by Teresa Grant
“That’s me. What do ya want?” Mollywog grumbled.
Branadon, Mickael and Dryfus all started asking at once.
“Hold yer tongues, all of ye. I’ll only answer yer questions if I’ve a promise from the Dwarf.”
Assuming it must be something to do with taking care of the boy, Branadon quickly agreed. “Anything Witch, just answer the questions.”
“Wog, not Witch, thank you very much! Fine, I’ll answer, but I want my cottage repaired,” she demanded stubbornly.
“What?!? I’m not a bleedin’ carpenter, you old bat!” Branadon sputtered offended.
“And the fence as well,” she added as though it were a coupe in her bargaining. “My fence is all fallin’ down,” she complained.
Before Branadon could lose it altogether, Nathanial broke in, “Yes Noni, I’ll repair the fence, and I’ll prune the trees as well, just tell us what’s happened to Branadon.”
“Alright, alright, but mind me boy, I want those fence poles straight now. No slackin’ on the job!
“As for the Dwarf, tis simple. I already told him. The night little Elise was born there was dark magic at work. She would ner have made it if it weren’t for ol’ Mollywog now, and this here Dwarf knows it! He promised ta pay me anythin’, an I took it too! Was a bargain if ya ask me! One measly year was all, an’ now it’s time ta pay up, so ya can quit your belly achin’.
“Ya don’t remember nothin’ ‘cause ya only have the memory from the man ya were that very night when ya dropped me off. This bit a ya never did anythin’ past that night so yer friends here ‘il have to fill ya in. Ya heard it yerself ya great nit, so quit botherin’ me. I don’t have yer answers, they do!”
With that, Mollywog once again withdrew.
Mickael sat staring at Branadon. Holly cow, as if preparing to leave and join a war wasn’t enough to worry about, what was he supposed to do with this now? “We can’t tell Elise!” Dryfus decided immediately. “I know, I know, but we have to tell Rylan,” Mickael insisted. “What about Darion?” Dryfus wanted to know. “Of course we can’t tell Darion, not with Elise hearing everything he does. It just wouldn’t be fair to make her have to bury Branadon twice. It tore her up enough the first time.”
“Excuse me, but aren’t I supposed to be the one who’s a little daft in the head right now?” Branadon asked the man-thing in front of him.
“Sorry, we’re a bit confused ourselves,” they answered.
“Us, we, why do you talk like that?” Branadon wanted to know.
“Can’t you see Branadon?” Nat butt in. “It’s obvious. Can’t you tell they’re joined?”
“If Dragons, Wogs, and these things here,” he indicated Mickael and Dryfus, “are running all over the place these days, I’m not certain I want to hear the rest. No offence intended,” he added as an afterthought.
“Not to worry Branadon, we are most definitely one of a kind,” Mickael laughed, taking pity on the retched sound in Branadon’s voice.
While everyone’s attention was so riveted upon Branadon’s problems, Nathanial’s miraculous age difference since arriving, and his relationship to Elise was not brought up, relieving every one of the added responsibilities of dealing with what to do about him. With all the confusion, no-one took notice of his clothes being several sizes too small and almost bursting at the seams. He was now nearing the looks of a sturdy sixteen-year-old lad.
This age felt good, Nat thought. He decided to remain as such for the time being.
The rest of that day and on into the evening, Mickael and Dryfus took turns filling Branadon in on everything he had missed. Servants timidly brought in food and drink, and quickly left if they happened to catch Branadon’s eye.
Nathanial sat with them silently, soaking up all the information like a sponge. He could not wait to meet his parents. They sounded like very interesting and noble people.
It was late when they finally got to the part about Branadon’s death. It was very difficult to tell someone how they died. Branadon did not take it well when he found out Fynlaylyn was tortured before his death.
“That was not a fitting end for such as he.” Branadon growled. “Better to have gone down in battle like the brave Dragon Brutus you spoke of, than for something like that to happen to the Elf.”
