The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag

by Brian S. Pratt

  “Uh, right,” agreed Scar. “We would never have come had we known this treasure belonged to you.”

  “But would you have come if it had belonged to someone lesser than myself? Someone against whom you felt you could overcome?”

  “N...no,” Scar stammered then cleared his throat. “Of course not. Like my friend said, we are not thieves.”

  “I was right about you.”

  Scar glanced to Potbelly, both looking confused.

  “You are proving quite diverting.”

  Raising his head, he carefully turned about so as not to disturb the piles of coins; which for one of his size was quite an accomplishment. “Come,” he said and began walking away.

  Unsure what to do, they followed.

  The dragon led them through two chambers, the first containing more neat and orderly piles of coins. The second had armor and weapons displayed. Scar couldn’t help but notice a double-headed battle axe that looked very familiar leaning against a suit of chainmail. He nudged Potbelly and pointed to it.

  “Garrock’s?”

  Scar nodded. “Has to be.”

  As they drew near, they saw a small pool of blood beneath the armor.

  Lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, Potbelly said, “They must have completely wiped out Garrock and his men.”

  “Does this trouble you?”

  Reginald paused and his long serpentine neck brought his head back to face them.

  The dragon must have very good hearing to have overheard Potbelly’s whispered comment.

  “No,” Scar said. “In fact, we are glad they are dead. They, were thieves.”

  “Yes,” Reginald replied. “I know.”

  He turned back and ducked his head as they entered a room both warm and devoid of treasure. To the right were piled hundreds of skins. In any other place Scar would have thought of it a bed…maybe it was. To the left was a marble table capable of seating twenty men. High backed chairs of similar design were spaced around it.

  At the far end, steaming and spitting was a large cauldron sitting in a pool of water. Bubbles and steam rose from the water at a furious pace. It was from there that the room was heated.

  “Sit,” Reginald said. He then laid upon the skins and turned to face them.

  Scar and Potbelly sat at the table across from the dragon.

  “If you would, throw a handful of tea leaves in there,” the dragon said as he pointed to the cauldron. “It has been an age since I have enjoyed a good cup of tea.”

  “You drink tea?” Potbelly asked.

  “And why should I not?” Reginald asked. “Do you feel tea is the province of humans alone?”

  “Well, no,” Scar replied. “It is just that tales of dragons never mentioned tea. Usually, dragons are...”

  “Are what?”

  “Vicious and destructive, stealing cows and eating flesh,” Scar replied nervously.

  Reginald chuckled. “Could those words not be used to describe humans?”

  “Yes,” Potbelly replied. “I suppose it would.”

  “Then if a human can enjoy tea, why should a dragon not?”

  Potbelly nodded. “You have a point.”

  Taking the box of tea from his pack, he carried it to the simmering cauldron and found it nearly full of water. He dropped a handful of the tea within. By the time he returned to his seat, the air was filling with a wonderful aroma.

  Reginald moved his head toward the cauldron, took a mighty inhalation and sighed. “That is wonderful.” He then turned to his visitors and asked, “Do either of you know a tale while the tea brews?”

  “A tale?” asked Scar.

  “Yes. It is rare that I have visitors, especially ones that have the ability to communicate.”

  “What about your children?”

  “They are too young to have voices of their own,” he explained. “Centuries must pass before that ability is theirs. Now, all they can do is hiss and roar. Not unlike your own hatchlings, as I understand it.”

  Scar had known several small children whose roar could rival that of even Reginald’s.

  “A tale…” He glanced to Potbelly and grinned. “We might know a tale or two.”

  They regaled Reginald with the tale of how they came to the rescue of a merchant’s daughter and ended up taking over a pirate ship and wreaking vengeance upon the miscreant. They saved the girl, won the adoration of a prince and got rolled by some street walkers.

  Through it all, Reginald sat unmoving. It was difficult to tell if he enjoyed their tale or if they were in danger of boring him and becoming dinner. When the tale concluded, Reginald remained unresponsive.

