[The Lantern Alliance of Mosmorden] by Steward McOy – Blue Strokes

The campfire flickered alone in the darkness, a beckoning oasis of warmth, but I dared not approach first. I knew that there were others like me, lurking in the forest and contemplating their own approach. The first to step forward would be exposed, defenseless should the others decide to attack. I harbored no such ill intentions, but I kept my dagger in hand–My bow would be useless in the dense underbrush.

From across the clearing, the snapping of twigs echoed like the cracking of a whip, and a hooded figure emerged from the trees. I couldn’t see his face. The heat rising from the fire distorted his form, but when he turned his gaze towards me, I felt my heart freeze and my blood turn cold. His eyes lingered upon me for only a moment before he turned and regarded the others hiding in turn. After what seemed like an eternity, he drew himself up to his full height and threw off his hood.

“I am Mraant the Feeble, and I answer the summons of the lantern,” he bellowed.

Despite his self-proclaimed weakness, I saw only strength in the geckarian. He may have been smaller than most of his kin, but no human could match his physique. More fearsome still was his reputation as a sorcerer who shaped fate as easily as a potter molded clay. More than once he had turned the tide of battle, coming up with ever more creative ways to slaughter his foes—and sometimes his allies.

Yet he appeared to wear a friendly, inviting expression. Sheathing my dagger, I stepped forward.

“Hail, Mraant. I am Emthed Hatocer, and the lantern has brought me good fortune.”

I felt none of the confidence I displayed. A scout like me had no place amongst such renowned—or dangerous—company. My heart was still gripped with terror, but I trusted the lantern would not lead me to my death.

“A human girl?” Mraant chuckled. “The lantern keeps interesting company.”

One by one, our companions revealed themselves.

“They call me Vaslog, and I have pledged my life to the lantern.” He was a raptarian with brown feathers and an intimidatingly large hooked beak. “It lit the way in my darkest hour.”

“Tirivar of the Moon. I have had many interesting discussions with the lantern.” An elf. I’d never seen one in person, and its beauty was as enchanting as I’d been told. It had long hair, a slender frame, and pointy ears.

“I’m Adrap Kilnblower,” a gnome grunted. He was even shorter than I, and his red hair was speckled with ash. “Lantern asked me ta bring it ‘ere, and I didn’t have nothin’ better to do.”

He untied a large bag from his belt and placed it on a rock near the fire. Shucking the bag, he revealed a brass lantern. It was an ancient tool, animated by lost magics, with the power to show its bearer the path to what they desire. I’d only possessed it for a few days, but it had helped me lead the remnants of my troop to safety from deep within geckarian-held territory.

We all took a seat, Mraant sitting further back from the fire. I was not happy to be sharing a camp with a geckarian and a raptarian, and I was wary of the elf, but my fear had started to fade.

Thank you, Adrap, the lantern said. I’m fond of you too.

Though I said the lantern spoke, it made no sound. Its voice reverberated in our minds.

Good of you all to come. The future of Mosmorden will be decided here tonight.

Vaslog let out a sharp laugh that sounded more like a caw. “Amongst these rabble?” It was a strangely disrespectful tone for someone who had moments earlier pledged their life to the lantern.

One each from the five intelligent peoples on the island. I chose you all personally. Do you still take issue with them?

“Forgive me. It’s just that each of us is a misfit. A geckarian that relies on magic instead of strength; an adolescent human, and a girl at that; A gnome who performs menial labor; and me, a pariah to my own people.”

“Wot, no insults for the elf?” Adrab jibed.

“One elf is the same as the next,” Vaslog snorted.

“Not so,” Mraant said. “Elvish society is intricately designed. Each elf plays a specific role. Snuff out the right one, and you may watch as they scurry to reorganize themselves.”

“A favorite pastime of yours?” Tirivar guessed, though there was no anger in its voice.

“Hardly,” Mraant sighed. “Believe of me what you will, but I find no joy in taking lives.”

“But you’re a geckarian,” I blurted out. I immediately regretted it. Mraant could kill me, yet he only smiled, which inspired me to continue. “Do you not thrill in the hunt like the rest of your kind?”

