Jeff Madison and the Shimmers of Drakmere (Book 1)

by Bernice Fischer

  His name was Azghar, and he was extremely angry.

  Matt was still kneeling on the floor when Azghar forced his way into the room. In his still hazy state he looked up in utter fear and awe. He had seen pictures of dragons and dinosaurs before, but none of them were as huge and fearsome as this one, or as alive!

  If Matt had not been feeling so fuzzy he would have run away screaming but for some reason his legs would not move.

  In a thunderous voice, Azghar asked, “What evil magic are you weaving here?”

  Wiedzma started as if she had been caught out doing something she should not be doing.

  “I am Wiedzma.” She pulled herself up to her full height and her eyes flashed. “No one dares to question me. Announce your name or face my wrath.”

  Azghar’s body heaved up and down. It sounded like an earthquake.

  “Your wrath?” he thundered “I think you should be worrying about my wrath!”

  His head moved from side to side as his eyes roamed around the room. “Now who uttered the word ‘smok?’”

  Grzegorz turned to Wiedzma, the vein on his neck bulging. “You said it was nothing, some old long forgotten fairytale! What is going on? Either tell him to leave or kill him!”

  Wiedzma’s face was flushed. She started with her elaborated hand movements, shaping the air between her fingers and moulding the space to form powerful magic. The energy started to pulse and rotate. Her magic was almost ready to be released in a thrust towards the dragon. A killing blow.

  Azghar snapped his head towards Wiedzma. His eyes widened as if he was surprised she was going to try magic on him.

  With a blink of his eyes, the dragon froze her hands and started towards her, watching her struggle to release her hands from his own brand of magic. The look of horror on her face would have been very amusing if the energy she had so foolishly entrapped in an air pocket was not going to explode, about to kill everyone in the room. He opened his mouth and in a single gulp swallowed the energy enclosed in the air pocket. Somewhere in his huge frame there was an explosion, but to the dragon it was nothing more than an insect bite.

  Azghar snorted at Wiedzma and her stricken face. A lava-red flame shot out of his nostrils, setting Grzegorz’s chair alight. The king shouted out and stumbled back against the wall. In his hasty retreat he stood on the bottle of blue potion that Matt had accidentally dropped. It was partially hidden under the curtain. The potion splashed up and soaked the king’s foot as he crushed it with his weight.

  Azghar searched the room until his eyes settled on Matt, still on his knees. The boy’s mouth was hanging open as he stared at Azghar in awe. Mentally he reached out to Matt’s consciousness very gently. He did not want to bruise the child’s mind as he probed his thoughts. It was very scrambled but the words “Giganotosaurus” and “cool,” were in the forefront. Searching gently, Azghar found the trace he was looking for. This was the one who had called him, this was the child who had called “smok”.

  Azghar reached out to Matt and gently lifted him up in his massive talons, careful to not hurt the little thing.

  “Time to come with me, boy,” he said as gently as he could, yet it came through as a deep thunderous roaring voice.

  Matt’s eyes were large. “Am I a dragon rider?”

  Azghar had no idea what this kid was going on about.

  “Stop!” yelled Wiedzma. She stepped forward as if she had just realised she was about to lose Matt just after he had taken the potion. “He stays here, he belongs to me, just who do you think you are?”

  Azghar waddled off to the doorway with a talkative Matt dangling in his clutches. Matt was talking about flying over a desert and doing tricks. Azghar was so busy listening to the boy that he almost missed what the witch was saying.

  Once he cleared the broken doorway, Azghar spread his wings. Azghar turned his head back to Wiedzma who was storming forward, having regained some of her confidence.

  “You are not the most powerful, Wiedzma. I am.” A blue flame shot of his nostrils. “I am Azghar. I am the ancient protector of Smok.”

  The dragon looked left and right, surveying the castle and grounds. Then with a mighty thrust of his wings he shot up into the sky, below him he heard Wiedzma gasp, “Azghar?”

  Wiedzma, shocked to her core, rushed outside. It cannot be, Azghar was not alive, no one had heard from him for decades! She watched the dragon until he was just a blue speck in the sky.

