The End of Magic

The cavern rumbled as the four took their places for a meeting as rare as seeing another man’s dreams. The darkness betrayed nothing of the nature of the participants but soon was banished as a gout of flame issued forth from one of them, catching the brazier in the centre of the cave and bathing the area in a soft, warm glow. The largest of the four chuckled, a sound of stone grinding on stone as he surveyed his comrades. His massive head swivelled this way and that, the dark amber of his eyes catching in the firelight.

“Centuries of war…” He boomed, his deep gravelly voice echoing off the cave walls. “And it has come to this.”

“Now, now Balros.” A softer, sultry, and pointedly feminine voice echoed in response. The source of it shifted as she made herself comfortable in her dark alcove. “There is still time.”

“Time for what Darilen?” The first speaker roared back, yet more flame pouring from his great mouth. “To have them continue to use our magic against us and erase us from the history of the world, our story relegated to just another legend?”

“Perhaps that is all it ought to be.” A third voice interjected, smoother and more considered than the others. “The shark bites because he has teeth, the serpent poisons because it has venom.”

“Speak plainly Whillen!” Balros’ temper was rising higher by the moment. “I am in no mood for your riddles!”

“Very well… We have all seen the corruption of men in the use of magic. We thought them capable and yet we have all suffered as a result of their smallness of mind. But our suffering is inflicted by the very magics we gave them. A sword is to be feared because of its edge, I suggest we simply blunt the sword.”

“What you suggest is madness!” Darilen hissed, the hallmarks of terror creeping into her voice. “After I’ve… after we’ve all lost so many children. You suggest that we simply lay down and die?!”

“No my lady, I suggest we sleep and into our slumber we take all traces of the old magic from the world. I suggest we give them a world without dragons and let them suffer the folly of their desires by fulfilling them. Whillen, Lord of the Air and the Water posits this strategy for your consideration.” He pushed a blue and white scaled paw out and placed it down heavily in front of the brazier that sat between them.

There was silence for a time as what remained of the pantheon of dragon leadership considered Whillen’s words and all they implied. Suddenly, a black scaled forepaw extended from one of the alcoves and placed itself down by the brazier.

“Darilen, Lady of the Night and the Shadow finds this strategy acceptable.” Darilen’s voice was tinged with reluctance and fear but in truth she saw no other choice. Sleep was preferable to death and if she was being honest with herself she was ever so tired. A third paw joined the other two, this one larger, the scales a mottling of reds and browns.

“Balros, Lord of the Earth and the Flame finds this strategy acceptable.” Balros reluctance was no less obvious than Darilen's, but there was no trace of fear in his voice. Only contempt. His kind had given a great many gifts to man and their squandering of them filled his heart with rage. Three heads turned as one to gaze upon the last of their number, the smallest and up until then the most silent. The gold and green scaled head raised, a tear trickling down her cheek, running along the divots in her scales like a tiny river. When she spoke it was regretful and pained. A voice so soft and full of love that it pushed back against even Balros great rage.

“We gave to them great power with no guidance, and we are surprised that they who do not live as long as we do were without the foresight to use that power wisely. We are astonished that they who are so fragile are so driven by fear when even we are not immune to such a vile emotion. Nevertheless, brothers and sisters I believe we have no choice. Sendira, Lady of the Seasons and the Wilds finds this strategy… necessary.” And she wept.

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When the four strangers arrived in Maleris claiming to be refugees from various dragon attacks none had questioned them. It wasn’t an unusual sight given the times. If they had arrived together it may have raised suspicions but they had instead made a point of infiltrating the town separately. They took their meals separately and were rarely if ever seen even in pairs, let alone as a group of four. The guards and the citizenry occasionally saw things that didn’t quite fit but they passed them off as quaint eccentricities or momentary confusions of their perception. Until the morning of the theft.

The theft itself was the result of careful planning and patience. The King of Maleris had in his possession one of the last powerful magical artifacts in existence: a golden chalice filled with an eternal flow of water and emblazoned with four flowers, a rose, an iris, a belladonna and a marigold. When water from the chalice was poured upon a weapon it was imbued with the curious ability to put to sleep anything it cut, a curse broken only by a sip from the same water.

As it was the single most valuable possession in the King’s treasury it was kept in the most secure of locations. Below the dungeons in the bowels of the earth there was a cave inside of which was a small island in the center of a pool of deep water. The island was covered in an eternal flame so that without the assistance of the King’s personal sorcerer none could stand on it. In the center of the burning island sat the cup.

