The Dragons Revenge (Tales from the New Earth #2)

by J. J. Thompson

  “So how many of these scouts do you think we'll need?”

  Kronk sat at the edge of the table, dangling his feet and watching the proceedings with interest. Aeris floated above the table at eye level. He stroked his chin at Simon's question and seemed to be doing some mental calculations.

  “The world is a big place,” he said slowly, measuring his words. “This mission will probably take weeks to complete, no matter how many of my brethren you enlist. But I would say no more than five for each draconian territory. More than that and they would overlap and waste their efforts. Less and it would take even longer for them to finish the job and report back.”

  “So let's see,” Simon said, ticking points off on his fingers. “Five each for North America, South America, Europe, the Far East, which would include Russia and China, and Africa. We can check out Australia and New Zealand when the first wave of elementals return.”

  He whistled at the magnitude of the task.

  “That's not a lot of scouts to cover so much territory.”

  “They can do it, my dear wizard, I assure you.”

  He pointed at the atlas that was lying next to Simon's left arm.

  “If I can make use of your book, I can direct each of them to a specific chunk of the map. That way, we'll know that they won't be searching the same territory twice.”

  “Master,” Kronk spoke up. “Are you sure you can do this at one sitting? Summoning so many elementals will be exhausting for you.”

  “I know, my friend,” Simon answered with a smile. “And I'll probably sleep the clock around when I'm done, but I'm sure I can do it. After all, I seem to have an affinity for elemental magic.”

  “That's because you are an elementalist,” Aeris told him. “As I've mentioned before. So, to use one of your own sayings, shall we get this show on the road?”

  Simon took a deep breath and nodded. The Summoning spell was one that he had firmly ingrained into his memory.

  “Okay, guys,” he said and swallowed heavily. His throat was suddenly as dry as sand. “Here we go.”

  Later, all that Simon would remember about that epic day of summoning was the procession of nearly identical air elementals, each of whom bowed low when he called them forth and then disappeared after getting their instructions and coordinates from Aeris.

  By the time he was done, the wizard was literally reeling in his seat.

  “Okay,” he said after the last elemental disappeared, heading for Africa, “my butt's asleep and I have to use the outhouse. Then I'm going to crash. Unless a dragon comes knocking, please let me sleep.”

  Simon was as good as his word. He woke up the next day in the late afternoon and only stayed up long enough to eat a large meal and get cleaned up before going back to bed again. The next morning though, he was up early feeling alert and well rested.

  The day had dawned bright and clear and the wizard spent several hours swimming and lolling in the lake. The horses ran along the shore and each one in turn would wade into the water to pay him a visit. He found their presence both reassuring and amusing. Apparently they were afraid he was going to drown or something.

  They really are more intelligent than they used to be, he thought idly as he watched Chief wade back to shore and shake the water from his coat, his razor-sharp horns gleaming in the morning sunlight.

  I wonder if they're ever going to mate, was his next thought. He had seen no other horses, Changed or otherwise, in his travels and Clara and her people had none. Perhaps these three were the last. If so, it would be a shame if the Change had rendered them sterile. But so far, there was no hint that the mares or Chief were interested in each other that way.

  Oh well, maybe Changed horses matured later than mundane ones did in the past, Simon thought with little hope. We'll just have to wait and see.

  After his swim, Simon met the elementals in his study. He'd told them that it was time to contact the dwarves and see what had happened since his warning about the dragons.

  The wizard held up his mirror, cast the spell while keeping the dwarf leader's face firmly in his mind and then waited.

  “I wonder if they found the dragons?” Aeris said quietly. “I'd guess that there are a lot of tunnels down in the deep earth.”

  “That's true,” Kronk told him. He was watching the mirror closely. “But I am sure the dwarves know every one of them. It is their natural environment, after all, not the dragons.”

  “Good point.”

  The mirror remained foggy for so long that Simon was beginning to wonder if the spell had failed somehow. But eventually the glass began to clear and the wizard could see the outline of someone's head. The face was in shadow but he had to assume it was Shandon Ironhand.

