The Dragons of Ash and Smoke (Tales from the New Earth Book 5)

by J. J. Thompson

  Simon watched the exchange with interest. It was obvious that the cleric held a position of significant authority among the dwarves. He doubted that someone like Stanis would allow just anyone to smack him around.

  “Go on, Stanis, please,” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. As I said, we arrived in one of our drilling machines; a larger model because we had brought along a fair amount of trade goods. Fortunate for us and for the townspeople. The red dragon attacked soon afterward. We got almost everyone into the vehicle in time but, I'm afraid, one of the them was lost.”

  He looked sadly at Simon.

  “It was your friend Clara. I'm so sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. She insisted that we get everyone on board before her and then she went back when she noticed that Henry was missing. How was she to know that the snake had already fled the village?”

  “Henry,” Simon hissed in rage. He pulled his hand from the dwarf's and clenched his fists, looking across the room. “Not only did he betray the town but he got Clara killed. Oh, he has a lot to answer for.”

  And then his anger suddenly drained away to be replaced with grief.

  “So Clara waited until everyone else was safe?”

  Stanis nodded silently.

  “Yeah, that sounds like her. Always thinking about others before herself. Oh damn. I'm going to miss her.”

  “Her people will as well. I understand that two warriors, Malcolm and Aiden, have been leading the people since then. They are steady and caring men and are doing their best, but the people still mourn Clara.”

  “You said that she was the only casualty? But I saw mounds of ashes in the burning town hall. I was sure that the children...”

  “The children are safe,” Opheilla told him reassuringly. “I'm afraid that you saw what your fearful mind expected to see. But the ashes were only ashes, Simon. Everyone else made it, except for my fellow cleric.”

  He sagged against the pillows with relief and the cleric quickly stood up and crossed the room to a heavy wooden table. She filled a flagon with water, returned and handed it to him.

  “Here, drink this,” she said as she sat down again. “Take a moment to gather yourself. You've had a lot of hard news in a very short time.”

  He accepted the flagon gratefully and slowly drank the cool water. His dry throat was instantly relieved and his stomach settled down.

  “Thanks so much,” he said when he'd emptied the large cup.

  “Not at all,” Opheilla replied and took it from him.

  “But what happened when I got back?” Simon asked Stanis. “I remember the red dragon attacking but that's about it. How did I survive? Obviously I took some significant injuries,” he added and held up his scarred arms.

  “Significant?”

  Stanis barked a laugh.

  “Laddie, you were practically burned to a crisp!”

  “Stanis,” the cleric said, giving him a quelling look.

  “What? It's true, isn't it? It's taken you six months to bring him back from the brink of death and heal his wounds.”

  “Well, yes. That's true enough,” she said grudgingly. “Still, there's no need to be so...graphic.”

  “Bah. He's a man used to pain, lady cleric. Why, if you believe the tales, he was reborn once! I'm not surprised that he simply shrugged off a dragon attack.”

  Simon had to laugh a little at that outrageous statement.

  “I'm not immortal, Stanis, I assure you,” he said. “Lucky yes, and I've had the gods' help,” and he nodded to Opheilla as he said this.

  She smiled gratefully in return.

  “But I should not have survived a surprise attack by a red dragon. So what happened?”

  “Ah well,” Stanis said as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I can tell you exactly what happened, seeing as I witnessed the entire thing.”

  Opheilla rolled her eyes silently and Simon grinned at her.

  “You saw it? But I thought you had left with the townspeople?”

  “We did. But we only retreated underground and waited out the attack. We wanted to retrieve any supplies and belongings that the people felt they needed, if they weren't all destroyed. After all, they'd been through a lot and we thought that it would help them to cope with their losses.”

  “That was a lovely gesture, Stanis,” Simon told him.

  The dwarf cleared his throat loudly.

  “Yes, well. We also wanted to give your brave friend, the lady Clara, a proper burial. She had more than earned it.”

