The Talismans of Time (Academy of the Lost Labyrinth Book 1)

by Stephen H. Provost

  The girl felt far more secure than she had on Cary’s back—for which she was thankful, as she could easily recall tumbling toward the ground below.

  Carol had greeted her when she woke with a cup of hot apple cider, and had filled the dragon’s bowl with some of the same, after the Alfur had finished cleaning out the remnants of the previous evening’s stew.

  “Please find my Nicky,” she had said, her voice quavering ever so slightly with concern.

  Elizabeth had hugged her tightly.

  Now, Carol bid the dragon and the girl goodbye, waving to them fondly as Dreqnir’s wings bore them into the sky above the village. As they rose higher, Elizabeth marveled at how small Carol seemed, this woman with big heart so big that it held a place for all the world’s children.

  Below, she could see the half-burned ruins of the buildings Dreqnir had scorched with his fire. She could see tiny figures scurrying about and realized that the Alfur were trying to restore them.

  “What are those buildings?” the girl asked.

  “The factory where all the world’s Christmas toys and gifts are made,” Dreqnir said sadly. Elizabeth heard his voice, though not the sound, inside her head—just as she had with Cary. But this time, she could tell it was coming from a definite source: the heart-gem sewn into the lining of her woolen coat.

  The dragon continued: “Even with the Alfur’s skills, it may take them time to rebuild them—and to replace the gifts that were lost in the fire. It is my shame and sorrow that I caused such awful destruction.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “It is not your fault. Tar Kidron is to blame.”

  “Ah, but I still did it,” Dreqnir said. “This does not ease my guilt.”

  They banked toward the east, and Elizabeth heard the sound of the cold wind buffeting the unseen barrier all around her. Inside, the air felt like an early spring day; even as high as they were above the ground, the girl was warmed by Dreqnir’s inner fire. Off to the left, a wall of blue-green light glimmered and shimmered from the horizon up into the dark sky.

  “What’s that?” Elizabeth asked.

  “The Northern Lights. Your people in this region know them as the Revontulet, which means ‘Firefox.’”

  “Firefox?”

  “Yes. They tell the story of a wild fox with a burning tail. When she ran through the forest, her fiery tail brushed up against the trees, sending sparks flying up into the night sky. Those sparks danced and shimmered in a wall of gleaming color, which your people call the Aurora Borealis.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “Is that true?”

  The dragon chuckled. “Oh, no. Nor is it true that fallen warriors cross this rainbow bridge into a hall of ceaseless combat and feasting.”

  “That sounds very much like the way our own nations behave,” the girl remarked.

  “Indeed. Men love to pretend that the next world is just like this one. It seems to comfort them—even if, in doing so, they continue their suffering.” He shook his head. “Humans have such small imaginations! Why not picture a world entirely unlike our own, where wonders not yet known reveal themselves in every moment?”

  “That is the kind of world I would imagine,” the girl declared.

  “Which is why, I think, you were fated for this quest. Besides,” Dreqnir continued, “they don’t want to admit that the lights are really dragon fire, which we use to light our way across the night sky.”

  Elizabeth didn’t know whether he was serious about this. But then, by way of demonstration, Dreqnir spewed forth a line of fire that burned brightly out before them, then rained down in colorful sparks on the earth below. The result was very much like the dancing lights away to the north, although Elizabeth still wondered if the story was genuine or merely a legend Dreqnir’s own folk had fashioned to explain the lights and their beauty.

  “Where do we start looking?” Elizabeth wondered.

  “I do not know,” the dragon answered. “Tar Kidron came from Nigel’s home, a dark cave city in the cliffs of a secluded fjord. Time acts strangely there, ebbing and flowing like the ocean tide. But I was there, and I know King Nicholas was not there. He would have kept him safely at some distance, in a place so isolated only a few would know of it. Tar Kidron himself did not know where he was taken; if he did, I would have known it, too.”

