“Yeah,” echoed Asdor, “What new senses?”
Cordain looked wide-eyed at his friend, “Oh, you’ll see, or should I say smell… or hear… or sense.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“It’s not bad, Asdor. It only takes a while to get used to. Your eyesight will allow you to see for miles, although, everything seems to have an orange tinge to it. I can hear birds that I know are miles away,” he paused, “and I can feel the presence of other dragons who are nearby.”
“How come you didn’t know I was a dragon before you came out of the cave then?” Asdor asked haughtily.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps because you haven’t been a dragon for very long?”
“Fellis nodded, “Makes sense to me.”
“So are there other dragons nearby?” asked Gelbran, with a slight growl in his voice.
“What? Oh yes, quite a few actually,” replied Cordain. “The closest is only about twenty miles away.”
“You said they were close!” giggled Fellis.
Cordain looked down at her, “That is extremely close for a dragon,” he warned. “It could be here within the hour if it wanted. Or are you forgetting we can fly?”
“Ooh, yes I had for a while!” Fellis squeaked, excitedly. “How does it feel, you know, to soar through the air as a mighty dragon?”
“Ah, well,” Cordain suddenly began examining his claws, “It’s… erm…”
“You haven’t tried yet, have you?” laughed Asdor. “The big strong dragon is afraid to fly.”
“I am not afraid to fly!” argued Cordain. “But seriously,” he said opening his wings, “look at these things. I’ve tried a couple of times, but I can’t seem to get the hang of it! I flap them as hard as I can, but once I get a couple of feet off the ground, one side of me dips and I just fall over!”
“Balance was never your strong suit was it though?” laughed Fellis. “Every time we went out on the river you fell out of the boat.”
“I did not! Well, not every time!”
“Most of the time then,” added Gelbran.
“It’s hardly the same thing is it?” said Cordain. “We’re talking about flying, not sailing!”
“It’d be the same if you were trying to fly over water. SPLASH!”
Cordain’s eyes narrowed, “You’re starting to get on my nerves,” he growled.
“Alright, alright,” laughed Asdor, “I’m only pulling your leg,” he held up his own claws, “or whatever it is these things are called. Why don’t we both give it a try, you know, at the same time? We can watch each other and see what it is we get right, and what we get wrong. We’ll have it sorted in no time.”
“Later perhaps,” said Cordain. “For now, however, I have important news.”
“Oh, no,” groaned Gelbran, “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“I know which way the crystal dragon went.”
Fellis gasped, “That means we can go after it!”
“Where has it gone?” growled Gelbran.
“I never said I knew where it had gone, Gelbran, only that I knew in which direction.”
“That’s good enough!” Gelbran replied angrily. “As Fellis said, we can go after it!”
“There’s only one way we could do that, Gelbran,” sighed Cordain. “If Asdor and I can perfect our flying skills, you would have to let us carry you. You see, the dragon was heading for the Muurkain Mountains. As resourceful as we are, our people could never hope to make that journey safely.”
“Some are capable of transforming into birds, others could choose a beast that is suited to rocky terrain and whoever is left could be carried by the others!”
“The blizzards are too harsh, Gelbran. Ice would form in the feathers of birds and the extreme cold would eventually penetrate to the bones of the rest. The only way we would survive, should we need to cross the mountain, is to be as swift as possible. I am sure that none could travel at the speeds of which a dragon is capable.”
Asdor shook his head, “I have a better idea,” he said, quietly. “We must master the power of flight, Cordain. Once we are proficient, you and I shall go on alone.”
“But you can’t go by yourselves!” exclaimed Fellis. “Not just the two of you! It’s far too dangerous!”
Asdor raised himself to his full height, spread his wings and roared. “Look at us, Fellis. Are we not magnificent? What chance would one dragon have against the two of us?”
