by P D Dennison
It was quite comical from Rostioff’s point of view and at the same time gave him a sense that these were really just genuinely, honest, good people he could enlist the help of and trust with the secrets he’d become privy to.
“Alright, I’ll tell you the truth. At least as much of it as I’ve been able to wrap my head around thus far. My master, Arch Mage Danthalas Whiteash of the Tower of High Sorcery, had me commission some of the Tower apprentices to seek out some rare artifacts. Some I sent into the elven lands, some to the gnomish, some out to the Midgaard Isles, some as far off as the Black Desert. They search for Dragon Orbs lost during the First Age, so far with little luck. But into the Mystpeaks I sent my most accomplished pupil, Manya Silverleaf and her brother Turynn,” said Rostioff.
Postgaar, being the much more vocal of the two brothers, spoke up again to interrupt Rostioff midsentence with Hengaar nodding his agreement this time.
“We know them well. Whenever we’re in Hilltop ta’ trade, we stay at the Black Dragon. Our healer has asked us many’a time to make the journey to Manya’s shop to procure for her the rare items she cannot find anywhere else. We’d no idea she was an accomplished sorceress as ye’ say. Go on an’ tell us more. We’re eager to help Turynn and Manya in any we can.”
Rostioff smiled politely and continued on with his story.
“I sent them searching for something belonging to the Dragon Riders of the First Age. Something believed to be long forgotten or lost to the Ages. However, I happen to know it’s not lost at all, but simply forgotten as often happens with fantastic objects and enough time to turn them into legends. I fear for the Silverleaf’s safety. I fear I may have sent them into a far more dangerous situation than I’d predicted and now I must find them, ensure they are safe, and complete the task of retrieving the artifacts. A very powerful and evil creature aims to find the objects and make them his own, harnessing their power for dastardly purposes and wishing to do harm to all the peoples of Shaarn. It is the aim of the Tower to stop him.” Rostioff finished his tale there and took a big swig out of the ale skin as it was passed his way. He shook his head and coughed. The dwarven ale was delicious to an educated palette, but extremely strong.
The little group fell silent for a moment as the men took in the story and weighed it out in their minds. The fire crackled and the sound of some night bird in the distance could be heard accompanied by the flapping of wings.
The Ranger looked into the fire and pondered the truth of the tale deeply. More so, he pondered if he wanted to get involved in this at all. What if the old mage was telling the truth? he wondered. This could mean a real war. He had no trouble scouting the mountains for herbs, special woods and rare stones for the magi of the Tower, but he had no interest in taking part in war. He’d seen some battle in his time and could fight well, but he was planning for the next season to be his last with the Ranger Garrison, preferring the life of the northern horde to that of the southern city folk. He planned to move north and ask for safe passage on the Great Northern Plains. He wanted to make a life hunting and fishing, maybe marry a nice clanswoman, and settle down to a family. No, war didn’t factor into that equation well at all. At the same time, what if the war was in fact as all encompassing as Rostioff had suggested involving all the five races? He might not have any choice but to fight. He certainly didn’t want to see any innocents get hurt due to his failure to act. Still a Ranger, Still a warrior, sworn to protect the people of the South in service to the Tower and this happened to be one of the Arch Magi of the Tower telling him he indeed needed his service.
This time, Hengaar spoke up. Clearing his throat he raised a finger. “Young Master Rostioff, I think yer' still leavin’ out a vital detail of yer' story, sir. What exactly is this coveted artifact ye’ seek?”
Rostioff looked at him, nodding in agreement. He’d done so purposely as he feared they might all scoff at the very idea.
“Dragon’s eggs. I am seeking dragon’s eggs from the First Age and I needed to find them before my quarry did. But it’s too late. He already has them in his possession and already hatched one of the eggs. I must go up into the eastern peaks, secure the location of the eggs if possible, and remove the remaining eggs from the clutch where they have been left. I fear this evil creature will try to return and regain control of the location and the last of the eggs if he is able. My Master, Arch Mage Danthalas intends to hatch the eggs too. Except his intentions are noble and we intend to use the dragons for the purposes of good in the war that might ensue with this evil being.”