  “Hello? Ironhand? It's me, Simon O'Toole.”

  There was a grunt and then Simon heard a rustling sound, followed by a loud snap. A sudden flame appeared beside the darkened figure and he gasped as the lit candle revealed the dwarf's face.

  Ironhand's features looked like he had run face-first into a steel beam. Both eyes were black, his nose was canted to one side, obviously broken and various cuts and scrapes covered his skin. In his partly-open mouth Simon saw several gaps where he'd lost some teeth.

  “Wizard, is it?” the dwarf said in a low, slurred voice. “Well, well. Took your time calling, didn't you?” He sighed. “Not that I blame you. You surface dwellers never did care much for the fate of my people. Should have known better than to rely on you now.”

  Simon was staring at the mirror in shock.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You told me to call back in a few days. Well, it's been a few days. What the hell happened to you? What's going on?”

  Ironhand squinted and looked confused. Simon realized that the dwarf didn't have a mirror, so he couldn't see him.

  “A few days? Is that all? Huh, what do you know about that? With all the fighting and the running and the dying, a dwarf loses track of time. In that case, you have my apologies. After all, 'twas you that warned us in the first place. I am grateful for that. Some of my people will survive, at least.”

  “Survive? Ironhand, what's happened? Tell me, please.”

  The dwarf leaned back against the rocky wall behind him and Simon realized that he was sitting in one of the tunnels. He pulled the view of the mirror back a few feet and saw that Ironhand was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. One of them was splinted and wrapped in dirty bandages.

  “What happened?” Ironhand closed his eyes wearily. “Yes, I suppose you deserve to know. After your warning, I gathered my warriors, with my father's blessing of course, and set out to find these crawling dragons of yours. It took many hours but we finally ran into one of the beasties.”

  His eyes opened wide and he grinned a gap-toothed smile.

  “Ah, it was a glorious battle. Glorious! The dragon was sitting like a huge toad in the middle of one of the wider tunnels. I split my forces and we attacked from both sides. The men sang their battle songs and the dragon roared its fury. Yes, my friend. Blood flowed that day, both ours and that dragon's. But we were victorious! I lost six brave souls, but the dragon perished. We sang their souls to their rest, took the head of the creature and set off back home to tell of our deeds.”

  Ironhand's eyes closed again and he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

  “But we never made it home. When we entered the great cavern where our stronghold is located, we were in for a surprise.”

  His eyes opened and they looked searched this way and that in the gloom.

  “Are you still with me, wizard?” he asked a bit frantically.

  “Of course I am, Ironhand,” Simon told him, trying to sound reassuring. “I'm not going anywhere.”

  “Ah, good. That's good.”

  The dwarf sank back against the wall again.

  “Well, there we were, about a hundred strong, and we marched proudly out of the final tunnel into the open, just below the gates of our home. But the gates we
re broken, torn down. The walls were pitted and gouged. Bodies were strewn everywhere.”

  “Oh my God,” Simon muttered.

  “While we, fools that we were, were killing one accursed dragon, fifty or more crawled out of the tunnels like maggots and stormed our stronghold. You've not see it, of course, but over many years we hollowed out the cavern where the city was first built. Fools we were. Idiots! We gave the dragons enough room to take wing underground! They rained fire from above. My people fought back but they had no chance. All they could do was send the young and their families fleeing through a secret passage dug long ago. Whether they actually survived, I cannot say.”

  “How did you learn all this, Ironhand?” Simon asked. “You said when you returned, the battle was already over.”

  “Over? Yes, but the dragons were still there, digging through the rubble like hounds after rats, looking for survivors. My warriors and I were enraged by the carnage. We attacked, knowing that it would be our deaths, but determined to make the dragons pay for their crimes. I thought perhaps that one day, a song might be written about the last battle of Shandon Ironhand and his brave band of warriors.”

  He sighed again.

