The Dragons Return

by J. J. Thompson

  “Yes, master. I will do that.”

  And Simon watched as the cleric walked away followed by the little elemental. He smiled at the unlikely sight and then walked over and climbed the ladder.

  Once on the walkway, Simon was surprised to find Aeris waiting for him.

  “Well, there you are,” he said and the air elemental moved to hover by his shoulder as he walked to the gate.

  “How are our four friends doing?”

  “Very well, Simon. The relief they feel now that there are no more secrets is immense. I don't think I have to worry about them anymore.”

  Aeris watched as Simon placed his hands on one of the main gate supports. The chant for imbuing the stone with protective runes came easily to his mind, like fiery letters in his head, and he cast the spell. The power flowed through his arms and the gate post began to shine with a ghostly glow.

  Simon felt a moment of weakness and shook it off.

  “That's one,” he muttered and turned to move down the wall about ten yards to the next position. Aeris followed silently.

  It took a lot longer to enchant the wall around the village than it had taken to do his own and Simon was stumbling by the time he reached the other side of the main gate.

  He cast the final spell and watched the rune glow in the darkness that had descended while he had worked. Simon staggered slightly as he stood up again and Aeris grabbed his elbow and steadied him.

  “Careful, wizard,” he said as Simon caught himself and leaned on the wall for a moment. He was gasping for breath and closed his eyes to wait for the dizziness to pass.

  “Are you okay up there?” came a voice from the ground and Simon looked down to see Brianna lifting the ladder to lean it against the walkway. He could barely see her in the darkness.

  “Fine, thanks. And thanks for the ladder.”

  He climbed down carefully and was grateful when the guard retrieved a torch from the gate. She looked at him closely before leading him back to the gate.

  “You looked exhausted, wizard,” she said brusquely. “Thank you for your efforts on behalf of all the villagers, but you should get back to the hall and rest. Here,” she said and handed him the torch. She grabbed another one from a wooden box near the gate and lit it off of the first. “Can you find the way now? If not, I'm due to be relieved soon, if you want to wait.”

  “I can lead him,” Aeris told her firmly. “This way, Simon,” he said and flew up the street slowly.

  Simon thanked the young woman and then staggered after the elemental.

  His feet felt as heavy as lead but Simon doggedly followed Aeris to the hall. He left the torch in a bracket beside the door and went inside.

  The main hall was lit by more torches and Clara hurried to meet him as he entered. Kronk was there and watched him closely.

  “Simon! You look beat,” she said in a worried tone.

  “Nothing some food and rest won't cure, Clara,” he answered with a tired smile. “No big deal. And now your wall is as strong as my meager powers can make it. I hope it's enough.”

  “It will be, I'm sure. Come along and let me feed you.”

  After an amazing meal of fried chicken, potatoes and vegetables, followed by blueberry pie, made of berries that Clara said she picked herself, Simon sat back and groaned with pleasure.

  “That was wonderful, Clara. Thank you.”

  She waved away his thanks.

  “It's the very least I could do, my friend. You look done in. If you can stand,” and she chuckled as he peered at her blearily, “I have a room prepared for you.”

  Simon hauled himself to his feet and slowly followed the cleric into a small bedroom.

  A bed covered with a bright quilt awaited him and he managed to say good night and get undressed before collapsing into it. Aeris hovered next to the bed and watched over him. Kronk hopped up on the bed and stood near his feet.

  “Sleep, Simon,” the air elemental said in a strangely gentle voice. “You've earned your rest.”

  “I suppose so,” he muttered as sleep began to roll over him. “Good day, wasn't it?”

  And then he was engulfed by a dark wave of exhaustion and never heard Aeris' reply.

  Chapter 18

  He was standing in a meadow, somewhere. Simon felt long grass brush against his knees and saw little wildflowers growing in bunches around him, their sweet scent tickling his nose.

  He looked down and he felt his pleasure drain away.

