by Jeff Wheeler
Artis said nothing, but gave Warlick a quick nod between heavy panting breaths.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” said Warlick warmly. “Shame though that you had to get that nice girl in trouble.”
Artis did not respond at all.
Warlick continued. “Do the higher-ups at your guild treat you like that? Pummel you with expectations? Blast you for failure?”
Artis climbed on.
“I see now,” said Warlick softly. “It’s a wonder you’ve got any magic left.”
* * *
Artis and Warlick approached the mouth of the cave, wincing when the waves of stench overwhelmed them. The dragon within was breathing steadily, sleeping.
“Another hour until the sun rises,” whispered Warlick. “Just enough time to grab the boys and get out with our skins.”
“What’s the plan?” asked Artis.
“Don’t you have one?”
Artis shot him a bewildered look, and Warlick smiled. “Step lightly. Stay quiet. And be ready to use that.” He poked his foot at Sir Regald’s sword, which hung from Artis’s belt. Artis gripped the hilt and pulled the blade out to observe its faint yellow glow. It looked powerful. He hoped it would be enough. Even more, he hoped he would not need to find out.
All throughout the ancient cave, glimmering stalagmites and stalactites jutted from the floor and ceiling. Many were broken where something enormous had crashed through them with little regard for the patient work of eons. Artis pulled out the divination box for direction, but put it away when he realized that the cave had only one wide passage leading deeper and deeper into the mountain. The two had no choice but to follow it toward the rhythmic grumble of the slumbering beast, which grew louder with their every step.
Artis realized that everything he had ever feared—failure, insolvency, disappointment—were little more than petty anxieties. For the first time, he felt true fear: fear for his life, the lives of his cousins, even Warlick’s. There was purpose to it. That tightness in his belly made him determined, rather than sick. His senses sharpened. His pace quickened. His lips pulled back, baring his teeth—not in a smile exactly, but in an expression surprisingly similar.
They found the dragon curled up in the center of a large blue-and-white cavern. It was nothing like the drawings Artis had seen, which the artists had clearly editorialized through the lens of their own terror or their editors’ sensationalism. This was no demonic lizard. Rather, the monster’s posture, as well as its stout round face, pointed ears, and leathery tendrils of hair gave it a feline appearance. All huddled up, it was almost peaceful looking, though still as big as a cottage.
“Nothing more than an overgrown pussy cat with wings, isn’t it?” said Warlick over Artis’s shoulder.
“You’ve never seen one either, have you?” asked Artis, knowing the answer.
Warlick responded with a blank look.
“Some expert,” Artis sighed. He looked around for Rolly and Tolly, but couldn’t see them anywhere. “Where would a dragon keep its morning meal?” he asked.
“I don’t see a pantry,” mumbled Warlick. “Unless . . .” He pushed past Artis toward the middle of the cavern, toward the sleeping beast, his feet making odd and delicate patterns on the cavern floor. Artis bit his lip bloody, frightened and confused as the patter of the old wizard’s soles filled the dim emptiness.
“This is no time for your ridiculousness,” he hissed.
“If you’re only worried about what’s beneath you,” Warlick said softly as he danced, “you’ll never rise above.”
Suddenly, Warlick shot up twenty feet into the air. Artis clasped his mouth, shocked when Warlick did not fall. He hung in the air for a few moments, looked around, and alighted, silent as a feather. Warlick jogged back to Artis, whose hand still covered the lower half his face.
“Not bad, right?” Warlick said with a wink. “Great for cleaning gutters.”
“I must have missed that lesson in sorcery school.”
Warlick chuckled. “Listen, Arty. The dragon is curled all around the edge of a pit. I couldn’t see in, but I’d wager your cousins are down in there.”
“Can you be sure?”
“Of course not. But it’s our best chance.”
“Fine. Then why don’t you float your way over the dragon and into the hole, and float back out with Rolly and Tolly? Assuming they’re even in there.”
Warlick laughed a bit too loudly and quickly stifled himself. “You cannot seriously expect me to drop into the middle of that? Besides, I can’t carry anyone out but myself.”