  They glanced to each other, wondering if perhaps the dragon had fallen asleep which was something that those of advanced years were prone to do. But then he nodded his head. “Very good tale. Yes, a most amusing story.”

  He brought his great head to the cauldron and breathed in the aroma. “I believe the tea is ready.” Turning to his guests, he said, “Bring your teapots and fill them.”

  Taking the teapots from off the table, they went to the cauldron. On the wall nearby was a silver ladle decorated with gems and scrolled with the most delicate artwork. They used it to remove the tea and pour it into their pots. Once filled, they returned to the table.

  Potbelly checked the other containers on the table and found them empty. Harking back to their time with Elora and Gamma, he asked, “Do you have milk?”

  Scar was about to pour tea into his cup when Potbelly’s words brought back the proper etiquette.

  Reginald raised an eyeridge. “No,” he replied. “The hot water will not hurt the cups you are using.”

  They filled their cups and gently stirred the tea for a moment, ensuring not to clink the sides. Then, holding the cup in the manner revealed to them by Elora, took a sip.

  Reginald stirred and brought one of his great claws to the cauldron. He turned it and revealed a handle similar to that of the teacups. Holding it in the proper manner as were Scar and Potbelly, he lifted it from the boiling pool of water and took a great sip.

  He closed his eyes and savored it. A deep contented rumble echoed forth.

  “Thank you.”

  “You are most welcome,” Potbelly replied.

  “There are two things above all that I admire in another; honesty and respect. You spoke true about your intentions in coming here despite the threat of death hanging upon you. And now, you showed me great respect through adhering to the time honored rituals of tea. For that, I shall not only allow you to leave, but I also wish to bestow upon you a gift.”

  Scar glanced to Potbelly and grinned. Visions of avarice danced in his head.

  Reginald finished the cauldron of tea and then got to his feet. “Come.”

  The dragon led them from the chamber and instead of turning toward the caverns filled with treasure they had passed through earlier, went the other way and entered a smaller cavern. A table of solid gold sat between two large braziers. Upon the table was a pouch filled to overflowing with gems of all sizes, a long sword of exquisite workmanship, a suit of platemail armor, three piles each containing twenty platinum pieces, and a mirror bordered by a silver frame adorned with fancy filigree

  “You each may take one item.”

  “Thank you,” Potbelly said. “Your generosity is truly as magnificent as yourself.”

  Reginald bobbed his head.

  “And please,” Potbelly continued, “keep the tea as our gift to you. You will enjoy it far more than either of us.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Scar eyed each in turn, weighing their merits and value.

  “I shall take the mirror,” Potbelly said. Stepping forward, he removed it from the table. “My mother will enjoy this.”

  “A gift for another truly blesses the giver.” Reginald then turned to Scar. “And for you?”

  Scar had a difficult time deciding which he wanted. The armor was very valuable but weighed much and they had a long way to
go. The platinum coins were very rare while the bag of gems would be easy to carry and potentially yield the greatest profit. But then, being that long swords were his weapon of choice, his heart longed to wield such a masterfully crafted weapon.

  Finally, he made up his mind. Pointing to his choice, he said, “I’ll take that.”

  “So be it.

  “One small gem!”

  Potbelly chuckled as they made their way down the slope of Crystal Crag.

  “One, lousy gem. That’s it? That’s all I get for the trouble it took us to get here, the trials and tribulations we had to endure? One…lousy….gem!”

  “Reginald did say one item.”

  Scar flashed him a look of absolute annoyance. “He made it seem that if I selected the bag of gems, that that’s what I was to get; the bag of gems not one, measly demon-cursed gem.”

  “Frankly,” Potbelly said, “I’m thankful to have made it out with our lives.”

  “At least you have that mirror; it has to be worth a lot.”

  “We could be dead now.”

  Scar waved that thought away. “Bah, we could have taken him.”