In the end, it was decided that Dryfus was right. Since the outcome was inevitable, Branadon could not put Elise through his death another time.
Luther was due the next morning, and it was time for the army to start for Neglavale.
Branadon felt the fewer people who knew about him the better, and for some reason he was reluctant to bring up the fact that Elise’s son was sitting right beside him in this room. Each time he was about to mention it, some other thought forced its way into his subconscious, and he never did get around to telling Mickael and Dryfus about him.
He would return as he promised to Mollywog’s cottage and wait out the year there.
Nathanial was torn, he wanted so badly to meet his parents, and almost even worse to join the battle, but something told him it was not his time yet. For some reason he felt sure he needed to stick close to Branadon. Noni had left him in his care, and Noni Molly knew things.
Branadon only had a year. If I leave him now, I know I will never see him again, thought Nathanial. He was sitting there wishing hard that Branadon would not send him away, and his name had never been brought up. What luck!
Branadon and Nat returned to the rundown little cottage early the next morning. Still trying to absorb all he was told, Branadon poured his frustration into work with a vengeance.
He and Nat had stopped in town on their way back, and with a note from the Regent, acquired a large wagon full of building materials and a sturdy horse to pull it. Hektor, the proud stallion, would have nothing to do with it.
Wanting to be able to teach his young charge to ride and fight, Branadon also purchased a beautiful stallion for himself. Nothing close to Hektor’s standards, but a good dependable mount all the same.
In the mornings while it was still cool, he and Nat would work on the cottage. In the afternoons Branadon taught him how to wield a blade, and use his shield not only as protection, but as a complement to his sword. The boy was amazing. In no time at all, the student almost outmatched the teacher.
Branadon was so proud, with each passing day his affection for the boy grew.
In the evenings they would ride. Nat would beat Branadon in every race, assuring him that it was not Hektor but his excellent riding ability. To prove his point one evening, Nat suggested they trade horses. After whispering something into Hektor’s ear, Nathan laughed and jumped onto Branadon’s horse, Hannibal. When they started the race, Nat immediately pulled into the lead and nothing Branadon did could urge Hektor to pass his master. The set up became even more apparent when Hektor actually started to prance and frolic about behind Hannibal, neighing as if to laugh at the spectacle Branadon made, hollering at the top of his lungs and trying to control the horse.
Lately Branadon was noticing other odd incidences that made him wonder. Come to think of it, every time he tried to think about the boy, about when they first met, he became distracted and moved on to something else. The days slid by, and eventually Branadon quit trying to recall it all.
Chapter 15
Faradon and Borris were nearing Arilonia just before dark. They had traveled long and hard to come and ask Elise and Rylan to send reinforcements back to the mountain with them. After months of quiet, small but persistent forces of strange monstrosities had been showing up, almost as if to test the defenses around the mountain where The Scale still stood. After almost losing control of the mountain when the demons escaped last year, it had taken a long time to reinforce it and their army was greatly reduced when the men from the South had left. If the enemy should decide to return with a larger force, the Dwarves did not think they could fend off another attack anytime soon.
Borris’s horse threw a shoe two days before and they took turns
walking him. It was slow going but they finally made it into town just after dusk.
Seeing no lights in the Blacksmith shop, they decided to stop by the tavern to wash down some of the traveling dust.
The tension of the journey slowly washed away as the Dwarves called to the barkeep to open yet another barrel of ale. They knew the next morning would be upon them too soon, so they were doing their best to make up for it.
It would not be the first time they woke up with a sore head.
The Blacksmith happened to be at the table next to them. He looked up from the mug he was drinking while he told his friend a story, and his heart gave a lurch. The Blacksmith was still not over the shock of seeing the last Dwarf who rode through town. The color drained from his face and he stood up shaking until Faradon spoke.
“Steady now mister, surely you’ve seen a Dwarf before,” Faradon inquired as the two were returning to their table with fresh mugs. “Our own kinsman used to reside in this fine Kingdom. You may remember him, for he was the Queen’s own Champion, Branadon, rest his soul.”
