She raised from the bed and started stimulating the embers that were slowly puffing under a big pile of ash, aiding them with a handful of chaff. Filled with new energy she mustered a very long blow and swiftly the almost-dead cinders sparked back to life lighting the dry straws. She grimaced, as she would have liked to use a spell to light the fire. She then arranged a trestle of dry spruce wood around the cinders and placed the metal pot filled with fresh water on the spit, where the concoction had been boiling animatedly the day before. Traces of that ghastly cooking could still be seen around the fireplace; on the box of dry wood she kept nearby, on the wooden floor as well as on the pale white walls and she knew she’d have to clean at some point. Perhaps next year.
First things first. Her consideration came in the shape of a strong sage and earl grey tea this morning; a daily habit that was hard to break.
Her stock of dried herbs was always packed; every shelf inside her huts had at least one prudently sealed jar with various dry herbs inside.
The scented tea warmed her cold and sunburned hands as she stood by the fire contemplating her next move. If she was right, many things were about to change and she was resolute to be there when they did. Words travelled faster than the wind and rumours of the big fire in the southern lands had reached her ears on multiple accounts. It had to be true, she determined, and she knew it was only a matter of time until the history repeated itself.
Many years ago, she had witnessed in first person what dragon fire-breath could do to a village, when the white dragon had torn apart the elven citadel in the forests of Elmenor and stole the Lux stone under the spells of its master, Felduror. Loreeia and her elven kin had always suspected him – knowing his lust for the tokens – but for the sake of her own people and many other races, the wise queen had decided it was better to wait and find solid proof of his involvement before taking action.
Naghnatë sighed, thinking how she had missed her only chance to expose the evil wizard when, during that day’s attack, she hadn’t been able to confront him. She had reached Elmenor on that day, many, many years ago. Having learned the whereabouts of the elven queen, she had ventured far to see for herself the magic token and learn as much as she could about its powers. She was still confident the wise queen would not hesitate to spread the good tales of those peaceful times when humans, elves, dwarfs and dragons were friends and not foes.
Yet, as she had entered the citadel, buried in the depths of the green forest, she had seen from a distance the wizard imparting his last instructions to the long headed white Drakhahoul. As the dragon had taken off and left the wizard alone in that clearing, she had known that Felduror had sensed her. They had exchanged the longest, wordless glance before Naghnatë had decided it was best to vanish with a single effective spell, rather than try and obliterate him to dust – she had never felt ready to harm another being, and now she regretted it dearly. Luckily, she had judged well, as the old wizard hadn’t spared his flame-spells and had directed them towards her with the intent to kill.
“Argh!” Naghnatë exclaimed, jumping from her comfortable position on the chair.
The memory of being so close to death startled her, and she spilled a bit of the tea on her neck and bodice which she was now trying to clean and dry with her hand.
“I will get you back for this as well, mark my words!” She stood up from the chair and went to place the hot mug on the battered table.
She took the bodice off and placed it near the fireplace, letting its warmth do the drying for her. She then dressed up and refilled her mug with the scented tea and took her time to consume it, this time without any distractions or bad memories.
“Good!” she exclaimed as she placed the clean mug and tea pot on the table and inspected the dark-blue bodice which was now dry, but stained.
She moaned something with her throat and placed it on her small hay bed. With clicking lips, she knelt and took from under the bed a small and dark painted wooden box.
Click!
She opened it and after quickly delving, she found what she was looking for; a dark leather pouch tied with a string.
Click!
“Ah, there you are!” She untied it and took a long peek.
An emerald-blue powder, fine as river sands, was glowing and saturating the pouch, sparkling in her eyes. She poured a small amount in her left hand, dropped the pouch on her lap and rubbed her hands thoroughly with the dust until it seeped inside her palms.
She took her coat from the bent nail behind the hut’s door and went towards the fireplace. A quick mumble of her lips put the fire out as if it was never there. With another glance, she determined the cleaning would have to wait for another time.
Click!
And she vanished from the hut.
“Ahaa!” she exclaimed as she landed perfectly with both feet on the wooden floor of a bigger and newer cabin.
“I still can manage well, shifting myself!” she added coughing and waving away the dust cloud that had lifted upon her arrival.
She inspected the place attentively to see if it was as she had left it many months before. Strictness defined her when it came to choosing her hiding places, she’d make sure they were stable and most importantly, secluded from prying eyes.
A handful? Dozens? Tens of dozens? She had lost count of how many she had, they were as varied as the colours in the forest. From doomed castles and hunted citadels to abandoned huts, mines, caves, mills and cottages. She had tried them all. Many of them had acquired the haunted characteristic specifically because of her errant comings and goings and her odd practices of guttural chanting and spell performing. It was something that made her proud.
Someone had been inside the cabin she could tell. Perhaps a shepherd, forced to take shelter from perilous weather or a hunter that ventured too far and took lodging for the night. But she was sure nobody had stayed here for long as her magic wards would have prevented it. Not once had they failed in startling unwanted visitors. Frightening sounds outside the house, banging doors or footsteps approaching in the middle of the night, howling beasts and confounding noises, were all things she liked experimenting with and to her amusement, she felt accomplished by. In this case she had probably overdone it, as the cabin was situated far from reach, on the eternally-white peaks of the Wicked Ridge.
