Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  ‘What about Hannah? The Dynar and everything else we set out to do?’

  ‘I suppose he thought this was more important,’ replied Roztov. ‘Think of it though, think of the things he can find out. We know nothing of the lands beyond Norob. If Ghene can scout and survive the Spire, a tower full of white dragons, then perhaps he can survive the lands of Garumuda.’

  ‘And you say the dragon kings talked as if they were related to Garumuda?’ asked Floran.

  ‘They did,’ admitted Roztov, ‘but I was scarcely listened by then I was so keyed up. They are all the children of Tanud, we knew that, but I just assumed they meant it – like I’d say I’m a child of Styke or whatever. They talked as if Tanud had been an actual dragon. King Primus talked as if Garumuda was his brother.’

  ‘That’s incredible. Are you sure?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure,’ sighed Roztov. ‘Whether it was your spell, or just his way, it was sometimes difficult to understand what Primus was saying.’

  ‘We have learned more about dragons here on Tanud than all the wizards of Hyadna in all of history. What could it mean? What are the implications of a kinship between Primus and Garumuda?’

  ‘Only the gods know, and perhaps not even them. Primus and Old Bones are both ancient, they could well have come from the same clutch of eggs. Who knows? Whatever falling out they had in the past, Old Bones hadn’t forgotten about it, or maybe the fact that he’s undead means he doesn’t care about old family ties.’

  ‘There is so much we don’t know,’ pondered Floran as he went to the window and looked out, back towards Tanud. ‘With King Primus dead, what happens now? Will Garumuda try again? Will Tanud retaliate?’

  ‘I’m not sure of anything,’ said Roztov, ‘but it looked to me like Old Bones sent everything he had, as fast as he could. The amount of undead, even just in those few hours, was like nothing I’d ever seen. He’s never sent anything like that into Gnarlwold. I think he went all in. I also think that both Tanud and Old Bones are weakened. Hopefully that’s an end to it – for a while anyway.’

  ‘A while in terms of men or dragons?’ mused Floran.

  ‘We should go back’, said Meggelaine suddenly rejoining the conversation. ‘Think of all the people back there in the city suffering. The dragons won’t care. They city will be full of badly hurt people. We should help them.’

  ‘I know, Meg, I know,’ sighed Roztov again. ‘This is our best chance to leave though, don’t you see? I mean, we have left. With King Primus dead and the city decimated they’ll hardly have time to muck about chasing boats. We need to be able to tell the people back home the things we have seen and the things we have learned. For Ghene’s sacrifice to mean anything, we need to leave now.’

  Roztov lay back, coughed, and closed his eyes.

  ‘Right,’ said Meggelaine sternly. ‘Everyone out, he needs rest.’

  Floran and Tankle left agreeably enough although it had clearly been Meggelaine that had agitated him.

  After resting for an hour, while the little torm watched over him, Roztov opened his eyes and spoke once more. ‘I just can’t bring myself… I just can’t hold onto the thought that both Broddor and Ghene are gone. We’re the last of them now Meg.’

  ‘Well, Broddor might come back. You never know. Those dwarves. And we don’t know Ghene is dead. He might have survived.’

  ‘In the lair of Old Bones?’ asked Roztov, vaguely aware that they were now arguing from the opposite sides they had taken earlier.

  ‘But well, they sacrificed themselves for something important. Maybe they saved Nillamandor? Maybe they stopped all of Goffehag falling under the dominion of Garumuda.’

  ‘Maybe. But for how long? He’ll try again,’ Roztov said with despair in his voice.

  ‘And we’ll defeat him again.’

  ‘How though?’

  ‘Let’s not think of it now,’ said Meggelaine as she rearranged the blankets. ‘Just rest and get better. We are strong. We have all the druids of the GFC. We have all the might and magic of the kingdoms of men. And now we know of Tanud. Who knows, maybe we can form diplomatic links? You know, somewhere down the line. After all, my enemy’s enemy is my friend, as they say.’

  ‘Perhaps let the dust settle for a while first Meg,’ said Roztov with a weary smile.

  ‘Indeed. We have a different mission anyway. One we should finish for the sake and memory of our friend Ghene.’

  Before he finally went to sleep Roztov had one more thing to say.

  ‘You know, after all this,’ he whispered. ‘If we make it home and a dragon flies overhead, as everyone is diving for cover I’ll look down at them and say – you jump just for one dragon? Try a city full of them.’

  ‘You can show them Neith’s tongue.’

  ‘I’m keeping that over the mantelpiece.’

  ‘You should sell it,’ said Meggelaine. ‘Oh, that’s right; you’re already richer than King Woad, never mind that.’

  Roztov spent the next day in bed, but on the third day since leaving the island of dragons he reappeared from the aft cabin, leaning on a staff.

  ‘Hey!’ said Meggelaine with a wave. She was above him on the poop-deck. ‘Hello lazy bones.’

  He carefully climbed up the steep wooden steps to the deck. Floran was up there too, enjoying the clear weather and holding the tiller.

