A LORD OF THE CRAFT SHORT STORY
EVIL UNMASKED
Hi folks, this is the first chapter of a short story I’ve been considering writing. It’s based on undefined, existing lore and the build-up to one of the conflicts that is at the heart of LotC’s story and history. It’s not cannon or anything, just my interpretation and a hopefully-cool angle that explores a very undefined period of LotC lore and history. If there’s enough interest, I’ll write subsequent chapters faster (if it all) but other than that, please enjoy.
Chapter One: Far Ridge
A mid-morning wind swept across the Warrior’s Road as it wound through the wilderness of northern Aegis, rippling across the sea of rolling pine trees like a green wave.
Though spring had come to the warmer reaches of Aegis nearly a month ago, nobody seemed to have told this part of the continent. The winds in this northern country still carried a biting chill, and it was only a few leagues further north that snow and frost still gripped the land. That cold wind beat at a lone horse and his rider as they briskly trot their way along the lonely Warrior’s Road. The horse was a black-skinned mare named Wand, and his rider was called Iblees.
As a strong gust sent his cloak snapping in the wind like a banner, Iblees wished that the people of Far Ridge could have settled further south like all the other mortals. Then again, the people of Far Ridge are not like other mortals, he supposed. The Far Ridgers were a stubborn, hardy folk who prided themselves on farming harsh lands surrounded by harsher wilderness, like the sea of pine trees and steep hills that Iblees found himself in now. He had long suspected that the Far Ridgers had settled so far north just to make a point to all the other mortals who had made their homes in the bountiful forests, hills and fields to the south.
He couldn’t help but smile at that notion.
“Mortals are strange, Wand,” Iblees said wistfully as he patted the tired mare’s neck. Strange he might have found them, but he used the term endearingly. He felt a responsibility to mortals that he was sure no Aengul nor Daemon had ever felt before. Mortals themselves might have called it love, but Iblees put little stock in emotions. It was he, however, that had taught the mortals to farm, taught them to build permanent settlements, taught them laws and morality. Through all that, he had come to look at them almost like his own children.
Of course, that was ridiculous - he was a Daemon, after all, who had taken it upon himself to teach the mortals how to live in peace and prosperity instead of wallowing in the aimless, chaotic savagery that had ruled the world before Iblees intervened. Any meaning more than that was absurd, and yet the smile on his face only twitched wider.
As the warmthless morning sun continued to climb to its apex over the forested wilderness, Iblees wondered whether he had misjudged the distance to Far Ridge; he had not visited the wayward settlement in nearly two years now. He hoped not much had changed for the worse. The people of Far Ridge had always been the most curious, and most questioning, and as a result the most reluctant to heed Iblees’ counsel, even though it was his counsel that had brought all mortals out of an age of savage darkness, and into one of peace and prosperity. Most of all, he hoped the leader of Far Ridge had not changed for the worse.
It had been a long journey from the Towers, in the Aegisian heartlands, and so Iblees breathed a short sigh of relief when he spotted the first farms that marked the beginning of Far Ridge. Of course, he could have simply warped himself to Far Ridge - he could have used his power to bend space to his will, and reappear anywhere he pleased. And yet, he had chosen to make the long journey on horse-back.
Sometimes, his own logic baffled him. Long ago, when he first began guiding the mortals to a better world, the greatest challenge had been trying to understand how mortals thought, and how their emotions ruled them. It was not until Iblees had tried to live among them and live like they did that he finally gleaned an understanding, but that had meant not using his powers so that he could experience, and understand, the world as they did. Though that had been a very long time ago, the habit had stuck; Iblees very seldom used his powers now, unless there was an emergency, like healing a mortal who had fallen ill with a disease that had no natural cure. Of course, as far as the rest of the mortals were concerned, Iblees himself was just a wise mortal. He guarded the fact that he was a Daemon very carefully; he did not dare risk the trust of the mortals, and their willingness to listen to him. And so, while he could warp himself all the way across Aegis with little effort, he found travelling by horse to simply be more … Organic? Natural? He could not quite say why, but it just felt right. He found the journey through the untouched wilderness to be blissfully refreshing, and besides, it gave him plenty of time to decide what he was going to say when he reached Far Ridge.
The farms on the outskirts of Far Ridge were wedged into clearings where the ocean of pine trees gradually began to thin. They consisted of strips of land in the process of being ploughed for planting seasons, and pastures for wooly rams, goats and yaks. The farmhouses themselves were long, wooden huts with roofs so steep that they reached the ground, in order to prevent snow from piling up during the winter and damaging the thatch.