  Simon felt himself tearing up again but didn't say anything.

  “So we waited several hours, tended to the youngsters and then returned to the town. As you might remember, our drills only extend several feet above ground when on the surface. I'm not surprised that you didn't see it when you entered the burning village, what with the destruction and your exhaustion after your battle with the primal brown dragon and all. We had actually just retrieved what we could from the settlement and laid Clara to rest when you arrived. As is customary, I was the last to board the drill and that is when I heard the roar from overhead.”

  He grimaced and shook his head, the small golden beads that were woven into his beard clicking together.

  “At first I thought that it was attacking us and I was set to dive into the drill and go deep. But when I looked up, I saw that it was looking at something on the other side of the town hall and I moved around to see the target. And it was you.”

  Simon was listening intently.

  “Then what happened?” he asked breathlessly.

  Stanis was obviously enjoying telling his story and he paused for a moment, until a growl from Opheilla hurried him along.

  “Well, I think your wizardly instincts are nothing short of phenomenal, my friend. You were engulfed in flames and I was sure that it was the end, but somehow you managed to cast a Shield spell on yourself. It didn't last long under the onslaught, but it was enough to save your life; barely. The dragon pulled up and banked around for another pass and I raced over, grabbed you, and hot-footed it back to the drill. We barely got underground in time, but at least that damned beastie didn't have the satisfaction of claiming a wizard that day.”

  “I was with the party when we visited the town,” Opheilla added. “I wanted to speak with Clara. There are not that many clerics among our people and I was interested in meeting a human who had a connection with the lords of Light.”

  She shook her head regretfully.

  “We spoke only briefly, but I feel like I lost a friend that day. Ah well. Fortunately I was able to send you into a deep sleep at once and begin healing your wounds, else you would not have made it back here alive. And that is pretty much the entire story.”

  “Not quite. On the advice of the survivors, I went back to the town a few days later,” Stanis said.

  “Oh yes, I'd forgotten that bit,” the cleric said.

  “Went back for what?” Simon asked, puzzled.

  “For your other companions. We were told that several people went with you into the elven realm and that they would be back eventually, presuming they lived. And they were correct. Almost a week later, that paladin, Liliana? Yes. She and four others were returned to the town and we met them there. Fortunately the red dragons must have written off the destroyed town and were nowhere to be seen. We brought them back here to join the others. So that's one bit of good news.”

  Simon lay back against the pillows and picked at the quilt, absorbing what the dwarves had told him.

  “I want to thank you both. Not just for saving my life, for which I am eternally grateful, but for saving the people of Nottinghill. I think of myself as one of them in a way, and your generosity has been nothing short of amazing.”

  “Bah,” Stanis said in his gruff voice. “Nothing that any decent person wouldn't do. After all that you have done for us, sir wizard, could we have done any less?”

  “I agree with him,” the cleric said with a gentle smile. “You have been named a
friend to the dwarves by Stanis, as you know. So we were simply saving one of our own. Gratitude is unnecessary.”

  “Well, you have it nonetheless,” Simon said firmly. “So where are the people now? And where are Kronk and Aeris? I'll admit that I'm a little surprised that they aren't here.”

  Opheilla looked at Stanis, who nodded as he caught her eye.

  “Yes, well, there's another story that needs to be told, I suppose. Now, then, let's see.”

  Chapter 2

  Before Stanis continued his tale, Opheilla insisted that her patient have something to eat.

  She left the room and quickly returned with a tray of food and drink, which she set across the bed on Simon's lap.

  “Go ahead and eat, lad,” Stanis told him. “I can talk while you listen.”

  “Ah and he does love to hear himself talk, doesn't he?” the cleric said with a fond smile.

  Simon chuckled and began eating. There was a hot, gruel-like porridge that was fairly bland but sweet. It was perfect for his delicate stomach. Also some finely-sliced fruits that he could eat one piece at a time: apples, pears, peaches. They were all fresh and delicious. He wondered where the dwarves would get fruit underground, but saved that question for another time.

