut, tried to aid me with their magic, without my knowledge and against my wishes. Their spell was badly cast, and brought us here.” The thane looked at him like something he’d scrape off of his boots. “A poor warrior, to need seidhr in his strivings. Still, you have the look of a young pony, perhaps you would have been better in time.” The thane’s gaze flicked away from Vino, to roam over the tent. “This so-called warrior came not alone. He brought with him two others, mares just come into their stature. I lay claim to these, and will hear no argument otherwise. I have learned that they are both the pupils of she called Iron Horn.” There was a murmur that roiled through the tent, a sound of confusion and a distinct edge of fear-tinged awe. Vino snuck a quick look from his position on the floor.to see that while the rest of the tent’s scattered inhabitants seemed to be somewhat perturbed by the information, there was no sudden movement that would indicate panic or surprise. The thane lifted his hand lazily, and the noises subsided. “Not only this, but Guyut has told me that this thrall’s Lady is none other than the daughter of Everstar.” That got a reaction. A dozen minotaur warriors, courtiers, and hangers-on began to speak amongst themselves in hushed, urgent tones, while the thane looked on. He waved a hand to one side, and there was a rustling of cloth as a flap was pulled to one side, and Vino turned to see Cobblestone thrust through the flap, to stumble and fall before the king. Cobblestone had been beaten. Her body, battered though it was, bore the welts of several new lashings with spear-hafts or straps of leather. Fresh blood was caked around her mouth and head, and a long cut ran across her throat, shallow but no less frightening for that. Vino immediately saw what had given her the cut, and he felt his blood begin to boil. The Pegasus walking alongside her was perhaps a year or two his senior, her mane braided with bone ornaments and her coat heavily tattooed with the same knotted patterns that adorned the thane’s dais. A scarred brand rested along her rear flank, in a similar location to a Talent Mark, though the image, a stylized mountain crossed by a spear, was certainly unlike any Mark he’d ever seen. Two blades were lashed to her wings, and, unlike most of the other ponies Vino had seen, she wore no collar, but instead wore a pendant of simple iron, emblazoned with a single Taurish rune. “She doesn’t have anything else to tell, my thane,” the Pegasus said, ignoring the minotaurs speaking in the background. “Resilient, she is. Knows how to take a beating, too.” The thane nodded to himself, before turning back to Vino. “Quiet!” he bellowed, without breaking eye contact. Immediately, the tent was silent once more. “Thrall. Answer my questions, and I will show you mercy.” “Let her go,” Vino said with a nod at Cobblestone, “And I’ll tell you anything.” The Pegasus ruffled her feathers in shock as several of the nearby guards tightened their grips on their weapons, but the thane’s face twisted into a smirk, exposing the fangs beneath his lips. “Knew you what awaited her outside my tent-roof, you would not make such demands,” he said. “But if your answers please me, I will see to it she is well-kept.” “That’s not good enough,” Vino said. “I understand that we’re to be kept as slaves, or thralls, or whatever you want to call it. But if we’re to be kept as slaves, I want to be kept with Cobblestone and Lady Serale. It’s my duty as a knight to protect them.” Cobblestone made a gentle wheezing sound that Vino decided could either be an attempt at speech or hysterical laughter. Knowing her, it was probably the latter. The thane thought, his fingers drumming along the haft of his axe. “I could have you beaten until you tell me what I wish to know regardless,” he said. “Or I could split your skull, here and now.” “All knights of the Kingdom are trained to resist torture,” Vino lied, “And if you kill me, you won’t have any of your answers.” There was a rumble of anger from the courtiers, and Vino caught one Minotaur hefting a massive sword, mercifully sheathed, but the action was aborted with all haste when the thane stood all at once from his throne, lifting the massive axe from the floor, and closed the distance between Vino and himself with two steps. A powerful hand fastened itself around his throat, and Vino was lifted into the air, struggling feebly, as the thane brought him up to look him in the eye. “You will tell me all,” the thane said, “Or I will break your neck like a twig. Then I will torture her,” he said, pointing the axe at Cobblestone, “Until her answers are to my liking, or she dies. I offer you this choice, thrall. Choose well.” Vino choked and spluttered, his heart pounding in his ears, as he looked the giant in the eye. He glanced at Cobblestone, who watched him warily through her burned away eyes, and at the Pegasus who was gazing at him rapt with glee. He turned back to the thane, mustered up a breath, and spit in his eye. The thane recoiled with a grunt, and threw Vino to the floor. “Whelp,” he snarled, lifting his massive axe, glinting red in the firelight, “I’ll feast on your bones tonight.” “Beraz Frosthorn!” a shrill voice cried from the back of the tent. “Touch a hair on that pony’s head, and see your own doom come to you!” All eyes turned to see who had spoken, including Vino, panting slightly. There was a rustle and clatter of bone ornaments, and a robed figure strode past the ring of courtiers. It was quadrupedal, covered entirely by a robe of tattered black wool, belted with a sash of purest white, emblazoned with incredibly complex runes. In one set of talons it clutched a staff, atop of which sat the skull of what Vino was sure was a baby dragon, which was covered in tiny beads in black and red and green. It stopped just before Vino, and threw back its hood. A Gryphon, withered with age but with a fierce glint in her eye,strode forward. A pendant just as richly carved with runes as the rest of her staff gleamed at her throat, and her feathers appeared to have been painted with dye in such a manner as to give her the appearance of being wreathed in smoke.Her beak was cracked and chipped, and a ropy scar ran along one side of her face, clearly the mark of some huge sword or axe blow. The assembled minotaurs leaned away from this imposing figure, who appeared to almost dwarf the thane himself, as she planted her staff squarely in front of Vino, interposing it between him and the thane. “What have you seen, crone?” the thane, who Vino now knew was called Beraz, said, in a strangely respectful tone. “The gods of the wastes and skies and Mountain have spoken to me,” the Gryphon said, her voice ringing clear and sharp. “These three that you have now in your tent are to be kept alive. They are to be kept unharmed. And the horned ones are to be given to me to care after.” The thane snorted. “And what is to be given to me in trade?” he asked, still holding his axe in a position of readiness. “Have the gods told you that?” The Gryphon nodded. “This knight, you may keep. Should you arm him, he will serve you well in days to come. Tomorrow, caribou will come for you to eat, enough for your tribe and more. And I shall dwell in your tent for the space of three moons, no more and no less, and provide you with counsel, as I did your father, and his father before him, back unto the time of the Sundering”. The thane said nothing, merely walking back to his throne and collapsing in it in a lazy-looking heap, his axe resting across his lap. Finally, he spoke. “As you say, crone,” he proclaimed, “I will abide by the will of the gods. Though arming this one,” he said, pointing a meaty finger at Vino, “May prove to be ill-thought. The mares are yours, to do with as you will. A tent will be provided for you.” The strange Gryphon said nothing, merely bowed her head low and began to walk away. “Wait,” Vino said, clutching at her robe as he hauled himself off of the floor. The Gryphon turned to look at him, fire in her eyes. But she made no move to dislodge him, and Vino pressed on. “Thank you,” he said, as formally as he could, acquiescing to Ta’Rof, that most ancient of customs. “You saved my life. Who are you?” The Gryphon chirped in amusement. “You wouldn’t know my name if I told it to you,” she said bluntly. “In my tongue, I was called Talayee. In your tongue, I was called Gilda.” Her staff spun, catching Vino on the side of the head, and he slumped once more to the tent floor, his head ringing. As he watched her go, he could have sworn he had heard her muttering something along the lines of “dweeb”.