Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  So even without the weakening of the crystal-fueled miasma, Theria would have waited until the last moment she could to answer the summons. She always did; she always tested the limits of that feeble magic. She always knew she could break it, and as always, it was little Scorch she stayed for.

  When she finally and casually made her way to the ship, Theria purposely landed on the edge of the deck in her true form, settling in a pleasant little burn-mark a disgruntled wizard had left there the previous night. It was a tribute to the size and power of the ship that it only tilted slightly at her weight.

  The fact that her presence was barely acknowledged surprised her and Theria gazed at the frantic confusion on the ship in growing irritation. Not only didn’t Princess Anya accost her for a tardy return, but she actually wore one of her false smiles when she finally strode up. And the princess was not wearing one of her usual skin-revealing outfits, but a baggy gold robe and a high-peaked amber hat.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Anya breathlessly exclaimed, as if they hadn’t seen her lounging on the beach for the last ten minutes.

  The princess’ outward appearance, as always, was perfect—all happy smiles and sincerity. But Theria could smell the anxiety and near-panic under the surface. And it was clear as day in her pet wizard, Sigfus, ever close and protective next to his princess.

  More than that, she could sense at least three powerful enchantments held around the wizard; he was prepared and trigger-ready to go off. She discreetly scanned the deck, noting the archer Oripeah leaning on the forecastle rail. She had one of her black slayer arrows out as if they would hurt a dragon of Theria’s power. Delandria, the spiritblade warrior, stood near on the other side of Theria, her hands on the hilts of her insignificant swords.

  She almost laughed; they were finally taking her seriously. A good laugh would have nicely fried the deck of this ship more effectively than some sad little burst of wizard-fire. Instead, she just grinned; she knew humans were unnerved by that. Seeing dragon-teeth exposed rightfully made them aware of their puny stature.

  They knew she could now easily break the fragile hold the baleful shard had placed upon her. What was funny was that they didn’t realize she could have all along. Once the true Dragon Master had left her here, there was only one thing that kept her playing this farce.

  “Where is Scorch?” Theria asked with forced calmness.

  The mind of her precious little one was firmly snared by the foul magic of the dragon shard. But maybe now she could break it free.

  “Out scouting,” the princess waved dismissively. Theria nearly snapped the fool’s hand off right there for that attitude, but it was too early to be sure she could free Scorch.

  “We have bigger problems,” Anya went on. “Not all of our guests jumped off the ship last night. One stayed behind and has sabotaged…” She paused for only a fraction of a second before plunging ahead with, “some minor ship components.”

  Did she hope that Theria didn’t yet know of the shard’s weakening? Maybe the others, so accepting of being the princess’ slaves, but not her. She knew the strength of every inch of her magical prison and probed it constantly.

  Berikarth was still too weak from his recent near-drowning, Irovnia was an idiot, and Yiglelot, the sniveling coward, had serendipitously picked the right time to run off. The rest were too young and inexperienced, barely more than wyrmlings. All except Mallona.

  Where was Mallona? The foolish traitor to the Way of Fire was always heeling at her mistress’ side, the perfect pampered pet. She claimed to be Anya’s friend—as if such a thing could ever be between a true heir of flame and a mere human.

  Mallona even claimed that the princess did not subject her to regular exposure to the fell shard. At first, Theria thought her clever for that—a brilliant fire-dragon ruse—the trusting princess would be easy prey. But Mallona stayed devoted after repeated opportunities. Sadly, she was just as insane as her human mistress.

  But why wasn’t she here now? Had she finally come to her senses? No, if that were possible, then Anya would be dead.

  “Where is Mallona?” Theria asked suspiciously, suspecting the answer.

  “I sent her on an errand,” Anya replied, her eyes shifting in that subtle way that spoke volumes.

  Theria’s spines began to tingle, and suddenly it all made sense. The shard was damaged, and the princess and her pet were inseparable in their petty evils. Anya would never send Mallona away. Not unless… he was coming!

