Footwizard

by Terry Mancour

  “The gurvani are as much victims in this as we are!” I countered, sharply. “They’re being manipulated by the Enshadowed, we’re being manipulated by the Alka Alon Council. To fight over scraps at the table while the entire world is preparing to burn. Both sides want to control the vault and the molopor, because that will allow them to escape before the Formless are released. Hells, you can be at this squabble for millennia, yet, before things get urgent.”

  “What would you have us do, Minalan?” Ameras asked, her voice thick with emotion. “The search began for a refuge from the inevitable before your people even arrived. This world is doomed. Not even the Vundel can save it,” she said, gloomily. “Let us protect what little we can. Perhaps we can arrange to carry a portion of your people with us,” she proposed.

  “No,” I said, flatly. “No! Just because the Alka Alon and the Vundel feel powerless about this threat doesn’t mean it cannot be avoided. I may have one short mortal life to devote to that purpose, but it seems a nobler struggle than merely winning a throw against the Enshadowed. Why save Callidore from Korbal, then? To put off a horrific conflict for a few centuries, so that your folk have time to slip away before they get involved?

  “No, Ameras, your father promised me that you would help, when I found you and had no other options. I have no other options,” I declared. “I cannot save the world without your help. Nor will I strive against the gurvani and Sheruel and Korbal knowing that your folk have already abandoned the greater fight. If there is a means to save Callidore, I will find it.”

  “You do not understand what you are saying, Minalan,” Rolof said, frowning. “I appreciate your boldness, and your commitment . . . but only the Celestial Mothers had the power to preserve Callidore from the doom it faces. The last one perished half a million years ago. All worlds are finite,” he said, shaking his head, sadly. “All magical places come to their end.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I insisted, as I finished slicing the last tuber. “I’ve decided this wonderful world is worthy of saving. The Aronin assured me of your help. I intend to hold you accountable for that. Perhaps you have given up on this world, but I never will. That’s probably why your dad chose to screw with my head back in Amadia. So, I’m asking you to start coughing up the arcane secrets I’ll need to do so. I’d even say you were obligated by your father’s pledge. It’s as much a part of your legacy as the vault and the molopor. Do you have salt?” I asked. “I think these tubers might go better with a little salt.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Avius

  Of the unexpected pleasures I’ve encountered on this expedition, spending the afternoon at the beach with a dragon was among the finest.

  from the Expedition Book of Anghysbel,

  Recorded by Dr. Lilastien

  Ameras didn’t protest when I insisted on her help. Indeed, she seemed to accept my forthright decision once I made myself clear. Of course, if she couldn’t actually open the vault, once she led me to it; there wasn’t much else I could do about it. She settled back into the role of polite hostess while we prepared supper.

  Once again, Travid took over the cooking, quickly cleaning and gutting the five large fish they’d caught at the lakeshore. I’d never seen their like before – they were clearly natavia species – but he proved adept at seasoning and then grilling them over the coals while the tubers bubbled away in his cauldron. Fondaras foraged for a few berries and greens to add to the meal, and there was enough for everyone. Indeed, it was quite delicious.

  It wasn’t quite sunset when we were finishing up supper, and we felt a tremor in the ground. At first, I thought it was another earthquake – little ones did happen frequently in Anghysbel, often several small ones throughout the course of the day. But there was direction to this tremor, and as I looked up toward the lake, I saw a gigantic splash.

  “It’s Avius,” Rolof explained.

  “She likes a bit of a swim at sunset,” agreed Ameras, with a small smile.

  “Dragons can swim?” Fondaras asked, interested.

  “Dear gods, yes!” Tyndal declared, a tinge of disgust in his voice. “As we learned at Olum Seheri. They swim quite well.”

  “She enjoys it,” nodded Ameras. “The gurvani kept her in chains and in filth. They wouldn’t let her or her mates swim, lest they escape. Which she did,” she reminded us. “This is a nice deep lake, too. Occasionally she’ll visit the Hot Lake, for a change, but we’ve kept her away from the human-inhabited areas at Baelor Lake. She splashes around quite a bit, and she’d wreck dozens of those little boats the Tal Alon use.”