  The jug on the tray was filled with hot tea. Simon could have sworn that it was chamomile. It was also sweet, but not overly so, and he enjoyed it very much. It made him nostalgic for home.

  “First of all, your two servants,” Stanis began. When the wizard started to protest, he held up a large hand. “Aye, I know they are your friends as well, but they do serve so that is how I think of them. At any rate the capital, and indeed all dwarven cities, is sealed to elementals and always has been.”

  “That is actually untrue,” Opheilla objected. “There was a time when elementals from the earthen realm were welcome among us.”

  “Yes, well, that was long ago,” Stanis said with a shrug. “They are certainly unwelcome now. And before you ask why, it is a long story. It goes back to when the different elemental leaders were warring amongst themselves. Their feuding spilled over into this world and ended up involving the dwarves, the humans and the elves. It was actually the catalyst that eventually led to the long-standing animosity between my people and the elven race. But again, it's a long and convoluted tale.”

  “Sealed against elementals?” Simon said in confusion. “But how is that possible?”

  Stanis looked a bit grumpy after mentioning the elves and Opheilla answered instead.

  “You know that we don't use magic very often, except to improve our handiwork. But there are spell-casters among us. They are not...popular with other dwarves, but in times of need will be used to bolster our defenses. Several were instrumental in holding back the dragon hybrids that were created by the primal white dragon. After the wars on the elemental planes, these magic-users created wards specifically designed to keep out the elementals. And these wards exist to this day. Your servants could not join you here when we brought you into the city to be healed. Forgive me for not knowing their names, but I have never met them.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Simon felt horrible that his friends had been kept from him. He knew that Kronk especially would probably have been frantic knowing that he, Simon, was severely injured and that the little guy couldn't reach him.

  “So do you know where they are?” he asked Stanis.

  “No idea,” the dwarf said indifferently. “Perhaps back at your tower? Who can say?”

  Simon felt a moment of anger at the dwarf's attitude but quelled it. Obviously these people had no interest in elementals and, considering the history between them, he shouldn't be too surprised. And getting mad at the people who had saved your life would be very ungrateful.

  So he nodded silently and continued to eat his first solid meal in months.

  Perhaps the cleric was more sensitive than Stanis, or maybe she could read Simon's face better, but she hurried to reassure him.

  “As a wizard gifted with power over the elements, I'm sure that you would feel it if your companions were in peril. Do you?”

  Simon swallowed a mouthful of food and then settled back into the pillows and searched within himself.

  No, there was nothing wrong there, magically speaking. His standard spells were still locked in his memory, which surprised him somewhat, and he could sense, somehow, that Kronk and Aeris were still on the Earth. They were like two little pulses of warmth glowing inside of him. It felt almost comforting.

  “Yes, I think you're right,” he said finally. “At least, I can sense something that might be them. I hope it is anyway.”

  “Even small elementals like your servants, friends, whatever, are very hard to kill,” Stanis said grudgingly. “I wouldn't worry too much about them. Now, as for the survivors of the town, that is a much more interesting tale.”

  Simon finished the last of the fruit and sipped some tea, listening attentively.

  “They stayed here with us for a month or so. Opheilla and our other clerics healed their wounds and we gave them some time to get over the shock of losing a second town. Also they needed the chance to grieve for their leader, Clara.”

  He looked at Simon sympathetically and the wizard nodded silently in appreciation.

  “Afterward, they began to debate their next move. Where to go to begin a new settlement and all that. And that is when I got a brilliant idea.”

  Opheilla snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “It wasn't your brilliant idea, Stanis; it was theirs.”

  “Well, maybe so, but I did implement it after all, so I can lay claim to some of its success, can't I?”

  “Sorry, but what idea?” Simon asked, interrupting the beginnings of an argument.

  “Well, your people mentioned some mages living in a city called London,” Stanis said, keeping a wary eye on the cleric. “I assume you know them?”