A low chanting filled the cabin and as she lifted her right hand a chair, a table, a big cupboard and a secret door in the wooden floor appeared all of a sudden. She had concealed the items that she could not carry and were necessary for decent living when she had to stay here for long spans of time. The secret door led to a storage room, which she was now inspecting. To her surprise the plants had thrived in the dark and she was looking at big wooden crates filled with rhubarb, lettuce and potatoes.
While every gardener had told her that light was the principal source of energy for a plant to grow, she had discovered that it was not actually true. Of course the sun was important, though it is not solely because of the light, but because of its heat. Seeds lay dormant many months a year in the dark soil before sprouting, so the sun’s light cannot be the cause for this happening. Surely it wouldn’t have been possible without a little help-spell or two to keep the cabin walls dry and the plants moist and warm, but that was her little secret. All that mattered now was that she had vegetables for a much-needed soup – shifting from place to place left her ravenous.
Inside the cupboard she found everything she needed for the stew; spices, oils, dry bay leaves, dry lovage and dill, cutlery, a piece of dried-smoke meat, plenty of onions and a braid of garlic.
A big ball of snow, taken from outside, was melting into a chipped-pot, heating on the old stove made of sturdy, mountain black-stone. She finished chopping the vegetables and went searching for the flour sack, realising to her dismay, that there wasn’t enough left.
Just as she started reproaching herself for having forgotten to refill, a faint, distant sound caught her attention. A shudder made her back tickle as if a so
ft gust of wind blew against one’s wet skin on a chill day. A thud echoed in the air from no apparent direction.
Thud. Another one, growing stronger as it closed the distance.
“Could it be…?” she whispered, making haste for the small window, opposite the hut’s door.
She glanced about but could not see a thing in the dim light so she went outside instead. Grey clouds billowed on the top of the mountain and the last faint rays of sun were still visible on their western sides.
Thud. This time it felt like it was coming from behind her, high in the sky. She looked up but the fast-moving clouds didn’t allow her eyes to make out anything besides moving puffs of moist.
Thud. She heard it right above her now.
And, as she glanced high in the sky above, she saw it. Blurred and obscured by the moving clouds, lit by a dying light of day and not entirely concealed, its monstrous bat-like wings spread like a ship’s sails; a mighty Drakhahoul in flight.
Sallncoln
Ghaeloden / Nuuk
Ghaeloden and Nuuk flew without disruption for the entire night, hoping to make up for a slow portion of their journey, after Aranthul. Some unexpected, strong currents pushing against them, had sent them wandering off their path by many miles, stripping the dragon of much of his strength. Exhaustion and hunger were beginning to take their toll on them when they reached the Lament Valley at first light.
The warmth of the southern region was the finest greeting the dragon had hoped for as his gliding was now made easier by the rising columns of hot and dense air. As he let himself be guided by the currents, he realised how much the landscape had changed. Trees and plants, with their still-strong sweet and variegated aromas, covered the horizon all around and the forests displayed a wide diversity of greens. Flocks of multi-coloured birds were waking up, unconcerned for the moment about the travels that the change of season would necessitate. Most likely the very same birds they previously saw gathering in the northern region were travelling to these green lands to linger for a month more before venturing deeper to the south. Far in the east, the rising sun slowly revealed itself engulfing the surrounding valleys and mountains in a warm and bright shimmer, reminding the dragon they could be clearly seen.
Ghaeloden flipped his tail and stirred slightly to one side in a quick movement, disturbing the imp’s sleep and forcing him to grab at the harness he had tied around his wrists.
“We are here,” he announced, “and we need to land quickly!”
“Surely, master Ghaeloden,” replied the imp drowsily, as if trying to hide the fact he had been sleeping.
They started gliding faster towards the foot of the mountain, between cliffs where it was safe and hidden from humans, that populated in great numbers these temperate lands. Once landed, the dragon stretched his long spine, tail and neck trying to be as quiet as possible although his back was making loud, cracking noises. Meanwhile, the imp took out the map and followed an imaginary line with the longest of his small fingers.
“I think we are here.” He pointed his finger and showed it to the dragon. “The closest village is further that way,” he indicated with his other hand not taking his eyes off the map, “and it is called Irenthir. From here to Sallncoln should be less than a day’s walk crossing the mountains, in that direction.”
“Good!” exclaimed the dragon, “I’ve done my part, I’ve taken us this far, in only two and a half days. Now I am starving. This will have to be your part, Nuuk!”
Nuuk nodded.
“You shall go and inspect Sallncoln and I will follow above in the cover of the night. Are you clear what you need to do?” The dragon quickly continued, “Although I must say, I have not sensed any magic wielders in this area, nor all along our exhausting journey. If the witch were around, according to Felduror, we would have sensed her.”