  He wasn't wearing his usual robe. Instead he was clad in jeans, sneakers and an old t-shirt with the picture of a dragon's head emblazoned across the chest.

  But it wasn't his clothes that made Simon gasp in shock. He held up his hands and stared at thick beefy fingers and arms roped with muscle. The barrel chest that filled out the t-shirt flexed and rolled as he examined himself.

  I'm back, he thought in disbelief. I'm me again.

  He turned his head sharply and felt a brief stab of pain along his spine where he'd torn a muscle once when he'd tried to dead-lift too much weight in a competition. It had never healed properly.

  Simon took a beep breath and then coughed a few times. Yup, there's the old hack, back again. He'd forgotten how healthy and alive his new body was compared to this hulk.

  I could snap a man's neck with these hands, he thought as he stared at the fingers, slightly crooked with early arthritis. But what good would that do? As a wizard, I can protect a whole town. As this guy? Not so much.

  “Reliving old memories?” a voice from behind him asked.

  Simon spun around, winced at his sore back again, and stared in shock.

  He was looking at...himself. Not as he was now, but as the boyish wizard he had become. Shoulder length brown hair, huge innocent-looking eyes, one blue and one brown, a neat nose and thin lips. They were almost the same height but that was all the two figures had in common.

  Simon found himself envying the attractive young man.

  “What's going on?” he asked in that deep bass voice he'd almost forgotten. “Who are you?”

  “Why, I'm you, child.” The other's eye's widened and he held out his arms, the long sleeves of his gray robe ruffling as he moved. “Of course, you've never liked this body, have you? Always pining for the big strong man you used to be. Well, you're back to being you. Happy now?”

  Simon stared at the figure.

  “You aren't me.” He looked around and realized that the field he stood in only extended about ten yards in all directions. Beyond was a wall of mist that spun and circled the open space with a low hissing sound, like a pile of disturbed snakes.

  “And this isn't real. I'm dreaming, aren't I?”

  “Yes. Dreaming. But a very special dream, child. A dream that our dear cleric, Clara, would be familiar with.”

  Simon's eyes widened as he realized what the other was hinting at.

  “You're...you're one of the old gods, aren't you?”

  The young wizard grimaced.

  “Gods. Why do mortals insist on calling us that? To an ant, a human being would be a god, don't you think?”

  Simon considered that interesting perspective.

  “I suppose that's true,” he acknowledged. “But people have to have a term of reference, don't they? A god is as good a name as any for beings with immense powers.”

  The figure seemed to be thinking that statement over.

  “Yes, I suppose that's true. Well, that's not important now. I've come, at no small risk to myself and my brothers and sisters, to speak with you. Answer a question for me, child. Who are you?”

  Simon stared at the other in confusion.

  “Who am I? Simon O'Toole, of course. Who else would I be?”

  The figure looked amused.

  “Are you? Really? Well then, Simon O'Toole, I have two choices for you. Two gifts, if you like. When I offer them to you, I'd like you to choose carefully. Your future may depend on it.”

  Simon had been watching the other figure closely. It was a double of h
is new body, true, but not exactly. There was something about those eyes. They were old and cold and wise beyond all reason. There was a feeling of age in them; indefinable but present. This being radiated power and Simon had to turn away for a moment to catch his breath or be overwhelmed by it.

  He took a quick look up at the sky and gasped.

  The wall of spinning mist extended so high above his head that he seemed to be looking up from the bottom of a well. A rich blue speck of sky could barely been seen in the far distance.

  “Yes, you are standing in the eye of a storm, child. Will you ride it out or be swept away?”

  Simon blinked rapidly as he looked at the figure again. He couldn't look in those eyes and settled for staring slightly to the left of that face.

  “What do you mean? What storm? And what choices are you giving me?”

  The copy of his new self shook back his hair and smiled gently.

  “The storm will become apparent soon enough. The choices? Well, your first choice should be obvious.”