  “But who would even write it? None will now remember how it was. All of my men died during the final battle. I attacked the largest of the brutes, the leader perhaps; red-scaled, with a scarred and hoary muzzle. A veteran of many a battle, it seemed. Twas that one that broke my leg, and popped out a few teeth. But I gave as good as I got, oh yes. I sank my axe so deeply into its eye that it remains there still. My last memory was of being slammed head-first into a wall by its wings as it writhed in its death-throes. As I said, glorious.”

  Ironhand was smiling at the memory, but Simon was appalled. The dwarves were destroyed? Just like that? It didn't seem possible.

  “Then all of your people are gone?” he asked gently.

  “Gone?” Ironhand raised his head and glared into the darkness beyond his candle flame. “Of course they are not gone. What an absurd comment. I hope that those who escaped down the secret passage survived, but even if they fell, the dwarven race is greater than just one stronghold, and one of the smaller ones at that.”

  “You mean you have other cities underground?”

  “Of course. Our capital, down so deep that you can almost hear the pulse of life from the planet's core, holds thousands of souls. Not even a primal dragon could destroy that fortress, even if one could reach it.”

  He groped at his waist, pulled out a flask and drank loudly.

  “Ah, that hits the spot,” he said with a wince after he swallowed.

  “You still didn't tell me how you learned about the dragon attack while you were away hunting,” Simon reminded him.

  “Ah yes, that is true.”

  Ironhand's voice shook as he began to recall what had happened.

  “I found my father, near the base of the outer gate as we prepared to attack. While my men charged, I spotted him, lying there broken among the corpses. I rushed to his side and found him still alive, barely. He it was who told me of the attack and that he had ordered all who could to retreat to the capital. Naturally, as lord of the stronghold, he stayed behind to cover their retreat. When he had spoken his last, I took his token, which he had given to me, and charged into battle. That's when I took on that dragon.”

  The dwarf held up his right arm and Simon saw a band of metal, silver or platinum, around his wrist. It was covered with engravings and gleamed even in the darkness.

  “Are you alone, Ironhand?” the wizard asked. “How badly injured are you?”

  “Aye, I'm alone. All of my men are gone, heroes to the last. None remain alive in my stronghold. But they killed dozens of dragons! Did I tell you that, wizard? Besides the one I accounted for myself, there were many others taken down by my people. They did not go meekly into death, of that you may be sure.”

  “I believe you, Ironhand. Your injuries?”

  “Bah, a trifle. Broken leg, twisted shoulder, a few teeth gone. Nothing of consequence. But my father made me swear that if I lived beyond the battle, that I was to retreat from our home. The others of the dwarven people must be told, he said. Well, those who retreated will have to tell them. I don't think I'll live long enough to make that report.”

  Simon looked at the elementals and then back into the mirror.

  “What are you talking about? You just said that your injuries weren't life threatening.”

  “Aye, I did. I also told you that I am alone and my shoulder is wrenched out of place. My axe hand, wizard. I am defenseless here and the dragons still prowl these tunnels. I got this far as my father ordered, but I can walk no more and I refuse to crawl. Sooner or later, one of those wyrms will find me. Well, when it does, before it rends me to pieces, I'll spit in its face!”

  Ironhand's expression was fierce and a pale light seemed to glow in his eyes. Or perhaps it was simply the reflection from his candle.

  Either way, Simon felt a great admiration for the dwarf. There was no way that he would let Ironhand die alone at the fangs and claws of a dragon. Not if he could do anything to save him.

  The wizard stood up with the mirror in hand and headed for the stairs. The elementals hurried to follow him, obviously mystified.

  “All right, Ironhand, just hold on. I'm coming for you.”

  The dwarf peered through the darkness and Simon almost felt like those smoldering eyes could see him.

  “Coming for me? You can't come for me, sir wizard. I'm deep in the bowels of the world. By the time you could reach me, if you could, I'd long be a dragon's meal.”