  We all watched in amazement as the waters parted and the gigantic head of the dragon thrust itself to the surface, once again.

  “She’s quite elegant,” Fondaras remarked, as the great beast rose on her wings and then dived back into the water. Waves from her first splash were already hitting the shore. “I didn’t think dragons would be that beautiful.”

  “I’ve rarely tried to appreciate their beauty, seeing as how I was usually trying to kill them,” Tyndal said, shaking his head as he watched her. “Even now I have to force myself not to draw my sword.”

  “It wouldn’t do you any good,” Ormar agreed. “Dragon hide is ridiculously strong. And magic resistant.”

  “It would still make me feel better,” Tyndal murmured, as Avius rose and fell back into the lake, purposefully slapping her gigantic body against the surface with a smack that echoed across the shore. She was clearly having fun. “I’ve never seen a dragon act playful, before,” my former apprentice admitted.

  “She’s quite playful,” Rolof agreed. “Don’t forget, she’s still very young.” At that point the waves hitting shore were over a foot tall. “You should see what she does to a stora, before she eats one. It’s like a ten-ton cat playing with a two-ton mouse.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a sight to see?” Fondaras asked, as he stared at the frolicking dragon in wonder. I, myself, shuddered a bit. A killing machine that large shouldn’t frolic. It just didn’t seem right.

  “I’m more concerned what that cat would do to my tiny little body,” Ormar scowled.

  “She just fed a few days ago,” Ameras said. “It’ll be a week or more before she’s hungry again. But perhaps you’ll get a chance before you leave,” she suggested. “Oh! It looks like she’s headed this way!”

  I watched Ormar’s eyes, in particular, as they got wider and wider as the dragon got closer and closer. As she approached the bank, her neck rising higher and higher above the surface, she finally turned her eyes toward us, I instinctively called on arcane power . . . and got nothing, of course. I felt naked, more naked than I’d ever been. It took a major act of willpower not to grab the plasma rifle at my feet. Not that it would do much better than magic against that thing, I reasoned, but it made me feel better.

  “She isn’t going to do anything,” Rolof assured us, in a low voice. “She’s quite peaceful. Just relax,” he encouraged, soothingly.

  “That’s highly unlikely,” I murmured, as I rose to my feet. “My favorite horse was killed by one of those things while I was riding it,” I explained. “I’ve faced four or five – maybe six? Maybe six of those things in battle. It’s a little hard to let my guard down.”

  “Or unclench your sphincter,” Ormar agreed, grimly. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the dragon. Taren, likewise, was frowning at the beast.

  “She’s quite lovely, really,” Ameras insisted. “Just be polite. She only learned our speech last year. She’s still getting used to it. And she’s never spoken to this many people before, so let’s try not to confuse her too much. It might get awkward.”

  “Yes, we wouldn’t want that,” Fondaras nodded. Suddenly, he raised his hand and waved. “Hail, Avius!” he called, in a friendly tone of voice, when she stopped about fifty feet offshore.

  The dragon’s great head lowered a bit as she took a closer, more discerning look at us.

  Ameras, a voice rang in my head. It was feminine, and
somewhat louder than using mind-to-mind communication. But it was clear Narasi. Rolof. I do not know the others.

  “They’re friends, Avius,” Ameras explained. “Friends of Rolof and I. They’ve come from the south,” she explained, simply.

  For the hunting? The dragon asked. There is fine hunting here.

  “Of a sort,” Rolof agreed. “This is my friend Minalan,” he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “He and his friends came here seeking Ameras and I for counsel. Much as you do.”

  “Hail, Avius,” I said, raising my own arm. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” It occurred to me we probably had met – in battle. “My friends are Lilastien of the Alka Alon, and then Fondaras, Tyndal, Ormar, Taren, and Travid. We’re humani, like Rolof.”

  New people to talk to, the dragon said. I’ve learned much from Ameras and Rolof. They have explained many things to me.