There are more farms than last time I was here, Iblees observed as he drew closer. Far Ridge has been expanding, it seems. That was good; it meant the people here were doing well. Distant voices, mingling with the sound of a hammer beating against an anvil, and the bleating of a particularly loud goat, met him as he crossed a bridge over one of the many narrow streams that criss-crossed through the countryside. He passed a number of empty children’s tree-houses and hunters’ extinguished cook-fires along the side of the road, which was the only real indication he had passed from wilderness into Far Ridge.
Voices raised in alarm as he came into view of the first of the farms. Children working in yards reared their heads in surprise at the sound of Wand’s clopping hooves, and rushed to tell the adults working the fields or tending to livestock that a stranger had come. Any outsiders coming into Far Ridge was a rarity; they were a close-knit community, and while they normally regarded strangers with scepticism, it did not take long for them to recognize Iblees.
“Wizard!” came a child’s excited cry from one of the farms as Iblees drew closer. “It’s the Wizard!”
“The Wizard has come again?”
“Mama! Mama! Come look, the Wizard is here!”
Iblees grin grew wider still. ‘Wizard’ was what most mortals had taken to calling him, by no choice of his own, but he supposed the title was as good as any. While the leader of Far Ridge was not the friendliest Iblees, it was a relief to see the Far Ridgers were still excited at Iblees’ arrival. By the time he came to the foot of the farms, a small crowd of excited children and smiling adults had gathered in anticipation, their chores abandoned.
Iblees never got quite used to how different the people of Far Ridge looked from the rest of the Aegisian mortals. They were tall and built like boulders chiselled into athletic bodies without an ounce of fat, and all muscle. Most folk in Far Ridge grew over at least six feet, and all had dark, auburn hair that men and women alike tied back into buns, while children sported bowl-cuts until they were old enough to be deemed an adult. Despite the wintery chill, the Far Ridgers wore simple woollen shirt-sleeves. They did not seem to feel the cold, or any hardship, like other mortals did.
“A good morning to you all,” Iblees greeted them pleasantly, and slowed Wand to a stop as the small crowd had all but blocked the road. He had not intended to stop at the farms, but he supposed it would be a good opportunity to learn what he could before he met the leader of Far Ridge. He was not sure, however, if anyone had even heard his greeting over the babble of excited children.
“Wizard! Can you show us some of your spells?”
“Like make fire change colour?”
“My favourite ram broke his horn, can you grow it back?”
Iblees only chuckled as the wave of excited voices rushed over him. It was not until one of the men called, “Enough!” and made a hushing gesture that the children fell silent. “The Wizard’s only just arrived. Go on off and see to your chores and let him settle in.”
The children protested feebly, but their parents managed to send them shuffling, disheartened, back to the farms. The man who had silenced them gave a stern look to a young girl who must have been his daughter to get her moving back with the other children. A few of the adults returned to the fields with the children, but not all, and a half-dozen or so remained with Iblees on the road.
“You must forgive us for the bother, Wizard,” the man who had spoken said once the children were gone. He, like most Far Ridger men, was over six and a half feet tall, and his beard of unkempt curls was as messy as his auburn bun. “You know how children are.”
“I do,” Iblees said, “and so you do you; there is no need to apologise for children acting like children, is there?”
“I …” the man trailed off, and grinned before he rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose there is not.”
The smile Iblees gave him was one of genuine amusement; even Far Ridgers were always eager to impress Iblees and make sure they had caused no offence. Well, except their leader. “I, however, apologize for interrupting your work.” He glanced briefly across the farms: practically everybody had dropped what they were doing once they heard the Wizard had arrived. Even children who had been shepherded back to work only performed their chores half-heartedly, and instead kept watching Iblees from afar.
“Will you have bread and milk, Wizard?” the man offered, as per the normal Far Ridge traditions. Other mortals would make the offer with eagerness, desperate to make a good impression in front of the famous Wizard, but not Far Ridgers. They were a practical people who took things at face value and had no time for lies or deceptions. In the south, if Iblees declined a traditional greeting gift, mortals would worry if they had done something to upset him, or if they were cursed with bad luck now. Not in Far Ridge. If Iblees didn’t want the traditional greeting gift bread and milk, that was all there was to it.
“That is very kind of you, but no. I will settle for news instead.”
And so the farmers told Iblees of all that had happened since he had last come to Far Ridge two years ago. The harvests had been relatively good, but their potatoes had failed last year. Iblees suspected a famine, but from what they told him, but they had a good yield on gourds and beets, and there was always plenty of game to be hunted in the forests. There had been some nasty business last autumn with a monster attacking farms; Iblees wasn’t sure what to make of it from their vague descriptions, but it seemed that the leader of Far Ridge had rallied a band of warriors and settled the matter. Far Ridge had gradually expanded, though it was becoming difficult to find any half-decent soil now, and one family had been exiled for stealing goats.
