“He certainly knows how to make an exit, doesn’t he?” laughed Hunter. “Mind you, you’d find it difficult not to really, if you were his size.”
Barden was neither impressed nor amused. “We should proceed,” he said sternly. “You can stay in Reiggan tonight and we’ll resume our search tomorrow.” He marched off, not waiting for them to follow.
“What’s up with him?”
“Take no notice of him, Stitch,” replied Porflax. “He’s like a spoilt child some days, and he hates the thought of anyone but a wizard entering the gates of Reiggan. Doesn’t like sharing his toys, that’s his problem!”
They reached the gates of Reiggan and Porflax raised his hands high in the air. He chanted a few words that were inaudible to the nemilar and the gates began to part.
Stitch was amazed, “Now that’s impressive!” he said excitedly. “Look at the size of those gates, Ballorn, they’re not even making a noise! You’d expect to at least hear them scraping on the ground or something.”
They followed Porflax into the courtyard, where Stitch now stood open-mouthed in awe. They were greeted by three more wizards who looked decidedly older than Porflax.
Porflax bowed slightly and gestured toward Ballorn, “I present to you, Ballorn, the Nibrilsiem,” he said solemnly.
One of the elders approached Ballorn, his wrinkled face showing no sign of expression. He circled the nemilar and, now facing him, pointed at his breastplate. “I see you bear the mark,” he said, “but only your heart will prove whether you are worthy of wearing it. Tell me, do you think you are worthy?”
Ballorn pursed his lips, “Not for me to decide, is it?” he replied. “There is one who knows its significance far more than I, and he feels that I should be the one to bear the mark. As for me being worthy, well, time will tell I suppose. There are only two things of which I am sure. Firstly, I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk away from the trust placed in me. Secondly, and more importantly, it’s none of your bloody business!”
Porflax cleared his throat nervously, “I, erm… I think what he…”
The ancient wizard held up his hand and smiled, “I do believe that the Nibrilsiem has stated his case quite eloquently,” he smiled. “My name is Zolban, I am the head of Reiggan,” he announced. “And, I must add, it is a great pleasure to meet you, Ballorn.”
Ballorn nodded, “Well, same here, I suppose,” he mumbled.
Zolban beckoned two young wizards from the other side of the courtyard. “Emnor, Yellodius, take care of our guests and see to their needs,” he instructed. He faced the nemilar, “You must be hungry. Get a little rest and we can talk later.” He turned his attention to Porflax and Barden. “Gentlemen, follow me, you must have plenty of news you wish to share regarding your other adventures.”
“Oh, and you can stop fretting about old wotsisface, we found him for you,” laughed Yello. “Silly old goat.”
Porflax turned sharply to chastise the young wizard but Zolban placed an arm around his shoulder, “A standing joke I’m afraid, Porflax.” He stared wistfully at Yello, “And one in poor taste in my mind,” he added. “Come with me, I’ll explain.”
Emnor nudged his friend, “You always have to push it too far don’t you? Can’t you just keep your mouth shut for a change?”
Yello twitched his eyebrows mischievously, “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Go on then,” called Barden, “Off you go and be the good little slaves that you are. Food and drink for our guests, chop chop!” he sneered, as he walked away.
“I’d like to push him too far!” Yello mumbled, “Straight off a bloody cliff!”
“Not one of your closest friends I take it?” asked Hunter.
“Not exactly,” replied Emnor. “More like, the farthest you can be from being a friend. Perhaps we gave you the wrong impression when we met in Gendrim.”
“So, neither of you like him?” asked Ballorn.
“We absolutely loathe the little slimebag, most of the wizards here do. The only reason they let him stick around is so they can keep an eye on him,” replied Yello.
“Yet he’s allowed to wander freely without supervision. They can’t believe him to be that much of a threat?”
Yello smiled at Ballorn, “So, you think that Porflax turning up was just a coincidence, do you?”
Ballorn hesitated as he looked into Yello’s bright eyes, “Not now I don’t, no.”
