Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  “Siggy, I like the way you think!”

  He invoked the psychic shards pattern and thoroughly bombarded the armor to sever all the binding threads at once. The multiple dragon chains pulled taut as the spirit tried to summon its thralls to fight back. Not good!

  Sigfus redoubled his efforts, overloading the pattern. He was rewarded with a sharp headache and the empty armor falling lifeless to the deck. The dragon chains thankfully went slack. The spirit of Urekar was still attached to the armor by bonds Sigfus could not sever, but it once again slumbered.

  He also cut the fell thread from the corpse and proceeded to burn it even more thoroughly with fire, just to be sure.

  “We should recover our emitter crystal before it attracts some sea-creature we don’t want to deal with right now,” he advised the princess.

  “Make it so," Anya agreed, then added, “Oh, and send Irovnia to deal with whoever threw the crystal.”

  Sigfus glanced at his princess in surprise. Her eyes were calculating and worried. If they had lost control of their dragons, it would be better to find out now before the next disaster struck. And their control on that one was the most questionable after Theriaxus, for totally different reasons.

  He bowed to her. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  So, half-crippled, the once glorious airship hesitantly lurched into the air and floated slowly out over the sea. They skimmed the waves at a painfully slow and somewhat sideways crawl. There would be no problem with the ice dragon catching up.

  If she came back at all.

  “We’ve got to move!” Uncle Vic commanded. “Back down the hill.”

  He lowered the glass; it was sadly not needed with the rate that white form was closing on their vantage point.

  “No,” Merry said, “we’ll never make it that way. It will just pick us off.”

  It was several hundred yards downslope before the trees became thick enough to effectively hide under. They’d certainly be spotted by the dragon’s sharp eyes. And once spotted by a hunting dragon in the wilderness, there was little hope of escaping.

  Besides, she already knew the way they had to go. But Uncle Vic was not going to like it.

  “So, we fight!” Gully exclaimed. He had already unwrapped Inazuma and was holding the short sword in a ready two-handed grip.

  “No!” they both declared simultaneously.

  Uncle Vic looked at Merry and said, “If you have a plan, make it quick.”

  “Climb down behind the lookout,” she instructed Gully and Uncle Vic. As they scrambled over the edge to the small lip of stone between the lookout and the cliff edge, she commanded, “Inazuma, project our images running downslope.”

  “My range is limited,” the sword replied.

  “Fine, just have them duck behind the farthest tree you can reach with your illusion and vanish.”

  “That’s great, kid, but now we are stuck here.” Uncle Vic gestured to how the narrow two-foot ledge dwindled to sheer cliff to their right, and their left would just bring them around to clear sight of the dragon again. “And all it has to do is fly once around the lookout and pick us off.”

  “We jump.”

  “Cliff diving,” Gully exclaimed. “Awesome!”

  “We’ll never clear those rocks, and even if we do, we’ll break every bone in our bodies when we hit the water at this height,” Uncle Vic countered. But then he muttered quietly, “might be a better end than the dragon.”

  “We’ll float down,” Merry stated. She held out one hand to each of them. Gully gripped her fingers eagerly, and with Inazuma in his other hand, gave her a smiling salute.

  “What? Look, I don’t know what hocus pocus has got in your head, but…”

  “Yes, it is in my head! But it’s magic in my head. And it will work!” Merry declared forcefully, then added pleadingly, “just trust me. Please.”

  “It’s a leap of faith,” Gully added, helpfully echoing the Seeress’ words.

  “A leap of…” Uncle Vic trailed off, smacking his forehead. “Gods! I hate that fortune teller!”

  Then he grabbed her hand and they all jumped.

  Invoking the pattern was instantaneous; as soon as they began to fall through the air, it activated and Merry poured energy into it. And poured, and poured. There was so much of it! So many loops and turns and knots of pattern. And she had to light all of it three times!

  When she felt she couldn’t push any more energy into it, she realized it was done. The pattern for floating was overlaid onto all three of them.