Postgaar sat with his left arm under his right, smoking arm leaning heavily against the log the other two men sat atop, puffing away contentedly.
“So ye’ aim to enlist us to help ye’ up into the lost valley of Dragon’s Maw Keep then, is that it?”
Kaldrinn and Rostioff both looked at him wide eyed. Kaldrinn shook his head and smiled as if Postgaar told a joke. Dragon’s Maw Keep was a faerie tale to them all, nothing more.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I ask of you. How do you know of the keep? Do you know how to get there? Have you been before? Have you seen the eggs?” Rostioff seemed very anxious to learn more if the dwarf had any knowledge to impart on him. He found it very difficult to contain his anxiety now the dwarf had demonstrated his knowledge of what Rostioff thought to be one of the best kept secrets of modern times hidden behind an ancient faerie tale.
“Oh, I know the tale well. The Dragon Riders enslaved my people to build that blasted keep in the First Age. T’wasn’t until that wretched creature Graxxen laid down for his long nap that they were freed and moved to the Nor ‘eastern Peaks to establish Stonehammer and the mines of Mithril Mountain. Ye’ see, like the righteous and honest men with pure hearts that we are, we’ll go with ye, but be forewarned that we require the truth of ye’ in the future. We also require the full story before ye’ set us on a path of danger like ye’ plan to.”
He pointed the tip of his pipe at the mage with one eye squinted. His craggy wrinkled features finally showed Rostioff this was no young dwarf. He could see the lines in the old man’s face of at least a thousand seasons past. In fact, he ventured a guess he may even be as old as or older than Arch Mage Danthalas due to his knowledge and cool nature toward the elaborate tale. Hengaar looked somewhat younger than his brother but not by much, maybe only a few hundred seasons or so.
“I appreciate your help, Postgaar, and that of your brother, but I’m afraid I cannot offer you much of a wage for this perilous journey as I’ve given up most of my coin to a couple of small children in Summervale who were in need of my aid after the town was razed by goblins. If you come with me, you’ll be coming out of the goodness of your hearts and for the good of all the men, women, and children you will be serving in doing so.” He waited anxiously for their replies.
Kaldrinn nodded understandingly as he thought even longer on the proposition. He stared deeply into the fire, not wanting to make eye contact with the old spell weaver just yet. This really wasn’t what he had envisioned for himself, but his sense of duty bound him to the service of this man and what he aimed to do. The Tower more or less represented the government of the four noble races of the Land of Shaarn and he had sworn an oath to serve with his very life. Rostioff quite likely expected the Ranger’s full cooperation and his decision not to cooperate could end badly should he choose his next words unwisely. Really, in the end, what choice did he have? He was going, whether he wanted to or not.
Postgaar spoke again. “We needn’t any coin from ye’ or from the Tower. We’re glad to offer our service such as it is to aid ye’ in stopping the lich Graxxen from reawakening the dragons of old.”
Hengaar again nodded his agreement and approval of his brother’s words.
At that, Kaldrinn finally spoke up. “I’ll go too.”
“Are you sure? Have you any family to think about? A wife and child you might be leaving in the South unattended should you not return?” Rostioff didn’t want the man to feel obl
igated to such a dangerous mission if he had a family dependant on his pay.
Kaldrinn shook his head. “No wife or children yet, but I wouldn’t want anyone else’s family to suffer at the hands of evil had I the chance to put a stop to it. Should I die, then let this be my legacy to the Land of Shaarn.”
“And a fine legacy it’d be at that, lad!” Postgaar slapped him on the back and laughed heartily.
“Yer' a brave lad, Kaldrinn, I like ye'! So it’s settled then. We’ll set out at dawn for Dragon’s Maw Keep. I haven’t been out to the eastern peaks in hundreds of seasons, but I know the way. Hengaar and I sometimes trade with the Winter Wolf Clan, so we travel the pass often. Haven’t been out that way yet this season due to some recent goblin attacks on southern travellers into the peaks that our scouts have reported back in Stonehammer, but we ought to be a sturdy enough bunch ta’ handle a few goblins. Eh, lads?” Postgaar took another big draw of his pipe and blew out a large puff of smoke from his nostrils.