“I agree! Even if I do not possess your mighty knowledge and capabilities, I could sense it, if it's wielded in close proximity. Nevertheless, I will go and enquire in the village, as the wizard instructed me,” replied Nuuk.
“Surely, but first you need to show me how good your disguise is!” demanded Ghaeloden with a twinkle in his eye.
The imp nodded and dropped his bag, kneeling beside it. From inside he took a ragged shirt and a pair of trousers and some small boots with a wooden sole. He then took a cloth strap which he used to bind his small wings tighter on his back. The shirt covered his wings entirely and he made sure they were flat enough against his body. He then pulled up the trousers and popped inside the boots.
“Happy?” he asked, seemingly content.
The dragon looked at the imp for a moment, stretching his long neck to see him from all angles. “I must say, you could pass for a human youngling, almost from up close too, were it not for those big eyes and the flappy ears.”
“Oh that. I think I need more cloth to wrap them with.”
“Nonsense!” replied Ghaeloden, “you’d not make them disappear, it would only make you look more awkward. No, you need to use magic, or I will!”
“My master –” the imp began.
“Your master is not here!” Although the dragon knew that Felduror had allowed using small spells, he wanted to see what the imp was about. “The success of our task may depend on your ability to pass as human.”
Nuuk was still reluctant, his big eyes and small, still mouth almost begging him to reconsider. Though he did not, he allowed a small growl to funnel in his long throat.
That convinced him.
The imp lifted a hand in the air, gulped nervously and looked pleadingly once more into the dragon’s eyes. When nothing was said, he murmured a soft spell.
Ghaeloden knew the little creature had longed for such a moment. It couldn’t have been otherwise, judging by the imp’s closed eyes and the smile of happiness stamped on his face.
The spell worked its magic. Nuuk’s skin slowly started to stretch in places where it was loose, becoming smoother and warmer in tone. His eyes shrunk to a third of their original size and his ears lost their elongated shape. In just a moment, the imp’s face acquired a typical human look. Nothing betrayed his impish face, he looked like a child. A quite handsome one, considered the dragon.
“Marvellous,” exclaimed Ghaeloden, pleased to see how well the imp’s spell had worked, “though, why is it that you have to say words when you wield magic?”
“It assures me of my intention, master Ghaeloden, words are very important!”
“Yes of course,” the dragon replied. “Words are always important, for all inferior races that is, yet you are not one of those. For us Drakhahouls, the mind does not need to express out loud what it thinks as long as body and mind are in accordance. I think you should try and exercise your mind. Your spells will only benefit from it; words are slower than thoughts so your spells would become more effective and definitely quicker to release.”
“It has been long time since I’ve used magic. Felduror did not allow it and I thought I had forgotten how to use my powers. I do remember however that, very rarely, some of the easiest and most practiced spells would need no word to be wielded, but I have never considered why that was. Perhaps I should,” the imp reflected. “Thank you, master Ghaeloden, for encouraging me! I’ll go now. As soon as I approach the village, I’ll let you know.”
“Good! I’ll hunt and rest. We’ll meet here at sunset, and not a moment later!” With a pounce he leapt into the air while the imp set off towards the steep mountain.
More than by hunger, Ghaeloden was driven by curiosity. The imp had used a spell and soon any wizard around would be drawn here. If Naghnatë was around she would most certainly find the imp and then he could easily entrap her with a prevailing Drakhahoul spell.
The powerful strokes of Ghaeloden’s wings pushed the little creature sideways and lifted pebbles and dust in an uncontrollable swirl of air. Yet Nuuk giggled, his happiness overwhelming whatever shadow of doubt and fear he might have had about this journey. He had finally used magic after a
long, long time. It was hard to shake off this sort of happiness; it made made everything appeared easier.
The morning light was still too dull on this side of the mountain to see clearly, and inside the dense pine forest the air was wet and chill. Silence prevailed as the imp slowly moved between the trees, with no noticeable path to follow. Among the multitude of bird song that resounded from all directions, two sparrows distracted him, loudly complaining at each other in the brushes straight ahead.
He passed a bramble and noticed with pleasure that a couple of berry shrubs were enclosed within. Delighted by the opportunity, he used the chance to fill his belly, grasping fistfuls of the ripe, juicy, sweet fruit. Happy with his misdeed, he cleaned his red lips on the back of his hand and proceeded.
The forest uphill became denser and it was harder to advance at a decent pace. Having to skirt and duck dead pine branches and the variety of bushes he encountered, he decided to make himself a stick with which he could bend and clear the path ahead.
This will do! he thought, as he stooped to pick up a sturdy grey branch, which, with a couple of twists and kicks, he cleaned from smaller twigs.
All well? the dragon asked.
Yes, master Ghaeloden, all is well! It’s only that I am not that accustomed anymore to walking through dense brushwood like before. I haven’t seen or smelled the forest this close in a very long time. Nuuk was surprised that they could still communicate, yet he found more staggering the scent of the forest and the freedom of strolling about.
To his surprise, the branch helped him move more easily even when there was nothing to clean or hit. Now he understood why some of the mountaineers favoured the use of canes to help climb the steeps.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 16