Of Dark Elves And Dragons

by Greg Curtis

  Grudgingly, if he could be any judge of the dragon’s reactions, S’roth left him and headed back into the battle while Alan returned to his summoning. The sun was still high in the sky, the wind fresh under his wings, and he knew he had many hours of hard work ahead of him. But he also knew he had been given the strength to achieve it. The Lady liked her servants strong.

  His new form granted him the physical strength he needed as well as the weapons to defend himself, plus a toughened scale skin to keep him safe in battle and wings to get him out of trouble. His summonings had been reworked so that now whatever elementals he summoned were of a higher level. The infernos could fly like birds, the lightnings now seemed to zap everywhere in the blink of an eye, and he couldn’t wait to find out what some of the others would be able to do. He knew, though he hadn’t yet tested it out, that his normal spells would also be stronger and maybe, just maybe he would discover a few new ones. He would probably only find that out when he had need of the magic.

  Two months had passed, two months while he had done nothing more than sleep perhaps and the necromancer had grown stronger and bolder, and even dared to try and take a lair. But those two months had not been wasted as the Lady had worked her will upon him. Soon he promised himself as he continued summoning his lightnings, the necromancer would find that out for himself.

  Chapter Twenty Five.

  Ashiel wandered the endless tunnels of the lair with a broom in hand feeling sorry for herself. She didn’t mind the work but being treated like a servant was annoying. Not that she was the only one. Most of the Huron were in the same position, and the number of them who had been assigned cleaning duties was shocking. On the other hand it was sometimes quite amusing seeing the others, many of them once truly mighty spellcasters, reduced to menial duties, though she kept her amusement to herself. They didn’t enjoy being laughed at.

  There was of course good reason for them to be given menial duties, though it was hard to accept. Without their magic they simply had to learn how to do them. Washing clothes, sweeping floors, cooking meals, tending to the gardens, even just cleaning up after yourself. It was all stuff that they’d never done before as they’d had magic to do it for them. Now they had to learn to do what those without magic had done all their lives, and quite honestly they were terrible at it. Maybe that was partly because they wanted to be.

  Pride was a hard thing to live with when you lost what it was that you had to be proud of. For her though, it was different. Her magic had been important to her, but her name, her always doing the right thing, had been more so. Now they were gone. And unlike the others, she couldn’t even blame the dragons for taking away her power. Afri had done that all by himself.

  Just the thought of him sickened her. The knowledge of what he had done, what he had become, and perhaps though she didn’t want to admit it, what he had always been. He had not been her choice for a husband, but honour and duty had demanded it. The memory of him having touched her with those cold hands, that was worse. Even then she’d known there was something wrong with him, but not what. When she’d found out of course, her horror had only grown worse. Taking the potion the old apothecary had given her was a blight upon her soul, but allowing something that he might have put inside her to be born would have been a blight upon the world.

  At least the pain of those terrible times was fading into the past, though once she would not have believed that possible. Yet it had happened, it was still happening. Now it was just a bad memory, a nightmare from her past, and sometimes a reason to burst into tears during the quiet moments, but not the soul-destroying monster it had been.

  Time had helped of course, as it always did. Family helped as well, and her mother was always there for her. Oddly enough the work itself had helped as well. As pitiful as she was with a mop and broom, or a spade and hoe, there was something about the work that soothed. Something that took her mind off her troubles. Something that helped her forget for a while.

  And then there was the gardening. She liked that. She would never have imagined such a thing, but it was true. The feel of good rich soil under her hands, the sight of healthy plants growing, and the taste of the vegetables and produce they gave, it was unexpectedly rewarding. As if she was giving something back for her sins. And her sins she was slowly coming to accept, had begun long before Afri. She too had sought power, had ripped it from the land without a care. Now it seemed she could help a little to restore what she had taken, and that was good. Afri she knew, could never have understood such a thing.

  Maybe the dragons had a point; his soul had been bad. Maybe it was the same for all of them. Maybe the way they used magic - the way they had used magic - was wrong. Maybe it was right that they should be humbled.

  Yet if it was humbling to lose what had made them great, it was not so terrible as what she had imagined. The others here in this new lair, the dryads and the elves, the humans and the dwarves, they also carried brooms and cloths; they also helped with the cleaning, and many of them had magic to call their own. That still surprised her. That those with magic should do the same chores as those without.

  Meanwhile the war raged outside of the lair, and while she and her people were now safe inside it performing menial tasks, she still feared that it would not be forever. The dragons were powerful, more than powerful, but Agrin was a force unto himself. Some said he was demon spawn himself, and his armies would not stop. He had destroyed the world once, not alone perhaps, but still a terrible sign of his power and evil. He had nearly done it a second time after being killed. And now he was going to do it again, and neither she nor any of her people had their magic to stand against him. Maybe she could understand the intent of the dragons in binding their magic, but not their timing. Not with so much at stake.