“Don’t you worry, they’ve always got someone watching over him,” said Emnor.
“How do you know?” asked Hunter.
Yello grinned at Emnor, “Because it’s usually us two,” he whispered.
Their conversation was interrupted by a very embarrassed Stitch, whose stomach began rumbling loudly. Emnor placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the double doors to their left, “We’d better get this one fed before he wastes away,” he laughed.
Ballorn and Hunter followed, both gripping their weapons tightly. Hunter was only following Ballorn’s lead, but Ballorn could still hear the words that the dragon had spoken only a short while before. Be wary of the words of wizards.
Despite his excitement, Stitch was managing to wolf down copious amounts of food. With a simple wave of a hand, the wizards had produced mutton, beef and a selection of fruits and vegetables worthy of a king’s table. The tailor was delighted every time one of them waved his hand and wracked his brains to think of exotic dishes he had heard of, but never tasted, before asking for them.
Yello frowned at him, “We can’t produce things out of thin air, Stitch.”
“But you just have!” argued the tailor, “I watched you do it!”
“No,” Emnor said, correcting him. “It all came from the kitchen. All we did was get it from there!”
Stitch pouted, “So it’s not really magic then?” he sighed with disappointment.
“No, not at all!” exclaimed Yello. “We only managed to get it from there to here, through stone walls from a hundred and fifty yards away without carrying it! How could it possibly be magic?”
Stitch tried back-peddling, “Ooh, no, when I said not magic, I didn’t mean… it’s obviously magic, but…”
“Oh, do be quiet, Stitch!” groaned Ballorn. “You’re being gormless again! Just say sorry and we can all forget about it!”
“Sorry,” mouthed the tailor. “Won’t happen again.”
Yello sniggered, “It’s okay, only pulling your leg.”
“So, what does a Nibrilsiem do then?” asked Emnor, blatantly.
Ballorn glanced at Hunter, “This and that.”
“You didn’t have to go into so much detail!” Yello said, “After all, you don’t want to give away all your secrets.”
“Leave him alone, Yello, can’t you see he doesn’t trust us.”
Yello tipped his head back and peered at Ballorn, “Can’t say as I blame him, Emmy. After all, he only has Barden and Porflax to set his standards by, so we shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Perhaps we’d have more faith in wizards if you didn’t run each other down at every opportunity.”
Yello and Emnor were slightly taken aback by Hunter’s comment.
Ballorn leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, “You keep saying how terrible Barden is but, as we told Porflax, he’s posed us no problem.”
Yello sniffed, “That’s because he still needs you. Trust me, when the time comes, you’ll feel the knife in your back.”
“Or is it mere jealousy because he is involved in something that you are not?” asked Hunter.
Emnor sat back and drummed his fingers on the table, “Why would you think we’re not involved?” he asked.
“Well if you are,” began Stitch, “how do we know it’s not you who’s up to no good? You’ve already told us you’ve been spying on him. Have you been spying on us as well?”
Ballorn was pleasantly surprised by the tailor’s question and looked at him admiringly, “It’s a valid point,” he said. “Are you going to answe
r him?”
Emnor smiled, “Observing,” he replied. “A spy has an objective, we do not. The elders know that what you seek is an end to the chaos that is being created by the rogue dragon. We shall not interfere with you, but neither shall we allow any other to do so.”
Stitch wagged his finger at the young wizard, “Ah, so you admit it! You have been spying on us!”
Emnor frowned, “I thought I’d just explained that.”
Stitch was outraged. Turning to Ballorn, he started banging the table with his fist. “We can’t trust these, these… wizards,” he blurted out. “They want it for themselves! They’re making out that Barden will turn on us, when it’s them we should be careful of!”
Yello sat forward, a look of astonishment on his face, “Excitable little fellow isn’t he, your friend!”
“Doesn’t mean he’s wrong though,” Ballorn said calmly. “Stitch, calm down, you’ll do yourself a mischief.”
“But, but, Ballorn… he just said…”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, I heard what he said.”
“So, what do you want?” asked Hunter.