  She attempted to launch herself from the deck in that instant, but every inch of her powerful frame just quivered in the attempt and failed. The sudden spirit force that held her down was steeped in all-too-familiar dread and despair.

  The Dragon Thrall Lord was here.

  “I’m Elistra,” the fortune-teller introduced herself, her smile widening. “What luck, finding a brave group of heroes out here. I am in sore need of assistance.”

  “Of course, milady,” Gully sprang forward, beaming at her eagerly.

  “Nothing you do is luck,” Uncle Vic stated, eyeing the woman suspiciously. “And we are not heroes, and have no desire to be.”

  “The small heroics of helping each other in need is often the most valuable,” Elistra replied, smiling at Merry and Gully. Then looking at Uncle Vic, she added, “I am glad to see you are well, Perovich.”

  Uncle Vic looked sardonically down at his injured side and burnt shoulder, then looked pointedly back at Elistra.

  “Well, considering the circumstances,” Elistra amended.

  “Well enough,” Uncle Vic agreed, and then added, “Are you going to tell me another fate of death and dark treasures?”

  The smile faded from Elistra’s face, and her strange eyes took on a vague, unfocused look. Those eyes were of a deep, violet shade, and looking closely, there seemed to be light flecks, like the first stars of an evening sky when the sun’s faint, ruddy glow has not yet fully vanished.

  “Death lies at the end of every man’s path if you look far enough,” she intoned calmly, “and it lurks around each corner for the bold like you. But your path may bring you face to face soon. If you look upon the beautiful face of death, know that you cannot cheat it. To win out, you must truly court it with your whole heart.”

  Merry saw a rare serious expression cross Uncle Vic’s normally lighthearted face. It was a look she had not seen too often. She remembered him in her earliest memories more as an irreverent older brother, as he was closer in age to her than to Pa. Indeed, Ma and Pa had raised him after the rest of the family had died in the Desolation of Ravenford before she was born. Shortly after Gully was born, Uncle Vic left home to earn his fortune. It was many years later, but he made good.

  According to Uncle Vic, what he brought back to Ravenford was barely a sliver of the fortune he briefly had. Of course, he normally exaggerated like a true sailor. But his reluctance to actually tell the tale made Merry think it must be true. All she could get out of him was that he lost a vast fortune due to a woman that he only referred to as ‘The Jinx.’ From the way he moped after speaking of it, she felt he also may have lost a piece of his heart with the gold.

  But the wealth he did bring back, as much as he trivialized it, might as well have been a fortune to the Fichgotz. It allowed the family to purchase their own boat and to work for themselves, instead of toiling for others. And Merry knew that he was singly responsible for her having the luxury to spend so much time studying and learning like a well-to-do merchant’s daughter, instead of a poor, working fishmonger girl.

  The yarns that Uncle Vic would tell with a grin about the finding of his fortune were wild and usually littered with bad jokes leading to a worse punchline. But the few times when Merry felt he waxed almost serious; the tale always started with a portend of ‘dark treasures’ given by a fortune teller. But this couldn’t be that seer; Elistra looked too young, barely older than Uncle Vic himself.

  The silence after the fortune teller’s cryptic declaration stretched on just
a beat too long. Then Uncle Vic’s grinning mask slipped back across his face when he saw Merry watching him closely.

  “Wow! Even for you, that was one huge pile of stinking cow dung,” he scoffed at Elistra.

  “Yes,” Elistra replied, her smile also returning, “it sounded just like the usual tired platitude to ‘choose love over hate.’ A professional hazard, I’m afraid.”

  “Well, since you’ve probably already foreseen that we will say yes,” Uncle Vic’s smile gleamed almost genuine at this point, “what is this favor that you need from us?”

  “At the top of that ridge,” Elistra pointed up the steep wooded slope south of the road, “is a cliff overlooking the sea.”