  “They are good and trustworthy friends,” I agreed. Rolof was right – Avius spoke in my mind with the simplicity of a young child. I had to be careful, I realized. Making a child mad could lead to a tantrum, and I shuddered to think what that would be like. “That was a beautiful dive you did,” I added, because everyone likes flattery.

  The water is cool and delicious, she agreed. Do you swim? Rolof does, sometimes. Ameras is afraid to, she said, her tone a little mocking.

  “I do,” I nodded. “I’d be afraid to, with you in the water, however.”

  I usually just wade, while he swims, so as not to splash him, she agreed. What kind of humani are you? she asked, curiously.

  “I am a wizard,” I said, deciding to keep things simple. “Like Rolof. Your home is beautiful,” I added.

  It is nice, Avius agreed, her head slowly approaching the shore. I appreciated the care she was taking. She barely made a ripple in the water. My knees didn’t appreciate it; they were shaking like a leaf at being so close to the beast. Wizards do magic? she asked. Rolof explained it to me. There is no magic here, she said, proudly. I cannot speak around magic.

  “So I’ve learned,” I nodded. “In truth, I never knew dragons could speak.”

  I couldn’t until I came here and Ameras taught me. She is a good friend, she reported. The other dragons don’t yet speak like this. Do you know any other dragons, Minalan?

  I sighed. “Lamentably, yes. Your kind was used against us in battle,” I said, deciding to keep the difficult subject high-level, for the moment.

  I am sorry about that, she said, sounding genuinely sorrowful in my mind. It was not our choice.

  “I understand,” I agreed. “I’m sorry about your enslavement. How did you escape the gurvani?”

  I ate my handler, she replied, a little smugly. I pretended to be docile, and when they prodded me into the sky I rebelled. Then I found this place. Isn’t it pretty?

  “It is,” I agreed. “I’ve heard how beautiful this land is. I wanted to see it for myself. It is a difficult journey to get here.”

  Not by wing, she said, even more smugly.

  “Speaking of which, Avius,” Lilastien said, standing forward, “If you see a couple of very large birds in the sky, I would appreciate you not eating them. One of them is ridden by my granddaughter, Ithalia.”

  “My sister rides the other,” Travid said, suddenly alarmed. “They mean no harm.”

  Other flyers? Avius asked, interested.

  “Very fast flyers,” Lilastien agreed. “Though they might be intimidated by your size. They probably aren’t as smart as you, either,” she added.

  I will not eat them, Avius pledged. They permit themselves to be ridden? she asked, skeptically. I was ridden. It was not a pleasant experience.

  “They are friends with their riders and bear them voluntarily,” Lilastien assured.

  “Birds?” Ameras asked. “Those were giant birds I saw in the sky? I thought I was dreaming when I saw them in the air!”

  “No, they’re quite real – and quite large. Oh, only a tithe as large as Avius, but they have a forty-foot wingspan. My granddaughter and I transformed them for the war effort.”

  Specifically to fight dragons, I thought to myself, ironically.

  What? snapped Avius, suddenly. Fight dragons?

  “Uh . . . that’s a complicated matter, Avius,” I said, gently, realizing that I had to be careful with my thoughts. “We did not know how intelligent you were. Nor how your folk were enslaved and used in battle against us. We were only trying to protect ourselves.”

  I half-expected dragon fire. The great beast stared at us intently for a moment.

  I hated battle, Avius said, after a long pause. I never wanted to fight. But they made me, she said, defensively.

  “If it’s any consolation, we didn’t really want to fight either,” Taren called to her. “The gurvani and their masters didn’t leave us much choice.”

  I hate them, she said, matter-of-factly. They hurt us. They were cruel. They made us fight, she said, her tail breaking the water’s surface and lashing like an irritated cat.

  “Our enemies have no concern for inflicting misery,” Fondaras agreed, sympathetically. “I can only imagine how you suffered.”

  “You are safe, now, Avius,” Ameras soothed. “No one can hurt you, here.”

  No one will ever hurt me again! she assured. I had no reason to doubt her. But then her tail sank back beneath the surface of the water, and she calmed down a bit. I think I like you wizards, she decided. It’s almost dark. Are you going to watch the lake? she asked, eagerly. It’s very pretty!