“We take no joy in it. You only imagine us to be evil because we aren’t picky where our meat comes from.”

“Tha’s one way ta put it,” Adrab said. “But fer all yer fancy words, yer still eatin’ those who can talk. If tha’s not evil, I dunno wut is.”

“It is only a difference in perspective,” Mraant assured us. “A dead body is just flesh, no matter who it once was, but those who still live need to eat.”

“I’ve seen geckarians fight amongst themselves,” I said. “It’s bad enough you eat humans, but your own kind…”

“Humans fight amongst themselves too,” Mraant pointed out. “So do gnomes, raptarians, and even elves. That you burn or bury the bodies afterwards makes it no less horrible.”

Indeed. There is much strife on Mosmorden, which is why I invited you here tonight. We must unite the island.

“If such is your will,” Vaslog bowed his head. “Which nation shall rule? I shall assist you, even if it means turning against my roost.”

That is not what I intend. Your five nations must form an alliance and expel all others from the island.

For a few minutes, none spoke. An alliance between us was inconceivable, and we all wished to say so, but the lantern’s foresight was not easily dismissed.

It was Tirivar who broke the silence. “May I ask to what end?”

The mining of sizzlium has weakened the seal binding the dæmon. We must put an end to it.

“So it is true then,” Mraant said, his eyes shining through the haze of the smoke. “Mosmorden rests atop the body of a great dæmon.”

The greatest dæmon ever to menace Yoidmor, the lantern confirmed. Its name has been lost to the ages, but its power is still felt to this day. The great sage Ril'wara was drawn here by that power centuries ago. He found the twisted ruins of those driven mad by the dæmon’s temptations, even long after its death. He left me here to provide light, so that future generations would be protected from the darkness.

“Blessed be our father Ril'wara,” Tirivar recited. “May his days in the halls of his ancestors be filled with mirth.”

“What you are asking will be difficult, but I will follow you.” Vaslog was the first to agree to the Lantern’s proposal.

“If you mean to contain the great dæmon, you have my assistance as well,” Mraant concurred. “However, I have… concerns.”

“As do I,” I said.

“And I,” the elf and the gnome said in unison.

“Why not simply aid one of us?” Mraant asked. “Surely it would be easier to keep control of one nation than five.”

If I helped only the humans, what would your kin overseas do? Would they sit back and allow them to control all the sizzlium? No, they would invade in force.

“True enough…” Mraant said before lapsing back into contemplation.

“The overseas nations will invade regardless,” I said. “Sizzlium is too useful. Many will be loath to sacrifice the magical comforts they have become accustomed to. They will see a faraway dæmon as no great concern.”

We will repel them. It will be difficult, but it can be done.

“It will require a massive army,” Vaslog stated, “and those who reside here may be tempted to mine sizzlium in secret.

The alliance shall keep a firm hand. With vigilance, discipline can be preserved.

“You mean to rule as a tyrant,” I realized aloud.

Only because it is necessary to keep the dæmon contained.

With that, I realized that the lantern would justify anything in pursuit of its goal. After all, it could not feel pain. It could not truly understand the cruelties it sought to unleash.

“Not all that is evil wears horns atop its head,” I recited. “Containing the dæmon may be a noble goal, but the great sage would not have wished it done like this. He was human, after all.”

The great sage would have understood that any other choice would lead to the reawakening of a greater evil. He would have been wise enough to make the best possible choice, no matter how unpalatable he found it.

“But he had his limits. Do you?” I pressed.

I will do what I must, but I understand that people can only be pushed so far. I won’t do anything that risks open rebellion.

“Rebellion is easily quelled,” Mraant murmured, though he was deep in thought and wasn’t focusing on the conversation. “All living things submit to strength, and fear is the most powerful motivator of them all.”

Humans fear being eaten by the geckarians, yes? Perhaps we could decree that criminals will become food. With a powerful deterrent, we could allow the people more freedom.

