Fluff Dragon

by Platte F. Clark

  “What kind of crazy dancing dagger spell did you use?” Dirk exclaimed once he was free.

  “It wasn’t magic,” Max admitted, not sure how to explain what had happened.

  “Well, I don’t care what it was,” Dwight said as he stood, pulling the last of the rope from around his waist. “You did good, but we’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Hey, uh, Max . . . ?” Puff called from the tent. “You wouldn’t leave me here, would you?” Sarah gave Max an inquisitive look.

  “That’s Puff,” Max replied. “He’s been chained up and used as a pillow.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Dwight and Dirk followed Max as he ran back to the tent. At the sight of the fluff dragon, Dwight stopped and put his hands on his hips. “You didn’t tell me it was one of them. Fluff dragons are bad luck; everyone knows that.”

  “That’s no dragon,” Dirk said, looking Puff up and down.

  “We can’t leave him here,” Max insisted.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know how sentimental you are, and I don’t want to argue all day about it,” Dwight said. He produced a set of keys and began trying them in the lock. “Found these outside.”

  Puff gave an audible sigh. “I never really thought you’d actually free me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, but humans and dragons have never really gotten along. And especially not with dwarfs.”

  “They don’t? Why not?” Max asked.

  “I can answer that.” Dwight grunted. “Ever watch your kin burned alive? Ever seen an entire village leveled flat? Ever had to flee from the mines where you made your living because some monster decided to live there? If you knew dragons like I do, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

  Max didn’t know anything about dragons—not the real kind. Puff certainly wasn’t what he expected. “Maybe we can talk about this later,” he suggested.

  “Sure, and I’ll regale you with stories of pretty pink faeries, too,” Dwight replied as the iron lock popped open. He turned to Puff. “You just stay away from me.”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Puff replied. “Don’t worry.”

  “As for the rest of you, grab your things and let’s get out of here,” Dwight ordered.

  They assembled near the edge of the camp. Dwight was back in his armor with his axe slung across his back; Dirk had found a large orc knife that looked more like a sword in his hands; and Sarah had located her heavy walking stick that doubled as a weapon. They’d found their packs full of the supplies they’d gathered before leaving the frobbit treeshire. That had been in another world and another time, and what had been only hours already felt like a lifetime ago.

  “This way,” Dwight commanded and they followed the dwarf into the woods. Puff hesitated for a moment before falling in near the rear.

  The glow of the campfire was quickly lost as Max and his friends ran deeper into the forest, the night air growing cold. “Keep up and keep moving,” Dwight called back. Max gritted his teeth and chased after them, noticing Dirk prancing along like some forest gazelle.

  They had pushed through the woods for an hour or so before Dwight slowed to a brisk walk. He stopped to listen for sounds of angry ogres in pursuit. The forest was full of the buzzing insects and the occasional call of wild animals in the distance, but nothing like the lumbering sound of ogres crashing through the trees behind them.

  They continued the cycle of walking and listening for several more hours. The canopy above provided occasional glimpses of the star-filled sky, and Max was thankful for any light that made it to the forest floor.

  “Dwight, do you know where you’re going?” Sarah eventually asked.

  “Mostly no,” Dwight answered.

  “I thought you were navigating by tree bark,” Dirk replied. “Like some kind of special dwarf power or something?”

  “What I’m doing is putting as much distance between us and the ogres as possible,” Dwight answered. “Directions don’t matter right now.”

  “Unless we’re going in circles,” Sarah said.

  “That’s it,” Max said, coming to a stop. “I need to take a break.”

  Dwight was sweaty in his armor, while Dirk seemed to draw upon an inexhaustible source of energy and looked as fresh as when they had first set out from the camp.

  “Is it safe to stop?” she asked.

  “I think if they were after us, we’d know it by now,” Dwight answered, sliding his pack from his shoulders. “Chances are the ogres decided to eat the orc.”

  Dirk scowled. “Gross. And it violates the Frisbee-and-talking rule.”

  “Better her than us, right?” Puff said, trying to work into the conversation.