  They flew out across the water, frozen over in many places, and in others dotted by icebergs poking their heads up out of the sea. It seemed the flew for hours before land came again in sight, but the passage of time was difficult to mark without the coming of the sun. Elizabeth slept and woke and slept again, losing track of how long they’d been aloft over the frozen world below. She only knew was that she was very tired of sitting in the sleigh seat, as comfortable as it was, by the time a wall of steep cliffs rose out of the sea before them.

  As they drew closer, she saw how jagged they were, like the edge of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle waiting for new pieces. Deep fjords zigzagged in and out of the sea, some rocky and forbidding, others covered with a carpet of green and dotted with lights from homes clustered together in small settlements. Some were fishing villages; others isolated farms. Few of their inhabitants seemed to be out and about, and those who were scurried for cover at the sight of a dragon overhead.

  The girl was weary and felt hope draining from her. She so badly wanted to help Carol find King Nicholas, but she had no clue where to look. He could be anywhere, and Dreqnir didn’t seem to have any better idea than she did where to begin.

  “My wings are tired,” the dragon declared, echoing her thoughts. “My lair is nearby, but it is a secret place. Even though you hold my heart, I must ask a favor: Do you mind covering your eyes as we approach?”

  “Of course not,” said the girl, and immediately shut her eyes tightly and covered them with both hands. “I’m ready.”

  She felt the dragon change course; then he whirled about two or three times in the air, and she lost all sense of direction. Soon, they were descending, Dreqnir flapping his massive wings slowly against the arctic air to slow them, and before long, she felt the dragon touch down as lightly as a sparrow.

  Elizabeth removed her hands and opened her eyes and saw that they stood at the apex of an unusually high mountain amidst a range of high mountains. A surreal vista of dark, shadowed peaks, covered in places by frosty white snow, stretched out in all directions. Dreqnir moved forward slowly, deliberately, until he stood at the edge of a precipice. Before them, the mountain fell away into the heart of itself, creating a dark chasm illumined by a glow from deep within.

  As massive as Dreqnir was, the abyss before them was far more massive still.

  “Dragehjem,” Dreqnir said simply. “Dragon Home.”

  He paused, and the girl could feel tension in his rear haunches as they crouched low to the ground. Then he said, “Hold on.”

  And jumped.

  ...

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dragon Home

  Dreqnir didn’t fly into the chasm. The dragon’s great wings acted like twin parachutes as he glided downward in tight circles. It might have made Elizabeth dizzy if his descent hadn’t been so gradual, like a leaf drifting downward, having been dislodged by a gentle autumn breeze.

  The girl had heard of volcanoes, mountains that spewed forth molten fire from deep inside the earth, but this was not one of those. The golden glow below them was pleasantly warm, not unbearable, as she imagined a volcano must be. As they descended farther, she began to see caves carved out into the sides of the great chasm—and some of those caves were occupied.

  By dragons.

  Some lay sleeping; others stared out at them, curious expressions on their faces. The sight of a little girl sitting in a sleigh on a dragon’s back must have seemed peculiar indeed. As she watched, one of the dragons—with shimmering green scales and three horns upon its head—leapt off the edge and descended before them. A few others did the same as they passed, and the girl wondered what might lie ahead.

  She soon found
out.

  When at last they reached the bottom, Dreqnir alighted in the center of a great hall ringed with torches that burned with a magical red-gold hue. The flames didn’t dance and flicker so much as they glowed, sending their light outward in an aura that extended much farther than typical fire.

  “Dragebrann,” Dreqnir said. “There are certain properties that are, shall we say, unique to dragon fire,” he explained. “It doesn’t just warm and illumine a place, it permeates every corner of it.”

  Dreqnir lowered his entire body to the ground and looked backward, nodding to the girl. In response, she pressed a button on the door of the sleigh, and the invisible barrier that had protected her in flight drew back. She climbed out and down the dragon’s tail, the ridges of which acted very much like a staircase. The ground itself, she noticed, was warm beneath her feet. And, as she looked upward, she noticed they had descended so far that the wide entry to the great chasm was almost lost overhead. Had the moon not been directly above them, she could not have seen it at all.

  As she turned her gaze forward again, she noticed that a group of dragons had gathered in a circle all around them. She walked up beside Dreqnir and whispered in one giant ear: “Where are their humans? The ones they are bonded with?”