  The god, if god he was, tapped his chest.

  “You have moaned and complained about how weak this body is. How you wish you could walk more than a mile without sitting down and resting. You wished you could pick up more than a few pounds with no effort, like you used to. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes,” Simon said carefully, not knowing where the questioning was going.

  “Good. So I offer my first gift. You may remain as you are now; strong, tough, steady. You will be a physical force once again. Perhaps Clara's blacksmith will make you a suit of armor. You will truly be Simon O'Toole once again.”

  He stared with amusement at Simon.

  “Or you can choose this feeble frame. Thin and weak. Delicate, really. But this body is not named Simon O'Toole. If you decide to choose the life of a wizard, you must embrace your true name as well. Not to the world at large, but to yourself.”

  “That isn't much of a choice, is it?” Simon said with a growl. “True humans are being destroyed by the dragon and its minions. My life expectancy would be a bit short, wouldn't it?”

  “Oh, not to worry. A big strong fellow like you could take on a drake or two, I'm sure.”

  The figure chuckled to himself and Simon scowled at him. But those eyes caught him and he felt his anger drain away, replaced by a calm honesty.

  “You know my answer. This guy,” he tapped his chest, “was strong, yes. But I think memory is selective. The aches and pains of a rough life far outweigh any advantage he might have had over,” and he nodded at the other, “that body. So I choose the new me.”

  “Very well. Then tell me; who are you?”

  Simon took a deep breath and swallowed nervously. He knew his true name but he had never said it out loud. Why was it so important for this being that he say it now?

  “Speak, child, or accept the body that you have named Simon O'Toole.”

  Their eyes locked and the force of that gaze made him a little dizzy.

  “My name,” he said in a low voice, “is Valagar.”

  There was a flash of silver light and the being smiled broadly.

  And then Simon was writhing in pain. He fell to one knee and shudders of agony twisted his body. Then he collapsed. He tried to scream but only managed a gurgle of sound. The torture seemed to go on and on, but really only lasted a moment. A last twitch and he lay on his back staring up at the wall of spinning mist above him.

  “Welcome, Valagar.”

  Simon lifted his head and looked at the other. His eyes widened and he slowly pulled himself to his feet, wincing a bit at remembered pain.

  Where the copy of his new body had stood was now standing a figure not unlike Aethos, the air elemental.

  It was the outline of a man, but only those eyes, old and wise, were in sharp view. The rest was filmy and out of focus.

  Simon looked down at his body and sighed with relief. He was himself again, gray robes, skinny shanks and all. And he couldn't have been happier. Good bye Simon O'Toole, he thought without regret. And good riddance, old friend.

  He looked at the figure of the god.

  “Thank you,” he said simply. “I'm not sure what lesson you were teaching me, but I'm pretty sure I learned it.”

  The god chuckled.

  “Yes, I think you did. Continue to be known as Simon, child. But you are Valagar, now and forever. Your powers have been strengthened by your acknowledgment of your true name. You are now a force to be reckoned with.”

  There was a pause and Simon decided to take the opportunity to ask a question.

  “There's something I've been wrestling with for a long time and I wanted to ask you about it.”

  The blurry figure simply waited silently.

  “I've been told that there are only five prime dragons in the entire world. Huge or not, magical or not, how could they and their followers decimate the entire human race? I mean, there were seven billion of us! Just how many dragons are there anyway?”

  “A good question, Valagar,” the god said with a nod. “The five primal dragons that were mentioned are the lords of their kind. The black dragon that has made its lair to the north of your home was the first that was created, the original. All across what was once North America there are hundreds of these creatures, each with its own minions.”

  Simon felt weak and deflated as he listened to the god.

  “But then, how can we fight back against them? I thought that the idea of attacking even one dragon was absurd, but now...”

  The god's eyes seemed to grow larger.

  “Like a snake, young wizard, you need only cut off the head to kill the body. If the primal dragon is destroyed, all of its kind will die as well. They rise and fall with their creator.”

