by S. G. Rogers
****
Mandral's newly formed fighting coalition had set up camp on the extensive property surrounding his castle. Battalions of Nomads, Gnoamian soldiers, cygards, and their horses were spread out over the fields. Soldiers were queued up in front of makeshift outdoor kitchens, metal plates in hand.
In his throne room, Mandral huddled over the spyball with Tyrg. They reared back as their view of the dragon wizard and his friends disappeared behind a wall of fire. Then the spyball went clear.
“Ah, bad luck. The spyrrow was discovered,” Tyrg said.
Mandral grabbed the spyball, intending to hurl it to the ground, but then he thought the better of it. “Summon Gnoam's wizard.”
“Aeltin of the Falcon Clan.”
“Whatever. And send in my dinner.”
Tyrg bowed and swept from the room. Mandral peered at the cold, clear spyball in his hands. “You'll not hide from me so easily, Jon Hansen,” he murmured.
****
Mandral was in the midst of a sumptuous feast when a tall, blond wizard stepped into the throne room. His wizard's hat sported a jaunty feather from the tail of a Tumborian songbird, and his cape was decorated in the elaborate fashion of the more well-tiled citizens. He bowed low, with a flourish. “I am told you would have a word with me, Warlord?”
Aeltin's young servant, Mozer, peeked out from behind his master's robes. Mandral sneered when he saw the child. “Send that rat away.”
The Falcon Clan wizard nodded to Mozer, who scampered off.
“Join me for lunch, Alwyn,” Mandral said.
“The name is Aeltin, Warlord.” The wizard sat down at the table and tucked in. “I cannot thank you enough. The dreadful food I’ve been eating in the encampment has played absolute havoc with my digestive system, and—”
“Recall the Imps,” Mandral interrupted. “Their prey has vanished for the moment.”
“Yes, Warlord.”
Aeltin wrapped his fingers around the embossed gold medallion he always wore around his neck. The eyes of his Falcon Clan ring shone for several seconds, and then he nodded. “It is done. The Imps return, Warlord.” He reached for a fruit tart. “Although I suppose I should have consulted Warlord Gnoam.”
Mandral filled Aeltin's goblet with frosty mead and beckoned a serving maid to bring more. “How is it you’ve come to ally yourself with Gnoam?” he asked in a flattering manner. “I would have thought a wizard of your talents could do far better.”
“I did apply to your territory many turns past. But your wizard, Patnik, was not yet dead and my application was, sadly, denied,” Aeltin replied.
Mandral roared with laughter and pounded the table. “That is in the past. Let us forge an alliance now.”
“Gnoam will not be pleased,” Aeltin said.
“He will, therefore, not be informed,” Mandral said with a wink. He tossed Aeltin a heavy bag of tile. “After I have defeated Efysian, you shall have your pick of apartments in my stronghold.”
Aeltin ignored the tile and eyed the pretty serving maid hovering nearby instead. She giggled as she refilled his cup. Mandral followed his glance. “You shall have your pick of wives, too,” he added.
“And in return?”
“Locate the young Dragon Clan wizard who calls himself Jon Hansen. I must find him quickly.” Mandral tossed the useless spyball to Aeltin, who caught the orb in his long, thin fingers. “My spyrrow has met with an accident. Conjure another. Several, in fact.”
Aeltin clasped his medallion amulet between his palms and caused a cage filled with small brown spyrrows to materialize. The wizard released the catch on the door and the spyrrows fluttered out. “My spyrrows will scatter to the winds until the Dragon Clan wizard is found,” he promised. “I shall not fail you.”
“See that you do not,” Mandral said. “That’s how Patnik's post was vacated.”
****
For their journey to the southern coast, Brett sat in front of Jon on Adam with Kira seated behind. Casey and Fred flew on Eve.
“How come we don't get to ride with the girls?” Fred grumbled to Casey.
“Because we're sidekicks,” Casey replied.
When Adam took off, Brett let out a whimper. After a short while, however, her shoulders relaxed. “This isn’t too bad, really. It’s like riding in a convertible with the top down.”
“You’re a natural,” Jon said.
“I’m not,” Fred said.
His list of complaints caused Brett to finally lose her temper. “Put a sock in it, Fred. You're spoiling this.”
“I didn't sign on to be a dragon jockey,” he bellowed back.
Eve dipped her wing in retaliation, and Fred was obliged to grab the harness to avoid sliding off. “Fine, fine, I’ll shut up.”
“What a relief,” Kira murmured.
During the flight, Jon told Brett everything that had happened since his father’s kidnapping. “I didn’t mean for you to get mixed up in all this,” he concluded. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re mad.”
“Are you kidding? Now that I'm away from Efysian, this is fun,” she replied.
Adam and Eve passed over well-tended farms and large, grassy pastures where herds of puledens and other exotic-looking livestock roamed. The puledens stampeded whenever the dragons flew near, but Adam and Eve were full from lunch and paid them no attention.
Acting as tour guide, Kira pointed out the occasional town or natural landmark. “Shearshank Village,” she called out. “They weave beautiful fabric there,” and “The ale at Ubbliton has sparked many a legend.”
