The Last Stand of Daronwy

by Clint Talbert

  Careful not to stand in the tar, he walked from plank to plank, drawing each one and noting its location in the pit along with its shape and its marking. The burned planks looked random, as though they had been caught in some fire. Had this once been an oil derrick? Perhaps it had caught fire and burned, and then the ruins had been forgotten as Twin Hills grew up around them. How could he determine if there was enough wood here to build an oil derrick? He could dig down and see what might be under the first few feet of tar. He scratched at the muck with a solid stick.

  When he managed to excavate a few inches of ooze, sulfur water bubbled up from the hole he made, burning his nose and his eyes. He left the hole alone. It was probably tar all the way down, anyway. The pond’s water lapped against the tar pit. He strained to see if there might be more planks underwater, but he couldn’t penetrate the muddy murk beneath those dancing oil slicks.

  When the shadows grew long and his dad’s piercing whistle cut through the stillness of the forest, he’d only drawn half the boards. It might be enough. As he ran home along the trails, he wondered what Mira would say about them, if she might see a clue in all this.

  Mira turned the paper sideways, then upside down, then right side up. “It looks like spots on a cheetah,” she said finally, handing him back the paper.

  Jeremy’s shoulders slumped. “You don’t think it’s a clue?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Her eyes glanced to him, and she shrugged. “Well, maybe it is, and I just don’t understand it.”

  He nodded, folding the page and shoving it in his pocket.

  “Come on, let’s go see about the trailer,” she said.

  It had happened again. Just like yesterday when they had returned to finish the puzzle, all the wood was taken out and piled next to the trailer. Someone or something didn’t want them to figure out what the boards meant.

  “Again!” she said.

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Did you see anyone messing with it?”

  “No, you?”

  “We just did it yesterday!”

  She turned to him, pointing her finger convincingly. “This is proof that it’s a clue. They don’t want us to figure out what’s written on the boards. Come on, let’s finish it tonight and see what it says.”

  She climbed up in the back of the trailer, and Jeremy started handing the wood back to her. It was the third time that they had done it, and she moved quickly, piecing the puzzle together. Jeremy watched with a grin as the trailer’s floor reappeared piece by piece, offering his opinion on where each plank should go. Tonight they would finally read what it said. An old Ford pulled into the driveway of Mr. Black’s house. He got out, slamming the door of his truck.

  “Dadgum kids! What’re you doin’? I keep pulling all that damn wood out of that trailer! Why are you damn kids putting it back in? I want to refinish that floor so I can help my son haul his hay. Get out of there right this minute.”

  Mira stood up. “We’re—” she began.

  He hobbled toward them, brandishing his cane. “Git out of here! Out of my yard, out of my trailer, and don’t you come back. Git out of here ‘fore I tan your hides! Git! Git!”

  Leaping from the trailer, they ran up the street and toward their houses, leaving the old man to stand in his yard and scowl after them. They sprinted down Nevada Street, not slowing until they gained the top of the canal embankment. Jeremy and Mira dropped to the ground, hidden among the cattails near the scummy water, invisible to any passersby. Jeremy wished his ears would stop burning, and wondered if Mr. Black would tell his parents. Would they get into trouble?

  “I can’t believe that. We almost had the trailer finished!” Mira pounded her fist into her palm.

  “Yeah.” Jeremy prayed that she wouldn’t suggest they go back after Mr. Black went inside.

  She didn’t. “I guess that’s not going to work. I couldn’t understand the markings, anyway.”

  “Me either.”

  “We will have to think of something else to find the Old Man. Maybe your tar pit.”

  Jeremy’s eyebrows raised and he smiled. “Maybe.”

  “Hey, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Do you think that Mr. Black is the Old Man?” Her eyes sparkled at the prospect. She grabbed his forearm with both hands, shaking it. “Like in Scooby Doo. Think about it.”

  “I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”

  “Think about it. Why else would he want to keep us out of the trailer?”

  Chapter Eleven

  As he pedaled toward Daniel’s house, Jeremy played out scenes in his mind between Eaglewing and Mayflure. He figured she should be almost healed by now. Jeremy dropped his bike in the front yard and went through the garage to the back door of Daniel’s house. He knocked.