  She felt exhaustion overcome her. Tiredness worse than the climb up the hill, more like she had run all day up that slope. But she had done it! They were floating like the down of a feather.

  “We’re flying!” came Gully’s joyful cry. And Merry was too tired to shush him.

  “Quiet!” Uncle Vic ordered, and then declared, “It’s not flying, it’s more like falling with… Oof!”

  Like a feather, they were at the mercy of the winds. And a mischievous gust decided to push them into the cliff face at that point. They lost their grips on each other, and Merry had a panicked moment until she realized the pattern held on all of them even without her touch.

  Gully kicked off the cliff, sword out, point-first. And with his legs together and other arm pulled close to his side, he managed to fall faster and sail out toward the inlet waters. There below, she saw what he was aiming for—the ship.

  Uncle Vic managed a similar feat of dexterity. But he sported a grimace of pain instead of a grin and was gripping his wounded shoulder where he had struck it on the cliff.

  She tumbled gracelessly at least three times before she was finally able to kick off a little and cartwheel slowly in that direction. Merry really hated being the agility-challenged member of the group, and she just gave up trying to maintain her skirt direction. There was no one here to care if she flashed her knickers.

  By the time they reached the bottom, Gully had gotten so good he was actually able to land in the small boat. Merry was a little annoyed; she wanted to see Pa’s amazed face up close as they floated in from the sky. And she wanted to be the first to feel his crushing bearhug at their return.

  Uncle Vic almost made it inside, too. He caught the deck rail and floated down next to the boat while they pulled him in.

  Merry, of course, splashed down head-first a dozen feet short of the boat and had to be fished out. All her ire at that ignoble landing left, along with all her breath, as Pa hugged her for a glorious minute, disregarding her drenched state.

  Gully was already showing off pretend fencing moves with Inazuma to Uncle Wex, probably telling of some improbable sword fight that never happened. But who would disbelieve him after swooping out of the sky like that?

  Merry nearly jumped back out of the boat when a small lizard creature with dark goggles appeared out of the bilge. It tugged on Pa’s shirt and said something urgently in sharp, high-pitched tones. It was obviously pointing repeatedly to a partially submerged cave in the cliff.

  “Oh no,” Pa said, “we’ll never fit between those rocks.”

  “Sure, we will,” Uncle Vic had taken over the tiller and was pointing their boat toward that dangerous opening. He motioned upward with his chin while keeping both hands on the tiller, declaring, “We will because we are properly motivated.”

  Looking up, they saw part of a white wing and tail sail around the cliff summit as the ice dragon circled. Perhaps it had not looked beneath the cliff on that first pass. But they needed to get out of sight now!

  Uncle Wex and Pa rapidly took down the sail, and whether by luck or Uncle Vic’s sailing, they cruised into the cave on momentum with barely a scrape of the hull.

  The cavern inside was larger than it looked from without, and it was blissfully cool. Strangely, there was a piece of ice floating in it, almost as big as the boat.

  Merry untangled the driftwood club from her pouch strap. She was glad it had miraculously stayed secure during her careening decent; it was easier
to impose the light pattern on this wood that remembered it so well.

  She then reached out in that place beyond to gently touch the spirit of the sword and tried to project words to him like he had done with her earlier.

  Inazuma, can you… she motioned with her club to the opening.

  Of course, he seemed to pick up on the idea before she finished projecting the words. And he immediately projected the illusion of boulders perfectly filling the cave entrance. The illusion fit so well that it blocked the late afternoon sun completely and they were plunged into darkness.

  She was still mentally exhausted from the air-floating pattern, but light was much simpler and used so much less power, that she was able to have the club alight with nary a thought.

  “We should be safe now,” Merry said tiredly, leaning on the railing.

  “What?” Uncle Wex stammered, “H-how did you do that?”

  Merry stared around at her family from under drooping eyelids that just wanted to close for a minute, and wondered why they were all looking at her like she was a stranger. It probably didn’t help that she held a magically glowing stick. And that she had her back to a glittering mound of ice that cast a constellation of reflections around the room.