  “He’s back!”

  The sound of running feet and her cousin’s voice rang out through the tunnels, causing Ashiel to forget her gloom for a moment. Esille was often a source of joy in these difficult times, her infectious good humour seemed to be without end, and she sounded happy. They needed whatever happiness they could find.

  “Who’s back?”

  “Alan! Alan Feralis! He’s back and he’s a dragon!” To say that Ashiel was surprised by her words would have been an understatement. She was shocked and then some. She’d almost given up hope that he would return. After having been saved, if he had ever actually been in danger, and she was still unclear on that, he had been taken again. The dragons claimed it was something to do with the Goddess, that he had been given other duties, but they were guessing. At least she thought they were guessing. Who really knew anything anymore? But as the months had rolled on by, she had given up on him. Wherever he was, he wasn’t coming back. And as for the other part, that made no sense at all.

  “Esille!”

  “No, no it's true.” Esille stared at her intently, and Ashiel suddenly remembered one thing about her cousin; she didn’t lie. It might not make sense, but it was the truth as she understood it.

  “He’s been sending his elementals into the attack, already driving back the undead in all directions, and they say he’s grown in power again. He may be the most powerful druid ever. But he’s also shape shifted, stuck in the form of a small dragon. And he still can’t land. Four good legs and he still crashed down on the outer terrace before knocking over several tables and chairs and ending up upside down in the flower beds!” That was Alan all right, and Ashiel had to suppress a giggle at the thought. It wasn’t really funny; one day he might actually hurt himself, but the most powerful druid in the known world consistently crash landing whenever he flew in a shifted shape, there was something amusing in that. And stuck in a dragon’s body? That sounded somewhat amusing as well.

  “He’s gone to see Sera even now.” That mattered to Esille she knew. That he was powerful, that he was close to the queen of the dragons. And once it would have mattered to Ashiel too. But it didn’t anymore, though she was surprised to discover it. What mattered was that he was back.
That he was alive and well in whatever form he now wore, that mattered. And that the enemy was once more being beaten back. That last was vitally important.

  “But where has he been?” Of course it was a question Esille couldn’t answer, and one she probably didn’t care about that much anyway. She just liked the drama of his return, and maybe the humour of his landings and the extra protection his presence would lend them. They would all like the last.

  “Let’s go find out.” Esille didn’t even wait for a response as she started running down the tunnel laughing, leaving Ashiel standing there, broom in hand, wondering what to do. Eventually she decided that the obvious thing to do was to follow her, after all she didn’t really want to spend any longer sweeping out the outer terrace chambers, and so headed down the tunnel after her heading for the royal chamber.

  Gossip had obviously been spreading, and she was far from alone, and by the time she reached the huge chamber, there were already people everywhere, and she realised she might have to struggle to find a spot. There were a few dragons there as well, studying the proceedings - not that they would ever admit to simple curiosity. Regardless, while the dragons held the floor, and even as vast as the chamber was, half a dozen dragons could still manage to make it look small as they sprawled out lazily over it, the hundreds of mortals found themselves places in the alcoves cut into the walls surrounding the chamber, most of which were elevated so that they could have a good view. She quickly decided to join them. After all standing on the ground, where a few brave souls were still standing, it was impossible to see anything through the hill like bulk of the dragons.

  Ashiel quickly found herself a place in one of the nearer alcoves, one where she could even lean against the stone hand rail as she looked out over the chamber, though of course there were people crammed against her on both sides, and more behind her. It seemed that news of Alan’s return had created a stir throughout the entire lair. Even the children were there, lots of children, filling up the other alcoves all around her, above and below, laughing and giggling among themselves, and she had to admit they added a little life to the lair along with a little chaos. Even the dragons seemed to enjoy them, though of course to them they were no larger than fleas.

  The sound of dull thudding, slow deep thunder in the mountain itself, told them all that another dragon was coming, and a hush grew as they waited impatiently. Even Ashiel was excited, though she wasn’t quite sure why. She hadn’t seen Alan in months, and then he’d been asleep for the most part, and before that he’d been giving her orders as he made her tend to his gardens. Now it appeared he had become a baby dragon, yet still she felt something fluttering in her chest as she waited.

  Then G’sar, a gold and one of the most senior of the dragons, entered the chamber first, looking somewhat sleepy, but then he always looked like that, and were it not for the war he would have spent months or years curled up fast asleep in his terraced chamber. Most of the dragons were the same. Still she had to admit that he looked resplendent, his gold scales glinting in the light of the torches, and the beams of sunlight streaming down from the ventilation tunnels cut into the ceiling. He even managed a bow to the queen’s image as she sat, curled up around her latest clutch of eggs in the royal chamber, before moving to one side to find a place to rest beside his fellow dragons.