  “Yes, of course. A brother and sister team; Sebastian and Tamara.”

  “Aye, that's them. The guardsman, Malcolm, also said that he'd heard tell of another group living in the small continent that humans used to call Australia. So, since none of your people can cast a Gate spell, I decided to seek out these humans and ask for their advice on where the, let's call them refugees, could resettle.”

  “That was a marvelous idea, Stanis!” Simon told him, surprised and pleased.

  “See, I told you,” the dwarf said to Opheilla, who gave him an irritated look of disgust.

  “So I took Malcolm and the paladin, Liliana, with me in one of our smaller drilling machines and we traveled to both locations. It took a while to locate each group; apparently they moved around fairly often, which I think is wise. But we spoke to both of them eventually.”

  “Happily, it turns out that those mages can actually cast the Gate spell,” Opheilla cut in with a smile.

  Stanis nodded, looking pleased.

  “Saved me chugging around the world, constantly ferrying your friends, sir wizard,” he said jokingly.

  “But where is everyone now?” Simon asked a little impatiently. “I'm guessing none of them are still here or someone would have turned up to say hello by now.”

  “Aye, that's true,” Stanis agreed. “Now this is the interesting part of the story. The red dragons have stepped up their campaign to eradicate humankind and somehow, and this is quite troubling, they have increased their numbers.”

  Simon finished his tea and Opheilla took his tray from him and set it down next to the bed. He thanked her absently, focusing on Stanis.

  “Increased their numbers? But I was told that that was impossible,” Simon protested. “There are a limited number of eggs and once they are all hatched, that is that.”

  “That is true, my friend,” the dwarf told him gravely. “But someone,” and he looked at the wizard keenly, “killed off four of the five primal dragons. And now, according to certain signs passed to Opheilla in dreams from the gods, I fear that the primal red dragon has gathered up all
of the remaining eggs from his fellow primals and made them his own. And he has hatched them; all of them.”

  “Oh my God,” Simon muttered in horror.

  “Yes. I daresay that there may now be as many red dragons darkening the skies over the Earth as there were once when all of the other types of dragons were combined.”

  “So we've just traded one problem for another,” the wizard said helplessly. “Which means that killing the primals achieved nothing.”

  “Not nothing,” Stanis told him firmly. “You slowed down their goal of wiping out the mortal races, including ours, for which we are forever grateful. And you put some fear into those beasties. Never a bad thing. But unfortunately, the red dragons are probably the most powerful of all of their kind. And now there are a hell of a lot more of the damned things out there.”

  “So what you're saying is that this is all my fault,” Simon said as he rubbed his eyes wearily. “All of our losses, all of the battles we've been through and we're back to square one.”

  “Hardly that,” Opheilla told him with a pat on the arm. “Red dragons have their weaknesses. They hate the cold, for one thing. And they have only the one basic attack: fire. Plus they are notoriously ill-tempered. They hate us, yes, but they also hate each other and only work together with great reluctance. Which means that you will rarely see a dragon attack of more than a few of them at a time.”

  “Small favors,” Stanis said a bit sourly. “But let me finish up my tale. After hearing about the attack on the new town, the mages in London and the Changlings in Australia decided that safety in numbers made the most sense.”

  “Did they?” Simon looked at him in surprise, shaken out of his depression. “That's great.”

  “Aye, I tend to agree. And since the people in Australia had seen a surge in dragon attacks, it is rather warm there and red dragons love the heat, they decided to move north to join up with everyone else.”

  “So where did they all go?”

  The dwarf chuckled and Opheilla smiled as well.

  “I think you'll appreciate their choice, sir wizard. The sibling mages found a place in what used to be northern England; very defensible and hardly touched in the original dragon attack. It is big enough to house ten times the numbers of humans living there now, it has good fields for growing crops in season and half the year it is covered with snow, making it a place that the red dragons tend to avoid.”