“His soul ain’t resting so easy, I’ll tell you that much,” the Blacksmith mumbled. He would have bolted if the Dwarves hadn’t placed themselves between him and the only escape route through the door.
Borris looked at Faradon and they both grabbed a beefy arm of the Blacksmith and sat him back down.
“Explain yourself sir and be quick about it! Our cousin was mighty close to us, and we’ll not stand for any ghost stories being tossed about to darken his good name,” growled Borris with his hand on his sword hilt.
“I only know what I saw, and I wasn’t the only one who saw it! Your cousin was here, not but too long ago, strolled right down the main street. You could see him from out front this door. Rumor has it, old Mollywog imprisoned his spirit inside her cottage off in the woods. If ya don’t believe me, go see for yourselves.”
Eyeing the Blacksmith suspiciously to see if he was making a jest or believed himself to be telling the truth, and even knowing the mission they were on needed haste, they nevertheless, could not ignore the man’s story. Knowing it had to be a hoax, they still couldn’t stop themselves from rushing from the building after aggressively forcing directions from the terrified Blacksmith.
Alcohol and weariness combined to make the Dwarves become a little giddy as they followed their new quest.
The more they thought about it, the funnier it became. Faradon grabbed Borris’s arm and leaned close to his ear. “Can you imagine it, ol’ Branadon floating around in ‘is bed clothes…” he slurred, starting to snigger. Laughing back, Borris quickly switched his saddle from his own horse to the one the Blacksmith reluctantly agreed to lend them, and they were off, weariness forgotten, plunging through the woods towards the old cottage.
“Do you think it could be true, Fare?” Borris asked a little fearfully, and, even more, a little hopefully.
“I don’t think Branadon would let anyone touch his spirit. He’s too damn ornery to be any company for some old Witch,” Faradon confessed. “But we’d better check it out. I’d give anything to talk to that stubborn old bastard again, even from the grave.”
As they dismounted and helped each other sway closer to the cabin, Borris suddenly pitched forward in the dark, and lay sprawled on the ground. He had tripped over an old bucket laying there.
“Come on out ya old Witch!” Faradon bellowed as he helped his brother to his feet. “We’ve come to converse with our dearly departed!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t get her angry, Faradon,” Borris slurred quietly. “What if she really is a Witch? I don’t fancy joining ol’ Branadon just yet.”
“Nonsense! Ya fraidy-cat,” Faradon answered, giving him a shove. He called again to the cabin, getting impatient and starting for the door. “Come along Miss Molly, we’ve heard you’ve a gentleman caller we’d like to see!”
Inside the cabin, Nat and Branadon were just finishing a late-night snack when they heard the ruckus outside.
Nat began to rise, but Branadon waived him back down. “Stay put Nat; I’d recognize those hog calls anywhere.”
Opening the door, Branadon’s large frame filled the doorway blocking the light from behind.
“Well, well, well, look what crawled out of the rum barrel,” Branadon called with mock irritation.
Expecting the appropriate return of insults, Branadon was taken aback when his fearless cousins both started to shake and stammer and fell over themselves as they backed away in fright.
“But you’re dead!” Borris croaked.
“We buried you ourselves!” Faradon added shakily, crossing himself and making the sign to ward off evil at the same time.
Shaking his head, he bellowed back at them, “Well it seems ya didn’t do a very good job of it then, did ya?” Branadon laughed, enjoying the spectacle the two made.
When they both started to back away further holding onto each other like scared little children, Branadon took pity on them and decided that maybe he was having a bit too much fun with them.
“It’s all right boys,” he assured them, “I’m flesh and blood, (although who’s, I’m still not quite sure of),” he added quietly. “Come inside, I’ll explain as much as I can to you, and don’t blame me if it baffles you even more.”
