The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

by L. G. Estrella

  “Katie, I’m going to deactivate the dais and get the Crown.” His apprentice stared at him as though he’d grown not only a second head but also a pair of wings and possibly a tail. “What? Do you want to do it?” She shook her head so quickly he was worried she might need a healing potion. “Look, I’m not an idiot. This is not going to go well.” He took part of the rope they’d used earlier and tied it around his leg. “Take this. If I start flailing around, convulsing, or bleeding from my eyes, or anything else weird, then drag me out of the Crown’s area of effect.” He ruffled her hair. “And, yes, I know my untimely demise would mean you get the castle, but you should wait a few years before trying to get rid of me. You still have a lot to learn.”

  Katie made a face and grabbed the rope, along with several of the zombies. “Don’t worry, master. I’ll pull you back if something bad happens.” She grinned impishly. “Like you said, I still have a lot to learn, and finding another master to teach me would be so troublesome.”

  Timmy took a deep breath and then ordered one of his zombies to throw him at the dais. It was the quickest option, and there was no way he’d be able to stay coherent long enough to walk there. This way was quicker, and he wouldn’t have to worry about losing his way while stumbling around in a haze of unimaginable, sanity-destroying agony. Once he got to the dais, all he had to do was deactivate it. If it were anything like the artefacts he’d encountered in the past, there would either be a switch or some runes and seals. It would definitely hurt, but it shouldn’t take too long.

  At least, that was the idea.

  The reality turned out to be somewhat different.

  The instant that Timmy entered the Crown’s area of effect, his entire world was reduced to pure, undiluted agony. It dwarfed all of the pain he’d endured at his master’s hands in the same way the sun dwarfed a candle. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t think. Driven only by instinct, he forced himself to move. He had to deactivate the dais and cut off the flow of magic to the Crown. If he could do that, the pain would stop. He had to make the pain stop. He had to.

  The next five minutes – Katie would later tell him it had only taken five minutes, but it had honestly felt more like five years – were arguably the worst of his life, and that was saying something, considering what his master’s training had been like. He couldn’t even remember reaching the dais, never mind deactivating it, but he must have because the pain finally stopped. He flopped onto the floor, barely conscious, and he was lucky not to hit his head on the dais on his way down. Katie had one of their zombies grab the Crown while she helped him into a sitting position with her shadows.

  Timmy slumped against the dais and spent the next fifteen minutes pondering the meaning of life and cursing the makers of the Crown. It was on days like this that he could easily imagine himself opting for an easier career like carpentry or farming. Sure, being a necromancer came with a lot of perks, but it wasn’t all rainbows, puppies, and unicorns.

  “Can you stand, master?” Katie asked. She’d ordered the zombie with the Crown to stand as far away from them and the dais as possible. Without the dais to feed it magic, the Crown was most likely harmless, but she wasn’t about to take any chances.

  It took Timmy several attempts to make his reply intelligible. “Potion. Give me a potion.”

  “Ah, right!” Katie handed him a healing potion. He had no idea if it would work since the Crown didn’t do physical damage, but healing potions also had a mild pain-relieving effect, and he was definitely still in pain.

  “Always bring healing potions,” Timmy slurred. He was finally able to focus his eyes again. Hmm… the tomb’s builders really hadn’t done a good job decorating the ceiling, had they? It was a rather unattractive grey. He tried to stand up and then thought better of it. “Even if you’re not badly hurt, healing potions can reduce the pain and help you focus.” He forced himself to breathe evenly and deeply. He still felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut with a knife, but that was a big improvement compared to earlier. At least now, he could think. “Pain can make it hard to think clearly, which can get you killed.” He nodded in the direction of the Crown. “It’s not much to look at it, is it?”

  Katie nodded slowly. The Crown itself was hideous. It was made of a substance that closely resembled bone, and it was hewn into the rough shape of a badly deformed humanoid skull with three eye sockets. It was, in all honesty, extremely creepy.

