by Greg Curtis
Sure enough there was a dark spec out in the middle of the clear blue expanse, which could only mean it was some sort of bird. Except that as he realized, it was too high up for most birds, and to be visible even as a spec at such a distance, it had to be very large as well.
“Cala Tu.” He whispered the dryadic spell of sharp vision upon himself, and immediately saw things so much better than before, with the eyes of an eagle as the dryads said. But any eagle seeing what he could suddenly make out would have flown the coop screaming. It was a dragon.
Even at this distance, and it had to be several leagues from them, he could see the gargantuan body held aloft by the massive wings, the tail trailing it for what seemed like hundreds of yards, and the head on the end of that terribly long neck full of enormous sharp teeth and fire. And he could feel the might and majesty of the creature, not to mention the fact that it felt him as well. In the blink of an eye that seemed to somehow endure, he recognised the dragon and it recognised him.
“Dava!” He called for his friend, panic starting to rise as he realized one more thing, the dragon was heading straight for them. That could not be good. But Dava had said that his people and the dragons were old friends, that they would be safe, and for the moment Alan had to believe that. It was that or run screaming.
“Yes, what -”
“Dragon!” Alan just pointed out the speck in the sky heading their way, and let the others gasp in shock. They hadn’t realized until he said it. Then he listened as Dava and the others started chattering among themselves as to what a dragon could be wanting with them after so many years asleep. He noticed that absolutely none of them considered that the dragon might just be passing by. No more did he. Call it a gut instinct, but he knew the dragon was coming to see them.
Perhaps it was just to be another experience among many of the last few weeks. Awakening Dava and his family, freeing his dark elf kin from a tyranny, battling the undead in Gorgotha, and finally helping to awaken more than a thousand ancients so far. Hopefully the dragon would just be another event in that litany of milestones. Hopefully. And even if the dragon did intend something more than just friendly conversation - and it wasn’t as if they were known for that - there was ample protection.
Almost a hundred ancients were crowded on to the make shift terrace, and many of them had powers so great they made his head spin. Some of them could fly without wings, others could “blink”, there was no other word to explain how they could disappear from one spot and reappear somewhere else in the blink of an eye. A couple he’d witnessed levitating things, everything from small rocks for practice to entire wagon loads of luggage which they were loading on to the carpets. They’d come through their long sleep well equipped, and thankfully with clothes among their possessions.
The carpets, of which they seemed to have hundreds if not thousands, were just the beginning. Whole wizard labs full of strange equipment and crystals infused with all sorts of magical energies had been pulled out of the caverns, not that they would reveal much about them to him. They had libraries, tens of thousands of tomes of ancient knowledge, all stored in scores of great rune covered chests each large enough to hold a horse. Unlike Dava and his family, they’d also brought spare clothes with them, and though the ones they’d been wearing had disintegrated over time, none had remained naked for long, a relief for Alan as he awaited them on the terraces and let Dava do the awakening.
Perhaps understandably they had brought weapons with them as well. Spelled swords and armour that simple shone with magical power. His own swords and breastplate were well crafted and enchanted, but against what these had infused into them he knew they wouldn’t have compared. They also had bows, great and terrible bows of thunder and lightning, with arrows that took his breath away as he tried to understand the spells in them and failed. Then there were the wands. Hundreds and hundreds of them, each infused with one or two war spells and surely able to decimate an undead army.
In a way it was good that they were prepared to face the undead, but at the same time it was worrying to know just how powerful these people were. When the war was over and assuming they won, which he was slowly becoming more and more confident of, what would these people do? He knew they were peaceful, but that wasn’t quite the same as harmless, and just by being here and having such knowledge and power they could change the entire world. Especially if some of that knowledge and power was given to others.
He’d worried about that some nights, particularly as he watched so many weapons being ferried out of the caverns and loaded onto carpets to be carried away to New Huron. But in the end, he didn’t approach them about it. For the present, getting these people to safety in their new home, and then stopping the necromancer was what mattered most.
That and perhaps the reunions as people asleep for five thousand years awoke in a whole new world and greeted those who had slept with them, and mourned the loss of those who hadn’t. There were tears of joy and sadness, laughter and pain, but above all of kinship, and each time he saw another reunion he realized anew that these were good people.
Ashiel too had been or would be reunited with some of her family; her mother, aunt and another cousin for which he was extremely grateful, but they had become separated from her father and brothers in the final battles and it was hoped but far from certain that they were still asleep somewhere among the rest of the daises waiting to be woken. He hoped so.
They were a nice family, warm and jovial, and all had come to see him and thank him for awakening their family before heading off to New Huron and Ashiel. Many of the others had as well, though he had to admit it was always a strange experience for them. The differences that had developed between them over the millennia were large, and many would stare at his copper gold skin, marvel at his height and even reach out and touch his ears.