  Then it was Alan’s turn and even from the first moment that he entered the chamber, Ashiel knew it was him. There was just something about him even in dragon form that she recognized. But he wasn’t really a dragon. Not a baby dragon, and not a small drake or anything else. His body was too long and slender, especially his neck and tail, his legs too short, and the scales glowed with every colour of the rainbow. Also he was awake where they were all half asleep, and there was a spring in his stride. He was almost trotting where they were just lumbering. But then the dragons were vast creatures and walking was never their favoured means of getting about.

  “A baby!” One of the children in another of the alcoves piped up, and everyone laughed even as her parents tried to keep her quiet. The royal chamber wasn’t the place for children’s chatter though the queen probably wouldn’t mind. Sera liked children.

  Eventually silence returned as Alan made his way across the vast sandy floor to stand in front of the queen’s image and bow low, a move which almost caused another round of laughter as his head on that long neck stretched so far out that it almost threatened to tip him forwards if not for his finally remembering to extend out his tail to counterbalance it. As it was he did a small dance of missteps.

  “Sera.” He acknowledged her as was normal, except for the fact that it seemed he no longer spoke in mortal tongues as his words were pure dragon. Ashiel knew what he was saying, they all did. After months in the new lair they all understood the dragonesque gruntings, but it wasn’t a language a mortal throat could speak. Using their magic, some of the spellcasters could manage it, letting the words emanate from the air itself, but Ashiel didn’t think he was doing that. She couldn’t feel that sort of magic coming from him, and oddly, though she might have little or no magic left to her, she could still feel it.

  “Young Alan.” The queen was looking somewhat curiously at her young spellcaster, maybe because of his new form.

  “Where have you been these past months?” Of course she had a right to ask the question, and the need as well since without him his elementals had slowly started running down, losing strength and leaving more and more of the battle to the dragons. He had been missed.

  “With the Mother I think.” If anyone had been asleep those few words swiftly woke them up and Ashiel watched as quite a few dragon heads lifted up abruptly from where they were resting curled around on their bodies and whipped around on their long necks to stare at him. Even the queen’s eyes seemed to open a little wider.

  “Explain.”

  “Yes your Highness.” One thing she noticed was that Alan was surprisingly obedient. He hadn’t been that way with the elves, perhaps for good reason. He also hadn’t been so respectful to his teachers, or at least that was what Ant kept complaining about. And he had apparently even openly threatened one king in the past and then done something nasty to him as well; no one would tell her precisely what, the teachers just rolled their eyes and grumbled about his youthful lack of self-control. But in the queen’s presence he was deference itself.

  “It began with the attack by the bone dragon.” There was a general gasp as he said that, since no one had yet survived a bone dragon attack, not a mortal anyway and they were busy wreaking havoc on the towns and cities, driving the people south in their millions. Even the dragons were suffering through long and arduous battles with them as they slowly began to appear in greater numbers. Dragons were powerful creatures but so it seemed were their undead brethren. But as Alan began his tale no one interrupted him, and the silence grew.

  By the time he’d finished his tale, a long and surely fanciful story, you could hear every movement of the dragons’ scales brushing against the sand as they breathed, and the distant echo of the wind breezing by over the top of the ventilation shafts. Ashiel knew though that everyone there was wondering the same thing. Could it be true? Any of it? And if it was, what did it mean?

  For the longest time nothing was said. Instead they simply digested what he’d told them, and though it was surely impossible, no one dared call him a dreamer. But then he wasn’t prone to dreaming and he didn’t lie. If anything Alan was too serious and too honest, and he simply couldn’t hide his true feelings. He found diplomacy one of the hardest of subjects to master according to his teachers.

  “Show me a lightning.” The queen was the first and only one to speak, and of course she wanted some proof before she could believe such an impossible tale. But the proof quickly arrived as Alan instantly obeyed her and started concentrating and in less than a minute one of the promised elementals was standing in front of him. A dozen foot tall vortex of spinning air and lightning strikes somehow curled in on themselves, and so b
right that it could light up the entire chamber. There was no doubt that it was powerful magic, Ashiel could feel that herself, and from the hurried whispers among the other spellcasters there, they knew the same. Sharper, more powerful, and quicker to summon, it seemed that at the very least Alan had made some strides in his magic.

  “An inferno.” The queen wanted more evidence and it arrived in an equally short space of time, and if the lightning was shockingly powerful, the inferno was more so. A giant ball of flame so hot it threatened to cook them all even from as far away as they were, its fire was no longer the cheery orange of his fire elementals, it was almost white. Fortunately as the chamber started warming up abruptly, Alan had it leave the lair, shooting up one of the ventilation shafts, streaking away like an arrow given flight.

  Silence returned as the queen had clearly decided she’d had enough proof and no one else knew what to say, even if they’d had permission to speak. Eventually Han’gre decided to say something.