Miradey

Iron Drought

"The child killed the thing that set upon my house."

Sorcerer Draco laid the needle on a nearby table and unwrapped it cautiously. Her eyes widened behind her glasses "I sensed something amiss but a beast, Tihone?"

"The reports are coming in," said one of the servants standing closest to her. Like the others, this wizard carried himself with a sense of duty and purpose but there was something different about his dress. Deep, radiant, shimmering purple robes with a wide lavender sash tied around his waist. He carried a handsome yet dangerous looking war hammer strapped at his side, engraved in the foreign symbols Mrs Burch had seen around the house.

"Some say it was a drake or wyvern," Tihone continued. He grunted. "Others know better."

As the sorcerer gently poked her pulse with a slender silver instrument, Miradey rasped a breath. A grinding screech and the little tool turned to ash in Doria's hand.

"Iron drought," Doria murmured. A sense of foreboding again assailed her. This is most certainly a curse's affliction, she thought. Commonly it was a deterrent. Cast as protective magic or a side effect of an enchantment or a spell to thwart and disarm an attacker. But she'd never seen iron drought in the form of a human ailment. She needed more time to unravel this conundrum. Time that the child might not have unless she acted quickly.

"Stand back," Doria ordered. She stood at the foot of the healing platform and took a very, very deep breath. A breath so deep her breast expanded widely with it. The room darkened as if the sun shining through the windows was blotted out by a slowly descending darkness ruffling its feathers and obscuring the light. Eyes burning with blue fire, she expelled her breath. It washed through the room in flurried, bright icy winds that froze only the herbs until they gleamed glowing, solid blue. Eyes still full of cold magic, Doria clapped her hands then snapped the fingers of both hands. The herbs shattered, releasing the herb's languidly swirling cold cure throughout the room.

The darkness lifted. Miradey's shuddering breath rattled through the library and she desperately sucked in the herb's chilled healing vapors.

"Ain't that much cold mist in the whole shire," boasted one of the servants standing nearby, smiling smugly at her mistress's magical prowess.

Mrs Burch gaped, awed. Never in one day, perhaps not in her entire life, had she seen magic have such colorful affects on a witch nor exhibit such powerful castings. This must truly be the power of a sorcerer, thought Mrs Burch. Furthermore, the power of a Draco. It was said that Sorcerer Severin, Lord of Serpenten House, was more powerful but it was obvious Doria Draco was a formidable opponent.

Miradey breathing eased greatly and she seemed to rest once more lying on the healing dais. Mrs Burch frowned as she looked upon her, feeling a sadness creep in past the lingering horror.

"Looks like a wasting disease but... what manner of malady causes a child to burn from the inside out, my Lady?"

"If only I knew." It is a curse. That much Doria was sure of.

Begging your pardon, Sorcerer?

Doria shook her head. Seeming to come back to herself, she turned to Mrs Burch, Igrus, Morrie, and Malchrie, saying, "You did very well. Thank you. It is thanks to your family that the life my kin, a precious child, has been spared."

She beckoned forward one of her attendants in their foreignly colored and patterned robes and jewel bright slippers. The servant held a small coffer in his hands and he cracked it open for the Burchs to see it was filled with a few minted gold bars and stacks of minted gold coins.

"Say not that my people are ungenerous."

"The right thing is its own reward," said Morrie.

"Gold is nice too," Malchrie muttered, gaping at their bounty even after the coffer was closed.

Mrs Burch jabbed her elbow in her son's rib even as she accepted the little chest nonetheless. Merchants in the village traded in silver. They would want the gold, gold being the highest form of currency in the magical world, but they wouldn't accept it, not knowing whose hand it had come from. But there were some who might be willing to trade regardless of the ban of dragon's gold. Abroad, it would certainly come in handy.

They bowed awkwardly then turned to leave, following one of The Third's people toward the door. Sorcerer Draco spoke once more.

"Your husband is tradesman, is he not?"

"Yes, my Lady."

"With the occasional bit of welding, yes." Mrs Burch nodded. "Tell him to never take a single scrap of metal from the Ironheart mines. Not for trade or for anything else. Something foul lives in the heart of that place."

When Mr Burch came home from his journey trading ore to the dwarves and elves, he was stunned to hear of his family's misadventure in his absence. He did accept the gold as a fortuitous windfall though. "It will be fine to trade abroad," he said as they turned into bed that night.

"We must not be seen in the presences of that woman," said Mr Burch expressing his unease. "Nor can we be suspected of conspiring with the House of Dragons."

That might be true but Mrs Burch wasn't thinking of that.

"Swear to me you have never and will never weld or touch a bit of Ironheart metal. Never, for any reason, husband."

Mr Burch chuckled. "Wish I could. It would fetch quite a bit of silver on the market—"

"Swear it!"

A heavy pause passed between them in which he wondered whether the whole of the day's events had unbalanced his wife. But he saw how tense Katherine was and how the whites of her eyes gleamed in the almost dark. He said quietly, "I swear."