  Simon grew thoughtful. He felt a faint thrill of excitement as the god spoke, but damped it down firmly. A dragon is still a dragon, he told himself sternly.

  The figure's voice became serious and his gaze sharpened. Strangely, Simon found he could now meet the god's eyes without flinching.

  “Now, before I bestow my second gift upon you, I must give you some grave news. Our dark cousins, the gods of Chaos, are growing impatient. They wish to return to your world sooner than we had expected. Perhaps they sense that we have managed to recruit humans like yourself to work against them. But whatever their motives, they are no longer content to wait while their servants, the dragons, mop up the last of the true humans before turning their attentions to you and the other Changlings.”

  His eyes narrowed and Simon felt a cold shudder run up his back from the base of his spine.

  “They are coming for you, Valagar. You and all of those you protect. The black dragon, the beast that destroyed your home, will be at your gates soon. But only if its minions are beaten back. They will attack first. And if they destroy you, then their master need not even stir itself from its slumber in the north.”

  “But, but...I thought we had years to prepare!” Simon felt a surge of panic. “We're not ready, any of us.”

  “Yes, I know that. And it gets worse. All around the world, all of the dragons have received the same directive. Kill all humans, Changlings and true humans alike. Leave none alive. And once all of you are destroyed, the Chaos lords will enter this world and seal it behind them, leaving us out in the dark. This universe will be theirs to play with, like children gifted with new toys. Oh, how they will delight in their toys.”

  And the figure laughed, but it was a sad, almost desolate sound.

  “But what can we do?” Simon asked. He felt a wave of despair. How was a half-assed wizard, one who'd almost killed himself not too long ago trying out a new spell, supposed to fight a dragon? Hell, forget the dragon. How was he supposed to defend himself and others against those damned drakes? He looked at the misty figure helplessly.

  The god nodded, as if reading his thoughts.

  “I know what you are feeling, Valagar. And so I will give you my second gift. It may disturb the balance of power and make my
dark cousins aware of your existence, but what does that matter now? You will be targeted regardless.”

  “What gift?” Simon asked nervously.

  The god stepped forward and stood close to Simon.

  “Kneel, child,” he asked gently.

  Simon felt his legs buckle and he knelt in front of the god. He looked up into those old, wise, sad eyes.

  “I bestow upon you the gift of knowledge. We have no time for you to learn all that you need to learn to fight the evil that approaches.”

  A hand, blurry and out of focus, was laid lightly on his head, and Simon felt a shock, like static electricity, run through his body.

  “I imbue you with the gift of magic, child. From this time forward, you will know all of the spells that the old wizards ever knew. You will cast them with skill. You will know them intimately. You will, now and forever, be a power among your fellows.”

  He stood back and gestured at Simon.

  “Rise, Valagar, master wizard.”

  Simon slowly stood up, swaying slightly.

  “I don't feel any different,” he said in confusion.

  The god laughed.

  “Of course not. I have given you knowledge. It is up to you to put it to use.”

  He raised a cautionary hand.

  “Remember, your body is weak, as you know. Casting spells uses your life-force. You may know many spells now, but you will be limited by your frailties. Be cautious when you choose your weapons, child. A wizard who dies from draining his life-force is just as dead as a wizard killed by a dragon.”

  Simon nodded.

  “I'll remember,” he said.

  “Good.” The eyes watched him compassionately. “You are our hope, Valagar. If you fail, the future of not just your people, but mine as well, will be cut short. Keep your real name near you at all times.”

  Simon automatically wrapped his hands around his belt buckle and the god raised an eyebrow. Then he pointed at the vortex around them.

  “You are in the eye of the storm, child. If you can ride it out, the future for you and us is bright. If not, well, you know the consequences.”

  Simon watched as the god began to fade.

  “Oh and say hello to Clara for us, won't you? Tell her that she had done well.”