  Simon hurried down the stairs, slipped on his shoes and crossed the room to grab Bene-Dunn-Gal.

  “Yes, if I was walking there, that might be true. But I'll be Gating down. And I'll take you to Nottinghill and leave you in the care of Clara. She'll see to your wounds, I have no doubt.”

  Ironhand's eyes widened and Simon heard both Kronk and Aeris gasp behind him. They were at the bottom of the stairs, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

  “You can do that?” Ironhand asked doubtfully.

  “Yes, I think so. I'm certainly going to try. So sit tight and, I don't know, try not to get eaten, all right? I'll be there soon.”

  The dwarf roared with laughter, wincing with pain but grinning widely.

  “Oh, you're a one, you are. Very well, good wizard. I shall 'sit tight' as you call it. Good luck to you.”

  “See you soon.” Simon said and canceled the spell.

  “Master, did I hear right?” Kronk asked as he tip-tapped over to Simon. “Are you going to try to Gate to that dwarf?”

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “Why?” Aeris shook his head incredulously. “Because you don't know where you are going, that's why. Do you know the coordinates for that tunnel? Did you at least see enough of the walls and floor to form a picture in your mind before you Gate?”

  Simon grasped his staff firmly in his right hand and planted it on the floor.

  “Nope, I didn't,” he answered truthfully.

  “Then how do you expect to get there? We told you, both Kronk and I, how dangerous a blind teleport can be. Did you even hear us?”

  “Of course I heard you. I'm young now, my hearing is actually quite good.”

  He stared at both of the elementals and saw only concern and fear in their eyes, even Aeris'. He sighed and leaned on the staff.

  “Look guys, I can't just let him die down there. I'm the reason he was out in the tunnels when his home was attacked. If he hadn't been, he might have turned the tide in the attack.”

  “But you don't know that, master,” Kronk said plaintively. “It is likely that he would simply have died with his people.”

  “I know that, my friend. But he is brave and noble and deserves a chance to live, if only to avenge his people. I intend to give him that chance. And yes, Aeris,” he said, interrupting the angry speech he was sure was coming, “I don't know his location. But I know h
im. I know what he looks like right now and that will be my target. Not a place, but a person. All the Gate spell needs is specific instructions on where I want to go. And I want to go to Shandon Ironhand. I think it will be enough.”

  Aeris opened his mouth, frowned and suddenly became thoughtful.

  “By the Four Winds,” he breathed. “That might actually work.”

  “I believe it will. Now look. You two have to stay here. No. No arguments, please. The dwarf could be attacked at any time. So stay here, take care of the tower and I'll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Is that an order?” Aeris asked bitterly. Kronk simply watched Simon, blank-faced.

  “No, it's not an order. It's a request. Please honor it.”

  “Very well, my dear wizard. We will remain here. Good luck.”

  “Take care, master. We both want you back.”

  Simon smiled at them, chanted the Gate spell's incantation and fixed the last image he had of Ironhand firmly in his mind.

  “Invectis!”

  Chapter 22

  Simon found himself standing in the dark. The still air smelled of rock dust and smoke and, from a distance, he heard echoes of roars and bellows. Dragons.

  “Ironhand? Are you here?”

  He was about to cast a Light spell when he heard a snap and saw a red flame come to life several yards away.

  “Well, I'll be an elf. You made it!”

  Simon grinned as he hurried over to the dwarf's side. Up close, Ironhand looked much worse than he had in the mirror. The cuts on his face were oozing and looked inflamed. His eyes were almost swollen shut and his bound leg jutted out at an unnatural angle.

  “Yes, I know. I've looked better,” the dwarf said, apparently reading Simon's expression clearly.

  “Well, maybe. But you're alive. And I intend to keep it that way.”

  There was a distant thud and the tunnel shook, dust drifting down from overhead.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  “By the stone, if you can get us out of here, I can dance,” Ironhand said and, with Simon's hand under his elbow, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Or foot. He put very little weight on his twisted leg.