Artis looked back toward the mouth of the cave. Even at a distance, he could tell that day would soon break. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate, running through and discarding various possibilities. But his mind kept returning to Annadray, or rather something she had said as they stood together before the mountain. Then he heard it—a sound like faint wind chimes, deep in his mind. Artis opened his eyes.
“We go under,” he said. “Create a tunnel from here to the bottom of the pit and walk back out with the boys.”
“Dig? But we’ll wake the beast.”
“You see this?” Artis waved a glowstone over the cavern floor, which sparkled like a frozen river. “This entire cavern is filled with calcite. Minerals deposited, grain by grain, over millions of years by dripping water. It’s the most versatile rock there is because each tiny bit makes its own decision about where it ends up. So, we don’t have to dig at all. Just confuse each mineral into its prior state of flux.”
Artis reached his hand toward the ground and began to whisper. His fingertips jerked lightly, as if he were coaxing the stone. Slowly, a dent appeared in the floor, creating a shallow puddle of water and grit.
“Incredible,” whispered Warlick.
“Not just for lining the pockets of nobles, is it?” said Artis with a smirk. He resumed his spellcasting, and the rock gradually dissolved into a diagonal tunnel. Warlick stayed close behind, huffing and puffing as he scooped handfuls of slush and tossed them out of the hole.
Before they knew it, they’d pierced the edge of the pit beneath the dragon. The rock wall fell away to reveal a small, circular open space. Above them, a living roof pulsed with warmth and rumbled with hunger. Squinting, Artis could see two small sleeping figures huddled against the side of the pit amidst a pile of bones. Rolly and Tolly’s clothes were tattered and covered in dirt. Tears streaked their blackened cheeks, revealing the freckles below. They had been through much, but they were alive.
Artis slunk over and gently shook the boys, who awoke disoriented. As their awareness returned, they shouted in relief, “Cousin Arty!”
Above, the dragon stirred. Artis hushed the two boys and hurried them into the tunnel he’d dug, but it was too late. Enormous joints cracked as they roused from sleep, and a drowsy murmur creaked as loud as a temple door. Behind them, a clawed paw padded and grasped at the floor of the pit. When it found nothing, a furious roar shook the cave so loudly that they all covered their ears.
“Maybe we can wait it out in this tunnel,” said Warlick.
Artis was about to nod when the shaking above them intensified. This was different from before. Stones crashed. Even the booming yelps of the dragon sounded more panicked than angry. Slowly, Artis realized what was happening. “They’re starting the spell to destroy the mountain,” he said. “Come on!”
Artis nearly ran out of the tunnel, but Warlick yanked him back in. Peeking into the cavern, they saw the dragon had made its way past them and sat blocking the way to the cave’s entrance. The beast was shivering, its head tilted in fear and confusion.
Artis’s hopes collapsed. “We can’t outrun both the cave-in and the dragon! We’ll either be buried or eaten!”
Warlick wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving behind a charcoal-colored smear. “I’m done running,” he said with a weary smile. He turned to Rolly and Tolly. “Have you boys ever ridden a horse?”
The two nodded in
unison. Warlick grabbed their hands and ran out of the tunnel, right to the dragon’s backside, and climbed up on its rump. “Hang on tight!” he instructed as the kids took hold of the thick leathery fur that covered the base of the monster’s tail. Artis joined them, the thundering of his heart blocking out the inner voice that begged caution.
Another falling sheet of rock exploded just feet away from them. The dragon whelped frantically, but did not budge.
“It’s too scared to move,” shouted Artis, feeling the follicles stiffen and shudder.
“Then encourage it!” replied Warlick.
With a worried grunt, Artis yanked out Sir Regald’s sword, which still crackled with electrical energy.
“We have to expel the lightning, or else we’ll all be—” Just as he said it, a massive stalactite plunged down upon them like a stone dagger. Artis shut his eyes and thrust the sword aloft, sending a bolt of yellow energy into the air, vaporizing the stone into rubble.
