Progress

    It was a full-scale mage war in the City, the likes of which hadn’t been experienced in several hundred years. The stakes were higher, of course, than they’d been in several hundred years. The Old Man was fading, his long, long life obviously coming to a close, his powers not what they once were. He looked old and feeble and didn’t seem to be even trying to take part in this battle for position.

The young and powerful were fighting to see who would replace him as acknowledged most powerful. After several days of destruction (and no few deaths), the only combatants left standing were the Golden Prince and Star Lady. It was fascinating—both espoused the new magic that was given a boost by metals, by steam, and who knows what else.

It was known that The Old Man opposed such methods, as he always had, holding that such non-magical methods of propulsion were an abomination, bound to contaminate everything and especially the magical foundation of the world.  The young felt he had squashed them away from such fascinating sources of power; they were eager to explore them. Transportation, especially, powered by such new means could accomplish great things. Such could, they knew, allow the denizens of the City to travel  in large groups, in caravans and armies, beyond city and the huge fertile bowl it sat in, exploring over the distant mountains and probably amassing new fortunes. As far as people could figure out, The Old Man seemed to think these new ideas would be damaging to their magical traditions and not very efficient. They didn’t understand why but decided perhaps they didn’t need to understand.

The conflict had reached an obvious climax this morning in the Mage’s Square, where all such climaxes in all of history were known to have happened. The Golden Prince brought forth a new version of his magic pedicycle. This one did not die in a burst of poisonous smoke. Star Lady then produced a new version of her magic cart. This version did not explode with great noise and many injuries. The crowd murmured and admired while they awaited the next act. The food sellers in their booths around the rim of the square did a brisk business with the remaining audience.

Suddenly, the universe seemed to pause for a moment while the crowd of those brave enough to stay held their collective breathes. And then collectively gasped. There, coming up a side alley, was The Old Man. He looked terrible, very thin, almost skeletally so, bent over, hobbling painfully, his color was frighteningly bad. He probably wouldn’t have made it to the Mage’s Square at all without the aid of what he was clinging to. It was a horse, a plain old ordinary horse. The Golden Prince strode over to him. “Sir, should you be up and about?” he asked. His voice struck no one as sincere.

“He should be home in bed,” said Star Lady. She sounded honest, if not tactful. “Maybe he came to congratulate the winner. Me, of course. But a horse? He obviously can’t even mount. Wouldn’t a cane have been more useful.”

“I’ve been working very hard,” said the Old Man in a very weak voice. “But I think I’ve got it now. My greatest work ever. You won’t need the garbage you’ve been working on.” He tapped the horse with his wand. The universe paused again, and the crowd was completely still and quiet. Something was obviously about to happen. Mist gathered over horse and mage. The mage slumped to the ground. The horse shivered  Huge, brilliant wings sprang out of its shoulders.