  “Your kind are not welcome here, even those who are bonded,” Dreqnir explained silently. “Be very cautious, and make no sudden movements. They know what Tar Kidron did to me, and they do not trust your presence here—or, most likely, mine.”

  Elizabeth grew very still and looked from one dragon’s face to another. They all looked curious, but also on guard. One of them, larger than the rest and larger even, by half, than the impressively large Dreqnir, stood facing them, brow lowered ominously over two green eyes flecked with gold.

  “Why do you bring this menneskelig into our presence?” she demanded in a booming voice. “You know such ones are forbidden here.”

  “The situation is... exceptional,” Dreqnir answered, speaking aloud now. “If I may, my queen...”

  “You may not, Dreqnir,” the large dragon said. “You may be my son and heir, but that does not give you the right to violate our traditions. You yourself are not welcome here, having bound yourself to that... that monster. Did he send you here? Is this menneskelig his agent? Or perhaps it is the monster himself in disguise! I have heard he has a talent for such trickery, just like his master, Lord Nigel.”

  “It is not, mother. I am no longer bonded to Tar Kidron. I am bonded now to this one.” He nodded toward Elizabeth.

  “Tar Kidron released his bond to you? Willingly? I do not believe it! He has told you to say this, in order to deceive us.”

  “He did not, Mother,” Dreqnir said. And then silently, to Elizabeth: “Show her my heart-gem.”

  Slowly, Elizabeth reached inside her coat and loosened the leather cord that held in place a flap to an inner pouch. That pouch contained Dreqnir’s ruby heart-gem. She saw the dragons’ muscles tense as they watched her, perhaps expecting her to withdraw some weapon. Several of them gasped when she produced the stone instead.

  “That proves nothing,” the Dragon Queen scoffed. “The monster is a master of deceit. He could have forced you to bring him here, while taking the form of this small menneskelig to trick us.”

  The green-scaled, three-horned dragon who had first seen them on their arrival stepped forward, and Dreqnir released an audible sigh. He turned to Elizabeth: “Dreqalan will not harm you,” he said. “But I fear I must ask you to go with him. It is the only way to persuade my mother that you are who I say you are.”

  Elizabeth nodded and followed the one called Dreqalan, who took her to a small recess in the rock wall of the cavern. Once she was inside, he left her there, closing her in with a precisely hewn stone door. A torch lit with dragon fire burned silently in one corner, and she noticed something else about it: It did not give off any smoke, nor did it appear to need air to fuel its flame. Still, it warmed her, and made her feel a little less anxious about being left all alone inside such a place, which admitted neither sight nor sound from beyond its walls.

  Thankfully, she was only there a few moments before Dreqalan returned and escorted her out.

  When she returned to the dragon circle, she noticed at once that the tensions seemed to have eased, and the expression on the Dragon Queen’s face was far more placid than it had been earlier.

  “You are welcome here,” she said, addressing Elizabeth, though it was not exactly the sort of warm and open welcome she had received from Carol in her village. “I can see that you have questions. I will do my best to answer those that I deem prudent to address.”

  Dreqnir scowled at this, clearly annoyed at his mother’s overly formal demeanor.

  She either did not notice or ignored it, and continued: “We dragons have a certain oath that is inviolable. Once it is sworn, we know the oath-giver speaks the truth. For obvious reasons, we do not permit the menneskelig—or anyone else—to know it, which is why you were secluded these past few moments. The oath is more sacred to us even than the bond you share with my son.” She nodded toward Dreqnir. “Were he to break it, the heart-gem would shatter, and he would die.”

  The girl’s eyes widened as she heard this, but she said nothing.

  “Because Dreqnir has taken this oath—and survived —we know that you are not Tar Kidron, nor are you one of his agents.”

  Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Nevertheless, Dreqnir has violated our traditions by bringing you here, even considering the purpose of your journey. He has told us of your quest to find King Nicholas, and he has always been a friend to our kind. Nothing would give us greater pleasure than to help you. Sadly, though, none of us has seen him. I fear we cannot help you.”