For the four, getting in was to be the most difficult part. They convened under cover of night outside the dungeon. Darilen had arrived first, her human form objectively beautiful with toned musculature, dark hair and pale skin. She dressed in fitted black leathers and her presence at the meeting place earlier than the others was a matter of choice, she preferred the night. Whillen and Balros stepped into the clearing together an hour or so later. Whillen presented as shorter and rake thin, with pale skin and silver, almost white hair while Balros’ form was tall and solid with a dark complexion, shoulder length reddish brown hair and a virulent beard. The final member to make an appearance was Sendira, her human form thin and soft with light golden hair and deep brown eyes.

Balros reached out his hand revealing his wrist and the mark of the rose on the underside of it, identifying himself to the others. Dragons could be no more certain of the identity of a man on sight than a man can be certain of the identity of a squirrel he happens across. The others followed suit, Whillen revealing the symbol of the iris, Darilen the belladonna and Sendira the marigold. With identities confirmed the four put the wheels into motion.

Darilen approached the guards alone, holding out her hands and conjuring forth a dense black mist that enveloped the men on the gate. In seconds she was rewarded with a pair of dull thuds as her targets were stolen away into unconsciousness. She signalled for the others and liberated the keys from one of the sleeping guardsmen, opening the doors as Whillen stepped ahead of her leading the group inside.

The lord of air and water went to work calling forth an icy wind that blew through the dungeon, freezing the locks on the cell doors. Balros slammed his fist sideways into the wall sending a tremor rippling through the dungeon shattering the frozen locks as the four stepped into a narrow corner to await the chaos.

The prisoners were at first dazed by their sudden freedom but soon found their legs, cheering as they fled their cells and rushed towards the entrance causing the guards to react violently in an attempt to prevent the prison break. The four used the distraction to their advantage, making their way deeper into the now empty dungeon to find the staircase down. In single file they followed the spiral down, down and deeper down until they emerged in the cave.

Everything was as they expected. The subterranean lake, the island, the flame. Sendira turned to the doorway behind them and raised her hands, an expression of tense focus crossing her face and for a moment nothing happened. Then all at once thick, rootlike vines erupted from the floor and the walls around the door, knitting together to form a solid barrier.

Whillen spoke to the waters and they came together, solidifying into something of a bridge as he stepped onto them. The four quickly made their way across and halted at the edge of the island, turning to Balros. The lord of earth and flame stepped forwards, stretching his neck and mumbling about how he missed not being able to fly already. He walked onto the island, showing no concern for the flames that engulfed him. He reached the chalice and took it in his hand, raising it up in triumph.

At that moment they were alerted to the sounds of chopping behind them. The four turned to see an axeblade pierce through Sendira’s barrier. Balros shoved the cup into Darilen’s hand and raised his own in preparation to reduce the guard to cinders. But as the guard hacked through and stumbled forward to stand opposite the enraged lord of earth and flame, Sendira leapt between them.

“No Balros! There has been enough death, there will be no more.”

The guard bore a confused expression. His youthful face twisted as his mind remained unable or unwilling to process what he was seeing. He knew the stories, all children of the empire did, and somehow he knew that the scene in front of him was the fruition of all those tales. But he still could not believe it. He saw the thin, white haired man raise his arms and the water in the lake began to seethe and boil.

“You are them…. Aren’t you…” He mumbled in awe and Sendira turned on her heels to face him.

“Yes… and this belongs to us. We are taking it back. Tell your king he will have his wish. I…. I’m so sorry.”

Her face contorted in pain and regret as the lake heaved violently upwards, carving through the rock and bearing the four upwards through the ceiling in its wake.

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The four fled Maleris and shed their human forms, taking to the skies for what they all knew would be the final time. Over land and sea, across desert and mountain, through storm and earth they flew until they reached their destination, the ancient meeting place deep within the earth, where the plan had been hatched decades before. One by one they took the cup, dipped a claw in and marked themselves.

And so it came to be that the four and their children the world over fell into the deepest of slumbers. In the years following magic everywhere dried up. Over time the sleeping forms of the dragons changed the cavern. From Balros it grew a richness of soil and field of blooming roses, from Whillen it birthed a tranquil pool and a field of irises, from Darilen it took the calmness of the night and manifested a field of belladonna, and from Sendira the warmth of spring and a field of beautiful marigolds. Where the four fields met sat the chalice, entombed eternally in the final resting place of magic, where it would stay until the dragons woke again.