  She took out a light blue crystal, about fist-sized and cut with a dozen pentagon-shaped sides. Complex runic symbols were engraved within a pentagram on each side. The symbols seemed to be within the crystal, rather than on the surface. And looking at them, she also imagined invisible parts of them projecting above the crystal face.

  “I want you to throw this into the ocean,” Elistra said.

  “My throwing arm is not good at the moment, I’m afraid,” Uncle Vic gingerly rotated his burnt shoulder with a grimace.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Elistra tossed the crystal upward, causing it to glow brightly, hang in the air for a moment, and then float slowly back down to her hand.

  Merry felt mesmerized by the crystal. As it floated down, she envisioned lines of energy emanating from it. One straight down to the earth, one as a circular halo spinning at the top, and two more formed wing-like arcs at the sides. Her imagination must have been running away with her. She also fancied she heard faint singing words in her head as if the crystal itself were chanting some of those unknown runes.

  She knew she hadn’t seen those lines with her eyes, or heard the words with her ears, but she was certain they had been there nonetheless. Merry also felt sure that the crystal only fell back down because no one told it otherwise.

  “Oh, let me throw it!” Gully called while grabbing for the crystal.

  Without even realizing she was doing it, Merry found herself snatching the crystal out of Elistra’s open palm before Gully could. Then when he rounded on her, thinking it was a game, she fended him off with her stick. For effect, she caused the bulbous end of the driftwood club to flare with light.

  She was surprised how easy it was to light with just a flicker of thought now. The pattern was there already, just waiting for her to ignite it. The runic symbols for light had been almost seared into the wood’s spirit by casual dragon magic—spirit magic of a power that echoed through the soul of the wood, even this long after that first light faded.

  It had taken tremendous concentration to find that pattern at first. Searching desperately in that dark cavern for the runic patterns of light on the wood that Inazuma showed her, she had found a way to focus differently. It helped then that her regular sight was blinded, that absolute dark helped her imagine the symbols.

  But that ‘imagined’ light symbol worked. It wasn’t any more her imagination than the lines of force from the crystal. Merry realized now that she had been half-blind before. Seeing that crystal confirmed it. She had found a different kind of sight. And now she couldn’t turn it off if she tried.

  Gully took up the challenge for possession of the crystal with his normal competitive glee. His smile widening with more joyful anticipation than wickedness, he began to unwrap Inazuma. At first touch of the sword’s hilt beneath the wrappings, his wild hair began to stir with static energy.

  Uncle Vic was quick to step between them.

  “Put out the glow-stick, Merry,” he said, looking at her a little puzzled. He caught her eye briefly with a dozen unasked questions, then he turned to Gully.

  “You can throw it,” he said firmly, “when we get there.”

  “He’s got the best arm,” Uncle Vic pointed out to Merry, “the broken windows facing the riverside of old Higgs warehouse prove it.”

  “That wasn’t me!” Gully said automatically.

  “Of course not, but you have to admit that all the way across the river was a wicked throw.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Gully smiled sheepishly, with his hand to the back of his head in mock embarrassment.

  “But Merry gets to carry it up there, and no zapping your sister until we get there.”

  “What do you mean ‘until we get there’?” Merry asked, worried by the conspiratorial grins shared by her impish brother and irresponsible uncle.

  “Heh, heh,” Gully chuckled, eyeing her evilly. “When you least expect it!”

  She looked desperately at Elistra, as the one other possibly responsible adult with her. It was a long shot.

  Ignoring the two perpetually childish boys, Elistra stepped up to Merry.

  “There is too much here, and not enough time,” she said, indicating the patterns in the crystal. “Many men have spent years trying to follow just one of the greater patterns, only to fail.”

  Merry already knew the crystal was beyond her understanding. But for some reason, it still hurt to hear it said.

  Elistra only smiled at her and gently turned the crystal in her hand.

  “This is the one to focus on,” she pointed to one of the simplest patterns, with only a few dozen twists. “Ignore the rest.”