  “Oh, that was the sword,” she motioned to the blocked entrance, causing the reflective lights to dance and form new constellations. “It’s just an illusion.”

  “Hey!” Gully looked accusingly down at Inazuma in his hand like they had been conspiring behind his back. Which, she supposed, they had.

  “I just made the stick glow, that’s all.”

  “Just made a stick glow?” her father repeated.

  “And made us fly,” Gully exclaimed, spreading his arms.

  “Not fly, float on air…” she corrected, but trailed off, seeing the look on her father’s face. She couldn’t recognize it in the shifting light.

  “Pa, I just… learned a… a little magic,” she said hesitantly.

  He looked at her closely for a second, then smiled and grabbed her in a hug. Not as crushing as the first one, but no less sincere.

  “Of course,” he said softly in her ear, “you’ve always been my magical girl. And I am so proud of you!”

  8

  The Ice Dragon

  When this new group of Fokari dropped from the sky, Ratnosk had thought they were attacking, and so he hid. But it was quickly apparent that these two groups were from the same nesting circle, although obviously from multiple hatchings. The one holding that annoying light, he suspected might be a female. It was hard to be certain with these creatures since they didn’t have tails. If a female was out of the nesting caves, she must be either a powerful priestess or sorceress.

  And, as one would expect, this female was obviously their leader. It was not just her light-magic that gave it away; she was the only one of them wearing a proper kilt rather than the trousers of a servant. So, he approached her and bowed.

  “Oh, illustrious sorceress of light and sky, do you also serve the magnificent incarnation of storms, Rukastanna?”

  The female seemed taken aback by his approach. Had he overstepped? Was the bow not severe enough? A lowly trap-jack such as himself, daring to speak to a mighty sorceress, would normally be unthinkable. He steeled himself under her appropriately wide-eyed gaze at his affront; wasn’t he now a chosen servant of a mighty dragon? But what if he inadvertently insulted a powerful ally of his glorious mistress?

  The entire group moved protectively around the female, proving that she was obviously their leader. The littlest, and most belligerent, of their group, actually came at him brandishing a sword! He fell backwards with a panicked cry.

  One of the two who had traveled with him earlier—Vexil, his benevolent mistress had named him—put a hand out, stopping the little one. Vexil said something in the disturbingly rolling speech of the Fokari. The only thing that Ratnosk could make out was a slurred mangling of his own name and a fragment of his mistress’. He hoped that Vexil was extolling what a diligent and valued servant of a powerful dragon Ratnosk was.

  The sorceress spoke in a questioning tone, and an unknown voice answered her out of thin air. He felt his heart sink—this sorceress was powerful enough to command spirits! Who knew what other forces she had at her beck and call? Was it a mistake to treat her with only the third-degree of supplication?

  After conferring with her nestmates, the sorceress spoke a few words directed at Ratnosk. He thought for a second that she had forgiven him, then she bared her teeth in a sign of third-degree aggression and he knew he was doomed.

  He forced himself not to slip into the stance of trepidation, for he was now a draconic servant. And, while he was awaiting his imminent annihilation with as much stoic fortitude as he could muster, the magic voice spoke to him in high-draconic.

  “Miss Meriwynn says that she and the entire Fichgotz clan are forever in Rukastanna’s debt, and would render whatever service to her that is in their power. If you feel the same, then we are allies.”

  The sorceress still had her mouth with ends upturned and teeth slightly showing. But the words sounded friendly, and her posture didn’t match any of the seventeen aggression stances. How was he supposed to read sincerity on these odd creatures with their chaotic, tailless posturing? And it was impossible to tell emotion on such disturbingly flat-snouted faces.

  Ratnosk pondered for a moment and came to the only possible conclusion. It must be that he was being spared the sorceress’ ire only because he was held in high regard with his glorious mistress. And then it further dawned on him that she must be jealous, thinking that Ratnosk was vying with her for chief servant position.