“The same as you,” replied Emnor. “An end to all the death and destruction that the dragon leaves in its wake.”
“And what prize would you expect, should you be needed to intervene?” asked Ballorn.
“None,” both wizards replied simultaneously.
Ballorn held up his hand for his companions to be patient, “Come on now,” he scoffed. “You know more than you’re letting on, and there must be something you’re expecting to get out of sticking your noses into our business.”
“I suspect that you are referring to the crystal,” Emnor said quietly.
Ballorn folded his arms as he sat back, “You know about that then?” he asked, slowly.
“Yes, we do, of course we do!” snapped Yello. “And we couldn’t give a toss about it! We simply want to make sure that it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands!”
“And whose hands would they be?” asked Hunter.
“That snotty little pipsqueak you’ve got tagging along with you!” exclaimed Yello. “Stamp my staff! Isn’t it obvious who we’ve been talking about all this time?”
“But you can’t prove that!” Stitch shouted, banging the table again. “It’s your word against his!”
“Pah, we’re wasting our breath,” snapped Yello, “It’s like talking to a bunch of kids!”
Emnor took a deep breath, “Cast your mind back, Stitch. How did you first meet him?”
“When he first came to the village,” replied Stitch. “About five and a half years ago.”
Emnor leaned forward, “Yes, but it wasn’t actually him, was it?”
“Well, no, not exactly. It was Dannard.”
“Exactly my point,” Said Emnor. “If he had nothing to hide, why didn’t he enter the village as himself?”
“He said he didn’t want to scare anyone. Wizards don’t have the best reputation where we’re from. The only ones you hear about are the ones that go about hurting innocent folk.”
“So why did he not announce himself properly and disprove the tales that all wizards are evil?”
The question flustered Stitch a little, “I don’t know! Why don’t you ask him?”
“We already did,” replied Yello. “And he came out with the same crap that he told you.”
“Do you honestly believe he’s that much of a threat?” asked Hunter.
The two wizards cast a knowing glance at one another. Emnor decided it was best that he speak for them both, “He is a dangerous individual, make no bones about it. We see far more in his eyes than you do, my friends. He is capable of things that would haunt your dreams for the rest of your lives. You will be allowed to continue with your quest, but we shall not accompany you. However, we shall never be far away, should you have need of our aid.”
Ballorn breathed out loudly and slow, “Alright, I believe you, but it begs the question. If we are successful, and we somehow manage to seize the crystal from the dragon, what do we do with it?”
“Hasn’t your friend offered any suggestions?” Ballorn glanced at Yello. “You know, the dragon who brought you here.”
Ballorn squirmed in his seat, “Ah, you know about him then?”
“Here we go again!” sighed Yello. “Yes! We know about him!”
“The subject never came up,” Ballorn replied sheepishly.
Yello arched backwards over his chair and placed his hands over his face. “Oh, this just keeps getting better! A dragon gives him the strength to pull trees from the ground with his bare hands but doesn’t realise he still only has a brain the size of a pea!”
Ballorn scowled, “Any more insults like that, wizard, and you won’t have a head to keep your own brain in.”
“And he reckons Stitch is a bit excitable,” laughed Hunter. “Saying that, it was quite a good one, as insults go.”
“I suggest we all take a deep breath before this goes too far,” Emnor said hurriedly. “Yello, you should apologise.”
Yello curled his lip as he stared at Emnor, “Get stuffed,” he said gruffly. “When have you ever known me to apologise for anything?”
“He can shove his apology!” Ballorn grumbled, “I don’t want it!”
“Good thing!” yelled Yello, “’Cause you’re not bloody getting it!”
Hunter smiled as he looked from Ballorn to Yello, “I do believe a beautiful friendship has been born,” he sniggered. “You two could be twins!”
***
“It wasn’t my fault!”
“Of course it was your fault! If you hadn’t crashed so heavily, the avalanche would never have happened.”
“It’s not as if I did it deliberately, Asdor. At least allow me that defence!”
