Dragon with a Deadly Weapon

by Michael Angel

  “Save thy lamentation, Wizard! Thou hast allowed me to die honorably. In battle. Not from aches or pains or the cloudy-headedness of age.”

  Galen tried to talk, failed, and managed to gasp out, “Your aerie shall sing of this act of heroism.”

  I laid my hand gently on the griffin’s head. “You did it, Shaw. You won your last battle with Sirrahon and saved us all.”

  The edges of his mouth curled up into the hint of a smile. “My fondest dream hath been realized. I did get to die in battle whilst serving thee!”

  Liam openly wept as he spoke.

  “Somehow, I knew. I knew that you would die in the way you wished, my friend.” The Protector touched a cloven forehoof to one of Shaw’s. “Just…not in this body.”

  “I wear the body of thy people, the fayleene,” the drake said quietly. “There canst be no greater honor…than to die in this form.”

  Shaw closed his eyes. A look that I could only describe as satisfaction remained upon his face. A handful more of labored breaths, and his chest finally went still.

  Around us, the wind howled through the ruins of the throne room, the bones of the wyvern’s once-great city.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  My powers didn’t last.

  Neither did my knowledge. Or my training. Occasionally, I’d dredge some random bit out of my landfill of a brain, but that was it. I couldn’t do a thing as a ‘sorceress’, and perhaps that was for the better.

  After all, no one ever invited me anywhere for my sparkling personality.

  I tried to commit as much as I could remember of my life on the Île de Rêverie to paper. What little fragments I put down made about as much sense as a random scrap of travelogue to the South Seas. Or clippings from a tome on a long-obscure branch of magic.

  Once, I tried asking Galen about it.

  “I would conjecture that the ‘world’ in which you found yourself enmeshed was a pure dream construct,” the Wizard stated. “Just as we find most dreams hard to recall upon waking, so too would this knowledge fade in the same manner.”

  It was hard to argue with that conclusion.

  One of my reference texts said pretty much the same thing. When dreaming, the brain’s neurochemical makeup – the levels of epinephrine, dopamine, serotonin, and acetylcholine – were much different than in the waking state. People whose brains did not make that biochemical switch were subject to hallucinations. Mental lapses. Madness.

  Everything pointed to my experiences with Destry being nothing more than the most vividly executed dream that a pooka could produce. Like Sirrahon, I considered myself a rational being. To consider anything else was illogical (at best) or insane (at worst).

  And yet…

  Whatever Destry had done, he’d managed to do it in four, perhaps five minutes at the most.

  But I lived on that island for three years. I felt the passage of time in my bones. I felt the fragmentary bits of those years crammed into my head, as if my brain were an overstuffed pillow.

  In one set of my memories, I’d stayed with the OME. I’d been pulled to this world to solve King Benedict’s murder. I’d dealt with Bob McClatchy, faced off against Sirrahon, and become a knight of the Royal Court of Andeluvia.

  In the other, I’d left the OME after following Destarius’ siren song. I’d ended up on a deserted island of dreams in French Polynesia. And I’d clawed my way up to sorceress by the dint of hard work and winning a final duel with my instructor. A win that led to that world being banished to some otherworldly darkness.

  And it wasn’t just a world that had been banished. It had been Hollyhock and Perrin. Even if they had been constructs of my mind, losing them cast as dark a shadow across my mind as Destry’s demise.

  Or even Shaw’s death.

  No one really understood what had happened the night of Sirrahon’s disappearance, despite Galen’s best efforts to explain things. A great uproar had been heard coming from the palace, prompting the camp’s night watch to wake King Fitzwilliam from a fitful sleep.

  Sirrahon had been spotted emerging from the wrecked window above the throne room. The dragon carried a massive ruby crystal in one talon’s hand and looked rather worse for wear. He retraced the same path he’d used for his entry, approached the magic portal he’d opened up in the fields north of the city, and went through it. Both dragon and portal had vanished with a white flash.