  Sarah leaned down and helped Max remove his backpack. Puff walked over to Max and plopped next to him.

  “Here,” Puff said to Max. “You can lean against me if you want.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Max said as he settled next to Puff. No wonder the orcs used him as a pillow, he thought. The fluff dragon was both soft and warm, and Max’s eyes fell shut.

  “And don’t worry, we haven’t been going in circles,” Puff said. “I can tell.”

  “I thought being a pillow was an insult,” Dwight said to Puff as he lay his axe against a tree and began to gather pine needles with his foot. He was making a kind of mattress on the forest floor.

  “Being forced to do anything is an insult,” Puff answered. “What I choose to do isn’t.”

  Sarah reached out and put her hand on Puff’s head. “Don’t mind Dwight, Puff. I’m glad you’re looking after Max. I think we forget what a burden it is to be responsible for the Codex.”

  “I can imagine,” Puff answered. “Now if you’d please stop petting me, I’d appreciate it.”

  Sarah paused, looking embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s just that you’re so . . .”

  “Fluffy?” Puff answered.

  “More like adorable,” Dirk added. “You know, in that stuffed-animal-on-your-bed kind of way. Not that I have any, or use them to keep watch for monsters during the night. I’m just saying.”

  “An adorable dragon,” Puff said, dropping his head. “And I thought I couldn’t feel worse about myself.”

  “No sense living in the past,” Dirk added. “Any gamer knows you just keep trying until you waste the bad guy and claim the prize. After that, nobody cares how many times you lost.”

  Sarah retrieved a blanket and laid it over Puff and Max, then wrapped a second around her shoulders. “I wonder how far from home we are now,” she said, feeling a kind of sadness at the thought.

  “Yeah, I don’t remember any ogres in Madison,” Dirk said. “Except for the football team.”

  “Bah,” Dwight said. “We’re in the Magrus now.”

  Sarah considered the implications. Because they’d been thrown into the future, getting home had always meant finding the right time. But now they were someplace else. Madison was part of the Techrus—the human realm, which had things like TVs, cell phones, and the Internet. If they were in the Magrus, it meant they were in the magical realm—and who knows what they’d have to do to escape that?

  “Wait, you’re not from this realm?” Puff asked, opening his eyes and looking at them closely.

  “Bingo,” Dwight answered. “The talking pillow wins the prize for realizing the obvious.” And it was obvious, in a way. Puff had encountered his share of humans and dwarfs before, but there was something definitely odd about this group.

  “How did you get here, exactly?” Puff asked. “Only the strongest of my kind can travel between the realms.”

  “Man, is that a story!” Dirk exclaimed. He settled back and got comfortable. “You see, it all started at Parkside Middle School. I was the misunderstood loner. Teased by the jocks because of my superior intellect, and laughed at by the cheerleaders because they secretly crushed on me—”

  “Oh, is that how it was?” Sarah said, laughing despite herself.

  Dirk went on to share h
ow they were cast into the future, found the frobbits and snow faeries, and then fought the robots to save the world. Then he told of how they met the dragon king, Obsikar, and made a promise to destroy Rezormoor Dreadbringer in exchange for coming back in time. Sarah had to admit it was interesting hearing it all from Dirk’s perspective.

  Puff blinked, barely able to take it in.

  Meanwhile Dwight climbed into his bed and addressed the group. “So I’ve been thinking. Now that we’ve traveled back in time, none of what Dirk just said has happened.”

  “Wait, what?” Dirk asked, trying to follow Dwight’s thinking.

  “Look, it’s simple. You can’t be held to a promise you haven’t made yet. So I say we forget about wizards and dragons and focus on getting home. We don’t need magic books or spell casters or any of that nonsense. You can walk out of the Magrus, and I should know because I’ve done it before. It starts at the Tree of Attenuation and then on to the Mesoshire. And from there you can get to just about anywhere, including the Techrus. And that means home.”

  Dirk scowled. “I know I made a promise to Obsikar, because I remember doing it.”