  “Hi, Jeremy,” Mrs. McClain said. “I think Daniel is in his room.”

  Hearing the interchange, Daniel came out. “Come on.” He led Jeremy back outside and up onto the embankment of the canal. The highway and cars and even the canal disappeared as Jeremy began.

  “Let’s play that Mayflure is almost healed.”

  Daniel crossed his arms.

  “She doesn’t really know how she ended up in that pit in Dan’kir—”

  Daniel interrupted him. “Let’s say that she’s hobbling on a crutch and standing with us in the room where the three Stones are. I’ll play her.”

  “We now have three stones, with the addition of the Des’an’dar Stone,” Eaglewing said to Mayflure, pointing.

  “Yeah, the extra one, the Tillianfeld one, and the Des’an’dar Stone,” said Lightningbolt.

  “And we don’t know—”

  Mayflure interrupted Eaglewing. “Eaglewing, do you think these adepts-in-training are enough of a guard?”

  “Um…” Jeremy stammered, surprised by the question. “This room is really deep beneath Hrad’din. You’d have to get through a lot of guards to get down here. I think they’ll be okay.”

  “Mayflure, did you see any other Stones in Khazim?” Lightningbolt asked.

  She shook her head. “We had barely made it through the inner keep before we were spotted and had to make our retreat. I don’t know what went wrong.”

  “It’s okay,” said Eaglewing. “Lightningbolt, can we use these to find the others?”

  Daniel rolled his eyes. “No. If Kronshar has any of them, he would know the second we tried it.”

  The monolithic door that could only be opened with magic grated across the tiled floor. Eaglewing and Lightningbolt turned as one. The Midnight Wizard stepped aside as Rathian and the Edenkiri from Des’an’dar entered. Eaglewing’s sword sang free, and Lightningbolt leveled his staff at them, ready to draw on the three Stones. The four adepts-in-training scrambled with their weapons. Mayflure gawked at the blue-skinned being, then belatedly shifted her weight off her injured leg and brandished her crutch like a spear.

  “Stop! Stop, you fools!” The Midnight Wizard stepped between them, waving his arms.

  Eaglewing lowered his sword, but did not sheathe it. Lightningbolt’s hands remained ready. The adepts-in-training looked from one to the other, uncertain of what to do.

  “They came to learn why we stole the Stone from them,” said the Midnight Wizard.

  Rathian bowed, as did the Edenkiri. “I am Rathian. I was once an adept, but I lost my way. Now I have found it again.”

  “And I am Niritan,” said the Edenkiri.

  Without taking his eyes off either of them, Eaglewing asked, “Why are you here?”

  “Because we can help you. I was deceived by the demon lord into attacking the Edenkiri and I want to amend that. From what we have heard, this Kronshar you are fighting sounds like one who would start the Great War once more.”

  “An
d after such a long peace, it is a travesty we cannot allow,” said Niritan.

  Lightningbolt looked from them to the Midnight Wizard, who nodded. “I am Lightningbolt Vindarin, Master Adept of the Wizards, and I am honored to serve with you both.” He bowed, releasing his spell and pointing his staff away from the intruders.

  Eaglewing’s eyes darted from one to the other.

  Rathian’s yellow eyes focused on the sword. “If we are not about to fight each other, can you sheathe that sword, warrior?”

  “How do we know we can trust you?”

  “Because you’d already be dead if you couldn’t.”

  Eaglewing remembered the room in Des’an’dar and the incredible power of the Edenkiri. He sheathed his sword. “My apologies. Master Adept Eaglewing Vindarin, at your service.”

  “I am Mayflure Kranta, Master Adept of the Warriors.” She leaned back on her crutch. “It is an honor to meet both of you. You’re both legendary.”

  “That’s what happens when you spend a few millennia as a statue,” Rathian huffed. Niritan smirked.

  “So you have three Stones.” Rathian stepped toward them. His horns were gone now, leaving only scars on either side of his head. His narrow golden eyes were little more than slits. Both he and Niritan stood almost seven feet tall, but unlike the wizard, Rathian had broad, thick shoulders.