  33

  Matt was flying underneath a huge dragon, holding onto the white talons with both hands. Jeff would never believe that he was flying with a dragon. Matt frowned and shook his head as if he could silence the faint whispering which was growing louder until it was a rumbling hum. He was telling the dragon all about his dinosaur book at home. So far the dragon had not talked except for a couple of humphs here and there, both times accompanied with a stunning flame from his nostrils. Matt was so enthralled by the plumes of flame that shot out of his nostrils that every now and then he asked any question to see the flame thrower in action.

  Azghar was taken with this child. Why Wiedzma wanted him was becoming obvious. His dreams would have been an open book to every dream of every child in existence. He was innocent, ready to give all trust and imagination he had to give. Azghar seethed in fury that Wiedzma thought she could get away with this, or that she would even try! Azghar felt his blood boiling and willed for inner quiet, Azghar had no intention of scaring this child.

  While the child chattered, Azghar scanned Matt for enchantments and magic potions. He was appalled at how much had been thrown at this boy. What Azghar could not understand was how most of the enchantments had failed to lock Matt into anything.

  The most worrying, however, was the potion that Matt had drunk. Azghar could smell it as he flew, but could not place the scent. He would have to land to examine the damage, and to see what he could repair.

  Azghar could sense an enormous amount of tears had been spent from this little boy. Oh, he was so going to make Wiedzma pay dearly for that alone. He was itching to roar and shoot his blue fire in anger.

  The dragon landed in a green meadow that had bright yellow daisies bobbing in the breeze. Just as gently he put Matt on his feet and lowered his head to gaze into Matt’s face. Matt was a little off balance and tottered back a step or two. The dragon pushed his face up against Matt’s and stared so intensely that Matt started to clean his face with his sleeve as if he had spaghetti sauce on his chin, warily watching the dragon.

  Azghar huffed and reared back. How on earth did the child manage to get hold of and drink Potion Amispekus? It was a powerful potion, very rare and took years to make. Oh, surely Wiedzma had not given him this particular potion to drink? He was looking forward to hearing the whole story.

  Matt’s eye widened as if he was surprised that the humming in his head had stopped. He looked up at the fearsome dragon and gulped. “Are you going to eat me now?”

  Azghar laughed. “No, child.”

  Matt responded with a smile. “Okay. But I’m very tasty. I’m Matt.”

  “Indeed you must be … Matt.”

  The dragon settled down on the grass, squashing the yellow daisies under his massive body.

  “Tell me how you got here.”

  It took a long time for Azghar to get the story out, and even then there were a lot of holes. The child could not remember everything in sequence either.

  Matt was all over the place. Azghar was so interested and entertained he did not even notice that Matt was climbing all over him like a jungle gym the whole while he was telling him all he had done at the castle.

  My old friend Thirza is at the castle …Why? Azghar mused. And Holka? She does not sound familiar but I think I should investigate that further.

  Matt was happily swinging upside down. His legs hooked over Azghar’s talons. He went into detail about his painting works, showing Azghar his treasures. He also showed his fine collection of marbles. At this Azghar snorted with laughter, roasting th
e nearby daisies by accident.

  Matt stopped in front of Azghar’s face and asked, “How come you can talk? My mom and dad have read many books about dragons to me and none of them could talk.”

  Azghar smiled when he answered. “I am Azghar the dragon and Azghar am I. I have always been able to talk, but you can hear me because of that blue potion you drank at the castle. How come are you not afraid of me?” he asked in return.

  Matt smiled. “Everyone likes me and I can do addition and subtraction already.”

  Azghar sent a toothy smile back at Matt, enjoying how the boy’s grin got even bigger at the sight of his teeth. Most people would be screaming in fear if they saw so many teeth just a short space from their faces.

  He knew by Matt’s magic footprint that he was the one who had uttered the word smok. It was also clear why it came through so hazy. Matt had a lisp, so what he had in fact said was closer to “thmok”. Azghar regarded the boy. He was little and it was doubtful he knew what the word “smok” would unleash.

  “How do you know this word, ‘smok’?” Azghar asked.