  Once Sirrahon had left, the scouts of the Hoohan checked in. They reported that Dame Chrissie, the Court Wizard, the Protector of the Forest, and a fallen fayleene stag lay wounded in the throne room. Fitzwilliam sent in a rescue party who helped get Galen into Shelly’s care. Without her veterinary expertise, the centaur would’ve lost the lower half of his leg.

  I’d returned with Shelly to Los Angeles as soon as she pronounced the Wizard out of danger. She then went back to work as usual, while I spent a grand total of thirty minutes at the OME to fill out and turn in the forms for an extended leave of absence. Then I walked out the door, not at all sure that I’d be returning.

  Shelly didn’t understand, not completely, but she acted like the true friend I knew she was.

  “Darlin’,” she said that evening, as I prepared to leave for Andeluvia, “you look like not enough strawberry jam spread over too much bread. Don’t you worry none about that house of yours. I’ll make sure the contractors know what to do, and that the right bills get paid.”

  “You might be getting bills from more than the construction companies,” I reminded her. “First Samaritan’s going to be looking for a share of what I owe for Fritz William’s care. And I don’t even know what to tell Alanzo. He’s got to be pissed off about what I did to him.”

  “I know how to tell a hospital how to sit down and wait in line,” she insisted. “As for Esteban? He’s a good man, and you don’t even have to dig all that deep to find that out. He’ll forgive you in time. As for you, that’s what you need. Time. You take all that you need before you come back, okay?”

  I almost teared up again as I hugged her.

  My request to temporarily withdraw from the Royal Court was a little more dramatic. Fitzwilliam was back to holding court in the Great Hall, as the throne room had been scarred by fire, explosives, magical lightning bolts, dragon claws, and splatters of acidic blood. That was going to take a little more than regular janitorial service to clean up.

  “This is absurd!” Lord Behnaz protested, after I read my announcement to the court. He shook a finger at me. “We hardly know enough about what happened that night, and you wish to go gallivanting off for your own personal reasons?”

  “Sir Exton and Sir Quinton shall be able to handle the affairs of the Order of the Ermine,” I replied reasonably.

  The assembled lords and knights murmured nervously, some in support of Behnaz, others openly hoping that I’d leave. Most of that feeling stemmed from the fact that I’d picked up the reputation for enchanting people to do my bidding.

  After all, I’d somehow convinced Sirrahon to leave. And then I’d gotten King Fitzwilliam to forbid anyone from searching the caverns beneath the palace without his express royal permission. The fact that one event might have led to the other hadn’t occurred to anyone. Yet.

  “I hereby grant your request to temporarily withdraw from court,” Fitzwilliam pronounced. “Lord Behnaz, your complaint is moot.”

  Behnaz began to puff himself up like a big swamp toad.

  “Moot? Your Majesty, I hereby demand–”

  “Yes, moot! As it happens, Dame Chrissie’s request has been preceded by a message stating that she would be asking for such a leave, only to return when a facet of the universe’s operation has been made clear to her.”

  That made me blink in astonishment. It also sent a new wave of murmurs across the room.

  “Sire,” I said, “this is the first I’ve heard of this, uh, message. Who sent it to you?”

  The King gave me a look. “That would be Master Seer Zenos.”

  Lord Ivor chuckled gr
imly as he called across the way to Behnaz.

  “It certainly looks like you’ve been made ‘moot’. After what’s happened recently, I for one am not going to cross or question our Master Seer!”

  A chorus of laughter turned Behnaz’s face beet red. On that note, I bowed and left the court in my two knights’ capable hands.

  I made my way up to the turret of the Dame’s Tower, my mind set on the truly important business ahead of me. In fact, it was the only real item that I wanted to handle for the day. I pushed my way inside my makeshift office, letting the heavy wooden door close with a clunk behind me.

  Galen and Liam stood at the room’s table, patiently awaiting my arrival. Percival moved between the two, carefully setting out plates of food and cups of Andeluvian ale. The Court Wizard, his rear leg still suspended in a sling, gestured to the game board he’d already set up. The money had been sorted into color-coded piles on one side, while a heap of tokens sat on the other.