  Potbelly weighed the merits of mentioning to Scar that not only did they not get the treasure they had dreamed of, but that they still owed Matlin a hundred gold. He glanced to his friend who was in the middle of an obscenity-ridden tirade. Perhaps this little tidbit could wait a day or two.

  Scar was on his fifth round of curses when a figure appeared coming up the slope.

  “One of Garrock’s men?”

  “I don’t think so,” Scar replied.

  The man coming up the hill was stooped over and walked with a cane.

  “That’s Tork!” Potbelly exclaimed.

  Scar drew his sword. “I’m going to kill that old man.”

  Potbelly laid a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. “He’s just an old man.”

  Sword still in hand, Scar walked with Potbelly down to him.

  “Greetings, lads,” Tork said.

  “Greetings,” Potbelly replied.

  “Yeah,” Scar said. “I’d like to thank you about helping us get the treasure.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

  The old man saw the mirror and cocked a questioning gaze toward Potbelly. “Reginald give you that?”

  “You know the dragon?” asked Potbelly.

  Tork nodded. “He and I are old friends. Ever since Jimbo, Matlin and the rest of us came up here to steal his treasure. Didn’t work out like we thought, though.” He chuckled.

  “What about the map?” Scar demanded. “Was that just some joke to make us look like fools?”

  “No. I got Jimbo and Matlin to help me with a plan to get rid of Garrock and his men. I knew that if he got wind of a treasure map, he’d move mountains to recover it.”

  “Why didn’t you just give it to him yourself?”

  “That wouldn’t have worked. He never would have trusted it coming from me. But two strangers, who themselves fought tooth and nail to protect it, he couldn’t resist.”

  Scar’s eyes narrowed. “I should kill you right here.”

  Tork sighed. He raised his cane toward Scar and spoke. Then with a flick of his wrist, sent Scar flying to the top of a nearby tree.

  Cursing the entire way, Scar slammed into the branches and clung for dear life.

  “When he gets down,” Tork said as he pulled a small pouch from inside his shirt, “give him this. I’m on my way to pay my respects.”

  Potbelly opened it and found the pouch full of gems. Smiling, he said, “I shall and thank you.”

  “No, thank you, boys. Garrock was a blight and his interfering was having an adverse effect on my research. He had to be dealt with. Oh, and don’t worry about what you owe Matlin, I took care of that.”

  With that, he began to shuffle on up the mountain.

  Potbelly chuckled, slipped the pouch in his shirt and watched Scar work his way down.

  Here ends the tale of how Scar and Potbelly had tea with an ancient Ice Dragon named Reginald.

  How to Properly Drink your Tea*

  First and foremost never hold your cup with your pinkie finger extended. This is improper and in most social settings is considered rude. Place your index finger into the handle of the cup up to the knuckle while placing your thumb on the top of the handle to secure the cup. The bottom of the handle should then rest on your third finger. The fourth and fifth fingers should curve back towards your wrist.

  At one time it was traditional to pour the milk into the cup before the tea. This was done to prevent the glaze on delicate tea cups from cracking. (Wondered why P. L. Travers did this in Saving Mr. Banks…now I know.) We do not have that problem today, so add the milk after the tea so that you can judge how much to use based on the color change.

  When stirring your tea, be careful not to clink your spoon against the cup. Gently swish the spoon back and forth without touching the sides of the cup. When through stirring, remove the spoon and place it on the saucer behind the tea cup and to the right of the handle. Of course, never take a drink of your tea without removing the spoon first, and please never, ever sip from the spoon.

  If seated at a table, do not lift the saucer (this is only proper if standing; then lift the saucer with the cup.) When you taking a sip of tea do not look around at the other guests, but lower your eyes so you can see what you’re doing and not spill your tea down the front of your blouse or dress. (or dress shirt if a man who couldn’t get out of his wife’s tea party…kidding.)

  When your cup is low try to avoid the temptation of swirling the tea in the cup. How embarrassing if some should happen to slosh onto the tablecloth and we all know how easily tea can stain.