  Matt screwed up his face as if he was trying to remember. “I don’t know. My mom tells me a poem every night before I go to sleep. ‘Stamp my foot and shout smok, smok, smok’.”

  “Humph,” replied Azghar. He knew this poem. It was a little old rhyme surely forgotten in time. How did Matt’s mother know it?

  Azghar dropped his head so that his massive blue eye, the same size as Matt’s head, was level to the boy’s face.

  “I need to do more magic on you. This will make all the other nasty magic go away.”

  Azghar pondered the situation. My magic won’t take away the effects of the Amispekus. That is permanent, but we can work around that.

  “Will it hurt?” asked Matt.

  “You won’t feel a thing. Then, afterwards, I am going to see if we can get you home.”

  Matt clapped his hands. “Yeeees! Can you come with me? You can share my room.”

  Azghar laughed then stared into Matt’s eyes. For a dragon as powerful as him, it was not hard to undo the threads of magic tied to Matt, but there was a lot to undo.

  Quickly the dragon put Matt in a mild trance to keep him still, which was best, as Matt had already proved to be a busy bee. After a short time the magic threads were untied and Matt was free.

  After Azghar released him from the trance, Matt blinked and immediately picked up a small stone to toss it across the meadow. Azghar was satisfied that the child would be fine, despite the Amispekus potion, which was already deeply threaded into Matt.

  Azghar got up. “Come Matt, let’s go.”

  Matt watched as Azghar stretched his wings. There was a loud fffprrrruppph. Matt looked around. Fffprrrruppph, it came again.

  Matt looked at Azghar. “Was that you?” His eyes were large.

  Matt giggled. “Did you just fart? ’Cos it was not me. That was some fart!”

  Azghar looked at Matt like the child had just lost his mind. Did he really just tell him that he had farted? Him? Azghar the Dragon?

  “I did not fart,” he answered.

  Fffprrrruppph, there it was again. Matt was grinning broadly, his eyebrows shooting up and down.

  “That is not a fart, Matt. It’s the wind chambers under my wings, and it helps to propel me into flight. That’s the noise you hear. Wind.” To prove the point, he spread his wings and a loud fffpwwrrrruppph came out.

  Matt fell into a fit of giggles. “It sounds just like a fart,” he hiccupped in between the giggles.

  Azghar glared at Matt. “It was not a fart. I, Azghar do not ‘fart’.” He pushed his wings up and down, frrruppptt frruppptt.

  It was just too much for Matt, who laughed till tears were rolling down his cheeks.

  “Well! Come on then,” said Azghar with his bottom lip jutting out. He wondered if he should have left Matt in the trance. He flapped his wings to create momentum, fphrruruuurrrp, fphrrrruuurrrppp. He had to move closer to Matt, as Matt could not move, his head hanging down loosely on his shoulders, helpless with laughter. Although he was thoroughly annoyed by now, Azghar picked Matt up with his talons and gently folded him close to his body. Matt was still laughing, his little body shaking. After a few moments in flight, Matt’s giggles subsided into hiccups.

  Azghar felt his lips twitching. It was the first time someone had actually asked him if he had farted, laughed at him and lived. It was also the first time someone had made Azghar smile in a long, long time.

  34

  Wiedzma was frowning and shaking her head as she walked around the room.

  “Just what was that?” yelled Grzegorz, who was still standing at the window, holding onto the curtain. He motioned for one of the guards to bring him another chair. Guards were running around the room, some trying to put out the flames of his beloved throne. Not that it mattered. The dragon’s flames were so hot that the chair was still lava red and molten into a golden blob.

  “Just look at my throne!” shouted Grzegorz. “And tell me the brat left my marbles behind.” He motioned frantically for guards to search on hands and knees for his precious gems.

  Wiedzma stopped in front of him. “Stop your snivelling. We have bigger problems than your marbles or your blobby chair.”

  “Who was that?” demanded Grzegorz. “Explain how he managed to take our child away, why did you not stop him!”

  Wiedzma was seemingly too deep in thought to be annoyed by Grzegorz’s tone.