Iblees exhaled a quiet breath of relief when the farmers concluded that that was all the news of note. In truth, Iblees felt a little guilty for not coming to Far Ridge, and checking on its people, in so long. And so, he was glad to hear nothing ill had befallen them in his absence. It was a good sign in more ways that one - he had guided the mortal civilizations to the success they now enjoyed, but to truly build a better world, he needed to teach the mortals how to live and advance without his guidance. Far Ridge had proven themselves far more independent than any of the other mortal civilizations in that regard. None of the farmers asked Iblees for news of the rest of the world, for he knew that they did not care. The Far Ridgers kept to themselves, and cared little for the rest of the world. In many ways, they viewed themselves as superior, and yet they were strikingly humble at the same time. An odd people indeed.
“I suspect you’ll be wanting to see the Chief?” the bearded farmer asked once they had finished telling Iblees all their news. When Iblees nodded, he said, “The Wisefolk are meeting this morn, so you’ll find him on the ridge with them.”
“I thank you, friend. I’ll be off to see him now, but I intend to stay a while in Far Ridge, so you can assure the children I’ll show them some spells and tricks later.”
The adults took his promise with excited smiles that said they were equally eager for Iblees to return later, but he was growing increasingly anxious to see the leader of Far Ridge, and see what had become of him in these last two years. His eyes settled on a hill up ahead with with a jagged ridge on top, on which a number of huts stood. That was the ridge after which the township was named. While he often referred to Far Ridge as a town or village in his mind, that was not really correct. Far Ridge was more like a small region, home to a community of hardy farmers around the namesake ridge. The ridge itself was the region’s centre and meeting ground, and it was there that the Chief would be meeting with the Wisefolk.
It was only a few minutes after leaving the farms behind him that he realized he was being followed.
“Don’t you have chores to be tending to, little one? It’s nearly planting season,” he called back, and turned in his saddle to face the young, chubby-cheeked boy that was plodding a few feet behind Wand.
“Papa said I can take a break to go play,” the boy replied. There was a mix of curiosity and stubborness in his eyes that Iblees felt was all too common in Far Ridgers.
“Why don’t you go play, then? It’s not much fun following me, now, is it?” The boy didn’t answer, but nor did he stop following behind Wand. Iblees narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s your name, child?”
“Kori,” the boy answered, and then asked before Iblees could get a word in edgewise, “Can you do magic tricks? Hari and Denn say you can do magic tricks. Can you show me?”
“I’d be glad to, Kori - later today. I’m on my way to speak with your Chief right now.”
“I know where the Chief is! If show you, will you do a magic trick? It’s this way!”
“Thank you, Kori, but I know where …” Iblees trailed off as Kori broke into a run faster than Iblees expected his little legs could carry him, and he beckoned for Iblees and Wand to follow. “ … I already know where the Chief is,” he finished to himself, and resolved to follow behind his new guide. Iblees thought he had gradually come to understand mortals, but he would never understand mortal children.
It took far longer to reach the ridge than Iblees expected, for the sole reason that a crowd came to greet him at every farm he passed. Every time he opened his mouth it was to decline bread and milk, but still everyone was eager to give their greetings to the Wizard. It was a good sign that they still received him so, but it was a frustrating delay when Iblees simply wanted to go and see the Chief. By the time he finally passed the last of the farms and made his way up to the ridge, the sun had passed its noonday peak. Not only that, but Kori had gathered a procession of other children from other farms who all flocked around Iblees, rambling on with nonsensical questions just as the other children had.
“Can you teach us how to find crystals underground like you did the field folk?”
“That wasn’t the field tolk, rot-brain, it was the hill folk.”
“Oh. Can you teach us how to find crystals underground like you did the hill folk?”
“Can you tell us about how you slew the Beast of the Lake?”
“No, no, not the Lake, I want to hear about the Firesnake!”
“Stop distracting the Wizard,” Kori cut across them. “I need to show him where the Chief is!”
As much as all this delayed him, Iblees smiled at the childrens’ back and forth. Still, he was grateful when they finally reached the ridge atop the hill, which offered a clear view of the surrounding landscape for miles. For the centre of Far Ridge, the hilltop did not have much on it: there was a large fire-pit surrounded by trodden earth in its centre, where the Far Ridgers gathered for festivals and celebration. There was a hut for healing, and a shelter for gatherings when the weather was fowl. There were no shops, markets, or even people to be found for what was supposed to be the heart of Far Ridge, and that was again how the Far Ridgers differed from other mortals. Each family worked a farm and hunted often to keep themselves fed; they built their own huts and thatched their own rooves; their sewed their own clothes, forged their own tools and chopped their own firewood; and men and women alike trained from a young age to use bows, slings and blades to defend themselves. That was the way of Far Ridge, and with a way like that, they had no need for shops and markets. The only reason Far Ridge had a town centre at all was for a meeting ground.