  “Do me a favour, Katie. Have the zombies search the area around the dais thoroughly. The Crown’s area of effect would have been the safest place to hide something important. I’d use my magic to look, but it’ll be a while before I can use it properly.” Timmy slumped back against the dais. “Actually, search this whole area. I’ll just… take a quick break over here. Oh, and by the way, give me another potion if I pass out or starting vomiting blood.”

  * * *

  It had been almost two weeks since he and Katie had returned from the tomb with their spoils. Their little jaunt had proven to be extremely profitable in terms of both knowledge and money. Unfortunately, Timmy was still dealing with lingering aches and pains. The Crown certainly lived up to its reputation as a legendary magical artefact. At this rate, it could take another week before the last of its effects faded away.

  As for the Crown itself, he’d placed it in one of the most secure rooms in the castle since it was too dangerous to put anywhere else. A shiver ran down his spine. The Crown was creepy. He’d originally thought it had been carved out of bone, but he wasn’t quite right. It was made of bone, but it hadn’t been carved. No, it was the skull of something, something that wasn’t human, something that had no business being in this world at all.

  The research notes they’d found regarding the creation of the Crown had not helped his mood either. Apart from being written by someone who had clearly been insane – half the notes seemed to be made up of rambling, barely coherent rants about other artificers and mages – the notes described a ritual, one which was very similar to the rituals Timmy could use to summon Sam and his ilk. Given what the Crown was made of – the skull of some inhuman, otherworldly being – he’d asked Sam if recognised it.

  The protoplasmic horror had confirmed Timmy’s suspicions. The Crown was made out of the skull of an entity from another dimension. According to Sam, such an entity shouldn’t have left a skull behind. Its body should have disintegrated upon death. However, there were… ways of getting around that problem. The entity belonged to a species that specialised in telepathy, mind control, and other mind-related abilities. If the correct rituals were used and a suitable sacrificial body was provided, then it might have been possible for the entity to possess a human body, which would, naturally, begin to mutate to match its new controller. Upon death, that body would remain mostly intact. Timmy winced. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Anyone willing to create something like the Crown would not have baulked at dealing with otherworldly beings and sacrificing people.

  Sam had been oddly wistful when he’d spoken of the entity. Apparently, his kind had once waged a war against such entities. They had fought for countless years, and Sam had been under the impression that all of them were dead, wiped out in a cataclysmic final assault led by Sam’s superiors – beings whose power defied human imagination and description. If Sam was to be believed, and he had no reason to lie, the final assault had brought about the complete destruction of several dimensions. This was all supposed to have taken place aeons ago, yet the Crown itself was only thousands of years old. Some of the entities must have survived, and Sam had been very pleased at the thought. Why? Sam had given what passed for a smile amongst his kind. The entities had been tasty, almost as nice as cake.

  Timmy shook himself out of his thoughts. There would be plenty of time for him to research the Crown in more detail now that it was safely back at the castle. Perhaps he could find a way to link it to the castle’s barriers. A barrier that induced unbelievable agony in anyone who tried to get through it wo
uld certainly be effective. Even if someone managed to get through, they’d be in no shape to fight afterward, and his zombies would make short work of them.

  He flared his magic, and Sam drifted up through the floor. “I’m done studying the Crown for today. If I’m right, then it’s no wonder the king who used it went mad. Based on what it’s made of and what prolonged exposure to otherworldly beings usually does to people, madness isn’t a possibility. It’s a certainty.”

  Sam signalled his agreement and then used a brief colour and shape change along with a lazy flick of his tentacles to ask a question.

  “No, it’s not a complete loss. Even if I can’t work out how to link it to the castle’s defences, I can still learn a lot from it. The Crown is incredibly good at broadcasting magic into its surroundings although its range is fairly limited. If I can work out how it does that, I should be able to create more efficient and effective barriers. If worse comes to worst, I could always hook the Crown up to some magic and throw my enemies at it. It’ll be harder to control since I won’t be wearing it, but I won’t have to worry about going insane, and I can always use a rope to drag people out once they’ve had enough.” His expression hardened. “I don’t like torture, but I might have to make an example out of someone if anyone targets Katie again.”