  Niritan put one pair of hands on his hips and nodded to each Stone. “Aganite, Denonite, and Carmenela.”

  “You can tell them apart?” Lightningbolt stared from the Edenkiri to the shining blue orbs that seemed to float above the table behind their guards.

  “Anyone that can use the Stones must be able to tell them apart.”

  “Do you know where the other Stones are?”

  “No, master warrior, I only know where they were.”

  “There is one at the bottom of Tamilik Bay,” said the Midnight Wizard.

  “Yes, I know where it is,” said Rathian. “My men dropped it there to keep it safe.” He nodded toward Niritan. “An Edenkiri can raise it.”

  “How did you all get transformed into statues?” asked Lightningbolt.

  Niritan’s cheeks glowed a subtle purple. “It happened when two spells collided and backfired on me. We’ll speak no more of it.”

  Rathian chuckled. Niritan ignored him. “We need to find the Renith Stone. Besides the Capstone, it is the most important.”

  “Renith?” asked Eaglewing.

  “During the Battle of Milkrane Bluffs, the Stone Arunite was destroyed.”

  “Which created the Wasteland,” muttered Eaglewing.

  “They can be destroyed?” Lightningbolt stared at the Stones pulsing with energy on their table.

  “Yes. We used the Renith Stone to destroy Arunite. Renith took Arunite’s energy and is now almost two Stones.”

  “Where is it?” asked Mayflure.

  Rathian nodded to his willowy companion. “The Edenkiri took it after that battle.”

  “In a dragon cave on Fractured Mountain. I was with them when my commanders put it there,” said Niritan.

  Eaglewing started for the door. “Let’s ride. That’s a day’s flight by dragon.”

  “Ride?”

  He stopped. “Yeah, it beats walking.”

  “I did not hold a Stone for two thousand years to learn nothing. If I have been to a place, nothing will keep me from it. Come here, adept. Join hands and hold on tight.”

  Eaglewing, Lightningbolt, Niritan, and Rathian formed a circle. A hot wind blew their hair and garments. The all-too-familiar pain of using a jump cloth was absent in this spell. The wind tugged at the contours of the room, swirling around them in a vortex as the colors bled together. Eaglewing’s stomach lurched; they seemed to be spinning, but their feet did not move. He caught a flash of green and yellow, what seemed to be trees and mountains, and then the colors changed. Shades of yellow, brown, and orange rock moved around them, slowing. As the swirl stopped, he realized they flashed across the Wasteland. A distant sun beat on his head and then everything was dark.

  “Where are—” Blue light blinded them as an explosion rang in their ears, echoing through the cavern. As his eyes adjusted, Eaglewing could see Niritan standing before them, four hands outstretched, creating a magical shield. Eaglewing, Lightningbolt, and Rathian ducked behind him. A harsh voice laughed in the darkness.

  Kronshar’s bald head was lit from below with the light from the large blue orb he held, making his grin appear even more evil. Six wizards stood on either side of him, staffs ready. “So, it is true that you Edenkiri are as incredible as the legends claim. Welcome, Child of the Mountains.”

  Eaglewing unsheathed his sword. Rathian loosened his axe. Lightningbolt leveled his staff toward the wizards. Niritan grinned, shaking his long black braids. He put one pair of hands on his hips. “It has been a long time since I was called ‘Child’ of anything. I have come seeking what is mine. I would like it returned.”

  “Not anymore, Ancient One. Join me. I will bring back the glory of your race.”

  “You only seek your own glory!” said Lightningbolt, hands tightening on his staff.

  Kronshar’s eyes flicked to Lightningbolt. “Adepts. I should have known. So it begins, then.” Kronshar lifted the Stone.

  Niritan charged forward, crafting a swirling black spell while redoubling his glittering shields with others. Eaglewing and Rathian dove into the shadows on either side of the wizards. Lightningbolt streamed violet electricity from his staff. Shadows danced in the frantic strobe light as spells collided and exploded.