  Elizabeth’s face was downcast.

  But just then, a stout blue dragon with smaller wings and a ridged crest like a rooster’s comb atop her head stepped forward. “Beggin’ your pardon, Majesty,” she said, “but perhaps, in fact, we can.”

  All of them turned toward her.

  “Karanadreq,” the queen said, by way of introduction. “She is our treasurer.”

  “Treasurer?” the girl said, speaking aloud despite herself.

  The queen laughed. “Of course,” she said. “Have you ever heard of a dragon’s lair without a treasure?”

  Elizabeth had to admit she hadn’t, although she hadn’t heard of one with a treasure, either, since she had heard very little about dragons at all.

  The queen turned to Karanadreq. “What news, then?”

  Karanadreq bowed awkwardly. “If it please Your Majesty, it concerns the inventory.”

  The Dragon Queen frowned. “The inventory? How does this relate to the matter at hand? Is something missing?”

  “Not exactly, Your Majesty.”

  “What, then?” The queen was clearly growing impatient. “Out with it.”

  “Well, Your Majesty, nothing is missing. It’s the opposite, actually: Something has appeared that didn’t used to be there.”

  The queen’s frown deepened. “Are you sure it is not just some new addition that has been brought in by one of our number?”

  “Absolutely.” Karanadreq’s tone was firm and decisive. “I always check everything in when it arrives. These items were not brought to us by any of our number.”

  “Is it possible that they were there all along? Perhaps misfiled or overlooked?”

  Now it was Karanadreq’s turn to grow impatient. She clearly took great pride in her oversight of the treasure, and she was upset that her diligence and competence were being questioned. “They were not misfiled or overlooked, Majesty,” she said. “They simply... appeared.”

  “Well, then,” the queen said, trying to check her own impatience, “what exactly are these items?”

  Karanadreq was obviously prepared for this question, because she immediately produced two items. One was a papyrus scroll, and the other a small... something... set in gold. She brought them both forwar
d and handed them to the queen.

  “A compass,” the queen said simply, then turned her attention to the scroll and unrolled it. “A map.”

  A small orange dragon, who had been standing silently in a far corner through all this, watching from a distance, let out a sudden yelp.

  The queen looked over at him. “Do you know something about this, Dreqfal?”

  The orange dragon ambled forward, almost like a penguin. He was only about half the size of Dreqnir, and seemed far older: Some of his scales were chipped, and his eyes were deep-set and soft gray. “I believe so, Your Majesty. If you will indulge me.”

  The queen nodded once sharply.

  “If I am not mistaken, these appear to be two of the legendary talismans of time: the Compass of the Seventh Kingdom and the Map of Gildersleeve.”

  The Dragon Queen shook her head. “I have not heard of them,” she said. “Are they significant?”

  “Indeed,” said Dreqfal. “They are said to work together, at least according to the legends I have heard. The compass points the way toward the heart’s desire of the one who holds it, and the map displays the pathway to arrive there.”

  Elizabeth blinked once and felt her heart quicken. Could this be a way to find King Nicholas?

  Dreqnir was obviously thinking the same thing. “Mother,” he said. “I believe we can put these to good use.”

  The queen nodded slowly. She seemed to be considering. “You know it is our custom not to part with anything in our treasury,” she said slowly.

  “Anything in our inventory,” Karanadreq put in. “That is the language in our bylaws.”

  “And you said yourself these items were not in the inventory,” Dreqnir replied.

  “Indeed,” said Karanadreq.

  The Dragon Queen seemed to be considering, then finally shook her head. “I’m sorry, my son, but I cannot abide it.”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped, but Dreqnir’s ears perked up, and he raised his head to its full height.

  The girl felt a sudden twinge of anxiety, and wondered where it came from. Then she realized it hadn’t come from her own breast, but from the heart-gem she wore in the lining of her coat. Dreqnir was worried. More than worried, he was alarmed. She would have expected him to be disappointed at his mother’s words, but not that he would be so disquieted. But before the girl could question his reaction, it changed: Alarm became anger, and anger became fury.