Winging It

The steady bump-thump of a wooden-wheeled cart rolling slowly down the cobblestone streets of Casandra shattered the sleepy quiet of the early morning city. Casandra was a relatively sedate city, especially given that it was the capital of Anderath and a major political player.

Probably headed for an early start at the market, Jeb thought as it made its way past him. Leaning against the corner of his employer’s house, it wasn’t the four feet of steel hanging at his side, the tough leather jerkin or Jeb’s humorless face that caused passers-by to avert their eyes.

Harmony’s wild, hysterical laughter that would unpredictably pierce the thick, stone walls of the house at which Jeb stood guard was the terror with which parents frightened their children into obedience and caused the parents to walk quickly by with their eyes anywhere but that house. Jeb had grown, if not comfortable with, then used to those unnatural and inhuman noises and could usually ignore them with some level of success. It was something of a job requirement.

Harmony was also the reason that Anderath commanded the political power that kept it from being overrun by larger and more militarily inclined neighbors. Once, long ago, Harmony had used her gifts to craft wonders of vision and sound that were the delight of nations. Her voice, her laugh and her beauty had been center stage at many state functions which required the highest caliber of entertainment for foreign and domestic dignitaries. Countless spectators commented on her incredibly vivid illusions, the power of her imagination and their respect for her skills. They all marveled at her, both because of the exceedingly rare gift for magic and the skill with which she used it. While all knew what magic was, few had witnessed it first-hand and those who had generally had not seen anything with such skill.

Despite the quality of their hospitality, Anderath’s western neighbor Calamador was determined that Anderath was destined to be returned to the fold (Anderath having long ago fought a successful civil war that split it from Calamador). They launched an invasion, spearheaded by their finest armies. Anderath was not caught unprepared, but all knew that it did not have the military might to withstand the onslaught.

On the eve before the first battle, while the advancing Calamador army gathered itself for its attack, Harmony appeared at the battlefield. The Anderathen commander, General Darangel, insisted that she return to Casandra. She refused, saying that she would put her gifts at the disposal of the army to help repel these invaders.

The general was a very good, some even said inspired, tactician and could easily see how her talents, suitably adapted, could be put to very good use in a great many military situations. However, he could not foresee a time in the coming battle where her inexperienced presence would be more help than hinderance. So while he complimented her skills and dedication, he requested that she leave immediately.

Harmony bowed her head and left General Darangel’s command tent. Then she walked through the camp, gained her horse and left. Hours later, however, the entire encampment was awakened to the terrible wailing of thousands of voices crying out in pain, agony and madness emanating from the direction of the enemy’s camp and rising above it all a haunting melody of which only the barest of whispers was caught by those in the Anderathen camp caught. For hours, the wretched noises continued until, finally, as dawn broke they abruptly terminated.

Immediately he directed a scouting mission to investigate. When they returned, pale and shaken, they had in tow Harmony riding on her horse. There she sat, giggling and laughing softly, but with hysteria and madness crawling like maggots in her voice. Occasionally, a loud piercing laugh would escape and cause the horses to shy.

The enemy, they reported, was dead. When pressed, the scouting party could only repeat that the enemy was dead, all dead. He immediately detailed a company of men to escort Harmony back to Casandra as well as a messenger detailing what he surmised. Then he went to investigate the scene himself.

The enemy camp was grotesque in its mockery of normalcy. Fires had burned down to nothing and the tents and animals remained as if nothing was wrong. However, upon inspecting the insides of the tents the general confirmed his suspicions. Each and every man in the invading army was dead, and had died horribly. The screams and agonies were frozen on their faces. Many had clawed at their ears and their eyes, all to no avail.

Harmony had apparently crafted a combination of illusion and sound so terrible that it had literally terrified an entire army to death.

Legends and rumors told of sorcerers so powerful that they rivaled entire armies, but no one in living memory for generations had reliably witnessed anything of this scale.

Upon returning, the general immediately sought the knowledge of those wise in the ways of the Mystic. While exceedingly rare, there were some sorcerers in Casandra and the general knew a few places to look.

He demanded explanations, but he could learn little. What they were willing to tell him, however, was the same in every case. To delve too deeply into the Mystic was to invite madness. All said that their masters had warned them repeatedly about this. All said that they had been told that each sorcerer’s limit was different and that pressing those limits was very dangerous. They all had cautionary tales from their teachers about a sorcerer who had been too arrogant, so sure that he must be able to do more than the limited amount that he was capable, that he’d driven himself mad and finally to death trying to split the earth, or regrow a limb, or shield himself from physical harm.

Even small exertions past one’s limit could damage the mind. Most knew someone who had such a scar. Mostly they were mild and easily managed, but they grew in severity proportional to the “over draw” which they had tried.

Harmony, then, had drawn so much power from the Mystic that she had destroyed her own mind in the process of destroying the army. When he cautiously mentioned something of the sort to a few specific men and women that he trusted, their first reactions were of incredulity. Surely he must be mistaken, for she would have killed herself long before she would have been able to draw that much power.

Evidently not all the legends and rumors were that. Some must be true. Which terrified General Darangle even further, for some of those rumors were of something wickedly powerful to the far north. This terrified the general to the very core of his body. So, in the end, the Anderathen government had installed Harmony in a house as a weapon, a hero and a terrifying presence all at the same time.

Anderath offered Calamador their condolences, both for the loss of all their young warriors and the assassinations of what had been their ruling family. Calamador has, for its part, repeatedly and publicly apologized.

All of this flashed through Jeb’s mind as he watched the cart roll lazily past him. He stifled a yawn, imagining the end of his shift and the comfortable warmth of his bed.

It wouldn’t really be fair to blame him for negligence. No one in their right mind wanted to be anywhere near Harmony’s house and the area was almost entirely free of any crime. Still, a more alert eye might have caught the 4 men springing up from the cart with drawn crossbows before it was too late to react. The double twang of strings being released reached Jeb’s ears just as his mind was registering that something was wrong. It was the last sound that Jeb heard, as one took him through the eye and the other borrowed through his chest and pinned him to the stone behind him.

The four quickly dismounted and burst through the front door of Harmony’s house. A few minutes later, 3 of them returned carrying the body of the fourth and the still form of Harmony. They returned to their wagon and re-covered themselves as the wagon sped out of sight and the loud clatter soon died off.