  A wizard swept his staff toward Eaglewing. Eaglewing parried, slicing his sword across the wizard’s shoulder. The wizard crumpled. In the next flash, Eaglewing stepped over the fallen wizard as another one charged. Shards of granite sliced through the air; percussive explosions boxed their ears. He felt the force of the wizard’s spell rip through his own shields even as he deflected most of the energy. He rammed his shoulder into the wizard, knocking him backwards. In the next flash, he saw Rathian on one side of the cavern, then on the other, crossing distance with preternatural speed.

  “After Kronshar!” shouted Rathian.

  Blue light flickered through the depths as Kronshar ran with the Stone. Niritan chased him, his long legs barely touching the ground. Eaglewing and Lightningbolt pumped their wings, trying to keep up. With each twist of the passageway, the cavern began to lighten. As they rounded the last corner, fire consumed the tunnel. Eaglewing ducked back, stopping Lightningbolt behind him. Niritan stood his ground, four arms crossed as fire bent around his shields. He made step after struggling step against the inferno.

  When the barrage of fire ceased, Eaglewing, Rathian, and Lightningbolt charged around the corner. A massive dragon stood silhouetted against the blinding daylight of the cavern’s mouth. And in the shadow of the dragon, Kronshar bowed his head over the Renith Stone. Niritan reached Kronshar first. As the Edenkiri lunged for the Stone, luminous blue light pooled at Kronshar’s feet, circling the wizard once and then surging upward like a thousand radiant serpents. Niritan back flipped through the air, landing among the adepts as they skidded to an uncertain halt. The tidal wave of blue energy crested against the roof of the cavern and plummeted toward them with an electric froth of sparks. Three of Niritan’s hands grabbed the other adepts.

  The adepts tumbled onto a sand dune, facing the spire-like mountain as its middle erupted into brilliant blue light. The crushing roar of an avalanche deafened their ears as a cloud of orange dust swept from the base of the mountain, covering them in sand and pelting them with rock chips. From the destruction, they watched a dragon with a lone rider soar against the sun, fleeing south and east toward Khazim.

  Niritan’s eyes narrowed to slits, glaring at Eaglewing and Lightningbolt. “You said that Kronshar did not know how to use the Stones.
”

  “He doesn’t…” said Lightningbolt. “At least—”

  “You know the Stones react based on the holder’s desires,” said Rathian. “Let Lightningbolt heal you; your shoulder looks out of place.”

  Niritan gestured with one of his uninjured arms. “It couldn’t flood by itself! You saw that, Rathian. You know what that was.”

  Eaglewing and Lightningbolt exchanged a perplexed glance. “What are you saying?”

  Rathian shook his head. “He’s saying you’d better hope the Renith Stone did that by itself. Or else—”

  “Or else you have already lost,” finished Niritan.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blue bonnets, Indian paintbrushes, and cottony wish-makers taunted Jeremy through the glass of Mrs. Rochard’s classroom. They gloated in the sunlight, wavering on a warm wind that descended out of an impeccable blue sky. Soon, he would be free. In three weeks, another school year would be over, and the wet, hot summer days would be his and his alone. Mrs. Rochard still trashed their homework, Coach Penicillin still switched the traffic light to red at every lunch, but the prospect of summer kept Jeremy going. He had already started celebrating the lengthening days with an hour’s walk in Twin Hills after school hunting that elusive, tantalizing magic that would free him from this world. If he could get through these last weeks, he would be free to find it—and to escape.

  Jeremy turned away from the window and dove into the golden woods of Lothlórien, mesmerized by the world Tolkien had created with long, unending sentences. He felt eyes on him and knew that he would soon be called back into the dreary cinderblock-walled schoolroom. Jeremy glanced up, trying to avoid Mrs. Rochard’s scrutinizing eye. She was staring in his direction, but not at him. Everyone in the room was quiet, backs still bent over the assignment Jeremy had already finished. Jeremy followed her gaze to Travis’ desk. It was empty. Jeremy tried to remember the last time he had seen Travis at school—or even home, for that matter—and found that he couldn’t. Had Travis moved away? No, he’d never get that lucky. Jeremy sighed and returned to the Elven lament for Gandalf.