The four men sat and chatted, smoking and drinking for another hour or so and then turned in for the night.1
1 “Adder”
(AD-der)
Platinum, and the father of all dragons, often manifests as a massive shining, metallic white serpent. He has been known to appear in mortal form, taking on the guise of a poor and crippled old man bent with age and walking with the aid of a stick. He is almost always observed walking with butterflies flitting about his head. Some are faerie folk that travel with him, old, wise, and powerful like he is; some are his servant wyrm in disguise, dragons not to be trifled with.
-A.M. (Arch Mage) Zeraan Taaselfee, The Annals of Dragon Husbandry II, Season: 778 A.1.
Chapter 14
Taga till Jig
A full three days passed before Manya woke from her ordeal. She awakened in the middle of the morning wanting water. Ravak happened to be the one who heard her dry throated raspy little request first and rose quick as a whip to fetch her a drink. She gulped it down savagely and asked for more. After her third glass, she sat up on the day bed and looked around the room, wiping the wetness from her pale, dried lips.
“Where’s Turynn?”
“Sleeping. How are you feeling?” asked Ravak.
“Better, but where’s Krigaar? I must speak with him at once. I had a dream that...”
Ravak cut her short, shaking his head.
“He’s left two nights ago now, Manya. You’ve been asleep the whole time and Turynn has kept a very anxious vigil by your side most of the last two days.” Ravak rose and walked over to stoke up the fire.
“You must be famished,” he said. “I’ll stoke the fire up and we’ll get you some breakfast going. There’s still a bit of bacon left in Krigaar’s larder and some wild fruit we gathered. There are eggs and we milked the goat out back yesterday so we’ll have a nice meal for you here in no time.”
He smiled back at her and she lay back on the day bed to gather her thoughts.
Manya felt very confused about the whole affair. While asleep, she’d lived what seemed a lifetime in another place. She learned all about dragons and dragon husbandry from a wise little old fellow who called himself Adder.
“Adder.” She spoke his name aloud.
“Hmm?” muttered Ravak as he turned to look back at her.
“Nothing,” she replied.
It all came back to her now from the talk she and Krigaar had the day of the forging in the very same fire Ravak now prepared to cook breakfast in. But she had nearly forgotten. Could it all have been a Dream Speak? She’d lived a lifetime in that realm, a life of fifty seasons under the tutelage of wise old Adder learning the ways of dragon husbandry, riding, saddlery, aerial combat, training, and breeding. She’d learned of the dragon’s ways and temperaments, of their magickal powers and knew each breed’s intricate differences like her own face in the mirror. But here she was, back in Krigaar’s cottage laying on the day bed all peaceful and back in her own life, her real life. She rose and walked over to the washing room.
“Manya, you should lay back down. You’ve not been well for days.”
“I’ve been lying down for nearly three days. I think it might be time to stand up. I’m going to light a fire in the washing room and draw a nice hot bath.” She looked at her face long and hard in the mirror. She was young again, or rather, still young. She had grown used to the look of her face as it had aged over the fifty or so seasons in her dream, not much to a half-elf, but fifty seasons was nothing to scoff at for anyone. How could it all have just been a dream? She rubbed at her cheeks and looked into her own eyes. She noted the streaks of metallic colors in her hair along with her now platinum white skin. Those were new and never had those been in the dream. She went out to start fetching water for the tub and Turynn and Ravak were speaking by the fire when she returned.
“Manya! You’re awake!” He ran over and threw his arms around her, giving her a big hug. “I got worried you were going to sleep your life away.” He smiled broadly at her as he snatched the bucket out of her hand.
“Let me get that for you. You ought to take it easy.” He walked out the door whistling a happy little tune while Manya sat down at the large table and looked into the fire, thinking back on her dream again for a time.
