Flash Fiction #317 -- Connor of Northgate/1

For the next few months I will be posting a flash fiction serial based on a novel I wrote some time ago.  I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter One


The wind blew through the open window; a cold, baleful blast that was not, in itself, much of a surprise at the Northgate Keep. The fae could not always keep such weather at bay, nor worked to do so. Nature would take her revenge against magic, and they tried not to tip the balance too far, those fae who lived on the edge of Nature's true domain.

But this northerly wind? Lord Northgate sensed something darker in the touch of ice and snow.  He stood from his desk, crossing to the window with such haste that the servant who had brought him tea watched in dismay.

"Sir?" she whispered, looking to the window as well.

Northgate didn't ask if she felt the change that unsettled him. Likely not; as Lord of Northgate, he had a unique tie to the keep and her lands. He could feel trouble; that was his power and his purpose for being here, so far from the fairer fae lands.

"I am going to go up to the tower, Magra," he said and offered her a smile. "I doubt this will amount to anything, so don't worry. Leave the tea. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Magra gave a distracted nod as she put down the tray and glanced at the window where the wind blew harder. Something felt out of place in that cold breeze that twisted cloth and blew steam from his tea.

Lord Northgate left his cozy office, going by the back halls rather than the shorter walk across the open courtyard to the High Tower. Through the arched windows, he could see people everywhere in the square today, bustling around on whatever business brought them to Northgate. His keep was not as busy as the other three cardinal keeps, but beings of many sorts wandered through, especially those who made their homes even farther north, outside the fae lands.

Northgate didn't want to be waylaid. People were not used to him as Lord of the Keep, and they tended to treat him as they would have one of the pages come to serve here. He'd been Lord Northgate for ten years, but for fae that wasn't very long at all.

He'd grown up at Northgate, squired here from the Royal Court when he was quite young. He'd always been groomed for this post, but the sudden death of Lord Northgate -- the last Lord Northgate -- had put him into the position decades before he had expected to have the power willingly handed over to him.

That caused troubles too, of course. He was young for a Lord of a Gate. However, he held the power and even the Royal Court had not made any suggestion that he might not be ready for the position.

So today, he hurried down one cold hall and around another; he circled the courtyard and then came out into the open.  The door to the High Tower stood to the left. He found no one else nearly. This was his place, and no one could even open the door, let alone work with the power that coursed through the very stones.

The High Tower was Northgate's magic incarnate. He alone could tame this power.

Others had wanted the post he held, but he was good at the work, and he didn't shirk it even now, when he felt the wind grow stronger at his back and the tingling of power, uncomfortable, beneath his hand.

He tapped the door; no more than that. The enormous oaken door sprang open into a place far too bright for being enclosed, and he blinked several times as he stepped inside the narrow interior. His feet found the stairs by memory while his eyes watered; he knew the way, the curve of the wall, the number of steps to the highest point in the keep.

The walls glowed with power that moved up and down or circled around him, like water running through rock. He could tell the tower felt  anxiety, in whatever way living rock felt emotions, by the uneven swirl of colors. He caught the feel of it as well, an increase in tingling through his feet and he dared not touch the wall, for fear that the power would overwhelm even him.

Something must be very much wrong, and now he regretted not having told the others to be careful and keep watch. If there was any weakness he had as Lord Northgate, it was that he did not want to deal with court politics and all the trouble of having to explain himself to others.

Now, standing in the opening to the highest room, with the Stone of Northgate pulsing on the stand in the middle, he realized he had been a fool.

The wind wasn't just cold now but also tainted with something that made him wince, as though he tasted something foul. He turned into the wind and squinted, his hand lifting to feel out whatever might be there.

He thought he could hear shouts far below and took a moment to glance down -- too far to see anyone individually, but many people moved in haste. So, they didn't need him to tell them to get to safety. Good.

He turned back, lifting his hand again --

Something huge came straight out of the howling wind -- no, the creature howled. More than one. He couldn't see what at first --

Trolls! He couldn't guess at the number of them, and he didn't even try to learn how they were flying on the wind. He didn't care. Trolls were enemies of the fae, and the fact they were coming straight at Northgate meant more trouble than he had anticipated. If they had marched in, his people would have had some time to prepare.  But this --

He tried to give a shout of warning, adding the power of magic to his voice, but it was already too late.