  “That was Azghar, and I can’t explain who he is. He is Azghar and Azghar is him! He was supposed to be gone. No one had heard from him in a very long time. I never knew he was the keeper of Smok. The brat cried ‘smok’ yesterday, and then the crack happened and then he arrived.”

  Wiedzma flicked her hair over her shoulder while the king glared at her.

  “It must have called him from wherever he was. I should have seen it yesterday but who knew that the kid would, or could, call the dragon!” She was still walking up and down as she made sense of the events that had just passed.

  “He must have been quite far away, because he only came today.” She turned back to Grzegorz. “Which means sooner or later he will come back.”

  “Why?” asked Grzegorz.

  “We kidnapped a child to steal his dreams, why do you think!” she snapped back at Grzegorz. Then she smiled. “But I will deal with him when he arrives. A lot has happened while he has been away and I was caught unawares today.”

  She smiled slowly, the corner of her mouth lifting. “He will find the child quite useless. He drank the potion, after all. I saw him swallow it myself. Even the all-powerful Azghar would not be able to unweave that enchantment. He will be carrying a comatose child with him, like a bag of potatoes! With a clever spell, I will still be able to access the child’s dreams. All is not lost.” She turned to smile at Grzegorz. “I have work to do.”

  “What about the rescue party? Have your shimmers taken care of them yet?” demanded Grzegorz.

  “The shimmers ran into a bit of difficulty and have not come back to me yet, but I have sent reinforcements.” She looked thoughtfully out of the window in the direction of where Azghar disappeared.

  “I tried to summon them in my ball the other morning but all I got was a lot of croaks and splashing, and,” she paused as if she were reluctant to admit, “and one said ‘ribbit ribbit’. It’s very confusing. Now I can’t reach any of them.” She scratched her chin, looking frustrated.

  Grzegorz tried to stand but found that his foot was asleep, totally numb. In fact, it was sleeping so deeply that it was snoring slightly. Grzegorz tried to shake it awake but to no avail. It was the foot that had accidently stepped into that small bottle half hidden under the curtain. He stood on it when that dratted dragon sent a flame to his chair and he had to vacate it rather urgently. He dragged his foot across the floor with Wiedzma staring at him.

  “What is wrong with your foot?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. It has just
gone to sleep. I stood in something.”

  Wiedzma’s smile was replaced by an ugly grimace as if she just had a horrible thought. She strode over to the curtain and hitched it up to reveal the broken shards with traces of blue liquid still in small puddles. Wiedzma bent down and sniffed the liquid.

  She gasped. She jumped up, turned to the window and shrieked “Noooooo!”

  Her black tornado was suddenly all around her in her fury. “I saw him drink the potion, I gave it to him! How did he swap it?”

  Her black hair flew from side to side as she looked from Grzegorz’s snoring foot to the potion on the floor.

  “Nooooooo,” she screamed again. Matt was not going to sleep, she would not be able infiltrate his dreams. Her plans were shattered. She was so angry with Grzegorz and his foot that the tornado started pelting the king with vases, wooden splinters from the broken door, ornaments, anything that could move. He ducked and dived behind his guards who were staring at her, horrified, trying to block the debris with their shields.

  “Stop it, you witch! You gave him the potion, not me! Stop messing around and fix my foot!”

  Wiedzma breathed evenly until her tornado became a mere gale-force wind. If the brat did not take her potion, then what did he drink and how did he get it? He had been in her room. He could have taken some potions with him. Perhaps they were not all ruined but still standing in his room. If she knew what potion he had taken, then perhaps she could enchant him in another way.

  Wiedzma swirled around and stormed out of the room, leaving the chaos and the still shouting Grzegorz behind her.

  Fuming, wanting to kick anything in her path and frustrated that no one was crossing her way, she stormed off to Matt’s room. She reached the wooden door and whistled for it to open, but nothing happened. She tried a different tune: still nothing. Frowning, she whistled tune after tune after tune until she eventually kicked the door in anger. Ugh! She would have to find that slave girl Holka to get the correct tune. Muttering under her breath, she marched off to the dungeon.