He didn’t particularly mind them doing that though. Just as he convinced them with his very presence that the world was a much different one from the one they had left and made the explanations so much quicker, so too did they remind him of their core. They were a nice people, good and decent and loving, exactly as Dava and his family had been, and when he knew that so many of them were going to be living only a few leagues from him, that was a good thing. Of course as with any people there were exceptions.
Ashiel’s betrothed was one such exception. He had also been awoken, but he wasn’t nearly so pleasant as his fellow sleepers. Coolness and arrogance were Alan’s main impressions of Afri when he’d first come to thank him, or so he’d claimed, and then ended up lecturing him about how puny his knowledge and magic was, and how he looked forward to instructing him. Alan wasn’t quite sure if that was a subtle threat or not. He couldn’t read the young ancient that well. There was so much unpleasantness in him that it was hard to be sure what was threat and what was simple arrogance. But he suspected it was a threat. Especially when Dava had apparently told him of his removal of the baron from his castle. It seemed he considered that as some sort of challenge. There was something if not outright evil in the ancient, at least a little rotten.
He was competitive, and from the first he had seemed to bristle at just being near Alan, as if he was an adversary to be vanquished. Alan wasn’t quite sure why. But it was clear that he hated being in any way less than Alan, even in height, which was strange since Afri was short even among his people. He would have been lucky to stand even close to five feet. He didn’t like owing anyone anything either, and though he had come, Alan assumed, with the intention of saying thank you, Alan had never once heard those words leave his mouth. Worst of all perhaps, he was angry, and not for any reason that he shared with Alan. He was just an angry person, angry with him, with the situation he found himself in, with his fellow ancients and with the world in general. He did not like having slept for five thousand years and finding himself in a whole new world where his name was not known. No doubt he intended to correct that.
In any case Alan didn’t like him, and had enjoyed seeing the ba
ck of him as he’d floated off to New Huron and his wondrous career as a Master of Flame, alone of course. He was the only one who had expected a carpet all to himself, and yet Alan noticed, no one had wanted to travel with him anyway. He could only hope he was a better man with Ashiel than he was with the rest of them. After all, why else would she be betrothed to him unless he had some good in him?
At least too, his survival answered one question for him, and removed one temptation from his life. Ashiel was betrothed, and that meant that he could hold no feelings for her, let alone act on them. That was good, or so he told himself, as it let him become once more the proper son of a knight. Maybe he owed the nasty little Huron a thank you of his own.
Meantime he could only hope that this dragon was friendly. Because he had the troubling thought in the back of his mind that the dragon had come for them, and come for him in particular.
They stood there together, standing almost as one as the great one approached, and it was a difficult time for all of them, especially when the dragon just kept getting larger and larger, until finally it filled the sky above them. Everyone on the terrace was standing there by then, mouths open, as the great beast soared overhead, awed by his size and power. But Alan was one thing more than that; he was overwhelmed, and not just by his might. Something deep within him, something that was maybe the very heart of his essence and his magic, recognised the dragon as his king.
Instinctively he went down on one knee, bowed his head and waited, acknowledging the bond.
“Come!” The command was so loud it set off a continuing explosion of cannon fire, and it echoed around the mountains with its authority. Still kneeling there on the terrace and surrounded by ancients, all of them looking confused and somewhat nervous despite their vaunted power, Alan suddenly realized that none of them could understand the dragon. None of them were meant to. All they heard was the roar and most of them flinched as if a stream of fire was shortly to follow. So much for their vaunted strength and their close relationship with the titans of the sky. The dragon was speaking to him, and only him.
He also wasn’t asking, and Alan bowed to his authority immediately, giving in to his demands without question. It wasn’t just his might that persuaded him, it was something almost primal within him that said the dragon had the right to demand whatever he wanted of him, and Alan the duty to give it. But then he was a druidic spellcaster, and his magic came from the land and nature, and dragons were the most powerful servants of the same. In a very real way the dragon was his lord where neither a human king nor an elven council could ever be.
“What’s he waiting for? Is he about to attack?” The Huron all around him were becoming more and more nervous as they watched the dragon circling in the air above them, and perhaps they had good reason. He was magnificent. A black dragon fully grown, his bulk filled the sky even hundreds of yards above them, and they could feel the down drafts from each beat of his powerful wings like a cooling wind.
“No! Be at ease, he’s come for me.” Even as he was telling the ancients the good news, at least for them, Alan was undoing the clasps on his armour, undressing as he prepared to transform. He’d practised the act often enough, and it was almost second nature to him by then, but it caught some of them off guard and they stared at him curiously.