CHAPTER 22
Stitch ambled along behind the others. At last, his feet were dry, and he enjoyed the feel of the grass as it tickled his toes. His sodden boots with laces tied together, were hung on his shoulder and he winced occasionally as he caught a whiff of them. “They’re ruined,” he groaned. “They were my best ones as well. It took hours to get the stitching absolutely perfect, and now look at them. They look like a farmer’s work boots.”
Ballorn rolled his eyes, “You can have mine if you like,” he called.
Stitch wrinkled his nose, “No thank you!” he replied, gagging. “I could never wear a pair of boots that have been on somebody else’s feet.”
“Alright, I’ll buy you a new pair when we get to the village, it shouldn’t be far now.”
“They won’t be the same,” sighed Stitch. “Perhaps there’s a good cobbler or a tailor who would let me use his workshop, then I could make my own.”
“We won’t have enough time for you to make your own boots, Stitch! We’ll be there overnight at best!”
“That’ll be enough time for me, Ballorn. Oh, hang on though. What if they don’t have the right kind of leather?”
Stitch mumbled to himself for the next few miles, but the sight of the village outskirts in the distance immediately silenced him as a beaming smile swept across his face. He tore past the others and ran ahead, accosting the first villager he saw. It did not seem that he was happy with what he had just heard, as he flopped to the ground, nursed his head in hands and began rocking back and forth.
“What’s wrong?” asked Hunter.
“They don’t have a tailor or a cobbler in the village,” Stitch moaned, “I’m doomed to wearing the stinking remains of my beautiful boots!”
“Perhaps I might be able to do something with them,” suggested Hunter. “I’ve had far worse to work with out in the wilds.”
Stitch glared at him, “You?” he shrieked. “Look at the mud-stompers you’re wearing! Do you think I’d ever allow myself to be seen in something like those? You keep your hands off my things!”
Hunter held up his hands, “Only trying to help,” he said calmly.
Stitch jumped to his feet, “I’m going to the tavern!” he yelled.
“Ah, are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked Barden. “You remember what happened last time don’t you?”
Stitch’s face was beetroot red, “No I don’t, that’s why I’m going to the tavern, SO I CAN FORGET ABOUT ALL THIS NONSENSE FOR A WHILE!”
“But last time you drank too much wine, Stitch, you decided it was a good idea to sleep in a water trough.”
“It was a warm night, I just wanted to cool down!”
“Cooling down is one thing, Stitch. Lying face down, is another thing entirely! If I hadn’t been there to pull you out, you’d have drowned.”
“You didn’t pull me out, Dannard did! Dannard, my friend who you took away, pulled me out. The way I feel now, I WISH HE HADN’T BOTHERED!” With that, he stormed away.
Ballorn turned to Hunter, “You couldn’t do me a favour could you?” he asked.
Hunter smiled, “I’ll scout around and see what I can find,” he replied. “They may not be as nice as his own were, but I’m sure I can find something.”
“We’ll meet you at the tavern. I’ll see if I can rent us some rooms for the night,” said Ballorn.
“I could sort out the problem with the boots if you want,” Barden whispered.
Ballorn and Hunter turned to the young wizard and saw his hand sparking and steaming.<
br />
“They’d be as good as new in a few seconds.”
Ballorn glanced at Hunter, “Better not, I think,” said Ballorn, “if Stitch suspects you had anything to do with repairing his boots it’ll only make him worse.”
Barden shrugged, “Just trying to help,” he sighed.
“Perhaps you should wait until you’re asked,” snorted Porflax. “You might get a reputation for sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted.”
“If I’d have waited for him to ask for help the last time he needed it, Stitch would be dead. Or would you have allowed that to happen?”
“I didn’t let him get eaten by the woodles, did I? I don’t remember him asking for help then.”
Barden gave him a filthy look and then, he too, took his leave.
