Tales From Thac

by F P Spirit et al.

  “The Dominus Draconis!” Ratnosk gasped. It could only be that dark bogey from stories used to terrify nestlings. It was the abomination that turned nature upside-down, subverting the natural order of draconic supremacy. It corrupted the very spirit of the universe!

  “Perhaps,” Inazuma admitted, “or some incarnation thereof.”

  “Regardless,” he went on, “what we have is an ice dragon that seeks us. I am using precious energy to maintain our illusionary cover. I cannot maintain it for long. And what energy I have left will be sorely needed if we must confront this dragon.

  “So, we need you to scout and determine if that dragon is still out there. Only you, brave Ratnosk, worthy servant of a glorious dragon yourself, can safely do that. You know all the small tunnels and caves that must permeate this cliff, and can creep out from another entrance to spy without revealing our location.”

  An involuntary meep escaped from Ratnosk’s snout at the thought of him trying to spy on a dragon, let alone one that may be under the sway of the Dominus. He began to cower in second-degree anxiousness at the thought of it.

  “It is what Ruka would want,” Inazuma said softly.

  The mentioned of his glorious mistress’ name, shortened with base familiarity, shocked him upright. This sword-spirit claimed to be a first-tier servant, yet he didn’t even know the proper forms to address her, the most glorious of incarnations!

  But regardless, he was right. This would be their mighty mistress’ wish. And only Ratnosk could do it, not this sword-spirit, nor even that formidable sorceress. This was his moment to truly serve!

  “For the glory and power that is the magnificent Rukastanna, I shall not fail!” he declared in the posture of first-degree pride, actually daring to invoke his mistress’ name in his pledge.

  A few minutes later, Ratnosk peeked carefully out of a small hole on the beach, then shot back in. He repeated this several times, but there was no sign of anything living. Thankfully the sun had moved far enough west that the bottom of the cliff was plunged into blissful shadows.

  As he finally came fully out and looked around, he caught a glimpse of white a short way down the shoreline and jumped back in. He scrambled a hundred desperate strides back up the tunnel and sat cowering for several moments. There was not a sound but his ragged breathing and the calm surf. There had been something strange about that white object. It was moving with the rolling waves. So, he steeled himself and moved to a different opening, further up the cliff, and very slowly crawled up to peer out.

  There, bobbing slightly in the surf, was a huge chunk of white ice like the one in the cave. Was this another remnant of the ice dragon’s spirit magic? It was floating very close to where Inazuma’s illusionary boulders blocked the cave inlet; perhaps that is just where the current was inclined to take such things.

  Stretching his neck as far as he could, Ratnosk peered up the cliff, but it was no good. From this vantage, he could not see the cliff top. Even the other hole, down on the rocky beach, would not be far enough away from the base to see the top.

  So, steeling his courage, he went down to the first hole and stepped out carefully, scanning the sky and cliffs. Nothing moved on the beach except some gulls and crabs. He ignored the tasty snacks and moved out to the waterline to peer up at the craggy heights. Thankfully, nothing more than a hawk circled above.

  Ratnosk straightened himself back into a less cowering stance and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He had succeeded!

  Looking at the floating boulder of ice, he admired how it seemed to almost glow in the shadows as a stark reminder of draconic power. It was somewhat translucent, and looking into it, Ratnosk caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a pair of light blue gems…

  With a panicked scramble, he dashed back toward his hole, but not fast enough. The remnants of a thousand crystal shards burst outward as the dragon broke from its icy cover and leaped. It sprang with winged grace not onto Ratnosk, but onto his escape hole.

  She was brilliantly white, with tiny glistening gems of ice on her scales that caught the light with thousands of rainbow flashes. Those shimmering crystals floated off with the faint mist that her cold scales radiated in the summer heat. The eyes that regarded him were a pale blue that still looked vivid against her white countenance, like sparkling sapphires in a snowbank.

  A single claw snatched him up, with almost casual gentleness, and brought him close to those terrible jaws.

  “Greeting, little one. Irovnia, I am.” Her voice was quiet but chilling, the kiss of a mild breeze in the deepest winter. She spoke slowly, stumbling, with a strange accent and wording, her disjointed phrases sounding oddly more akin to the low draconic spoken by non-dragons.