  *excerpted from Tea Laden, an excellent place to procure tea and tea products. Quality tea is their Gurantee. Above script in italics was not of the original excerpted from Tea Laden, but added by Brian S. Pratt.

  Excerpt from Shepherd’s Quest: Book One of The Broken Key Trilogy

  Shepherd’s Quest-Chapter One

  _______________________

  Riyan looked out over the landscape, his position on the ridge afforded him a commanding view of the valley. The moonlight overhead painted the world in shadows, among which who knew what sorts of beasts may lie. Undaunted, he turned to his companion and directed his attention to the castle nestled in against the backdrop of the far side of the valley. “Look,” he said, “there across the valley.”

  His companion, a man like himself who had seen many a battle, nodded. “We’ll find her in there for sure.”

  The lady in question had been snatched from her home by person’s unknown. Her family contracted Riyan and Chadric to track down those responsible, rescue their daughter, and slay her captors. After several days of following their trail, it has led them here.

  “Let’s go,” Riyan said and then headed out. Chadric followed close behind.

  They worked their way down from the ridge and soon found themselves in the shadowy darkness of the valley floor. Heavily forested, this area gave off a less than comforting feel as they made their way closer to the castle.

  Howrrrrrrrr!

  Not very far off a wolf’s howl split the night. Riyan and Chadric came to an abrupt stop as they turned their attention toward the direction from which the sound had originated. The moon’s light did little to dispel the shadows as it was unable to effectively reach this far below the forest’s canopy.

  “What…?” began Chadric when Riyan held up his hand to silence him. Becoming silent once more, Chadric focused his attention on the shadowy boles of the trees before them.

  Then all of a sudden, one of the mountain wolves that infested these parts launched itself out of the shadows. Moving straight for Chadric, it snarled and its teeth became pale shadows in the darkness.

  Riyan pulled his sword from its scabbard just as his companion was bowled over by the beast. “Chadric!” he hollered.

  On the ground, the wolf had one of Chadric’s gauntleted
forearms in its mouth and was shaking it furiously. “Ahhh!” he cried out. With his other fist, Chadric began hitting the beast alongside the head but the blows did little in persuading it to release his arm.

  Then Riyan came to his aid. Striking out at the back of the wolf with his sword, he cleaved the beast almost in two by his thunderous blow. Kicking out with his foot, he knocked the wolf from off his friend.

  “You okay?” he asked. Offering a hand, he helped his friend to his feet.

  Chadric nodded. Then he took a look at the gauntlet covering his forearm and saw where the wolf’s teeth had indented the metal. “Yeah,” he replied.

  “We better hurry and reach the castle,” Riyan said. “Wolves never hunt alone.” No sooner did he say that than another howl split the night not very far away. Wiping his sword off on the wolf’s hide, he gave Chadric a hand up and then they were back on their way to the castle.

  They passed among the trees much more quickly now, the howling of the wolves driving them onward. Despite the frequency and close proximity of the howls, no other wolf made an appearance.

  At last they reached the far side of the valley. Here the forest became less dense and it wasn’t long before the outer wall of the castle appeared through the trees. High on the upward slope of the valley where the mountains began, its dark edifice loomed hauntingly. The wall ringing the castle rose high from the valley’s floor, beyond which climbed a spire even higher into the sky. A single light broke the darkness as it escaped from a window high in its upper reaches.

  When they reached the edge of the forest across from the wall, they paused for a moment. “Something’s not right,” observed Chadric.

  “I know,” agreed Riyan. No guards were present upon the battlements and the gate stood open. “It can’t be this easy.”

  “Could be they didn’t expect anyone to have trailed them back here,” suggested Chadric.

  “You may be right.” But deep down inside, Riyan didn’t think so. “Come on,” he said. Moving quickly and quietly, he raced towards the open gate. Other than the normal sounds one would expect while in the forest, nothing else could be heard.