  ‘They trust you to steer this thing?’ asked Roztov wryly.

  ‘I suppose they are,’ replied Floran. ‘There is not much wind.’

  Roztov looked out over the main deck and the rest of the ship. He was no expert but he could see it was not being handled well. They were barely moving and up in the rigging Arrin and Tankle were having a heated discussion about sails.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Roztov.

  ‘No one can figure out how to sail against the wind. It’s called tacking isn’t it?’ said Meggelaine. ‘They keep on losing the wind on every turn, and then we just end up floundering around on the waves for ages. The poor dears are doing their best, but – well, it’s just as well no one is looking for us.’

  ‘It seems there is more skill to sailing that perhaps we thought,’ replied Roztov.

  ‘Is it luffing? Puffing?’ asked Meggelaine. ‘Oh you’re no use.’

  Arrin had climbed down and jogged up the steps to join them. He seemed happy.

  ‘Not so easy as it looked then?’ asked Roztov with a friendly smile. ‘I thought you were supposed to be a sailor?’

  ‘I did the sails yes, but mainly the tops,’ laughed Arrin. ‘The Red Maiden was all rigged differently to this. Back on the Maiden – well, I just did what Salveri did, I never thought too much about why we were doing it.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Roztov. ‘Once me and Meg have re-attuned we can help out.’

  For the rest of the day Roztov and Meggelaine sat on the deck, in meditation, aligning their druidic powers back towards the sea and the next day Roztov was true to his word. He turned into an albatross and flew down past the ship. He then summoned up a stiff sea breeze, enough to get the ship well underway.

  Arrin frantically arranged the sails, shouting instructions to the Stovologardian sailors. After a few hours Roztov landed to rest and let Meggelaine take a turn.

  ‘Wait though,’ said Floran to the druids when they were all together. ‘What way are we going exactly?’

  ‘Why, west of course,’ answered Meggelaine. ‘Towards where we thing Hannah is.’

  ‘What, what?’ gasped Floran. ‘After all that happened we are still looking for that mythical island?’

  ‘Well yes,’ said Meggelaine patting his hand as if he was a child. ‘We druids, we have ways of knowing and we both think its somewhere not so far away, just a few hundred miles to the west.’

  ‘But, but...’ stammered Floran, well versed in the unreliability of the supposed druidic ability to “know” where a place was without map or compass. He turned to Roztov.

  ‘Think of your wife and family, Roz,’ he pleaded. ‘Th
ey must surely be missing you by now.’

  ‘Oh, they’ll be fine,’ Roztov replied as he waved Meggelaine away. She had turned into a puffin and fluttered out to sea. Soon there was a good strong sea breeze blowing and the ship lurched on its way once again.

  Roztov patted Floran on the back as he went past, down into the cabin to get his lunch. Floran sighed, and then smiled as he went to stand at the rail. He realised that he was alone now with two druids, people that had wanderlust flowing through their veins. Druids might settle for a while, for a few years, but where there home really was, well it was out in the wilds, out in the forest, out across the sea, and always over the horizon.

  Epilogue

  A tall blonde-haired lady, of about twenty years of age, stood at the stone banister of a balcony on the east side if the Spire, looking out to sea. She was alone, dressed in a long black dress that fluttered in the breeze. She struck an imposing figure, tall, solidly built, perhaps a little too solid for the style of gown she was wearing.

  In her left hand she played with an acorn, rolling it between her fingers and thumb.

  As a white dragon flew past, from right to left, between the spire and the fog barrier, she followed it with her eyes, her face twisting into an expression of distaste.

  Ten minutes later she was joined on the balcony by the dragon, a long elegant female.

  ‘I’m not going,’ said the lady.

  ‘Don’t worry yourself child,’ replied the dragon. ‘We have no intention of sending you to Stovologard.’

  ‘Well, what then?’

  ‘You have been trained in enough magic to make your own way in the world I think. Why not go back to Nillamandor?’

  ‘Huh, what is there left for me there?’ said the lady dismissively.

  The dragon was silent, but they both knew the truth well enough. Since they had left her behind, ten years ago, Ophess had thought of little else. Her heart’s desire was to return there and seek out the three druids, find them and make them pay.

  She’d spent all her time, since she’d been abandoned, learning what the dragons of the Spire could teach her and she was now a powerful – well she styled herself as a witch, but she was in truth a female wizard. The Spire dragons trained humans so that they could go north and infiltrate Stovologard, but these days there was a sort of uneasy truce between the three Tanud factions and they were now turning their attention elsewhere. Primarily to the east and the kingdoms of men.

  Ophess looked down at the acorn in her hand and fought the urge to throw the thing into the sea. Instead she tucked it into her sleeve. Part of her much thought on plan for revenge centred around one day presenting it back to Meggelaine.

  The dragon turned and left. I’ll make them pay, thought Ophess. Those three druids, that left me here, that told lie after lie about my father. I’ll find each of them in turn, the one by one I’ll make them pay for what they did to me.