o7

Hmm. I'd market it by collaborating with one of the big Malfoid video or art makers, commission them to do an advertisement/cover, and then send it out into the world

(Story is in alpha state at this time; apologies for any typos or grammatical errors) Chapter One A Cold Shoulder The air was so cold that it burned his tongue. The fresh snow and ice crunched and shattered under the young man’s boots as he walked up the slope, like a prisoner headed for the noose. Lash shifted the satchel over his shoulder and kept walking, putting his head down as a howling, bitter wind haunted him, clutching at his heels like so many unwanted memories; it slipped between the folds of his head wrapping, biting at his cheeks and scratching at his earlobes. Behind him, one of his father’s soldiers was riding away, fading into the horizon line atop a white-scaled dragon that soon blended into the horizon and was lost from view. Ahead of him stood Lash’s destination: the Spire, a large, solitary fortress of black-grey stone standing atop a decrepit mountain’s peak, with a central tower upraised like a solitary finger towards the heavens. A pair of red-black winged shapes were soaring in the air above him which he recognized as Tagani furnace dragons: the bright crimson glow of their round, scaled bellies stood out stark against the empty sky, pulsing and throbbing with barely-contained flame. Two hooded, black-clad riders leaned over to look down at him for a moment before they flew back towards the Spire and disappeared into a wide, gaping hole in the side of the mountain. Lash stared after them for a moment, squinting through the gap of his head scarf. He didn’t even want to be there, but if he had to be, at least someone could come to pick him up. Grunting under his breath, he bent his head and kept walking. The path leading up to the isolated fortress was covered in a fresh snow pack, and Lash sank past his ankles with every step. He was already cold and tired from the flight, a direct journey straight from the Solasi capital of Bainbridge. The dragon he rode took off at dawn, flying west over the red and yellow sands of the Central Desert, and now the sun was already setting. He set his jaw and continued climbing, coming ever closer to the one place in the Five Kingdoms he never wanted to go to and didn’t want to be. The Spire once stood as a perimeter watch post, part of the Malian Empire’s old borders before it began another war of conquest and expansion decades ago. The fort remained behind as a lone sentinel, a lingering ghost of the Empire’s past, but it had no outer protective walls, no perimeter to be defended, no gates to bar to keep out intruders—all had crumbled or been torn down decades before, so Lash walked up without encountering anyone. The keep was built into the peak of the mountain itself, and the windows were all lit with a warm, golden glow; a shadow passed by the nearest one, but he couldn’t see anyone inside. The cold, blustery air passing over the mountain made Lash hug his red wool coat tighter about himself as he shifted the pack to his other shoulder. A wide, long set of stone steps led up to the fortress’ innermost gates, which looked nearly twenty feet tall and were made of thick, black wood, each wrapped and riveted with iron bands two feet wide. The wind blew snowdrifts up in piles on either side of the gates tall enough that he could’ve been swallowed up in either one. A smaller door stood at the base of one, made of black iron with a heavy door knocker in the shape of a snarling, fanged head. Lash reached up and grabbed the curled tongue, raised the knocker, gave it three solid bangs, then stepped back again. The footing was treacherous on the icy stones, and he took care as he waited, pulling the scarf off his head to tuck into his pocket. Lash waited a moment until the door opened. Standing on the other side was a girl, or a young woman, perhaps—she was so short that the top of her head barely reached his chin. The girl had blonde hair that hung past her shoulders, a pale face and thin, pink lips. She was dressed in a dark green shirt with long sleeves and wool pants tucked into her boots. Lash thought she was pretty, even though the only decoration she wore was a large green bow tied up in her hair. They stared at each other for a moment. The girl’s eyes went wide at the sight of him. The wind howled and ruffled Lash’s bright red coat and her silk bow, but he ignored it and set hand to his heart before raising it up high in a Solas-style salute. “Lashal Nolus, reporting for duty as ordered, Ma’am!” She stared at him for a moment—his hand up high, waiting for a matching salute—and did the last thing he expected: she started to laugh. It wasn’t any mere chuckle, but hard, loud laughter that soon left her bent at the waist, hugging herself tight, her blonde head hanging down as her laughter drowned out the whistling wind. Lash scowled and finally let his hand fall. “Is there a problem?” he said, trying not to growl. “You…! You look ridiculous!” She took a step back as her laughing turned into soft, repeated giggling, and she wiped a tear from the corners of both eyes. “‘Reporting as ordered, Ma’am!’” she repeated, grinning up at him, pushing a strand of hair behind one ear. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” Lash opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say—given her tone, it sounded as though she’d been waiting for him all day. He stuck his head in the door, took a quick look about. “Is there anyone else I can speak wi—?” “You don’t remember…do you?” Without warning, the blonde leaned in close and pushed high onto her toes. She still barely reached to his nose, but the sudden shift of tone and her sharp, penetrating gaze set Lash back on his heels. She was staring at him and through him, to the very well of his being. “‘Remember?’” Lash straightened and set his pack down on the icy flagstones, refusing to flinch or turn away from her hard, green eyes. “Have we met…?” She leaned back again and stared at Lash for another long moment, careless of the howling breeze or the encroaching night. The girl’s mouth was a thin line and he had the distinct impression that she was angry with him for some reason. Then, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Khamer, Malfait Khamer,” she said. “It’s the only name you’ll ever need to remember.” Malfait smiled, and Lash thought it was a pretty enough smile; her anger was completely gone. “Yes. Malfait.” Lash took her hand and found it surprisingly warm, even hot to the touch even with the cold weather. For the barest second it trembled in his, there and gone so quickly he almost seemed to have imagined it. “I’m—” “Lash, yes, I know.” She leaned in closer, then gave a hard pull on his hand, heaving backwards with all her might. “Now would you please get inside already?! It’s positively frigid outside!” Her voice went shrill as her mood changed again. “I always heard Solasis were thick-skinned, but some of us aren’t so fortunate!” Malfait ranted in a quick, rambling manner as she pulled him inside, then swung the flat of one hand through the air; in time with her gesture, a sudden rush of power filled the air for a split second, then a gust of wind came rushing down the hallway past them, caught the open doorway and slammed it shut with a loud creak of hinges and a heavy bang. Malfait hurried over to bar the door. “Too busy chatting to even notice the chill. Typical Leatherhead foolishness.” Lash had seen Moiran air magic before, but it’d been years since he’d witnessed it up close. He was more distracted by her choice of term, however. “What do you mean by ‘leatherhead?’ You don’t have to try and insult me.” “Should’ve had better sense than to stand on a freezing stoop then!” She rubbed her arms with a sharp shudder. They stared at each other for a moment before she turned around and headed up the corridor. “Well? Keep up!” she called back to him in a haughty, dismissive manner; as she did, Lash saw her staring down at her hand, furling and unfurling her fingers. For a moment he stared after her, watching the girl walk away. Lash was nearly tempted to go in the other direction, but something urged him to follow her. Lifting his pack back to his shoulder again, he let out a sigh and followed. They ascended a spiral staircase lit with golden torchlight, following a path deeper into the Spire itself. At the top of the steps they entered into a large entry hall. In spite of how old the fortress was, the interior was still well-kept and well-lit: more torchlight shone, reflecting off tall windows filled with colored glass. A crest on the wall showed the Five Rings, the sigil of the Malian Empire; one of those rings represented Solas—Lash’s homeland, subject of the Empire for over a hundred years. Just a day before, he was still its Crown Prince, ready to succeed his father, King Garridan. Now he was following behind a spiteful little girl, abandoned and alone. The interior of the keep was warm and the light felt inviting, but Malfait was the only person Lash had seen. “I saw two riders outside… Where is everyone?” Malfait didn’t even turn around or slow down. “It’s Second Rest, right before Evenmeet. Everyone’s allowed time to relax, then they gather everyone into the main hall for dinner.” She turned and gave him a long glance over one shoulder. “You’re late, by the way. The rest of us started exercises a week ago.” Malfait turned around and showed a long, sly smile, like a knife-fanged cat eyeing a newly hatched cub. “You’ll be lucky if you only get stuck cleaning stalls in the Rookery for a week or two. Doesn’t that sound just awful?” Lash shook his head. “There were extenuating circumstances. I had special permission.” He patted the upper pocket of his coat. "Major Hector knew I’d be delayed… Besides, why do you care?” “I-I don’t. Whyever would I?” Malfait huffed and stuck up her chin before turning away again. “Then why did you—” Lash stopped. Up ahead he saw a large chamber, and finally some signs of life: other figures all dressed as Malfait in matching uniforms who passed by, giving him curious looks in his red wool coat and thick boots. He bristled, feeling out of place, but repressed his displeasure as best he could. “Where are we going?” She didn’t even look back at him that time. “What do you mean, ‘we,’ Leatherhead? You’re following me.” Lash could feel his heartbeat fluttering in his throat, matching a steady pulsing behind his left eye. Talking to that girl was infuriating, but he had little choice than to keep following her; his jaw was already aching as he clenched his teeth together. They soon reached the heart of the Spire itself, a vast hall within the mountain’s center, carved right out of the living rock. A candelabra of black iron hung overhead, burning bright, throwing shafts of golden light and soft, broken shadows amongst the jagged surfaces of the domed roof. A number of arched doorways led off in different directions. For the first time, Lash heard more than the clicking of their footsteps echoing in the halls: he heard voices, people speaking, and in the distance, the cacophony of dragon sounds: hissing and calling, bellowing and screeching. “That is the Great Hall,” Malfait said, gesturing towards one set of doorways. “And that way goes to the Rookery,” she added, gesturing to a second set of doors where the loud noises were coming from. “I’m sure you can find your way around on your own…eventually.” Given the sound of her sniff, Malfait had her doubts. “What? What do you mean, I can ‘find my way?’ I’ve never been here before.” “And how is that my problem?” Malfait crossed both arms and twisted her mouth as she stared up at him, shooing him away with both hands. “Go! Go explore! You’ll figure it out!” “A bit of direction would be nice!” She puffed up like a rockatrice, looking mad enough to spit gravel—which, for someone of her size, didn’t seem so impressive. “Do you want me to hold your hand, too?” “What is going on out here?!” A man with dark, cropped hair tipped with grey interrupted their shouting match. He wore clothes almost identical to Malfait’s, except for his shirt was a dark crimson. “Who are you?” he asked Lash in a stern tone. “I’m looking for Major Traygar Hector.” “I’m Captain Marko Vahlen; Major Hector’s the commanding officer here.” Lash turned and saluted the man, hand upraised; with the other, he reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper with an orange wax seal, handing it over. “Lashal Nolus, reporting to the Spire as ordered, Sir.” Marko returned a salute in the Malian fashion, pressing one fist to his heart as he took the paper. “Alright, alright Nolus, at-ease—we aren’t quite so stiff about things around the Spire as you Solasis are.” He broke the paper’s seal and read the note’s contents, scanning it quickly. “Oh, you’re the late arrival we heard about. We were wondering when you’d be showing up.” Lash felt an unwelcome warmth in his cheeks, saw Malfait smirking as she watched and listened. “The King and my brother were delayed on their return to Bainbridge, sir. I only departed from there this morning.” “Well, you’re here, and Evenmeet happens in an hour.” He gave Lash a quick appraisal, looking him up and down. “You’ll need to change into uniform first, even if it’s just for dinner. Cadet Khamer.” Malfait blinked and straightened. “Yes?” “Give Nolus a quick tour before Evenmeet. Show him around. You’ll both be living here the next two years; may as well familiarize yourself with the place.” Marfait wrinkled up her nose with displeasure. “I was planning to visit the Observatory before dinner—” “Good, then you can show him the Observatory, and everywhere else he should get acquainted with.” Marko stared down his nose at the blonde girl. “You’re in High King Bellator’s Royal Air Force now, Miss Khamer. Your plans do not concern me.” He sniffed, folded the paper up again and tucked it into his pocket before looking back at Lash. “You’re both expected in the Great Hall with the other Cadets by the seven-o-clock bell. Don’t be late.” With those orders given, he walked off at a steady pace. Lash caught Malfait sticking her tongue after Marko, until she realized he was watching her. She coughed and straightened. “Fine! Try to keep up, Leatherhead.” The girl started off at a brisk pace, her little boots tapping quickly across the stone floor. Again, Lash nearly gave into the temptation to let her walk away, but his own propriety wouldn’t let him—she might be reprimanded if Lash wandered off on his own. She stopped at another doorway, where another set of stairs led the way in and up. “Are you coming?” He picked up his pack and followed, holding her eyes. “Have you ever visited Solas, Malfait Khamer?” She turned up her nose. “Never.” Lash walked slowly, holding her eyes as he drew ever close. “My father, the King, he took my younger brother Angelo and I to spend a fortnight with the northern hill tribes, living and hunting with them. At the edge of the northern mountains lives the spark cat. They are very small, and hatch from obsidian eggs. They only hunt at night, and can spit fire: their fangs grind together like flint, which kills whatever insects they catch.” By that point, he was standing in front of the girl, staring down at her. “You are like a spark cat, Malfait Khamer: whenever you open your mouth, I never know what may come out of it…but do you know what Solasi hunters do with spark cats, Malfait Khamer?” The girl’s haughty look held, but Lash could see a tremor at its edges: her eyelids twitched, and her lips trembled. She didn’t speak, only shaking her head. He leaned down until they were eye to eye. “They catch them, train them, teach them when and where to spit their fire. Those that learn quickly, the tribesmen reward. Those that don’t…still learn. Eventually.” Malfait’s eyes widened slightly, then she straightened, flipped her hair back again, “It’s this way,” she said before starting up the stairs, not looking back to see whether he followed or not. Lash followed her.

I’ve been given a rare chance to buckle down and put some time into this new Malfoid-inspired dragon riding school story my sleep-deprived brain has concocted. Which is to say I’ve doubled the word count just since last night and passed 12k. We’ll see where I end up by tomorrow.