Ballorn and Porflax stood at the bar in the inn. Stitch had watched them enter and took a huge gulp of wine as he scowled at them but said nothing. The innkeeper was pleasant and handed the keys to three rooms to Ballorn with a nod. Although the travellers were weary it was a little too early for them to retire and Ballorn ordered a selection of dishes so that they might enjoy a meal indoors for a change. Hunter returned after a while clutching a sack which he candidly slid along the bench to Ballorn as he sat down. Stitch did not join them and chose to sit in the corner of the room, not hiding the fact that for now, he preferred his own company.
“Strange,” muttered Porflax, “I can still taste the mist from the swamp.” He raised his tankard of ale, “A few of these should rid me of it though,” he laughed.
“Any idea where Barden went?” asked Ballorn.
“Not a clue,” muttered Porflax. “Youngsters!” he scoffed, “They think they know everything and when you try to give them a bit of sensible advice, they throw it back in your face!”
Ballorn sniffed, “He might be young but you were right, Barden’s nobody’s fool.”
“Far from it,” agreed Porflax. “A little too clever for his own good at times though.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Hunter.
“He argues with everyone in Reiggan. Always thinks he knows an easier way, or a better way of doing things that the senior wizards perfected centuries ago.” He leaned forward, “And he doesn’t care how dangerous his practises are either!”
Hunter decided to press the issue a little further, “What did he do that was so bad?”
Porflax glanced around the room, “Well, I can’t tell you the exact details, as I’m sure you’ll understand, but he took it upon himself to modify a spell that had been performed successfully for many years. He never consulted anyone beforehand and ended up destroying an entire wing of Reiggan. Luckily it wasn’t occupied, and nobody was hurt, but if it had been, many people could have lost their lives in the blast.”
“So, you’re saying he’s reckless?” suggested Hunter.
“Reckless?” laughed Porflax, “Downright bloody dangerous is more like it! If it were up to me, I’d have him supervised every minute of the day.”
“Who is it up to then?” asked Hunter.
“It’s not up to anyone, that’s the problem. There is a council who can offer advice, but they are not lawgivers. Only if a wizard does something truly horrendous would they consider our intervention.”
“Our? So, you are a member of the council?”
“Me?” replied Porflax, choking on his ale. “Good grief no, they’d never allow me at the table. No, when I say we, I mean the wizards who are tasked with apprehending or disposing of any who overstep the mark.”
Hunter raised his eyebrows, “Disposing?”
“Oh yes. They don’t all see the error of their ways and surrender peacefully. Some fight to the death!”
Ballorn leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, “What would they have to have done for it to incur a death penalty?” he asked.
Porflax frowned, “We never impose a death penalty, Ballorn!” he said sternly. “Any who stray are given the opportunity to return to Reiggan and face judgement.”
“But if you incarcerate them, there’s always the possibility that they might escape,” suggested Hunter.
“No wizard would ever be held under lock and key by one of his fellows,” Porflax replied quietly. “No, they would face a much harsher sentence than that.”
“Which is?”
Porflax stared at the table and shuffled his drink around, obviously ill at ease with the question. Nevertheless, he answered, “It is something from which we derive no pleasure…” he began, “… but, they would be drawn.”
“And what is…”
“It means that the source of their magic is drained from them, Hunter,” Porflax replied, anticipating his next question.
“Well that doesn’t sound so bad,” said Ballorn.
Porflax’s eyes flashed as he glared at Ballorn, “No?” he snapped. “How would you feel if someone came along and cleaved your arms from your body, Ballorn? Would you get used to not having them? Would you be content watching others around you as they went about their daily business, or would you be bitter and jealous of those who tried to offer you aid out of a sense of pity?”
“I didn’t mean to offend…”
Porflax cut him short, “No. No, it is I who should apologise,” he said with a weak smile. “For a wizard to be drawn proves that our kind are not immune to feelings of pride and superiority. When it happens, which is a very rare occurrence I’m glad to say, it shames us all.” He glanced up at Ballorn, the familiar twinkle having returned to his eye, “I’m just a tired old frump,” he chuckled. “I always get a bit grouchy when I’ve had a hard day. I bid you goodnight, gentlemen.” He rose from the table and headed toward his room.