  “I don’t have my book,” Merry said sadly. She so wanted to try and copy that symbol. Although how she could do it with just two-dimensional paper anyway was lost on her.

  “Books are crutches for wizards—you don’t need them. So, don’t try to analyze or memorize it, just follow it and feel its magic and purpose,” Elistra said, looking at her meaningfully. “It will come in useful; I guarantee it.”

  “What does it do?”

  “Don’t be distracted by desires for effect, they’ll misdirect you. Focus on just the pattern. When you learn it, you’ll know.”

  “Don’t get us caught up in your mystic mumbo,” Vic declared. “The Fichgotz are just simple fisherfolk.”

  He looked accusingly at Merry when he said it.

  “It might help,” Elistra said, ignoring Vic and smiling at Merry, “if you asked the crystal to fly higher and longer. The further out to sea it goes, the better.”

  “Why throw it away at all?” Uncle Vic asked, stepping up between Elistra and Merry like he was trying to protect her. “Why don’t we just sell it?”

  Or keep it! Merry thought eagerly.

  “Once they realize it’s missing, they’ll be able to track it using its mates. We want it far out to sea, to draw the airship and dragons away from the coast and your family.”

  “Whoa! The deal’s off!” Uncle Vic cut her off vehemently. “I knew you were setting us up! We want nothing to do with you or your cursed crystal. Throw the damnable thing in the sea yourself.”

  “That would be a path of inevitable doom,” Elistra said. “My presence is a far greater and more imminent draw of danger than the crystal.”

  “I would have just dropped it in a pond a while back, but I thought I might bump into you here, and this is the best chance I saw to save you.” She gestured to all of them when she said it.

  “So, you foresaw us being here?” Uncle Vic asked suspiciously, “What are you hiding now? What do we need saving from, if not your plots? What else do you know of our fate?”

  “There is no fate.” She said that firmly like an axiom. “I see far too many threads to follow them all—everything is constantly changing, and I see nothing for certain. For every possibility that brought you here, there were six more where you ended up in the belly of a dragon. But I believe you are most likely safe now if you don’t dally, you take the crystal to the cliff, and you throw it far.”

  “For me, on the other hand,” Elistra seemed to look inward for a second, and shuddered, “the possibilities of my doom multiply by the minute and threaten to spill over to you. I must go very soon!”

  “We’ll take the crystal,” Merry said
, clutching it to her chest.

  “We already gave our word,” Gully declared, “and heroes don’t go back on their word!” He looked at Uncle Vic, daring him to disagree.

  “Not heroes,” he muttered grudgingly. Then he shook his head and slapped his grin back on. “Okay, we throw it, but we don’t have the magic to make it fly.”

  “Of course, all you really need is a good arm.” Elistra grinned at Gully, “A simple task for a hero of Sir Gulhawk’s mettle.”

  It occurred to Merry that they hadn’t told her their names. Elistra obviously knew Uncle Vic, but how did she know Gully? And did this fortune teller see anything about her?

  As if sensing her thoughts, Elistra turned once more to Merry and addressed her by name.

  “Meriwynn, you have been touched by dragon magic today. And it has awoken your own sorcery. The only way to master it is to trust yourself,” she paused, staring into Merry’s eyes searchingly for a moment. “It’s a leap of faith. I hope you take it.”

  Elistra started away from them, but then turned back for a second and called to all of them, “When you reach the top, follow the lover’s gaze. If luck is with you, you will spy that which your heart desires.”

  Elistra began to run, her hands held strangely apart in front of her, and Merry imagined a silvery glob of energy growing between them. A moment later, the globular mass silently exploded outward into a giant glittery, translucent hummingbird that she leaped upon, and rode quickly away.

  “What a beautiful bird,” Merry whispered.

  “What bird?” Gully asked, perplexed.

  Uncle Vic said, “All I saw was the crazy seeress-witch flying away.”

  “Oh, just my imagination I guess,” Merry said, smiling to herself.

  6

  Dragon Masters