  He shifted to second-degree supplication; he would not do first-degree for her. That was reserved only for the Most Glorious One.

  “Oh, mysterious spirit-voice, please announce to your master that I am pleased to meet the mighty sorceress, Meriwynn. I am Ratnosk, trap-jack third-class, and just a humble servant that defers to her in how to best serve our mutual magnificent mistress.”

  As he said his introduction, he realized with a pleased tingle that he was no longer really just a trap-jack third-class, he was now a first-tier draconic herald! But he could not bring himself to assume a stance of pride and say that to such a powerful and quick-tempered sorceress.

  “I shall do so,” the voice responded, “but I should clear up several misunderstandings. First, I do not serve Miss Meriwynn, nor any of the Fichgotz. I serve Rukastanna, although not in the way I think you mean when you say it. But she has directed me to protect them. That is her most sincere desire, in which I hope we may share a common goal.

  “Second, I am not a disembodied spirit. I am Inazuma, the sword, and the spirit in the sword. You see me now being wielded by young Master Gulhawk. I should apologize in advance; the boy’s enthusiasm knows no bounds, and I am not fully in control of how I may be swung.”

  Ratnosk pondered those revelations while the sword-spirit spoke to the Fichgotz clan, hopefully relaying his message with the proper degrees of meaning.

  Apparently not, for the warrior Gulhawk fell to the ground with little yipping noises and was pointing at the sorceress. He was trying to say something, but the strange sounds he was making kept him from speaking properly.

  The sorceress had been offended! But since she could not strike at a first-tier servant such as Ratnosk, she had obviously taken out her anger on one of her second-tier servants with a dreadful spell. He needed to tread carefully around this one! So great was her anger that her face was turning a ruddy color.

  “You didn’t repeat it correctly!” Ratnosk complained.

  “I did,” Inazuma replied, “Master Gulhawk just found great mirth at the appellation ‘mighty sorceress’ applied to his sister.”

  So, he was mistaken and that was the Fokari equivalent of laughter? This was all so confusing. The warrior Gulhawk stood up, wiping moisture from his eyes, and gasping in what he now suspected might be chuckling. And the sorceress’ face turne
d even more red in shade.

  This was dreadful! He had impinged the sorceress’ abilities by using just a single honorific-descriptor when she must warrant so much more. And her denigration caused amusement with a close hatch-mate, compounding the insult! He was so dead!

  Prostrating himself in first-degree supplication, he cried, “Tell her that this unworthy one begs her mercy, she is obviously the glorious mistress of a thousand spells and powers too grand to contemplate.”

  “I really don’t think that will improve things, and politely decline your request to repeat it,” Inazuma stated firmly.

  “I think we have a cultural chasm of misunderstanding.” The sword-spirit went on, “For now, please be at ease knowing that Miss Meriwynn is not the mighty sorceress you imagine her, she is not angry with you, nor is she truly displeased with your words. I would like to focus, if we could, on our mutual mistress’ desire of protecting the Fichgotz clan.”

  “Yes, oh diligent sword-spirit, the last command from our glorious mistress was for me to assist these Fichgotz in any way possible,” he sat up in second-degree attentiveness.

  “Very good, we could sorely use your assistance, for we are being hunted by an ice dragon,” Inazuma stated simply.

  “Because you stole some of his ice?” Ratnosk gestured to the rough sphere floating in the center of the cavernous inlet. It was much diminished from when he first saw it, but still almost as big as the boat. He shivered, not just with the cold permeating this chamber from it, but from the thought of the dragon that created it.

  “I believe it is because we have become accomplices in the sabotage of an airship belonging to the dragon’s master.”

  “Dragons don’t have masters, they are mastery itself,” Ratnosk intoned firmly.

  “If only that were true,” the sword’s spirit-voice sounded sad when it said this. “Unfortunately, it is not; there are very dangerous individuals who certainly can. And I believe that is the origin of the conflict we are caught up in.”