“You definitely hit a raw nerve there.”
Ballorn rolled his eyes, “Poxy wizards,” he mumbled, “I’ve half a mind to leave whilst those two are asleep. I can throw Stitch over my shoulder and we’ll leave those buggers behind!”
Hunter smiled, “Whatever you say, Ballorn,” he laughed. “You know I’ll follow your lead.”
Ballorn sighed, “No, it’d be pointless. We’d be out all night trying to get ahead of them, but something tells me that somehow they’d catch up with us by dawn.”
Hunter pointed, “Speaking of Stitch, I think we should go over and check on him. He’s looking a little worse for wear.”
The tailor was slumped forward, his head bobbing and his eyes half closed as they walked over. “Alright Stitch?” asked Hunter.
“Bugger off and leave me alone,” slurred Stitch. “It’s not as if you really care. None of you do.” He wagged his finger as he tried to focus on them. “You never ask me what I think, and you don’t listen to anything I say!”
Ballorn sat facing him, “I’m listening now.”
Stitch tried to sit up and raised his goblet, getting more wine down his front than in his mouth. “Hah! You won’t care anyway, with your bulging muscles and that big… erm… hammer! Yeah, that hammer. As for you…” he said, turning his attention to Hunter, “… you’re just as bad with your owing barrows!” He paused, frowning, “Bow and arrows!”
Hunter sniggered, “Come on, Stitch, I think you should get some sleep.”
Stitch shook his head, “What! And lie there so those nasty, stinky wizards can kill me in my sleep? I don’t think so matey! When they come for me, I’ll be ready for ‘em!”
“You’ve got it wrong, Stitch,” Ballorn said, trying to calm him. “The wizards are on our side. They’re trying to help us.”
“See!” Stitch exclaimed loudly. “You don’t know nothin’… anything. You don’t know anything.”
“They don’t even get on with each other, Stitch,” said Hunter. “Even if one of them is up to no good, the other will side with us should he need to.”
Stitch shook his head more vigorously, almost toppling off the chair as he did so. “See, I’m right, you know nothing.” He leaned forward, “They’re working together!” he whispered. Well, he thought he was whisperi
ng. “What’s more, I know what they’re looking for!”
Although they knew that Stitch had had far too much to drink, Ballorn and Hunter were now intrigued, “Go on,” Ballorn urged him.
Stitch looked around the room and winked, “They’re looking, hic, for a hat!”
Ballorn rubbed his face, “Right,” he sighed.
“That’s it!” snapped Stitch, “Doubt me again if you want, but you didn’t follow ‘em into the woods, did you?”
“And you think they’re looking for a hat?” asked Hunter, dubiously.
“Well not just any old hat! It’s a party hat, a very old party hat!”
Ballorn was trying his best, but his patience was wearing thin, “A very old party hat? What makes you think it’s old?”
“’cause they said it was, when they were talking. Only they never said ‘very old’, they used another word, but I can’t remember what it was.”
“Aged?” suggested Hunter.
Stitch shook his head and pouted, “No.”
“Antique?” suggested Ballorn.
“Nope!” replied Stitch, trying to rest his elbows on the table, only to miss and bang his chin instead.
“Ancient?”
Stitch sat up and pointed at Hunter, “That was it… an ancient party hat!”
Ballorn thought for a moment, “Stitch…” he asked slowly, “Could they have actually said they were looking for an ancient artefact?”
Stitch held up his hands, looking like a scarecrow blowing in the breeze, “Might have,” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open. “They were quite a way away, I didn’t want to get…” He yawned, his head dropped to the table, and he began to snore loudly.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ballorn asked Hunter.
“That they’re after the same thing that we are?”
“Precisely,” replied Ballorn, slowly. “Why would they become our allies if they are looking to gain possession of the crystal for themselves?”
“Safety in numbers, Ballorn. Perhaps they’re looking to use us as bait.”
“But Keldenar said that I was the one who was destined to take it. How would that benefit them?”
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 21