“I cannot believe you would suggust that of your own will,” I said. “This sorcerer must be influencing—”

“I am no sorcerer,” Mraant interrupted, his voice dripping with malice. “Magic runs not in my blood. I mastered the arcane through my own studies.”

“In what library?” I challenged. “I have never once seen a geckarian with a scroll.”

“The whole world is our scroll, girl,” Mraant said, no longer angry. “Wherever we crawl, we leave our thoughts behind.”

“‘Tis true,” Tirivir confirmed. “The trees are covered in their writing, much of it amusing.”

I wasn’t going to change any minds by being wrong, so I swallowed my pride and apologized.

“Your apology is accepted,” Mraant said. “Your ignorance is… understandable.”

Be that as it may, you must learn to hide your inexperience, Emthed. It is unbefitting of a future queen. Your opponents will take advantage of it.

“Future queen!” Adrab exclaimed. “Forgive me, yer highness. I didn’t know you was royal.”

“I’m not—”

You will be. All of you here shall lead your people in the alliance.

“Smack my backside with a blowpipe! Never thought I’d trade my cap fer a crown.”

“And in exchange, you’ll feed your people to the beasts,” I pointed out. I turned to Tirivir. “Are you ready to accept that?”

“The great sage hoped to keep the dæmon sealed,” Tirivar said matter-of-factly. “I could wish for no better fate than to abide by his wishes.”

It is understandable that you are upset, but more will die if the dæmon is resurrected. I am trying to save lives, not end them.

“If you can call that living,” I spat. “Maybe it’s fine for elves, but no human wants to spend each day worrying that they’ll be next for the slaughter.”

Perhaps I was wrong to choose you, Emthed. You cannot see the bigger picture.

It was then I knew I was alone. Vaslog would follow the lantern out of blind loyalty. Tirivir would agree because it worshiped the great sage. Mraant was still a mystery to me, but I suspected he intended to use the alliance for some nefarious purpose. Adrab was tempted by wealth and power.

No, the gnome was still unsure. I could see it in his eyes. I had one chance left.

“If I cannot see it, then light my way,” I said, walking over to the lantern.

As I grasped it, images flooded my mind. I saw the alliance, guided by the lantern. It was peaceful and, occasionally, happy. Through it all, for millennia, the lantern ensured the alliance leaders retained their grip on power. 

All nations eventually crumble, I told the lantern. Your brass may one day tarnish, and your flame may be snuffed out, leaving us in the dark with a dæmon. Is it not better to destroy it?

The lantern’s light flickered, and I could feel its will hesitate.

You said it yourself, I continued, a lantern is just a tool. It is meant to be used by someone, not to enact its own plots. You will fail if you persist along this path.

In its moment of uncertainty, I forced it to show me what I wanted to see. The hulking dæmon beset by the armies of the world, with I at their fore. Death, so much death and pain, but in the end, victory. It showed me the way to the crown, filled with martial feats and political assassinations. And finally, it showed me what I needed in the moment: a way to escape with my life.

You don’t understand, the lantern pleaded with me. If you stumble along the way, you will doom all of Yoidmor.

Then I will not stumble.

Mraant was deep in thought, unguarded. He saw me not as a threat. The lantern guided my blade into his heart, and he earned his nickname, felled by a frail human girl. I was completely defenseless against Tirivir’s magic, but Adrab was quick on the uptake, and he drove a pin hammer into the elf’s skull.

I turned my dagger on Vaslog, but he was faster. With one winged arm, he batted the dagger from my hand and seized the lantern. I lacked the strength to keep hold of it, and as soon as he had it, he flew off into the night.

“Coward!” Adrab shouted after him. His shoulders slumped. “Did… we do the right thing?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Countless lives will be lost because of our decision, and we may perish, never knowing if it was right.”

The gnome shuddered, and I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“The lantern showed me we can prevail,” I said, “We can be the light, but if we stumble, if we waver for even a second, the world will be plunged into inescapable darkness. Knowing this, will you walk the path it showed me?”

“Never stumble? Ha! I ain’t never stumbled in my life! Let’s kill us a dæmon, yer majesty.”