Darius and the Dragon's Stone

by D. L. Torrent

“You’re alive,” yelled Alara, throwing her arms around Darius as he slid off the dragon’s back. “And Prydon.” She looked up at the dragon, tears in her eyes.

  “What happened?” asked Loklan. “How?”

  “Segrath…brought him back,” said Darius.

  “That’s…” Loklan stood, his mouth open.

  “I know,” said Darius. “It was quite phenomenal.”

  Prydon smiled. “Apparently, it was not my time. Although Klavon and Fraenir were not so fortunate.”

  Suddenly, Darius thought of Sira. “What happened to her…to Sira?”

  “Well, we’re not sure,” answered Alara. “We killed the beast, but she kind of—”

  “Kind of evaporated,” answered Loklan. “I don’t think it was anything I did, but I don’t think she’s coming back either.”

  “It’s highly unlikely,” said Prydon. “Her kind only have power when attached to a sorcerer. With Klavon gone, she is nothing. I suspect she vanished when Darius killed him.”

  “Good,” said Alara. “So where are we, anyway? Loklan and I just showed up here, but we don’t know where here is?”

  Darius stopped and looked around for the first time since they landed. The scene seized the breath from his lungs, and his heart dropped. Where there had been a quaint village surrounded by massive trees groomed to perfection, now stood barren land, spotted with sparse, misshapen trunks. There was no order, no reasonable layout. The few houses that still existed were scattered, and the villagers were nowhere to be seen.

  “Brandor,” Darius said.

  “But the book?” asked Loklan.

  “It has yet to be repaired,” said Prydon.

  “If it can be repaired,” added Darius.

  He turned toward the village. No one spoke. The devastation itself seemed to speak for everyone. The magnitude of destruction—no, destruction was not the right word—the magnitude of utter loss weighed upon them like a heavy anvil.

  He continued to walk slowly up what remained of the road, no longer beautifully bordered by trees, and came to the stream. There was no bridge, and as he stepped through the water, he looked down, remembering the fish he would watch as he passed.

  A door slammed, and Mrs. Keedle came out of the house nearby.

  “You! You!” she screamed.

  Garp appeared behind her. “How dare you show your face here? And with a dragon!” Garp backed away as if the porch could protect him from such a massive beast.

  “I dare because I have the book.” Darius recalled the way he reacted to them during the dream induced by Klavon, how he had spoken so disrespectfully. Even if they deserved no respect, Darius reigned in his anger. “And this is Prydon, a friend.”

  “Really,” Garp sneered sarcastically. “A friend of yours, perhaps. I suppose he’s here to exact revenge on all of us. But a lot of good that will do. Everyone is gone!”

  “You’re not, and where’s my mother?” Darius could feel the heat surge at the tops of his ears.

  “She’s gone, too,” said Mrs. Keedle.

  “That’s not possible,” said Darius.

  “No, you idiot,” said Garp. “She left when she realized that Mr. Athus was gone. Good thing, too. He was the only one stopping me from kicking her out myself!”

  Prydon growled, and a rumble formed in his chest as if fire was building and would escape at any moment. Garp backed behind a pillar on the porch, and Prydon laughed.

  “You disgusting, rude man,” snarled Alara.

  “All of you. You don’t belong here.” Mrs. Keedle squeaked. “This is our town, at least what’s left of it.”

  Prydon stepped closer.

  Mrs. Keedle screamed. “Are you now threatening us with a dragon after all you have already done?”

  “All he has done,” said Prydon, “is attempt to save Brandor, and I believe he has succeeded.”

  “Succeeded?” replied Garp. “Does this look like success to you? No one is left!”

  “You are,” said Loklan. “She is. That’s a start, isn’t it? And he’s saved the book, so there is no way you will suffer the same fate as the others. You have that.”

  “I will determine the success,” boomed a voice from behind.

  Darius turned to see an older man, dressed as a wizard, walking toward him. His mother was by his side. Garp made a sound as if to speak, but the older man held up his hand, silencing him.

  Darius ran to his mother and hugged her. “I was so worried about you.”

  “You? Worried about me?” Miora cupped his face. “It is I who have been worried about you.” She stepped back. “Darius, this is Aidan, an old friend of your father and the wizard of Brandor.”