“What do you mean?” Dava was suddenly beside him asking the important questions as he saw him undressing and guessed the reason.
“He’s called me. I have to go with him.”
“Bollocks you do! Just say no. No dragon would deny us if you stood with us.” Dava seemed upset, and in his shoes Alan would probably have felt the same. But he didn’t. He felt calm, and ready, as he dropped his clothes to the ground and started rolling them into the carry bag along with his swords.
“No. I have been summoned and I must obey. I will obey. I am a mage of the earth and the sky, of nature and elements and the dragons are the rightful rulers of all those including me. It’s right and proper that I go with him and I would never deny him.” Tying the rope tightly around the bag, and then fitting a slip knot over his right ankle, he began the transformation, and in just a few seconds was already a roc, while the ancients all around gasped once more. Apparently his magic wasn’t completely puny after all.
“Are you sure? You don’t even know what he wants.” Which was only the truth, and yet Alan felt as sure of it as he did of anything else. It was always his place to obey. It was all people’s place. He chose not to respond to his friend’s questions and instead spoke to the important matters.
“It doesn’t matter what he wants or why he calls me. He calls, I must answer.”
“Look after your family my friend. See to your people, and know that the elementals will be there to protect you all for as long as you need. And when you no longer need them for protection, you can command them into an army against the undead should you need one. I wish you well.”
With no more than that, after all, the dragon was surely already growing impatient as he circled high above them, he leapt six feet into the air, unfurled his wings and dived off the terrace. It was a glorious feeling as always, and with the updrafts coming off the mountains, he didn’t even have to flap his wings too hard before he was suddenly being carried higher and higher, straight towards the gigantic black dragon.
“You called Great One?”
“Follow.” With no more than that the dragon took off heading west, and Alan had to strain to keep up. Despite his immense size, the dragon was a powerful flyer. But soon he’d found his own rhythm and was flying along beside him, slightly to the rear of course as he didn’t want to seem assertive. Least of all when he was like a fly against the massive bulk of the dragon.
“May I know Great One why you have called me?”
“Sera calls. We obey.”
“Of course. Might I know your name Great One.”
“I am Han’gre in your tongue little one. The dark of obedience. Now we must fly.” There was a note of finality in the dragon’s voice, as if he hated to be questioned, or perhaps simply hated to be questioned by annoying little mortals, and Alan realised that he would get no more from him, but perhaps raise his ire. And he had already been granted the rare privilege of knowing the dragon’s name. He decided instead to settle in for a long flight, and enjoy once more the feeling of the wind over his wings, and the freedom, even as he wondered who Sera was, and why a dragon would obey her.
He had the strangest feeling he knew the name.
Chapter Eight.
“Three days!” Alan had never flown for so long or so hard, and when they’d finally touched down on the great ochre mountain in the middle of the vast ocean, his wings had been all but spent. And of course once he’d changed back into his human form, it was his arms and back that hurt and angrily throbbed in pain. But at least he had touched down, another rough landing where he’d somehow managed to slip sideways and roll several times before hitting the side of the tunnel entrance and ending up upside down and staring at the image of a laughing black dragon flying high above in the blue sky. But by then he was too tired to even be embarrassed. He was just grateful to have landed, and from what he could tell, it was the end of his journey. That was fortunate. He’d used his magic to keep him awake for all that time, and more to keep strengthening his wings as he tried to glide across an immense ocean, but there were limits.
He was hundreds of leagues east of any land he’d ever heard of, and in fact they’d left the land the morning before and flown over the great oceans of the world until they’d reached this gigantic peak, on an island in the middle of the ocean. The only land for as far as the eyes could see. Even roc eyes.
It was a mountain such as men had only dreamed of, taller surely than any other in the entire world, and the island which formed its base was little larger then it, making it seem almost as though the mountain had grown out of the very ocean itself. But that was impossible, surely. Steam rose from some craters in its side, speaking of the heat of the earth
rumbling up through it from below, but the mountain itself was a spire not a flat topped volcano. Above all else though, the mountain was a home to dragons. He could sense them as he had never felt them before, the dragons’ magic bursting free of the mountain, uncontainable in its power. And he could see the cavern entrances all over the mountain. There were hundreds of them and he knew that each was home to at least one dragon and possibly more. This he realized was a dragon roost, a lair.
In all the time that they’d flown the black dragon had not spoken a word to him, and Alan hadn’t dared to ask him any questions in turn. But when they’d arrived, the dragon had finally turned to him and told him to enter, before he’d flown off to his nest, somewhere higher up the mountain, leaving Alan all alone to transform, dress and do as he was told. He wasn’t game to disobey, especially not here.