When they flew over a large river, Kira tugged on Jon’s sleeve. “Follow the River Ylan to the ocean. There are many islands in Ylan Bay. Perhaps Quixoran resides on one of them.”
Adam seemed to understand because he banked to the right until the river was directly below. Eve skimmed the treetops adjacent to the riverbanks. The dragons followed the river through a canyon and over a spectacular waterfall. Thereafter, the river widened and became shallow. The spot was apparently perfect for swimming, because several young women were splashing and frolicking in the crystal-clear water. They had long, flowing hair, icy-blue skin—and no clothes. They waved as the dragons flew past, prompting Fred to finally break his silence. “Hey, anyone else feel like going for a swim?”
“River nymphs,” sniffed Kira, a note of disdain in her voice. “I don’t think so.”
A few minutes later she pointed toward a small settlement. “That is Ylan.”
They’d been airborne awhile and Jon’s stomach was empty. “Do you think we can get something to eat down there?” he asked Kira.
“The Two Moon Inn is in Ylan. It’s the last village before we reach the ocean,” Kira replied.
Jon directed Adam to land in a clearing alongside the river. As soon as Eve settled onto the grass, Fred jumped down. “I won't ever get used to riding on a drawing,” he muttered.
Glad for the chance to stretch his legs, Jon used his bar of soap to wash some of his dust off in the river. Fred beat Casey to the soap afterward.
“Could you have a look at my shoulder?” Brett asked Jon. “I think I might need stitches.”
She shrugged off her jacket and when he examined her skin, Jon couldn't help but wince at the amount of dried blood staining her uniform. To his surprise, however, her shoulder showed no sign of injury—not even a scar.
“I don't know where this blood came from, Brett, but you aren't hurt,” he said.
“But I…that’s impossible.” She felt the unbroken skin on her shoulder. “How strange. It stung like anything until I touched the light surrounding your dad.”
“Maybe Dr. Hansen is a wizard with the power to heal?” suggested Casey.
“I don’t know, but he's the ‘last great wizard,’” Brett said. “At least that's what the Guardian Lialia told me.”
“The Guardian Lialia?” Fred repeated. “Who's she?”
“The Guardian is the woman who protects Efysian's lair,” Kira replied.
“Dorsit told me about her, although he did not know her name. She’s immortal, and a very powerful nymph.”
“She’s crazy about Efysian. I had to trick her into helping me escape,” Brett said.
“I’m impressed. Not many could have done so,” Kira said.
“According to Lialia, Dr. Hansen is the source of Efysian's energy,” Brett said.
“That’s true,” Jon said. “Efysian uses him to stay young and alive somehow.”
“Sounds like Efysian uses wizards like human batteries,” Casey said.
“Your father must be very strong, Jon,” Kira said. “Most wizards end up old and drained, like Dorsit…or worse.”
Fred made a fist. “That's sick,” he said. “We need to put the Wolfman down…as soon as we get something to eat.”
“I agree,” Jon said. “Let's find this Two Moon Inn. I think we could all use a good meal.”
Brett gave Jon the aviator jacket. “I should return this to you. I borrowed it from your dad.”
The jacket had looked familiar, but Jon hadn’t realized until just now it belonged to his father. The last time he’d seen it was the day his father disappeared.
“Thanks, Brett, but you’re going to need something,” he said. “Take mine.”
He removed his own lightweight jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Her smile lifted his spirits. When he donned his father’s jacket, he discovered the wallet in one of the pockets. He suddenly remembered credit cards and paper money were useless on Yden. They'd eaten all the chocolate, and Jon didn't think trading a used bar of soap would get them far.
“Guys, I don't have any tile to pay for dinner,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”
“Tile? Is that like money or something?” Fred asked. “I've got lots of it. Lots and lots.”
He pulled a drawstring bag out of his pocket and poured a large pile of black tile into Jon’s hand. “I found this bag on the table at Mandral's. I thought the tiles were pieces to a game.”
Jon let out a whoop. “I never thought I’d say this, Fred, but you’re brilliant.”
Fred bounced on the balls of his feet, pleased with himself. “I try.”
Adam and Eve were frolicking in the river when they left. On the road into Ylan they passed a farmer wearing a broad-brimmed hat.
“Good day to you, sir,” Kira said, but the man merely gave them all a cold stare.
“What’s wrong with him?” Fred muttered. “Never seen earthlings before?”
Kira paused. “You must conjure us head coverings, wizard, else we shall not be welcome in Ylan.”
“No hat, no shoes, no service?” quipped Fred.
“We’ll be regarded as vagrants,” Kira replied.
“Fragrant?” Fred sniffed his armpits. “I think I'm okay.”
Jon rummaged in his knapsack and whipped out several colored marking pens.
“What are you going to do with those?” Brett asked, puzzled.
“I'd like a tam,” Casey said. “My grandparents were Scottish.”
Brett gasped when Jon began to draw on the flat face of a nearby boulder. “How awful, Jon! That’s graffiti,” she said, disgusted. “They'll be sure to welcome us in Ylan now.”