  The man approached and took Darius’s hand in a firm handshake. “I am sure you have many questions, so let me try to explain.”

  “Brandor’s wizard?” Darius’s voice faded, and then his eyes shot open as thoughts filled his mind. “A wizard! Sir!” Darius pulled out the bag containing the book. “Can you fix it?”

  “No, I can not.” The older man was holding up his hand and shaking his head.

  The response came quicker than Darius would have liked. “But—”

  “It is all my fault, you see,” Aidan said. “I left Brandor hoping to detract attention from the village, knowing your mother would have to seek refuge here. I put up the shield to offer what protection I could. The book was to preserve Brandor in my absence and to let me know if anything catastrophic happened.”

  “Well, I’d say the loss of the book was pretty catastrophic. Why didn’t you go after the book when you knew it was gone?” asked Alara. “Why didn’t you fight Klavon?”

  “Klavon was powerful, and without the help of a dragon, I could not hope to defeat him,” said Aidan. “All I could do was hope that you were truly your father’s son…and you are. You see, I spoke with Barsovy—”

  “You did what?” asked Darius.

  “Darius, both of us believed this was your battle, your providence, and I had not the tools to defeat Klavon.” Aidan walked to Darius, and placed both hands on Darius’s shoulders, facing him straight on. “Even though I could not attempt to fight Klavon, I see now that Barsovy was correct. This was all as it was meant to be. You were meant to learn of your past, you were meant to train, you were meant to battle Klavon, and you were meant to retrieve the book and save Brandor.”

  “But I have failed,” said Darius, holding the leather bag full of shredded papers in his hand.

  “No, you have not.” The wizard stepped back and began drawing a circle on the ground.

  “You said that you couldn’t fix it,” said Darius, ignoring Aidan’s actions. “Most of the village is gone. What else is that if not failure?”

  “It is true that I can’t fix it,” said Aidan. He gestured to the circle. “But you can.”

  Darius stared at the ring in the dirt, and Aidan smiled as he again gestured to the rough drawing on the ground. Darius stepped forward and into the circle, but he shook his head. Surely he misunderstood…surely the old wizard was mistaken.

  Aidan stood tall. “You alone have the power. Only the one who defeated Klavon can undo this. Only you can fix the book.”

  Darius looked at Loklan, Alara, and then Prydon.

  Prydon bowed his head, and his brows furrowed with intense seriousness above his eyes. “The mark is gone. You are as pure as any wizard. Do this.”

  Darius stared at his hand once more. This time, he concentrated on every possible spec of flesh. The mark had completely vanished. He took the wrapped cloth from the bag and dumped the shredded pieces on the ground. A mysterious, clear wall surrounded him. There was no breeze, and the pieces lay still. Darius closed his eyes, and spoke words under his breath. It was not so much what he said but his will to restore that transformed Brandor.

  With eyes closed, he did not see the buildings return, the people brought back, but he could sense it. His voice became stronger, and with each breath, with each phrase, he could hear more sounds of
townsmen and women floating around him. The ground shook as trees sprung forth to become as they were, and birds returned to their nests. Every flower, every blade of grass returned—the bridge overlooking the fish, the tower, the well. When he opened his eyes, the book lay on the ground, complete. Brandor was whole again.

  Darius picked up the book and handed it to Aidan. The old wizard took the book in one hand and touched the surface with the other. As if cementing the history, the book seemed to absorb directly in to Aidan’s chest.

  Mr. Athus came running. After kissing the wizard’s hand, he turned to Darius. “I knew you could do it!”

  Darius smiled. “I owe it all to you…and Prydon…and Alara and Loklan.”

  “You owe it to no one but yourself,” said Prydon.

  Darius looked around. The townspeople gathered, in awe of their wizard’s return, but also in repentant respect for Darius. Even Mrs. Keedle and Garp appeared less angry, less hostile.

  “And what can we do to repay you?” asked Aidan.

  Darius walked to his mother. “What did you give them that allowed us to stay? All those years ago.”

  Miora’s eyes swelled with tears. “My wedding band.”

  D.L. Torrent

  was born in Jamestown, New York and now resides in Spokane Valley, Washington. Inspired by wild beauty and her natural inclination to solitude, she enjoys writing fantasy fiction that often finds her protagonists facing untold dangers and overcoming severe obstacles.