  “We will,” I agreed, a little puzzled about the question. “We will probably camp here for the night before we move along. But it was a pleasure meeting you,” I said, sincerely. Meeting a dragon who didn’t want to eat me out of hand seemed like an accomplishment. I attributed it to my charming nature. I might have been mistaken, but I wanted to cling to that, for some reason. It seemed important.

  That’s good. I want to talk to you again, she offered.

  “We would really like that, Avius,” Lilastien agreed. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

  I will come here, she agreed. Enjoy the lake!

  With that, she slowly began to withdraw, careful not to make too many waves. When she was fifty or sixty feet out, she turned, twisted, and launched herself into the air. In moments she was soaring over the lake, her dark reflection shimmering in the wake of her launch.

  “They really are beautiful in the air, when they aren’t trying to kill you,” Taren murmured, appreciatively.

  “She loves flying over the lake at twilight,” Ameras smiled dreamily as she watched the dragon. “She gets a better view of it, then.”

  “The sunset?” Taren asked, interested.

  “No, not just the sunset,” Rolof said, adding a rare smile to the conversation. “Just watch.”

  So, we watched. And as the light from the west grew dimmer, as the sun descended over the western ridges, the shadows lengthened, and the colors transformed to that oddly beautiful pallet only sunset can produce. Purples and pinks and oranges colored the clouds above and were reflected in the lake.

  But soon I noted something else – something in the water. A faint, dim light, at first, that seemed to move closer and closer to the surface. And then another, and another, and then a dozen, a score, a hundred, a thousand . . . in moments, the entire lake was dancing with pinpoints of lights, just under the surface.

  “Kintilla!” Lilastien gasped, clapping her hands gleefully. “There are kintilla here!”

  “What are kintilla?” Ormar asked, confused.

  “Fish – well, sort of,” Lilastien explained. “Tiny little water creatures who are bioluminescent. They come out at twilight to feed on the insects over the water. Their lights attract them. They’re common, in other parts of the world. They usually live in subtropical estuaries. But these . . . these are far too far north. They must be a remnant of a different age, sustained by the geothermic activity,” she suggested.

  “They’re amazing!” Fondaras said, with childlike deli
ght. The entire lake seemed to shimmer with the pinpoints of light, now, and they increased in intensity as the sun faded. Nor were they one color, I noted. They started to change from a dull white to pinks and greens and yellows, like an underwater fireworks display. When they broke the surface to catch a bug, their brightness flashed for a brief instant before fading away as the kintilla fell back into the water. The ripples from each tiny impact refracted the scene further. The entire lake was sparkling hypnotically.

  “That may be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Ormar said, solemnly.

  “I had no idea,” whispered Taren, enrapt in the scene.

  “Just wait,” Rolof said, with a smug smile. “You haven’t seen the best part, yet.”

  I was tempted to ask for an explanation, but I decided to be surprised. And surprised I was. In just a few more moments, when the last rays of the sun had left the sky and darkness set in, the surface of the lake was as dark as the sky above. The thousands and thousands of kintilla below continued to flash and change color . . . but gradually, at first, and then with more regularity the colors they displayed began to synchronize. Entire swaths of the lake began to sparkle in green, or patches of pink, or yellow, until there were swirling paths of color pulsating across the water.

  It was simply amazing. The glow from one particular part of the lake would throb bright enough to project above and it was answered by a burst of unified color from another section, then another. This went on for nearly ten minutes, as Avius flew circles overhead. Indeed, the dragon seemed to delight in skimming the lake as slowly as she could so that she could get a better view of the show, then climbed far above so that she could see the entire lake as one. I envied her that. We were seeing it from the shore, at an angle. From her vantage, the lake would have been one ever-changing tapestry of light and water.

  Finally, the kintilla’s performance drew to a close, as the massive schools began to fade and break up. That’s when Avius offered her applause with a burst of air-borne dragon fire that briefly lit up the sky and reflected brilliantly off the water, below.