Clara smiled warmly.
“On behalf of those gods, you're welcome. I did nothing.” She became serious again. “But don't get ahead of yourself. Simon. Remember, you must find these hearts and destroy them. That may not be as easy as it sounds.”
He shrugged that off.
“It doesn't matter. I'll get it done. After all, I have no choice, do I?”
“Not if you want to get your powers back.”
She stood up and Simon hurried to do the same.
“If you want to get back home before it gets dark, I think you'll have to leave now.”
She glanced out the window.
“It will be dark in a couple of hours and I'm sure that you don't want to be riding through the forest at night. It gets even colder once the sun goes down.”
“True enough,” Simon said and he walked across the room to get his coat.
Clara led the way into the main hall and both of them stood for a few minutes next to the roaring fire as they said their goodbyes.
“You discovered the Magic Mouth spell on your own, didn't you?” she asked him.
Simon put on his coat and settled it comfortably before answering.
“I did, actually. Why?”
“Because, once you regain your magic, I'd like you to give me a call and let me know.” She smiled. “It will reassure me to know that you are back to your old self again.”
He grinned as he pulled his mittens out of his pocket.
“That will definitely be on my to-do list.” He hesitated and then tried to express how much he appreciated her help.
The cleric waved off his thanks.
“It was my pleasure, Simon. And to be honest, as a cleric should be, we need you. We need you as an ally in this magical new world. I will admit that the thought of losing you and your magic was frightening.”
Simon looked at her with surprise. It hadn't occurred to him that Clara actually depended on him that much. It was a bit scary, but he was deeply honored at the same time. And he felt a weight of responsibility settle on to his shoulders.
“I understand, my friend. Believe me, I do. I'll call you as soon as I can. And, since I'll be back to being an apprentice wizard again, I'll be working hard to research new spells.”
“Good.”
Clara grinned impishly and then hugged him.
“Take care on the way home. My prayers are with you.”
“Thanks so much,” he said as they walked to the door. “For everything. We'll talk soon.”
And with that, and a wave, Simon left the hall.
Outside, the cold shocked him after the warmth inside and he shivered. Chief had finished eating and snorted at Simon appeared.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said to the horse as he removed the halter and put the bridle back on that large head. He snugged it carefully under Chief's horns. “We're heading home, big guy.”
Simon tightened the saddle and climbed up on the horse. He put on his mittens and they turned and walked slowly toward the main gate.
The streets were empty and he looked around as they approached the wall.
Clara and her people had built something to be proud of here and he wanted to be able to help them protect it. Monsters existed again and it was only a matter of time before they turned their attention to the little town.
So I'd better find those dragon hearts and get off my ass and be useful again, he thought darkly.
He rode through the gate, waved at the guard who was bundled up in so many layers that he couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, and then allowed Chief to break into a trot as they rode up the low hill toward the forest.
They paused at the top and Simon looked down at the postcard picture of the village below. He had to smile at the sight and then he turned and chirped at the stallion, who eagerly began to move, heading for home.
Chapter 4
It was full dark when Simon arrived home, feeling like a solid block of ice. His toes and fingertips were numb and, when he dismounted outside of the back gate, he had to hold on to the saddle for a few minutes until he had stomped his feet enough to regain his mobility.
Even cold and stiff though, he made sure to settle Chief into his stall and rub him down after his hard work. Then he made the big stallion a warm mash of bran with a touch of honey and left him munching contentedly.
The mares had been thrilled to see them back home and Simon gave them all water and hay before he finally left the stable.
The tower was secure and there were no signs of trespassers. He locked the back gate after checking for footprints and headed inside.
Fortunately there were still a few embers glowing in the fireplace and he carefully used some kindling to get a fire started before setting small logs on the flames. Then he lit candles and went upstairs to change into some clean clothes.
The upper floor was very cold and Simon knew that it would take an hour at least for the heat from the fireplace to spread throughout the tower by way of the ventilation system in the walls. So, after he got changed, he went downstairs again, pulled his easy chair in front of the fire, made some tea and bundled himself in blankets, trying to warm up.
Finally he could feel all of his extremities and began to feel warm and comfortable again.
He'd been tempted to search for the remains of the dragon that had crashed into his wall at its death, but the darkness and frigid temperatures dissuaded him. Tomorrow, he thought. I can stand being powerless for one more day.
Simon sipped his tea and stared into the fire, his mind blank of all thought. The crack and spit of the flames was the only sound in the tower, punctuated by the occasional howl of wind whipping around outside.
Isn't it quiet, Simon thought and shivered. He hadn't realized how much life and sound that Kronk and, to a lesser extent Aeris, had added to his life. If they were still around, he knew that Kronk would even now be chattering inanely about his day, while Aeris would drop the occasional sarcastic comment and Simon would be sitting there trying not to laugh.
Amazing how two beings not made of flesh and blood could be so full of life. And more interesting than most people that Simon had ever met, he thought dryly.