  “Searching for Sorceress, I am; most grateful would I be for your help.”

  Cold penetrated deep into his body from those frigid claws, and from the certain knowledge that this dragon could see right through him. She knew! And he couldn’t lie to a dragon!

  “Oh, chilling incarnation of winter’s killing beauty, I fear I cannot serve you, for I am already sworn to serve the most magnificent incarnation of tempestuous power.”

  Ratnosk was proud of his speech, it was only slightly wavering with the shivering chill of terror and cold he felt.

  “Dragon of storms, you know? Wonderous luck,” the ice dragon exclaimed. “Meet her, I could not. Separate, she was kept. But sorceress friend, she must be. Speak to sorceress, I must.”

  Her broken way of speaking, and the nonsense she spouted, was starting to make his head hurt. Or maybe it was the cold creeping into his brain.

  Miraculously, she put him down. With a wave of a claw, the sheen of frost that had started enveloping his whole body fell away, and he felt the blissfully warm air of summer around him again.

  “Tell where Sorceress is, you must,” the dragon commanded.

  A brave servant would die here, with joy in having served his mistress in his death. Ratnosk found that even in performing that final service, he was a failure. So, he steeled himself for the unthinkable—he must try to lie to a dragon.

  “The mighty sorceress has left; she is far from here now.”

  He could not meet her eyes, and involuntarily averted his snout. Under the dragon’s right wing, he caught sight of where the inlet waters met the illusionary rock. It was so close, just a stone’s throw away. And then he saw the mistake in the sorceress’ magic. His eyes widened for a brief second, and he quickly looked away.

  “Mistress of icy…” he began trying to distract her. But a raised claw in front of his snout radiated waves of pure cold that seemed to freeze his voice. Or that might just have been his fear.

  The dragon had followed his gaze and was studying the fake rock blocking the inlet. Her head was tilted in intense study for a few moments while he forgot to breathe. Then she turned to him.

  “See it now,” the ice dragon stated brightly. “No splash. Through rock, waves roll.”

  Rather than the sly satisfaction of a huntress resuming the prowl, the dragon radiated simple, tail-twitching joy. She was looking at Ratnosk like a young nestling that had solved her first twist-stick puzzle and was hoping for a snout-rub as reward.

  Then she reared back on her hind legs, spread her foreclaws wide, and a small but dense blizzard of snow swirled around her. It heavily stuck to her until she appeared as a dragon shaped of snow like something nestlings might build from winter’s first fall. The snow-dragon burst in a gentle flurry, falling in a semi-circular drift around her new form, that of a very young and pale Fokari.

  In this form, the dragon waved one small hand, and most of the snow blew away toward the cliff. It stuck to the rock everywhere except for the illusion, leaving a powdered white outline around the inlet cave opening.

  She stepped casually across the remaining snow on small bare feet and held out the crook of one arm to the shocked Ratnosk.

  “To see Sorceress?” the dragon asked pleasantly, with a quizzical tilt of her head.

&nb
sp; Even appearing as this small Fokari child, those icy blue eyes pierced his spirit. Like all dragons, this one was both terrible and strange.

  “I am sorry, oh chilling mistress of ice,” Ratnosk gasped, collapsing in the final degree of despair, fighting the natural compulsions of draconic servitude. “I cannot help you in this.”

  “Already have, you did.”

  “It’s here!”

  The first warning they had was a cold breeze that carried faint white flakes through the illusionary rock that blocked their cave. Merry was the only one who felt it. Everyone else was in the water, trying to maneuver the boat around to face outward.

  The three men, more through determination than strength, had nearly managed it. Gully, of course, would not be left out; although, with what little he contributed, he might as well have stayed warm and dry. He had made a large whoop—that they quickly shushed—when plunging into the ice-chilled water. But he persevered, as they all did, after the first cold shock.

  Merry wisely stayed on the boat, moving about to hold the light where it would do the most good for the struggling men.

  When that first wayward flake was carried by a chill breeze to land on her hand, Merry was toward the fore of the boat. Uncle Vic was in the shallow water just below, trying to guide the bow safely past a particularly difficult submerged rock. Pa, Uncle Wex, and Gully were swinging the stern around to line up with the entrance.