  “And I remember this dream I had,” Dwight replied sourly. “I was dancing around in a tutu and chasing butterflies. But guess what? Just because it’s in my head doesn’t mean it really happened.”

  “Dwight does have a point,” Sarah admitted. “The future hasn’t technically happened.”

  “So where’d that blanket come from, huh?” Dirk asked, pointing at Sarah’s. “Looks pretty real to me.”

  Sarah frowned—she wasn’t used to Dirk making a valid point. Puff, however, was watching in disbelief as the humans talked so casually about the dragon king, time travel, and the Codex of Infinite Knowability.

  “There’s someone I think you should talk to,” Puff announced. “He’s not far from here, but he’s a friend to the dragons and a powerful sorcerer. If anyone can help you it’s him.”

  “Oh sure, let’s just get some power-hungry wizard involved, because that sounds like the worst possible idea ever,” Dwight said.

  “No, not just some wizard,” Puff said. “He’s called the ancient one, and he’s very wise.”

  “Puff’s right,” Dirk said. “Every epic quest requires an old wise dude to offer advice and such. And sometimes you even get a magic item or something special.”

  Dwight shook his head. “Well in the real world, when you bother the wrong wizard, they zap you into a pile of ash.”

  “That’s actually a good point,” Puff said. “The one I speak of is very old and has removed himself from the world for a reason. When we find him you might want to gag the dwarf.”

  “I say we go to this wizard and see what he says,” Max said with a yawn, his eyes still closed.

  “Then that’s that,” Sarah said to Dwight. “What Max says goes.”

  “Swell,” Dwight grumbled. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Two kingdoms away, Rezormoor Dreadbringer was led through the large obsidian door that marked the Maelshadow’s temple. The place was easy to find—a black cliff that rose at the edge of the mountains just a half day’s ride from Aardyre. Stone steps rose along the rock face, marked by the scraping of talons and other nightmarish things. It was definitely not the kind of spot found on Magrus travel brochures.

  The black-robed acolytes who shuffled within served the one creature that Rezormoor truly feared: the Maelshadow. The Maelshadow was known by many names: the Lord of Shadows, the Blackness, the Blight, and He Who Pays with Change in the Express Lane. He was also the ruler of the Shadrus, the lower realm marked by demons, nightmarish fiends, and adult contemporary music.

  He followed an acolyte into the main chamber, and it was exactly as the sorcerer had remembered it. In the center a great throne carved from the skull of a long-dead giant dominated the space, while a river of black liquid flowed through channels cut into the floor. Along the walls the temple’s acolytes kept a silent vigil, their ghost-white hair spilling from their shadowy cowls.

  The Tower’s regent approached the throne and felt a sudden chill in the air. He sensed more than saw the shadowy form materialize.

  “Rezormoor,” came the voice of the Maelshadow, filling the columned chamber like a deep sigh. “Have you found what we seek?”

  The sorcerer had to be careful here, for not only was he hunting and killing dragons for their magical scale, but he’d sent Princess to the Techrus to find the Codex. Rezormoor had enlisted the aid of the Maelshadow for the latter, but he intended to keep the dragon hunts to himself.

  “Word was sent to me by the unicorn that she’d found a living descendant who could read the book,” Rezormoor said, bowing his head.

  “Excellent.”

  “It appears as if the Gossamer Gimbal is working as planned.” That was the name of the compass forged by three magical smiths and designed to find whatever its owner desired. In this case, its owner was the Maelshadow, and what he desired was the Codex of Infinite Knowability. Princess had been loaned the Gossamer Gimbal at Rezormoor’s request.

  “Then why is it here?” boomed the Maelshadow, his voice rolling through the small chamber and causing the sorcerer to take a step backward. Here? What is the Gossamer Gimbal doing here? Rezormoor’s mind scrambled for answers.

  “I have felt something . . . off,” the sorcerer managed to say. “I did not think it was the Gimbal.”

  “Nor should you,” the Maelshadow continued.

  Rezormoor straightened, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Coming to the Maelshadow was always a dicey affair, and he had to be careful. Did the Lord of Shadows suspect what he was really after? If so, his end would come very slowly and with a great deal of screaming.