Instantly sober now, the two Dwarves were about to turn and run, but could not easily give up the hope that this truly was their beloved cousin. Reluctantly, they sidled up to the door and followed him in, unconsciously still holding on to each other for dear life.
It took most of the night for Branadon to explain to them at great length as much as he could allow himself to believe. The cousins loosened up a bit after a while, and the conversation eventually turned to the mission they were on that had led them here in the first place.
“You’re too late,” Branadon admitted when they’d finished. “The bulk of Arilonia’s army has already left for Neglavale. It seems your blunder at the mountain has started a little war.”
“Started a blasted war!” Faradon boomed. “You mangy old ghost! While you’ve been comfortably sleeping under the mountain, we’ve been working our beards off keeping the peace! Blunder indeed!”
“Calm yourself cousin,” Branadon scolded. “I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be put to rights in short order. After seeing that thing I met over at the castle, I think those Dragons are more than a match for some little demons.”
Chapter 16
It was just before dawn.
Rylan and Darion were putting the finishing touches to their morning battle plan when Drake stomped in.
“Their gone!” he announced.
“Who’s gone?’ demanded Rylan. ‘I gave explicit orders that no one was to leave the castle grounds!”
“Not us, the demons! It’s quiet as a graveyard out there,” Drake stated. “I took the liberty to send out scouts, they should return shortly, but the lookouts report nothing.”
Just then a breathless young man ran into the hall. “Report for his Highness, Sir!” he said as he slid to a stop and snapped to attention.
“Out with it, son. What’s out there?” Rylan asked impatiently.
“Nothing living sir. We’ve brought back a few dead Clackities but it looks as though they’ve withdrawn. The waters are even starting to clear back up.”
“Clackities?” Rylan asked confused.
“Sorry Sir, Highness, Sir,” the boy wasn’t sure which title to use under the circumstances.
“The name just, sort of fit, so it’s what we’ve all been calling the ugly things with all the legs.”
“Clackities eh?” Rylan mused. “Well, it’s as good a name as any, I suppose. Have them take the bodies down into the dungeons, we will examine them there. I don’t want us left open to any kind of trick,” Rylan instructed him.
Darion was unusually silent through the exchange but piped up as the lad left the room. “Rylan, Elise says it’s not a trick. The demons are gone. She also feels that it is not over yet. C
all it a premonition, but something is wrong. She just can’t figure it out yet. She hasn’t been telepathic with the Dragons since our Dividing, and she can’t be sure, but she feels that there was a Dragon nearby that was in great pain. She never mentioned it yesterday because emotions were running so high that it was too hard to discern if it was anyone specifically. This morning it was gone, so it could have just been someone who was really upset, but that doesn’t explain why it would be gone now. No one here knows the demons have left yet.” After a moment’s hesitation he added, “The only Dragon unaccounted for is my Silina, but she was nowhere near here… I hope.”
Rylan stared at his friend. He never was one for glossing over the truth, and was about to admit it was a possibility, when Drake broke in. “Of course it wasn’t Silina. If she was anywhere near here, she would have flown to the castle to help…” realizing he just confirmed the point he was trying to deny, he tried a different approach. “You told us Silina went off in a huff after you two had a little spat, right? Well, I have never known a female Dragon to forgive an argument in a couple weeks. She’s got to be out there, torching mountainsides for at least a month before she cools. She wouldn’t have come near here yet.”
Darion knew Drake had no idea about the egg, and he had made up the lie about their fight to validate the search party he sent out right after Silina left.
He managed that quick trip to Arilonia to check with Mickael and Dryfus, and by the time he returned to try another route the demons attacked.
The battle was short and bloody, and they had been busy with the siege ever since. With Rylan ordering everyone to stay inside the castle walls, they had not been able to continue the search. Rylan would not risk sending anyone out against the demons until he found a way to defeat them. Never again would he allow his subjects to be played one against the other.
Between their worries about Silina, the egg, and the war, Rylan finally decided this morning was to be their first counterattack, until they found out the enemy was already gone.