I miss them, was his simple thought. If he needed any more incentive to find those dragon hearts and regain at least some of his magic, that thought was it.
He stood up and added several more logs to the fire.
Tomorrow, he thought. Cold and snow notwithstanding, tomorrow he'd start his search. Simon was a little amused in a sad way to think that even a loner like himself could miss anyone as much as he missed his two little friends.
What do you know? Simon O'Toole actually has a heart.
He laughed aloud at the thought and then stopped as the sound echoed around the room, emphasizing his solitude.
He pulled his blankets tightly around him and headed for the stairs.
Yeah, tomorrow.
The next morning, Simon woke from a troubled sleep to a freezing room. The windows were frosted over and, when he finally convinced himself to roll out of bed and make his way across the room, it took a few minutes to force them open so that he could see outside.
“Oh gees,” he muttered. “Can't I ever catch a break?”
It was snowing. No, that hardly described it. It was an absolute blizzard.
The snow was coming down sideways in an almost gale-force wind and was so thick that the wizard could barely see further than a few feet from the tower.
Great, he thought. Then he sighed in resignation and closed the windows again. This should be fun.
It took some time to get a roaring fire started in the fireplace and warm up the tower and Simon puttered around the kitchen area, making oatmeal and tea for breakfast while he huddled inside a heavy blanket.
Once he had warmed up and eaten, he decided that waiting was not an option. The longer he put off searching for the dragons' hearts, the deeper they would be buried. And who was to say that it wouldn't snow again tomorrow? And the day afte
r that?
No. As unpleasant as he was sure it would be, today would be the day to at least start the search.
He glanced down at the robe he was wearing and smiled a slightly twisted smile. And that meant a change of wardrobe.
Simon picked up a lit candle by its holder and headed downstairs. In the basement, he lit several other candles that hung from the walls and looked around.
The cellar was the same size as the tower above, forty feet square, but on each wall was a closed door made of heavy, waterproofed oak that led to his storage rooms.
Although none of the doors had a label on it, Simon had mentally given them their own names.
There were two that he called 'Cold Storage' rooms. This was where he kept the harvest from his crops that he and Kronk had collected during the growing season and some of the foodstuffs he'd received by trading with Nottinghill.
There were bags of wheat flour, bushels of apples and corn and many other easily-stored vegetables. Even so, the two rooms were almost empty because they were as large as the main room he was standing in.
The third storage room he called 'Dry Goods' and the only reason it existed was because of his friend Daniel.
Simon paused and gave thanks yet again for Daniel's foresight. Through his world-wide exploration of old tombs and ruins, his friend had discovered that the end of the modern world was at hand. He had taken over the building of the tower and paid for it with his own money and the only thing he'd asked Simon for in return was the chance to visit now and then.
Well, except for a brief, and quite sad, visitation in the summer, when Daniel had returned from the elven lands to speak to Simon, he had never seen the tower.
And now I have this refuge, Simon thought. All thanks to him.
Daniel had stocked the Dry Goods room and, at the time, Simon had thought he was crazy. It had been about a year before his Change began and the world started to fall apart.
There were sealed, air-tight barrels of flour, sugar and salt. Resealable bags of spices. Canvas bags stuffed with fine kindling and many other practical supplies that Simon would never have thought of.
Daniel had brought in hundreds of candles and boxes of old-fashioned wooden matches. A barrel of cooking oil. Tools, including a hammer and a big bin of nails. A shovel. The list went on.
In fact Simon was still discovering new items whenever he wandered around the room. Just a few weeks prior to his current crisis, the wizard had opened a random box and, to his astonishment, found a sealed bag of gumdrops. Why they were there, he had no idea. But what a treat they'd been.
He chuckled and shook his head. God knows what else is in there, he thought as he opened the door to the final room.
This one he simply called 'The Wardrobe'.
Inside there were large cedar chests and tall bureaus along each wall. Rolls of fine cloth that Simon had used to make his robes and undergarments lay piled to one side in their plastic wrappings. A large box filled with hundreds of spools of thread and dozens of needles stood beside the cloth.
He looked at them for a moment and had to smile again. He had never had to sew back in the old world. All of his clothes had been tailor-made to fit his muscular, two hundred and fifty pound frame. Of course all that had changed when things fell apart.
After his Change, Simon learned to sew by necessity. For some reason, loose-fitting robes were the only kind of garment he could stand wearing for any length of time. He eventually decided that wizards simply preferred wearing that type of clothing and, because he had Changed into one, that was what he was comfortable with.
It made no sense to him then and it made none now, but there it was.
But there's no way I'm wearing a flimsy robe out in that storm, he thought and began searching through the chests.
They were filled with clothing of all kinds. Pants and slacks in one chest. Dozens of pairs of shoes in another. Shirts and coats hanging in the bureaus. The mystery wasn't that Daniel had stocked the room with clothing. No. The thing that Simon couldn't get over is that everything was made to fit the man he'd become, not the large man he had once been.