Then there was a longer building, which the locals called a great hall even though it would be dwarfed by a common house in any other part of Aegis. It was built right on the edge of the ridge, and columns of fire smoke rose from a hole in the middle of the roof and a clay chimney at the back. It took Iblees a moment after sliding out of Wand’s saddle to remember the Far Ridgers had no horses of their own, and so had no stables.
“Here, Kori,” he called to the boy, who was still arguing with some of the other children. “If you watch my horse for me, I’ll show you a magic trick later, alright? Just make sure not to go near his back legs.”
The young lad practically snatched the reins out of Iblees’ hand, and instantly began to bicker with the other children over who should be allowed to hold the horse’s reins. Chuckling, Iblees pat Wand on the neck before he strode towards the great hall. He was not at all worried about leaving the horse with the young children; Wand was as docile as horses came, and likely to be gentler than the childrens’ mothers.
He could hear voices from inside the great hall, and a few paces short of the door before sucking in his breath. The prospect of a Daemon like him being nervous was silly, yet the Chief of Far Ridge always unnerved Iblees in ways he never expected. The Chief was just so … superstitious? Skeptical? Unpredictable? He was all that and more. The biggest issue was that he did not trust Iblees like the rest of the mortals did, and that made it difficult to guide him in leading his people. After a moment to brace himself and gather his thoughts, Iblees pushed inside the great hall …
… and frowned when he realized that the Chief was not among the dozen men and women seated around a central fire. The Wisefolk, the council of sensible Far Ridgers who the Chief kept as advisors, looked no different from the rest of the farmers, with their shirtsleeves and bunned hair, for they themselves were farmers too. They all turned to Iblees, and then burst out into surprised greetings. They were almost as bad as the children for speaking over each other.
“Wizard? Welcome! We did not know you were coming.”
“Ah, see Hars? I told you he’d be back one day.”
“Pfft. I thought you’d gone soft living down south with that bunch, and forgotten about us real folk up here.”
“Will you have bread and milk, wizard?”
It took another twenty-minutes to bring the Wisefolk to a polite silence, promise that he would speak to them all at length later, and learn that the Chief was down training by the river. Supposedly, he had told the Wisefolk to go about their meeting without him and that they did not need him for every little thing, but the Wisefolk waited regardless. They respected their chief too much, even though Iblees knew the Chief hated how they depended on him so. Still, he was growing tired of his search for the Chief by the time he left the great hall after assuring the Wisefolk he would send their Chief up to them so that they could get their meeting over and done with, though Ibees was doubtful whether he could convince the Chief to do anything. He was the most stubborn mortal Iblees had ever met, and of all things he wanted the Chief to do, attending a meeting with his Wisefolk was not high-up on the list.
Grumbling about the ordeal and leaving Kori and the other children playing around Wand, Iblees rounded the great hall where a steep dirt track led down and around the ridge, towards a shallow river that speared through the sparser forest on the other side of the hill. From here, Iblees could make out a lone figure standing near the riverbank. The Chief.
Iblees descended the path slowly, in part because it was steep and in part because he was still not quite sure what he ought to say. The waters of the shallow river gleamed in the cold but bright noon sun, and as he neared he could see that the Chief was shirtless, and practicing his aim with throwing axes, of all things. Iblees paused a dozen or so feet away, and simply watched as the Chief tossed three small axes in rapid succession.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
With a shower of splinters, the axes buried themselves into the trunk of a nearby tree, all within an inch or two of the other. Iblees had to admit it was an impressive display, in both aim and strength, but he had come to recognize the Chief of Far Ridge as a very impressive mortal indeed. Iblees watched him for a moment longer as the Chief made his way to the tree to retrieve his axes. He was shirtless, and his toned, hairy chest glistened with sweat from exertion. He was easily the tallest, and strongest, of all the Far Ridgers, which meant that he was likely the strongest mortal living. His lean face was covered mostly in a mop of messy hair and a beard – the Chief himself did not bother with the traditional Far Ridge hairstyles. The part of his face not covered in hair was all hard planes and angular features, mounted with cold, weary eyes that looked as if they had endured a great deal.
“You just going to stare, Wizard?” the Chief asked in his harsh, jagged voice without turning around as he began to wrench his axes from the tree.
“I was merely admiring your handiwork,” Iblees said mildly. It was impressive, even if he was moderately worried that the Chief was honing skills specifically for killing. Iblees had always counselled against that.
The Chief’s eyes lazily slid to him, looking as unamused as could be. “You came all the way to Far Ridge, uninvited and unannounced, to admire my handiwork?”
For all the distrust and uncertainty in the Chief’s mind, Iblees smiled. “I came here to check on the people, and speak with you. And it is good to see you too, Krug.”