“Never mind,” he called. Then, with one more glance at Warlick, Rolly, and Tolly, Artis stabbed the sword into the dragon’s backside. The beast roared and lurched forward, taking off toward the mouth of the cave. All around, the passage shifted and narrowed as the walls crumbled. But the beast was undeterred, bounding at blinding speed as Artis and the others struggled to hold on. Just as Artis felt his grip failing, the violent bouncing stopped. The noise of the collapsing mountain faded, and a cool rush of wind enveloped his face. He opened his eyes and was overwhelmed by the morning’s brightness.
They were flying.
The dragon had burst out of the cave and was diving along the slope of the mountain, outpacing an avalanche of debris tumbling after them. Rolly and Tolly squealed in delight, and Warlick gave a whoop. The exhilaration of flight consumed Artis as well, crowding out all terror and thought of consequence. He indulged in it, drank it in, and for one delirious moment, Artis howled like he’d been jolted alive. The moment ended when an arrow whizzed past his head. Artis ducked and pressed closer to the dragon’s hide. “Someone’s shooting at us,” he shouted over the wind.
“It’s Fentus’s goons,” called Warlick, pointing.
Artis peered around the side of the dragon and under its wing and saw that Warlick was right. Sir Abbic and Sir Dolbart stood at the base of the mountain, bows in hand, sending arrows at the dragon—and its riders. Behind them, Artis could make out the figures of Annadray and Fentus. They seemed to be arguing. Another arrow zipped toward them, but the dragon rolled to avoid it. It snarled and sped up its dive toward the party on the ground, preparing to strike.
It’ll smash them like insects , Artis thought as speed and terror squeezed his belly. And then us!
The thrill of the escape had faded, leaving Artis exhausted and out of ideas. The comfort of resignation called to him. How easy it would be, he realized, to follow the dragon’s unstoppable trajectory to the end. It felt like a decision Artis was used to making. Yet, deep inside, a new part of him resisted. He had done more magic in the past day than he had in all the previous years. He transformed a mountain and rode a dragon. He even nearly rescued his cousins. Nearly! he thought. That meant he was close. There was still time.
“What the blast is that?” Warlick’s voice snapped Artis back into the fray.
Ahead of them, a massive stone boulder, as big as a haycart, was rolling up the mountain and into the dragon’s path. As it got closer, Artis saw that it was not rolling, but running, sprinting toward them on massive stone legs. Artis sensed something else within, but he could barely believe it.
“Get ready!” he shouted. Though for what exactly, he was not sure.
The dragon unfurled its wings to their full width, and they caught the wind with a tight leathery snap, slowing its descent. Just before the massive stone passed underneath, it sprouted arms and leaped toward them. As the rock creature surged closer, Artis saw that atop the torso, where the head should have been, there were flames. No, not flames, he realized, but a bonfire of wind-whipped red hair belonging to Annadray Siege, who was piloting the giant like a puppet. In one deft motion, it reached up and grabbed the dragon by the throat. They hung in midair for an instant, the dragon beating its wings frantically against the tons of stone. With a final jerk, the giant brought the monster thunderously to the ground.
Artis, Warlick, and the boys tumbled off the dragon’s rump and onto the mountainside. It was not a soft landing, but they survived it and limped to safety behind a rock outcropping. Behind them, Annadray maintained her grip on the dragon’s neck with one stone arm and pummeled its head with the boulder-sized fist of the other. The dragon twisted and gasped, coughing flames.
Artis and Warlick watched awestruck.
“I always considered myself a pretty nifty wizard,” said Warlick. “But this puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?”
Artis stood marveling at Annadray’s creation, trying to work out the spells necessary to accomplish such a feat. It was some combination of battle magic and mineral magic, employing more creativity and power than he’d ever imagined possible. He wondered how long she could maintain it, before realizing that her time was short. Annadray’s rock golem was starting to fall apart as the dragon thrashed from side to side like a rat terrier.
“We have to help her!” cried Artis. He looked around, but Sir Regald’s sword was nowhere to be seen. Their packs, too, were lost. “Don’t you have anything?”
Warlick rummaged through the pockets of his robe, tossing out random trinkets. “Not for that monster!” he said, pointing.