Adder had said one day she would understand. He kept telling her that over and over again, like he trained her for some greater purpose, but she never understood what that purpose was. Since she’d returned to reality, she realized what he’d been doing. Krigaar and Adder must have arranged for him to come to her in her sleep and use the Dream Speak to train her for her life of dragon husbandry. For the dreamer, time passed very slowly and what seemed like a lifetime to her inside the dream realm was but two and a half days here in the waking realm. He was, after all, the god of justice and had an uncanny ability for evening the odds when one side of the scale tipped too heavily. The crash course in dragon husbandry now levelled that field.
Ravak put down a cup of hot tea in front of her.
“Drink it,” he commanded.
He plunked himself down across the table from her and took a sip from his own cup, said nothing, taking a long hard look at her to assess what might be going on behind those pretty eyes of hers.
“Where is Liv Giv....where is my staff, Ravak?” she inquired, anxiously.
He produced it from his side as if anticipating the question was coming and laid it out on the table before her. Bacon crackled away in the pan at the fire.
Manya’s mind wandered back to the day it was forged and she remembered the power it emitted when she even drew her hand close. Now it lay plainly on the table. A beam of sunlight crossing it in the middle but no real awesome display of power was apparent. The emerald set atop the staff shone brightly and let scintillating hues of green fall on the walls of the cottage as the sun shone through its many facets. She reached out, hesitated for a moment, and then grabbed the staff, bringing it close to her. She had become used to the feel of Liv Givare and its great power from the dream. After all, she’d lived some fifty seasons with this staff at her side in the dream realm, but it felt somehow different. Not real or far away now and the familiarity she’d gained with the staff seemed to be gone. It all seemed new again and she felt an estrangement or shyness toward it as she had remembered feeling the first time it spoke to her.
She rose to her feet and placed both hands on the staff near the top and spoke the incantation she had learned to draw out its power.
“Taga till jig.”
She whispered to the staff, which meant ‘speak to me,’ in Old Nordish; it was still the language of the gods of Asgaard. The emerald ignited as it came to life, the fire scintillated and both green and white flame danced on the head of the staff as if the dragon figure, holding the emerald in its maw, breathed green fire straight up into the air. Ravak fell backward off his chair the magick startled him so much. He’d spilled hot tea all over himself, but barely took notice of it. The head of the staff hummed as the magick cam
e to life. Little crackles of white and green mystic electricity flowed up and down the shaft of Liv Givare. Just then Turynn came back into the room from outside as well. He set the bucket down at once and his mouth dropped as he stood there in astonishment at the staff alive with power.
“Manya, maybe you should be taking it easy until you’ve got your wits back.” He stepped toward her slowly with his hands out in a very submissive posture, not sure what she was up to.
“Don’t be silly! Everything’s fine!” She leaned the staff toward him and spoke. “Laka! Aterstella!” The green flame of the emerald licked its way up into the air with little crackles of energy dancing about it and quickly swam over toward Turynn’s face. It found its way into the now nearly completely scarred over claw marks the Deep Fiend had left behind as a memory for Turynn of the day he crossed paths with the dreaded beast. The scars had healed badly and were deep and puckered with great twists of flesh here and there that were hard and unpleasant to look upon.
The arcane energy of Liv Givare lit up as it found the creases left in the man’s face and Ravak and Manya could see the wounds and scars visibly reduce into almost non-existence under the influence of the powerful magick.
She spoke again. “Stoppklack!”
The green flame retreated in a flash back within the staff and the artifact was all pale white wood, platinum, and emerald again. Nothing more than a fancy walking stick to the untrained eye.
“Your...your face!” Ravak pointed toward Turynn as he rose back to his feet, looking back and forth at the two others in total astonishment. Wet tea stained his front and crotch, but he was in such shock at the amazing transformation of Turynn’s scars that he didn’t even notice. Turynn ran over to the washing room to take a look in the mirror. His wounds were all healed over and the scarring was almost nonexistent. Manya stepped into the doorway behind him.