“I know it wasn’t, Cordain. But it doesn’t change the fact that we now have a ton of snow to clear before the others get here!”
“Shame really,” sighed Cordain, “that cave looked ideal, we can all fit in there. If we’re quick enough, we’ll still have plenty of time to get it lovely and warm for when they arrive.”
“Yeah, once we’ve covered half a mile to get to where you brought half the flippin’ mountain down on the trail they’ve got to follow.”
“Alright, I’ve said I’m sorry. There’s no need to keep going on about it!”
“What do you suggest then? Do we sweep the snow off with our tails, or try to melt it?”
“How should I know!” shrieked Cordain. “What am I, the snow-clearing dragon expert?”
They bickered all the way to where the snow had blocked the trail. Following the natural curve, they froze at the sight of what now faced them. A fearsome looking dragon, even larger than they, lay blocking their path. It stared at them but showed no sign of aggression. It seemed more confused than agitated as it tilted its head and studied them both.
“What are you?” it asked.
They were unprepared for the question, and more than a little nervous.
“Do you have a problem with your eyes?” Asdor began, “We are the same as…”
“You,” said the dragon, “are not the same as I.”
“Look at us,” said Cordain, his voice shaking slightly, “We are dragons.”
“You may look similar,” yawned the dragon. “But you are not dragons. So, I ask you again, what are you?”
“What do you think we are?” asked Asdor, trying to think of an answer that would not infuriate the dragon.
“I’m not sure, your scent is completely unfamiliar to me. Are you wizards, or sorcerers perhaps, looking to cause mischief?”
“Neither, and, no,” replied Asdor. “We are merely crossing to the other side of Muurkain.”
The dragon shook his head, “I cannot permit that,” he said. “And, if it is as you claim, why are you lying in wait for the little people to arrive. Is it your plan to devour them, or simply murder them?”
Asdor and Cordain glanced at one another, “Little pe
ople,” mouthed Asdor.
“Oh no,” Cordain suddenly replied, “No, we don’t want to harm them. Just the opposite, in fact. We’re making sure the path is clear for them so that they can pass unhindered.”
“What if that was his plan?” muttered Asdor. “Well done, genius.”
“My name is Keldenar,” announced the dragon. “And it was not my plan to harm your friends either,” he added, peering at them both. “Keldenar is my given name you understand, you would not be able to pronounce my real name, as you are not dragon kind.”
“Okay I’ll admit we’re not real dragons,” said Asdor. “Well, we are, but we weren’t born as dragons.”
“Fascinating,” replied Keldenar, yawning again and lowering his head to the ground, “Tell me more.”
“We’re vikkery,” said Cordain.
“Oh dear, are you really?” replied Keldenar with a slight semblance of interest. “I’m sorry to hear that, anything I can do to help?”
“He means our race,” said Asdor. “We are called the vikkery. Those are our people following us.”
“You don’t look very much like them though. Did you have some sort of accident?”
“Well, I suppose in a way we did,” replied Asdor. “Mind you, everything would have been fine but for that blasted wizard.”
Keldenar raised his head, “Wizard?” he asked, “What wizard?”
“We never actually saw him,” replied Cordain. “He sneaked into our camp and met with our, well I suppose you’d call him our leader. He said he could offer us a gift so that we could get revenge on…”
“On one of our enemies,” Asdor interrupted quickly.
“Go on,” Keldenar urged.
“Well it turned out to be a curse, not a gift.”
“In what way?” asked Keldenar. He waited, but neither Asdor nor Cordain could think of an answer that would not include ‘dragonslaying’. “Ah, now I understand,” said Keldenar, nodding. “If the dragon you were hunting struck first with its breath, you would become the very thing that you sought to destroy? Am I correct?”
“We don’t have a problem with dragons…” Asdor began nervously.
“Do you not?” Keldenar asked, wearily. “I do. They can be the most obstinate of creatures at times, and that’s the nice ones. Some of them are downright obnoxious, stepping on anything that gets in their way just because they can, or setting everything alight simply because they don’t get their own way. It’s just so undignified!”
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 24