Daniel, Daniel, he thought with a shake of his head. I'll be thanking you forever, old friend.
He rummaged around until he found all that he needed. Then he carried his discoveries upstairs to his bedroom and began to get dressed.
Simon put on a set of thermal underwear, pausing a moment to get used to the constricted feeling of the garment. It was necessary but he didn't like it.
He pulled on thick woolen socks, a heavy shirt and sturdy pair of pants came next, followed by fur-lined boots.
Finally he struggled into a dark blue winter jacket with a hood and thick gloves.
He looked at himself in the mirror and burst out laughing.
I look like bundled-up five year old, he thought. His young, unlined face with its enormous mismatched eyes stared back at him innocently, with a crazy grin.
Ah well, no one's going to see me anyway.
He walked back downstairs, careful not to trip in the bulky clothing, and headed for the front door.
Then he stopped, made an exasperated sound and went back to the stairs again. He walked down and into the storeroom with all of his tools and found a small shovel.
Unless I want to dig with my hands, I'm going to need this, he thought ruefully. And then he climbed to the main floor again.
Simon was sweating already when he reached the front door. He glanced at the fire and saw that there was enough fuel on it to burn for several hours and then he pulled back the bolts on the door and, with some effort, forced it open.
A blast of arctic air slammed into him as he walked outside. He pulled the door closed behind him and stood on the front steps in a foot of snow.
The wind hadn't let up and the snow was blinding. He didn't even consider looking for the dragon that had fallen far off to the west. He was sure to get lost in the storm and would probably end up freezing to death. Not really a fitting end for a great wizard.
Yeah right, he thought wryly.
No, today he'd search along the wall where the second dragon had crashed. Kronk and his earthen friends had rebuilt the damaged section but Simon knew approximately where it was. He hoped.
The snow inside the wall was knee-deep and Simon determinedly forced one foot forward while tugging out the other. When he reached the new section, the snow was up to his waist. He leaned against the wall for a minute to catch his breath and looked around for any sign of remains.
The dragon had, of course, burned to ash, but Clara claimed that the heart remained and Simon assumed that other bits might have survived as well. But the snow was pristine and smooth from the whipping winds and he saw nothing.
With a heavy sigh, Simon picked a spot and started shoveling. The problem was that he didn't know which side of the wall the heart had landed on. He could be digging for no reason at all, But there was no way to tell without looking, so dig he must.
The tips of his finger went numb inside his gloves, as did his nose. At the same time, he started sweating as he flung heavy shovelfuls of snow over his shoulder.
Simon's movements became mechanical as he dug deeper through the snow. His mind was blank and he gritted his teeth as he hefted each load of snow and flung it as far as he could downwind.
Finally, the shovel clanged against the frozen earth. He gasped and shook his head in confusion. He'd lost track of the time and hadn't realized just how deep his hole was.
He stuck the shovel in the snowbank behind him, got down on his knees and started pushing at the loose snow along the sides of the hole.
“Come on,” Simon muttered. “Give me something. A scale. Some blood. Anything!”
He pushed and dug and felt around but finally sat back on his heels with a sigh of resignation.
“I think I'm digging in the wrong place,” he said to the snowy world around him.
The daylight was fading quickly into the early night of winter and Simon knew
that he'd have to wait until tomorrow to try again; on the other side of the wall.
He stood up painfully, wincing at his sore back, grabbed the shovel and turned toward the tower. He took one step, dragging his numb feet along the ground and then tripped and landed face-first in the snow.
He was engulfed and had to fight his way to his feet, looking like an animated snowman and cursing loudly.
“What the hell?” he said savagely.
He had tripped on something. Simon kicked through the snow, assuming that it was just a frozen tree-root and saw a flash of red in the dying light.
His breath caught in his throat and he knelt down again, pain forgotten, and brushed the snow off of the object. Then he sat back and stared in wonder.
It was a crystalline ovoid, about a foot in diameter. Spikes of red crystal shot out in all directions from a central core, but it was almost round in shape. There was a muted, almost undetectable pulse of light flickering up from the core and along the spikes.
“A heartbeat,” Simon said, almost in awe. Obviously, this was a dragon's heart.
“Even dead, the heart keeps beating. My God.”
He reached down and picked up the ovoid carefully. The spikes were as sharp as razors and he was glad that he was wearing thick gloves. The heart was heavier than it looked and he grunted with effort as he tucked it under an arm so that he could pick up his shovel.
Back inside, Simon set the heart on his kitchen table and then hurried to add logs to the fire before the embers died.
Even though it was cold in the main room, he was still so overheated from all of the shoveling that he didn't really care.
He stripped off his outerwear, lit all of the candles to brighten the place up and set water over the fire for tea.
Only then did he sit down at the table to examine the crystal more closely.
The structure was almost random; different lengths of spikes poking out of the ovoid center to different lengths. Strangely, the faint pulsing of the heart was more noticeable in the brightly lit room than it had been outside.
The Dragons Revenge (Tales from the New Earth #2) Page 5