  Sam followed Timmy down the corridor. He made another suggestion, trilling and changing colour.

  “Good idea. If we could imbue even a fraction of the Crown’s power into projectiles and aim them at our enemies, we’d have a weapon capable of non-lethally incapacitating almost anyone.” Timmy twirled his shovel around as he ran some ideas through his head. “How about we get some lunch? I also need to look at the newest batch of hatchlings that your people have had. If they’re as troublesome as the last lot, I’ll have to put down some extra runes and seals.”

  Sam’s tentacles moved through the air in an intricate pattern of apology as he changed colour and shape again.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not blaming you. They’re basically kids, but I can’t have them wandering the countryside and eating random villagers. Until they have better control over themselves, they’ll have to stay in the lower levels of the castle.” Timmy rubbed his chin. “We should get Katie to come too. It’s about time I dragged her out of the library, and she needs to learn how to deal with the young ones. You’re friendly enough, and most of the others are fairly reasonable. She needs to learn how to deal with some unreasonable ones.” He chuckled. “And who knows? Maybe she’ll have some ideas of what to do with the Crown. She can be surprisingly evil sometimes.”

  The Hungry Dragon Cookie Company

  (Set Shortly After Two Necromancers, a Dragon, and a Vampire)

  Spot woke up hungry, which wasn’t the least bit unusual. He was a young, growing dragon. He was always hungry. The only thing that ever changed was exactly how hungry he was. Sometimes, he was hungry enough to eat an entire cow. Other times, half a cow would leave him feeling a tad bloated.

  His constant hunger probably went a long way toward explaining the horrible fates that had befallen all of the other people who’d tried to raise dragons in the past. Newly hatched dragons had a tendency to be cranky, eager to set things on fire, and very, very hungry. Luckily, Spot was a cheerful dragon, his mother was there to help him manage his fire, and the idiot – also known as Timmy – always had more than enough food on hand to keep Spot’s stomach reasonably full, not that he was about to eat any of the others even if he got really hungry.

  His mother had been quite clear on whom he could and could not eat. He also liked to think of himself as a nice dragon. If his mother said that he couldn’t eat someone, then they wouldn’t get eaten. Even so, he did worry about the paper pusher who most people called Gerald. Even a wolf could eat him without much trouble, and wolves weren’t strong at all. Spot would miss the paper pusher if he got eaten, so he’d have to keep a close eye on him in the future. It was also a bit sad. It wasn’t like the paper pusher didn’t try to fight. He did, but he was just so bad at it. Spot wasn’t even six months old, and he was already much better at fighting than the paper pusher.

  He’d miss the others too if something happened to them since it was fun to go on adventures with them. Spot got to meet a lot of interesting people and eat a lot of tasty things. Thankfully, the others were all much better at fighting than the paper pusher, so Spot usually didn’t have to worry about them in a fight. They could look after themselves.

  On most days, Spot was hungry enough to eat around half a cow when he woke up. Today, he was only hungry enough to eat a quarter of a cow, maybe even less. It must have had something to do with the large dinner he’d eaten last night. The twerp – also known as Katie – had ordered a special basilisk from a rare creature dealer. Unfortunately, it had been attacked by an ancient hydra before delivery, and it had turned up dead and absolutely drenched in hydra venom. It had been too badly damaged for the twerp to use, so she’d asked Spot if he wanted to have it.

  Spot had been only too happy to agree since he’d never eaten a basilisk before, and he was not the sort of dragon to pass up an opportunity to try something new. He’d done his best to savour the basilisk, but he’d still ended up devouring it in a matter of minutes. It had tasted a lot like snake although the hydra venom had added a pleasant tanginess to it as well. He’d felt pleasantly full, and he’d dozed off not long after dinner. He could vaguely remember his mother carrying him back to their part of the castle. She’d grumbled about how big and heavy he was getting, but she’d sounded oddly pleased too.