  “The unicorn has returned to the Magrus,” the Maelshadow continued, “but she did not teleport between the realms as she was given the power to do.”

  “Then we must assume something happened to her wand,” Rezormoor replied.

  “What creature could stand before a unicorn and such power?” the Maelshadow asked. “Princess has returned because that which she hunts has also returned. That is what you feel, sorcerer; the power of the Codex in this realm.”

  “Then soon it will be ours,” Rezormoor said. It felt like the right thing to say in front of the Dark Lord.

  “We shall see. But do not forget our arrangement,” the Maelshadow continued. And suddenly a stinging cold filled the room. It burned the back of the sorcerer’s throat and nearly extinguished the torches along the walls. “Once you find the blood descendant of Maximilian Sporazo, you’ll deliver the human to ME!” The final word came with such power that it nearly knocked Rezormoor to the ground. Ice began to form along the walls and Rezormoor struggled to draw his breath.

  “Know that I have my own hunters as well,” the Maelshadow continued. “The undead walk this world in search of the book.”

  Then I must find it first. Rezormoor bowed a final time and stumbled from the cold. He was gasping by the time he pushed the great door open and felt the sun’s kiss on his skin. His chest ached and he took in lungfuls of warm air. The deadly chill was an important reminder that the Lord of Shadows was not to be trifled with.

  It was after dusk as he sat in his chambers at the topmost part of the Wizard’s Tower. He stared at the fire burning in the large stone hearth. The sorcerer had been unable to get warm, no matter how many logs he added to the flames. The zombie duck looked up from his spot at the foot of Rezormoor’s chair, and his hand drifted down to scratch the sandpaper-like skin of the undead fowl’s head.

  “We are in a race against time, my friend,” Rezormoor said. He shifted in his chair and watched the yellow-and-gold flames dance. “I must gather the dragon scale before the Lord of Shadows grows too powerful. And then all hinges on finding the book . . . and the one who can read it.”

  The zombie duck gwaked, not so much in agreement with the sorcerer but to let him know his hand had stopped scratching.

/>   On the hammer’s hilt

  ONE OF THE GREATEST SIGHTS to behold in the Magrus is the famed Hammer’s Hilt Bridge, which stretches across the Crystal Sea between the kingdoms of Aaredt and Thoran. Most assume that the bridge was so named because of its long and narrow road that ends in an outcropping of rock shaped very much like the head of a hammer.

  Despite what some conspiracy theorists and radical historians say, this belief is absolutely correct. Sometimes things are no more or less than what they appear to be. Note: This also holds true for the Elephant Cricket of Turan.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A WIZARD IN THE WOODS

  THE NEXT DAY HAD TURNED cold, so Max and his friends kept their blankets around their shoulders as they followed Puff through the woods. The sky was gray and a light snow started to fall, and Dwight had become more and more unhappy about their intended destination.

  That evening they made camp by a small gurgling stream. The snow had stopped and the water was fresh and delicious. They drank deeply, filling their water skins when they were done, and ate sparingly from their supplies.

  “Isn’t there a way to summon us up some food?” Dirk asked as they sat around the fire.

  “Like what?” Max replied.

  Dirk thought it over. “I don’t know . . . you’re a magic user now. How hard could summoning a hot dog be?”

  Puff looked confused.

  “Look, there’s no such thing as a hot dog–summoning spell,” Max replied. “And even if there were, it wouldn’t work.” Max glanced at the Codex and sighed. He went on to explain all the difficulties he’d been having with the magical tome.

  “Well, that pretty much decides it,” Dwight said. “How are we supposed to stop Rezormoor Dreadbringer if the Codex isn’t working? It’s like I told you, we need to find the Mesoshire and get home.”

  “That’s why I think talking to this wizard is a good idea,” Max said. “Maybe he can help.”

  “Or not,” Dwight added. “You think far too highly of wizards.”

  Late the next day as they continued through the woods, Puff suddenly stopped and looked around. The light snow had melted away, but a crisp chill remained in the air.