Jovan's Gaze. Aaron Ph.D. Dov
were far more refined. I slid one of the chairs aside, and it soundlessly glides across the hut, striking the waist-level counter, a table really. It knocked over something in the dark, which clattered on the floor.
I looked about, seeking something to eat. Mysteries were fine, and wondrous lights were fine, and wheeled chairs were fine, but without food I would soon be well beyond caring about any of that.
As hungry as I was, I did not want to offend whatever mage built this small glowing place, nor the girl-spirit which spoke to me. I knelt down, and looked for the item. My entire body groaned at the effort, but I managed to get down low enough to look under the table. Beneath the smooth, lit surfaces above, this part of the hut was a tangle of ropes of many colors. They ran back and forth below the tabletop, and all eventually disappeared into the walls. I touched one of the ropes, and pulled, hoping that perhaps they would summon someone, like the bells in the palace. Instead, the rope came out of the wall. Small metal prongs, five of them, extended from the end of the rope. They were warm.
The rope, now pulled from the wall, left five holes where the rope's prongs had been. I reached in to touch one of the holes, and immediately regretted it. I recalled once touching a small orb used by the mages of the king's court. I had received a shock, as when you come in from a storm and your hair is standing on end. You touch your sword hilt, and a spark ignites. This was much worse. The feeling flowed through my finger and up may arm. I felt it pass through my shoulder, down through my chest, and all the way down to my legs.
It burned, but oddly it was not so much pain as shock. I felt odd, and the world seemed to blur. I leaned back as everything around me seemed to lose focus. As soon as my finger left the hole, the feeling stopped. Still, I sat on the floor for a minute or two, stunned. The top of my finger was red, but not burned. Still, it hurt a fair bit, as did the soles of my feet, though I was unsure why.
After a moment, taken to collect myself and ensure that I was indeed still alive, I hauled myself to my feet. I would certainly not be touching anything else here. Still, I needed food. I looked for some sign of food, but there was none. Several lockers, not all that different from the casements found in any armory or apothecary, were mounted on the wall in certain places. Others were overhead. I touched none of them, for fear of being hurt. This place was far beyond my reckoning, and I had no wish to die by touching something not meant to be touched.
Just as I was about to ask for food once more, a dull roar emerged from the distance. It quickly grew louder, and even in the hut, where the hissing dulled outside sounds, I could tell it was overhead. I hurried to the door, the blinding light of the sun obscuring my vision. I shielded my eyes, and watched as some fierce creature, like the dragons that adorned the books of children, swooped in overhead. Heated air belched from its wings, oddly shaped things with massive bulges in the center. The air blasted me, and I stepped back into the hut for protection.
The creature hovered about, turning as a whole, this way and that. The rumble of the bulges, pumping out that hot air, seemed to fill my ears. The skin of the beast was almost like a suit of armor, with the same blackness as some of the Kronan armor; dull, as if it absorbed the light. The neck was stocky, and the head had two eyes which seemed to reflect the light. After a moment, I was shocked to see something from behind the eye, the silhouette of a man! It was not an eye, but a window. I gasped.
This was no dragon, no creature of the air at all. It was some manner of ship, like the great siege machines which protected soldiers as they approached an enemy wall. The belching hot air seemed to keep it aloft, and as the bulges in the wings turned, the ship moved about. Then, like the feet of a bird, great metal legs reached out from its underbelly, and slowly, smoothly, it set itself down in the sand. I stepped further in to the hut, my heart pounding in my chest.
What was all of this magic?
Just before the ship touched down upon the sandy beach, the sand began to blow in all directions, creating a small sand storm which blocked the creature from view. After a moment I heard the rumbling stop, and the sand storm died down. The dragon ship stood silently, but not for long. Out of its back, what I took as the beast's, no, the ship's tail, a panel opened up. It lowered itself to the sand, and out of the back, figures in bizarre armor poured. Siege machine, indeed!
There were two of them, with helms the color of tanned leather, and coverings over their entire faces, eyes and all. Their armor was odd, patchwork, not at all the smooth works of art I was used to seeing, both terrible and bland. Their boots were obviously cloth of some sort, with the same tanned color as everything else. Their pants were made of some loose material, baggy and fully of pockets. From their belt hung satchels of various sizes. Above the belt, that odd armor bulked out the figures' forms. I could not see where it fastened together, though a metal strip ran up the middle from belly to neck. Their shoulders were bulky, giving them a fierce, powerful look.
They carried with them long, black sticks. No, not sticks. Odd things, with handles obviously fashioned for grips. The pointed them to their fore, each figure pointing their tool away from the dragon-ship, as if they were weapons. I had seen archers move thus, when patrolling ahead of a column of troops. The objects were likely weapons, though I could not discern what sort.
The figures knelt in the sand, beside the dragon-ship's ramp. They looked about the area, their baring obviously soldierly. I could sense it in their movements. They were watching the area, securing it. After a few moments, a third figure emerged from the rear of the beast-vessel. This was a man, dressed much the same as the two others, the two soldiers, except that he had no armor, nor a mask. In the blinding sun, I could not make out his features, though he walked as though he were somewhat older. This one was not a soldier.
This third man looked toward the hut, toward me, and nodded. Both soldiers stood, and began to make their way across the beach to me. They moved methodically, each step carefully chosen, heads turning in all directions. They moved as a pair, staggered, fully aware of the other. It was a trained movement, and the sand did not kick up at all at their passing. Their path to me was not straight, as though they expected an ambush. Through their entire slow assault on the hut, for an aggressive move it was, despite its careful, slow pace, they never once pointed their weapons in my direction.
Surely they could see me now, as the great dragon ship grew silent and stopped blowing sand in the air. I was silhouetted by the fireflies and lit squares of the hut. Or perhaps they could not. They wore something over their eyes, darkened glass, it seemed. Even the older, third man, wore the sorts of eye protectors mages used, though these lenses were also darkened. Perhaps these men, if they truly were men at all, could not see in the bright light. That would certainly explain the darkness of the hut, and how the fireflies and lit squares glowed, yet did not seem to glare the way a flame would.
I considered what to do. The soldiers were too close for me to flee, and there was nowhere to hide in the hut. I felt the moments tick away, each heartbeat an eternity in which the soldiers in their bizarre tan-colored armor slowly approached, followed by the older, third man. Each moment brought me closer to a panic, as the countless unknowns of the situation combined with the exhaustion of my body's state.
I felt my body begin to shake. My hands were first, and then my knees. I broke into a cold sweat, as though every drop of water taken from the white vat outside was forcing its way through my pours. I took hold of a chair for support, but it rolled out from under me, and I felt myself fall to my right. I caught myself on the ledge of the table, but it was not enough. I sat down hard, my rear striking the metal floor. I grunted in slight pain, though I was so swollen and parched, it was more from the knowledge of having fallen, than from real pain.
As soon as I fell, the soldiers hurried their pace. One stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up into the hut. The weapon in his hands turned to me. I looked down the length of it, into the dark nothingness of those eye coverings. The other took his weapon and pressed it against his chest armor. Without a strap to hold it, or clasps to grasp it, the weapon seemed to hold to the chest of its own accord, crossing the soldier's chest from right shoulder to left hip. That soldier reached out to me with open, gloved hands.
I