Fred nudged her. “Wait for it.”
When the drawing shimmered and took shape, Casey reached out to grab his new plaid tam. “Aye, that's pure bonnie,” he said in a faux-Scottish accent.
Brett stared, her mouth open. “That's amazing!”
“That's magic,” Jon said. He twirled a pen in his fingers. “And I'm taking requests.”
****
Brimming with energy, Efysian transported to the triangular-shaped back door to Wolf Mountain. The passageway into the cavern was now impassable, blocked with debris from the cave-in. Footprints in the dirt indicated a small group of people had recently been there, but Efysian was puzzled to find no scent of ozone lingered. If Jon Hansen had not transported off the mountain, how had he and his friends escaped? The Wolf Clan wizard’s attention was drawn to fresh scorch marks on a tree branch several yards away. As he approached, he discovered the burnt remains of a spyrrow. He curled his lip in distain.
“Mandral is using my own magic against me.”
Dealing with Jon Hansen would have to wait. Efysian clenched his fist and his ring flared. In the next moment, he was gone.
****
The Wolf Clan wizard materialized on the main turret of Mandral's castle. He noticed an encampment of Gnoamian soldiers on one side of the castle and a battalion of Nomads on the other. Efysian chuckled. “You’ve been busy mounting an army, my dear Warlord,” he murmured. “Not that it will do you any good.”
The wizard rubbed his hands together and then pulled them apart, over and over. As his fingers fluttered in delicate, circular motions, his body dissolved into a black mist. The mist floated down the turret stairs and into the throne room, where Mandral, Tyrg, and Aeltin were surveying a huge, three-dimensional map of Yden. The image hung suspended in air over the long dining table.
“The little birds you see flying over the map represent my spyrrows,” Aeltin explained. “When one of them finds Jon Hansen, we will know.”
“It’s a very impressive bit of magic, Aeltin,” Tyrg said. “I daresay Efysian himself could not have done better.”
The delicate black mist crept from shadow to shadow until it disappeared underneath the curtains draped behind Mandral's throne. The misty cloud solidified into Efysian. An opening in the curtains afforded him an excellent view of the room.
“Impressive or not, your spyrrows have found nothing so far. I’m losing patience, wizard,” Mandral said.
“I beg your forbearance, Warlord. The spyrrows have fanned out over the continent, but it may be a while longer before Jon Hansen is located. With a transporter cuff, he could be anywhere,” Aeltin replied.
“Perhaps it would be wise, Warlord, to canvass the citizenry?” Tyrg suggested. “Someone must have seen two dragons fly overhead.”
Efysian growled to himself. Dragons? How could Jon Hansen have brought back the creatures I’ve spent turns eliminating? I'll have their repulsive hides for boots, he thought.
Mandral nodded. “Leave us,” he told Aeltin.
The warlord watched as the Falcon Clan wizard withdrew.
“Dispatch teams of Gnoamian soldiers to make some discreet inquiries,” he said when he and Tyrg were alone.
“What about sending the Nomads instead?” Tyrg suggested. “They are well liked and people will talk to them more readily.”
“The Nomads cannot be involved. I‘ve persuaded Rampen Szul dragons don’t exist. I cannot now send his people to gather evidence that they do.”
“I’ve walked among the soldiers in the encampments. Fear of Efysian runs deep. It seems everyone has heard the rumors regarding the wizard Dorsit. Citizens believe the Wolf Clan wizard is invincible,” Tyrg said.
“That is not far from the truth.”
Behind the curtain, Efysian’s evil smile revealed his wolflike incisors.
“What if he captures Aeltin?” Tyrg asked.
“Aeltin is an idiot whose powers are too weak to be of much interest to Efysian. But if the Wolf Clan wizard ever learns how powerful Jon Hansen is, he will stop at nothing to find him.”
Efysian flinched. He brushed up against a worktable and knocked over a small set of scales. Mandral and Tyrg both jumped.
“Who’s there?” Mandral demanded.
“Wait here, Warlord,” Tyrg said.
****
When the minister slipped behind the curtain to investigate, an odd silvery sphere floated toward him. It entered his chest, and in the next moment, he was staring at his double—identical in every way except for the Wolf Clan ring on his finger. His double smirked as he inclined his head, and with a sudden sucking sound, Tyrg disappeared.
Hearing the noise, Mandral drew his dagger. “What is it, Tyrg? Shall I summon the cygards?”
Tyrg emerged from the workroom, his sleeves
pulled down low over his fingertips. “Yes, by all means call a cygard,” he said. He tossed a small white newtic onto the table where it popped and sizzled in protest. “He can return this to the dungeon where it belongs.”
Chapter Nineteen
The Formidable Quixoran
In the Two Moon Inn, a thick wooden table groaned under the weight of the best food Mandral’s black tiles could buy. In contrast to Casey's plaid tam, Jon wore a white cowboy hat. He’d conjured a hooded cloak for Kira in red, and one in white for Brett. Fred might not have been entirely happy with the three-pointed fool’s hat he wore, but he consoled himself with half of a hot berry pie.