  “Given how badly Grimshaw beat me the last time we played, I feel obliged to take up the same playing piece,” Galen said, as he picked up the thimble. “It just feels…appropriate.”

  “I’m with you on that,” I said, as I grabbed the piece molded in the shape of a Scottish terrier. “Liam, which one would you like?”

  “I only recognize three of the remaining items,” the fayleene stated. “And I don’t wear human hats or shoes. Therefore, I’ll take the wheeled barrow as my token.”

  “A fine choice.” A thought occurred to me, so I turned to speak to Percival. “If you’re done setting up our snacks, would you like to join us for a game? It’s a lot more fun with four people.”

  The page’s face lit up.

  “I’d be honored, Dame Chrissie!” He set the last two cups down, took a seat, and glanced up and down the board. “Um, I don’t know how to play this.”

  “Neither do I,” Liam confided, in a stage-whisper. “I think the idea is to conquer adjoining properties and force people to give you gold. It’s probably why Shaw was a natural at it.”

  Percival threw me a look. “That’s why you’re playing this, isn’t it? To remember Grimshaw the Great’s acts of heroism?”

  I grinned, though this was the first time a grin had me close to tearing up.

  “Sort of. It’s less about remembering his acts, and more about remembering who he was as a griffin. And a friend.” I reached over, picked up the piece shaped like a battleship, and placed it in the page’s hand. “I think he’d have appreciated it if you would play his favorite token.”

  Percival blushed as he took the token, carefully set it on the board, and waited for us to begin the game.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Six weeks and change went by in the blink of an eye.

  The leaves hadn’t hinted at turning orange just yet, but the days were already starting to grow cooler. And shorter. Autumn was due any day now.

  I noted the passage of time with only a vague acknowledgement. Quinton and Exton worried that I’d withdrawn from the world, both physically and emotionally. Which wasn’t quite true. The loss of my friend Shaw just affected me differently, and that was all.

  Some days, the days I could spend in Galen and Liam’s company, were good days. On other days, the days I spent looking out my tower window or pacing the battlements, were bad days.

  Most of my days were bad days.

  Liam had been called away to handle the affairs of the fayleene for a while. Galen had been recalled by his uncle to report on the events at Fitzwilliam’s palace. And the King himself had his hands full running everything while trying to bring Lord Alvey back into the fold.

  But today was going to be different.

  I stood in front of the wheel-mounted slate board that Galen had brought to my tower all those months ago. I’d used the board as a place to sort out and catalog all the information, hunches, and prophecies that had come my way since arriving in this magical land.

  Carefully, I went through and crossed off or erased everything that had been closed out, encountered, or proven. Everything the unicorns had said to me got the eraser, for example. In the end, I was left with only three items.

  Dayna goes to the beach.

  I drew a line through those words. There had been a lot more than a simple vacation hiding in those words. An entire world, so far as I knew.

  Two wizards in combat.

  That got crossed out too, with a rueful shake of my head. I simply hadn’t looked close enough to home on that one.

  One who might yet save us lies beyond the light of the hearth.

  I stopped to think. This was the very last pronouncement from Belladonna, the eccentric High Elder of Shaw’s aerie. Appropriately, it was the final mystery that remained on the board.

  Then my mind put it to rest with a gentle click.

  A ‘hearth’ literally meant ‘the area in front of a fireplace’. The place where one could feel the warmth and light of a fire. As Galen himself had said, it was the place where one felt at home with one’s family.

  My mind went back to Destry’s last words.

  I have lived beyond the warmth and light of my people long enough.

  The pooka, with all his grand power and abilities to change perception, had never been able to persuade his people to take him back into the fold. He’d been forever placed beyond the light of that hearth.

  So when he’d approached Sirrahon to make a deal to protect his family, he hadn’t been trying to save the pouquelaye. Secretly, he’d been making a deal that would let us, his chosen family, strike back against the Darkness. He’d played his role in saving us, and done it flawlessly.