  One day, he’d be big enough to carry his mother on his back when he flew. They could rain fire down on their enemies together and bring suffering and woe to those who opposed them! He could see it now: their enemies engulfed in flames, entire nations ablaze, and the two of them rolling in a mountain of treasure. He could hardly wait.

  Spot spent a few more moments savouring the images in his mind before he got to his feet and looked around. He’d awakened because of how nice the sun felt on his scales. It was part of being a dragon. He instinctively knew when the sun rose although during the week, he was often up before sunrise because of all the training he had to do, not that he minded. Getting to stretch his wings and practice with his fire, his claws, and his teeth was always fun. But today was Sunday. He didn’t have training. Instead, he was free to do as he pleased. If he wanted, he could go back to sleep, or he could find a nice spot on the battlements to bask in the sun all day long. He could even go to the lake and swim around. Roger, the giant zombie shark-hydra-drake, spent most of his time there, and Spot had yet to beat him in a race through the water.

  The dragon’s brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, why did people call today Sunday? It didn’t make any sense. The sun was there every day, so why was this one day of the week Sunday? Shouldn’t every day be Sunday? Oh well. Humans were weird. If it were up to him, Spot would have called this Rest Day Two since Saturday was Rest Day One. As for the other days, he’d have called them Training Day One all the way through to Training Day Five. That would have been the sensible thing to do, but humans were rarely sensible. He might be a young dragon, but he’d already learned that about them.

  His mother was still asleep beside him. She was snoring softly, and she had one arm draped over him as she pressed her face into the scales of his belly. He’d have to be careful. It was better to let her sleep in whenever possible. She didn’t like to be woken up early on weekends even if it was to play. If he wanted someone to play with early in the morning, he was better off finding some of the rats, Chomp, or possibly the twerp.

  However, the three-headed dog was still asleep too. He was under a nearby tree, which had metallic leaves that were as sharp as daggers. He had a big smile on his face, and his legs were moving as if he were chasing after something. Spot tilted his head to one side. Was Chomp dreaming about chasing people again? Probably. Chomp had chased a lot of bad people through the labyrinth where Spot’s mother had foun
d him. He’d eaten most of them too.

  Slowly, carefully, Spot eased away from his mother and padded over to where some of the rats were discussing something. They squeaked a greeting, and he smiled and trilled an invitation to them. These rats were great. They liked explosions and fire as much as he and his mother did, and they didn’t mind answering all of the questions he had about the world.

  Spot would never admit it, but being on his own could be scary. He might have been a dragon, but he was still a young dragon. There was so much about the world that he didn’t know about or fully understand yet. His fight against the giant acid blob had shown him that there were things out there strong enough to hurt him, maybe even kill him. He hadn’t been able to beat it on his own, but by working together, he, Gerald, and the rats had managed to win. When he got older, he’d be big and strong enough to beat anything on his own, but Spot didn’t want to be on his own. Having friends was nice, and having friends who fought with him made him stronger than he’d ever be alone. Even his mother, who was stronger than anyone Spot had met except maybe the vampire lady and the shiny woman, had admitted to Spot that fighting alone could be dangerous. The others might not be as strong as her, but all of them helped in their own way.

  For a while, Spot wandered around his mother’s gardens, but his rumbling stomach soon demanded his attention. He needed to find something to eat, which meant he had several options to choose from. He could go to where the idiot kept some cows and eat one, but he was in the mood for some exercise. It was also good to patrol once in a while. The castle wasn’t his – it belonged to the idiot and possibly the twerp – but everyone seemed content to let his mother do whatever she wanted with the bit she and Spot lived in. Regardless of whether he owned it or not, the castle was his home, and it was only natural for a dragon like him to keep an eye on the area around his home. It wouldn’t do for some wyvern or drake to move in and act like it owned the place.