Artis found himself transfixed by Warlick’s chubby outstretched digit. It seemed to blink at him. Artis drew his face closer. Perched on Warlick’s finger was a tiny creature, its skin gently oscillating between beige and green.
Warlick saw it too. “My chamomeleon!” The little lizard acknowledged him with a lazy motion of its three-fingered foot. “Now, here’s a magical lizard I can handle!”
“That’s it!” said Artis excitedly. He grabbed Warlick by the robe and pulled him out into the open, toward the clearing where Annadray and the dragon were battling. Warlick protested, but Artis was dead set. “My uncle mentioned a trick he saw you perform at a festival. Do you remember it?”
Warlick’s eyes went wide as he realized what Artis was proposing. “I . . .” He stammered, then steeled himself. “We’ll need a distraction,” he said finally.
* * *
Annadray’s strength was failing. She was losing her grip on the dragon’s neck. The dragon, sensing that, leaped up onto the giant’s shoulders and, with all the might in its four legs, shoved it backward. The rock arm shattered, freeing the dragon into the air, where it hovered, preparing to finish off its adversary. Annadray lay on the ground, amidst the dusty ruin of her giant, a great winged shadow enveloping her body.
Just as the dragon was about to belch its fire, a pebble struck it in the eye. It jerked its head angrily.
“One hundred points!” shouted Tolly. Next to him, Rolly hurled another stone. This one lodged itself in the dragon’s nostril.
“Two hundred!” shouted Rolly.
The dragon snorted and growled at the two ruddy morsels, who ran screaming into Artis’s arms. He hugged the boys tightly as the monster swooped in for the kill. It sped faster and faster over the ground, its catlike face growing so near that Artis could see the red veins of its slitted eyes. The dragon was only an arm’s length from devouring them when it smashed face-first into an invisible wall. It lay there in a daze, hindquarters bunched up behind its great skull.
“See?” said Artis to his cousins, stepping out from behind the crystal and tapping it. “I changed the structure of the granite so it’s clear as glass. Kind of like the rock in the field at home, remember?”
“You said that wasn’t real magic,” said Tolly.
“I did, didn’t I? Then how about that?” He pointed to the sky.
The three looked up to see Warlick, floating in midair, toes twinkling. He descended like a fal
ling leaf directly onto the dragon’s head.
“Hurry!” shouted Artis.
“I’d like to see you try this!” Warlick shot back. He clambered over the dragon’s nape and placed his right hand on its furrowed forehead. In his left, he held the little chamomeleon. The old wizard closed his eyes and muttered a spell. The dragon began to stir. Warlick repeated the enchantment as the monster below him writhed. Suddenly, the dragon convulsed as if it had been struck by lightning, sending Warlick tumbling to the ground.
Artis ran over to him. “Are you all right? Did it work?”
“I’m not sure,” said Warlick, rising with difficulty. “I believe that— Yow!” He threw up his left hand and flapped it painfully. The chamomeleon dropped to the ground with a soft smack, shook its tiny head, and proceeded to hop up and down, wriggling its body as if it were expecting to fly. Artis picked it by the tail and studied it. The lizard opened its mouth hotly, but all that came out was a tiny noise, halfway between a ribbit and a snore, that smelled of mint. Artis swaddled the fussy creature in some cloth and presented it to his cousins.
“Because you were both so brave today, I present you with this magical reward. A lizard that thinks it’s a dragon. Treat it well.”
Rolly and Tolly stared in awe.
“Careful,” said Warlick as he sucked on his finger. “It bites.”
“What about that one?” asked Artis, nodding to the dragon, who was blinking sleepily and lolling its head around.
Warlick walked over and scratched its jowl. The dragon barely noticed. “Gentle as can be,” he called. “And a vegetarian. I’d wager it won’t be harming anyone ever again. Except perhaps the shrub men. Pah! They’ll be fine.”
The dragon yawned and rose onto all fours. Moving only one limb at a time, it began a slow ascent up the mountain.
“Where’s it going?” Artis asked.
Warlick tutted thoughtfully. “A chamomeleon’s natural home is a steaming mug, so I’m guessing it’s off to find some hot springs.” The old wizard smiled. “That was clever thinking on your part.”