  I decided not to cross out the words. Instead, I put a firm check mark by them.

  In the space below, I wrote one more sentence.

  Dame Chrissie shall return to the Andeluvian court only when a facet of the universe’s operation has been made clear to her.

  Well, that could mean pretty much anything. Mentally, I threw my hands up at that one.

  The door to my office opened, admitting Liam and Galen. The Court Wizard still moved haltingly, but thanks to repeated applications of healing magic, he only wore a brace on his rear leg. The Protector of the Forest, on the other hand, was striking in his red, orange and black barding.

  “I see that you’re telling all griffins that you’re poisonous,” I observed. “I think someone is poking gentle fun at his friend today.”

  Liam let out a cervine chuckle. “Shaw would understand and appreciate it.”

  “As he would this fine mead,” Galen said, reaching back to pat one his saddlebags. “Shall I transport us, or would you prefer to use your medallion?”

  “Oh, I’ve got it,” I said, and my friends drew near.

  I reached up, took hold of the medallion, and held the vision of our destination in my mind. A familiar white flash enveloped the world for a second before depositing us upon a high, rocky mountain peak. The sun was out, but the air up here was cold enough to sting the skin when the wind blew.

  Shaw was up here too.

  That was due in part to my efforts. But the lion’s share of the credit had to go to a clash of cultural understanding. Grimshaw had been honored for his heroism by the Kingdom of Andeluvia with a royally attended cremation and the return of his ashes to the Reykajar Aerie.

  I wasn’t surprised by the response.

  High Elder Belladonna had sent back the remains with a curt message.

  He is not here anymore. As with all honorable griffins, his being returns to the Eternal Sky.

  That’s when Galen, Liam and I stepped in. We took custody of the ashes and placed them under a rough cairn of stones atop this rocky summit.

  This peak lay on the border of Andeluvia, Kescar, and the Griffin Lands. From it, we could look out and see the restless waters of a sound that arrowed away to the north.

  The Wizard poured out portions of mead for all three of us. Liam got a small bowl set on the ground, Galen a large mug, and I got
the human-sized sippy cup from Bloodwine Holt.

  “I see them,” Liam said, jabbing his antlers towards the west. “They are on the move.”

  Formations of gold and white dotted the air above the sound. Lances of griffins made their way to the shores of that sound for the Rite of the Autumn Winds. Where the sacred spicewood drink would be consumed. Where the aerial dance of mating would take place. Where the griffins would recount the glorious deeds of their heroes.

  “To Grimshaw the Great,” I announced, as I raised my mug in two hands. “May the recounting of your many deeds go on far, far into the night.”

  “I shall second that,” Liam said.

  “Oh, indubitably,” Galen agreed.

  Together, we drank. Usually, mead’s one-two punch of sweetness plus alcohol was a bit too much for me. But right now, when it was windy and as cold as an icebox, I savored every bit. Liam finished his portion and gave me a thoughtful look.

  “It is strange,” he said. “Dayna, I did not exaggerate when I said you’d given me the only family I’ve ever really known. It has been a source of comfort all this time. It still is. And yet…I thought I’d come to terms with Shaw’s death.”

  “As did I,” Galen sighed. “But if you feel as I do, there is still a hole. A piece that is missing from us.”

  I nodded sadly. “I feel that way too. Shaw wouldn’t have wanted any of us to feel this way…but I haven’t felt whole in weeks.”

  We fell silent for a moment.

  Then Liam’s ears perked up.

  “Something is winging its way towards us,” he said, in a puzzled tone. “It is far too small to be a griffin.”

  A shadow flitted across my face, startling me for a moment. A brown and white owl wearing a silver medallion on a chain around its neck approached. It fluttered its wings, doing its best to hover in the thin air.

  “One wishes to bring an urgent message from the Albess to Dame Chrissie,” the owl said, in a Hoohan’s typical breathy voice. “If one is not preoccupied, then one would like to deliver his message as soon as possible.”