  It took Merry only a moment to realize what that breeze meant and to whisper her sharp warning.

  With a great shove, Uncle Vic pushed them past the last rock. He maintained his grip on the side rail and scrambled over. Rushing past Merry to the mainline, he called softly, “She’s clear. Heave now!”

  Very slowly, their little ship started moving forward. Holding her light up as they moved toward the cave entrance, Merry could see a faint pattering of snow outlining the rock around the real cave mouth.

  “Inazuma, drop the illusion,” Merry commanded. “We’re found, and we need to see the real rocks now.”

  She looked down at the lightning sword lying on the deck. He was back in the sheath that Ruka had discarded along with her old, ruined clothes.

  Merry really didn’t care for swords, and the whole cult-like obsession boys had with them, but Inazuma was different. His spirit was both gentle and powerful at the same time and infused with draconic wisdom. His magic shone brightly in her new sight, and she could almost make out the symbols of storms engraved throughout his bronze blade. Inazuma was much more than just a weapon to cut at flesh, he was both an ally and a magic catalyst of unfathomable tempest power. So, she really wished she could wield him, or at least that Gully was here holding him now.

  Uncle Vic obviously agreed. With a grimace of pain from stretching his burned shoulder, he hauled Gully up in one smooth motion and dumped him onto the desk. “Protect your sister,” he commanded.

  Rolling to his feet, Gully weaved across the deck like he was dodging imaginary archers. He did one final roll, and came up in a crouch next to Merry, while somehow having unsheathed Inazuma, and holding him in a dramatic battle stance. This time, Gully’s usual fanciful playact reassured rather than annoyed her.

  Even though the late afternoon sun was behind the cliffs, casting the shoreline in shadow, the sudden transition from dark was still enough to dazzle their eyes. Merry, who had been holding her magic light, was the first to recover. What she saw perplexed her.

  Instead of the fearsome ice dragon, what stood on the shore of the inlet was a small albino girl who looked younger than Gully. Clutching the girl’s leg was Ratnosk. Even though he was no smaller than this slight child, it looked like he had been dragged behind the girl in a futile attempt to keep her back from the inlet.

  This child was obviously the ice dragon, but Merry had not realized how young she was. And she was just standing there in human form, watching their boat warily.

  They were drifting very slowly forward and had no choice but to pass close by the dragon girl's position. Uncle Vic stood ready to unfurl the sail, but the sea breeze was in their faces and being scattered by the looming cliffs. In these conditions, there was little chance of making much headway until they were clear of the inlet and could tack properly.

  Pa and Uncle Wex hauled themselves aboard and grabbed a pair of boathooks hung on the inner railing, and pushed the boat along. A quick look at the child on the shore and their worried faces indicated that they knew what that creature really was.

  Gully, also coming to the realization, raised Inazuma and pointed at the disguised dragon.

  “Hold on!” Merry whispered urgently, pushing his arm down. “Don’t anger her.”

  Something was not right. Why had the dragon chosen to appear like this? She had seen the massive ice boulders that dragon’s breath left behind. It could have frozen their whole boat with her entire family in one blast. And Merry suddenly realized she hadn’t seen it attack anyone in the cove, either.

  Seeing Merry’s actions, the watching girl suddenly smiled. She grabbed Ratnosk by the shoulder, easily breaking his grip on her leg to haul him up. She pointed directly at Merry and said something excitedly. Ratnosk just closed his eyes and gritted his fangs determinedly.

  The dragon-girl shook him crossly, and Merry could see tendrils of frost creep across the poor little kobold from her grip. Finally, with an anguished yip, Ratnosk nodded and gave an affirmative whimper.

  Their boat had almost drawn even with the girl, so she dropped Ratnosk and stepped into the surf. Immediately, the water around her ankles flash-froze, and a large tendril of white shot out toward the boat. In seconds, their forward motion stopped with a frozen crackle.

  The dragon stepped easily up onto the ice, the area initially holding her legs breaking into fine powder. She walked casually across the frozen path, in bare feet and with no sign of slipping. When she reached the boat, the ice pushed upward with a great creak. It raised her to the level of the railing, which she stepped nimbly over.

