Dragon In The Darklands
Page 26
The Lump held his hands wide. “I released you from that promise after our first fight with Red-Line.” He wobbled on the plank and quickly brought down his hands. “I’m pretty sure you saved my life that day.”
Meena laughed softly. “And you saved mine.”
“And we started a war,” added Flynn.
“And we ended it,” said the Lump. “Please, if you get a chance, try to come visit.”
Meena smiled. “Perhaps I will.”
The Lump held up a thick finger. “And while you’re out there doing whatever a legend does, try and do something for me.”
“Certainly, Lump,” said Meena. “What is that?”
The Lump flashed a toothy grin. “Try not to blind any dragons, it has a way of creating more problems than it solves.”
Epilogue, part one
The political career of Marty, or Martin Groundapple, as he came to be known, was legendary. The man who came from such humble beginnings was widely regarded as the greatest Castellan in the history of Aardland. Citizens elected the beloved man for twelve consecutive years before he retired back to his quiet home in Windthorne.
When asked about his time in the castle, Martin said, “The bed’s were soft and the rooms didn’t have any drafts. The best part was, they gave me a fellow to put my boots on for me.” He took great pride in having his boots on the proper feet.
Aardland prospered during the dozen years of Groundapple’s leadership, establishing commercial and intellectual exchanges with the councils of both the Needles and Gallis.
The Needles was no longer called the Common Lands, as all lands were now common by definition, but the Needle-Folk continued to take pride in their favorite daughter, Meena the Just.
After Meena led what came to be known as The Accidental Uprising the duly chosen councils of all three lands quickly agreed to bestow upon her a unique honorific. She was given the title of First and Only Dragon Empress of the Great Egg. The title was purely honorary and came with no defined powers, but that was irrelevant as she wasn’t present to accept it, anyway. She had other important business to which she tended.
Epilogue, part two
High on a scrubby ridge in the Darklands, overlooking the city walls of Ylam, stood Meena.
The woman was not alone.
A Skythe warlord stood on her left, with three of his fiercest, mounted war parties spread upon the steppe that stretched out behind them.
Flynn was on her right. He was accompanied by a sturdy group of the toughest Hill-Folk fighters who prepared to breach the postern gate. Those scruffy folk had experience at that sort of task.
The dark-skinned Templar was next to Flynn. He was surrounded by Ylamite spearmen, soldiers who once invaded Aardland but now took up arms in support of the woman they called Sophia.
Flynn tightened the string on his finely crafted longbow. “So, after this, is everything finally settled?”
Meena gripped her staff tightly and nodded. She still carried the length of ash that had been shortened in battle against the traitor, Eugene. She had ample opportunity to replace it, but refused. The woman who was yet to lose a battle looked at Flynn and said, “Yes. Once the Sutton is deposed and the Templar is Castellan of the xiphos, I think my work is finished.”
Flynn grimaced. “Castellan of the xiphos? Shouldn’t it be Xiphos-stellan or the like?”
The Templar shook his white-haired head. “I think Templar is already an appropriate title for my duty, to facilitate people ruling over themselves.”
Flynn nodded to the Templar, then looked back to Meena. “And once it’s done… Once you don’t have anymore fights…” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you think you may marry?”
Meena leaned back her head and laughed. She looked at Flynn and said, “It depends.”
“It depends?” Flynn furrowed his brow. “On what?”
Meena flashed a sly smile. “On whether or not you get the courage to ask me.”
Epilogue, part three
The Lump walked through his well-maintained garden. This field was the result of the toughest battle the veteran fighter had ever fought. This stretch of land was once a turnip patch, but due to his valor and persistence, it was now a top-notch potato patch. It was now also entirely his responsibility, all the turnip lovers in Windthorne refused to lend a hand to the cultivation of potatoes.
The work was backbreaking, but delivered great satisfaction. The Lump made certain to keep the weeds pulled; he didn’t want his pride and joy to become a haven for snakes.
The big man passed on through his potato patch, the digging he had planned for today would occur elsewhere. He instead ventured deep into the woods and searched about until he found the perfect spot.
The Lump grinned with satisfaction when he found a pleasant bit of land far enough from town to prevent frequent visitors, but close enough he could visit on occasion. He sized up the lay of the land and commenced.
He retrieved a spade from the pack slung over his shoulder and dug a narrow trough. The dirt was soft, and he dug ever deeper; he wanted this trench to be good and deep. There was no need to risk rain water washing away its contents.
Once the hole was nearly waist deep, the Lump pulled something else from his pack. He held the tiny blade that once belonged to his father before him and said, “You wanted a rest, and I suppose it’s time you had it. Out of the lot of you, only Tilley got a proper burial.” He shook his head. “That was so mud-kissing far away I don’t ever get to visit! Now you can all be buried proper, in a sense, and I can pay a visit whenever I like.”
The Lump dropped the little sword into the deep trough and began throwing dirt on it.
Epilogue, part four
One hundred years later...
The plump, blue-robed merchant bounced between the trees of the forest. “Where can it be?” He adjusted his floppy, pointed hat. “Tell me, tell me, where can it be?”
The odd-looking man passed through a thicket of trees and entered a clearing. In the center of the clearing a stone marker rose up from the ground. All around the stone slab grew tiny, blue flowers.
“Blue asters?” mumbled the merchant to himself. “Those never grow in lands this low. How odd!”
The blue-robed man leaned closer to the slab and looked at it. An inscription was etched on its face:
Here lies a big man with a bigger heart. Buried next to the spirits of his family, his friends, and his mule. May we never forget the Dragonblinder.
“Oh, yes! This must be the place,” said the plump man. “After looking for a hundred years, I’ve finally found it.”
He chuckled and reached for the ground. His hand sunk into the soil without disturbing its surface. When he withdrew it, his hand held a small sword.
“I retrieve the blade, but leave the souls.” The white-bearded man looked at the sword. “So here we go again…”
The merchant stroked his white beard. “I don’t think they need me around here anymore.” His hand rested on his ample belly. “The witches are protecting the place, so where should I go? Perhaps north, and further west.” He tilted his head. “There’s a new place with potential.” He raised his eyebrows. “It may be a thousand years before it becomes interesting, but it’s never too early to get started.” He stuck the little sword into his robes and it disappeared. “So, off I go! Off I go to Nydium!”
The End
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Also by Bru
ce Leslie:
Dragon In The Needles: The Lump Adventures Book One
Dragon In Gallis: The Lump Adventures Book Two
Chubby Wizard: Wrath Of The Manticore
Nerdspawn Genesis