  Merry felt Uncle Vic’s hand on her shoulder, steadying her, and she suddenly remembered to breathe again. His other hand had Gully’s sword arm held firmly. Pa and Uncle Vic stood to either side, holding their boathooks at ready, but not threatening.

  “Hello, how can we help you?” Uncle Vic said with a friendly smile. And Merry couldn’t believe his casual and easy tone.

  “Oh, thank the Eternal, you speak common!” the girl exclaimed happily. “Trying to talk draconic was giving me a headache.”

  “You don’t speak dragon?” Uncle Vic asked.

  “No, sorry,” the girl replied, “my name is Irovnia, and I’m a Lost Egg.”

  Uncle Vic looked a little confused at this. But Merry had read many stories of dragon eggs stolen from their nests to be raised in secret by foolish and greedy people. Those stories all ended in disappointment or outright tragedy. Most kingdoms hunted out these ‘Lost Eggs’ to free the enslaved dragonlings, and to punish the transgressors, hopefully, before enraged dragons themselves got involved.

  “That must have been terrible,” Merry couldn’t help speaking up.

  “I… don’t really know,” Irovnia said tentatively. “Everyone tells me so. They also tell me I’m not much of a dragon, especially Theria. But I think being rescued by Princess Anya was more terrible. Don’t you? Isn’t that why you broke her dragon crystal, freed your storm dragon friends, and sabotaged her ship?”

  “I didn’t…” Merry began when Uncle Vic’s firm squeeze on her shoulder stopped her.

  “Elistra is way too modest,” Uncle Vic said smoothly while looking meaningfully at Merry, “claiming she didn’t do it on her own. But we helped very little, it was mostly her.”

  “You’re the Heroes of Ravenford?” Irovnia asked dubiously.

  “Of course, we are!” Gully exclaimed with utmost sincerity, eagerly joining Uncle Vic’s lie. Although with him, he probably really believed he was a hero of Ravenford.

  “We’re in disguise, trying to avoid an unpl
easant encounter with the Princess of Lanfor,” Uncle Vic confided. His friendly smile never flickered once while perpetrating such a bold-faced lie on this dangerous dragon-child.

  With a sudden ripple, Uncle Vic’s bare chest and trousers were covered in heavy red leather armor over bulging muscles. A pair of ridiculously big swords poked over his shoulders. Gully was dressed in black, and had hairy feet, while both Pa and Uncle Wex were wearing azure armor and carrying halberds instead of boathooks.

  Uncle Vic’s face only flashed briefly with surprise, then his grin returned. His grinning features on that overly musclebound body were so ridiculous that Merry almost laughed aloud. He looked just like he had stepped behind one of those fancifully painted wood cutouts that the Rovers put out for festivals. Then she looked down at her curvaceous form, with bare midriff beneath a pair of bulging boobs, and blushed instead.

  “We better not let anyone see us like this,” Merry said quickly. And then sent a mental please to Inazuma.

  It was not just to save herself the embarrassment, although that was part of it. Merry was not sure an illusion could fool a dragon for long at this range. Even such a young dragon as this had powerful senses.

  She made a waving motion with her hands and the illusions faded away.

  “You are her!” Irovnia cried in childish glee, “the Fate Weaver! I got your secret note. Please tell me more of the Whitelands.”

  Merry unintentionally winced when ice-cold hands reached out and grabbed her own.

  “Oh, sorry,” Irovnia said, seeming truly remorseful, “I forget sometimes when I get excited.”

  The small hands noticeably warmed in Merry’s grip, and although still cool to the touch, were no longer unpleasant to hold. And Irovnia looked up eagerly at Merry with that small, pale child’s face she had assumed.

  Uncle Vic also looked her way expectantly for a second, and seeing her freeze up, began explaining with a smile, “Now is not a really good time to…”

  Merry’s brain engaged again, and she recited, “North, even farther than the Ice Plains of Niracrom, where summer’s grasp still reaches for a few brief weeks a year, past the Icy Reach, where the sun itself fears to roam, lies the Whitelands of eternal winter.