Dragon of Eriden - The Complete Collection

by Samantha Jacobey

  Producing a golden orb, he sang, “Anything you like. And we can speak through them, too.”

  “Bah, that’s absurd,” Animir whined, not believing a word of it.

  “Tis true,” the third vouched, also removing her hood to expose her bright blond locks that fell straight to her shoulders and framed her lovely face. Her emerald green eyes shone as she announced, “My name is Yimath, and I keep the histories of our people.”

  “She minds the books,” the other two stated in unison.

  “What an odd group of friends,” Ami breathed, completely smitten. “How old are you?”

  “Near on two hundred, my lady,” Mizath replied with a bow.

  “They are precious,” Zaendra squealed, agreeing with Amicia’s assessment of their new members.

  “They’re not children, love,” Hayt rebuked, his hand waving as he turned to face her. “He just said they were born near the time of the great war.”

  “Yes,” the Mate agreed, having picked up on that fact as well and not liking the sound of it. “You’ve seen a lot, I take it.”

  “And had a few centuries of practice,” Yimath stipulated. “We will build a shelter here to be close to you and act as part of you if you wish, my queen,” she continued, placing her hand on Amicia’s arm.

  “That would be a wonderful idea,” the girl nodded, getting to her feet. Staring down at them, her mind raced, and she could see why they were chosen to help them. “If anyone can restore my dragon form, you can, I am sure of it.”

  “We will give it our best,” Ziyath said with a wave of his hand. “For now, we should clear out our tree and prepare to get started. There will be much work ahead of us to prepare for the battle to come.”

  “Well now, that’s something we can agree on,” the Mate observed. “Let’s finish with breakfast, and then we can get on with it.”

  The rest sitting down to their meal, Meena offered, “Would you care for a bowl? It’s a simple morning porridge, but it will see you through the day.”

  “We would love to try your breakfast,” Yimath smiled, giving Ziyath a nudge to remove his frown. “There will be time for cottage building after the meal,” she assured him.

  Accepting his bowl along with the others, the first ossci they had met did not appear so easily convinced. Tasting the mixture with the tip of his tongue, his nose scrunched, and he sputtered, “It’s not our typical mash.”

  “No, but what is the harm in sharing something new?” the female of the three observed.

  “Eat it,” Mizath spat, their banter earning a round of giggles from their hosts.

  The three took their bowls and began settling in, listening to the conversation and learning about their new friends. Their morning planned, the ossci quickly finished their meal and left their seats. Chattering with each other in low voices, Amicia considered if they were actually kin. Observing as they scouted the nearby trees, she speculated, “Thirac, when you said the three had a talent, does that mean that is all they can do?”

  “Oh, no,” he shook his head, pushing back his empty dish. “They can all wield magic, use the orb, and know a great deal of our history. But each is stronger in their particular talent.”

  “And how did they become ossci?” Rey asked, perplexed by their tapping on trunks and examining the roots of several large specimens.

  “As I said, the ossci are our highest level of priest. Not all achieve such a rank, be assured. The ossci were all but wiped out at the time of the great war, so there are really only two left who are older than those I have brought you, as these three have only recently attained their stature. Mind you, the older ossci remain hidden as age and infirmity have stolen their ability to travel and their willingness to make new friends,” Thirac explained.

  “Well, not to brag, but our Amicia is quite talented with magic herself,” Piers boasted, giving her a wink as he patted the scar hidden beneath his shirt.

  “Yes, as a dragon, she has the potential to unleash a great deal of power,” the gnome agreed.

  “Pfft,” Rey huffed, “even raise people from the dead.”

  The trio at a tree close by froze in place, turning in unison to stare at him. Noting their discomfort, Thirac shook his head. “No need to embellish. We have seen the princess for who she is and recognize her potential.”

  Realizing his young friend had been called a liar, Piers pulled at the buttons on his shirt, opening it roughly and holding the cloth aside. The pink puckered scar exposed, he extended a single digit and pointed at it. “I assure you I was quite dead.”

  A heavy silence sat over the gathering for half a minute before the gnomes began to giggle and Meena hissed, “Put your clothes back on. They obviously are unmoved by your words, and there is no real proof that we may offer.”

  Returning to their hunt for a tree, the issue had been dropped. Changing the subject, Amicia asked, “Will we see Sevoassi while we are here? Or will you be able to take us to him for a visit?”

  “Sevoassi,” Thirac echoed, his eyes distant. “I do not believe I have ever heard that name.”

  “I’m sure that you have,” Ami countered. “He’s a gnome, very much like you. Red hair, beady eyes, about this tall,” she described, holding up her hand to her side to gauge his height.

  “I’m afraid not,” the elder insisted. “Where did you meet such a character?”

  “In the north woods. He helped us part from the northern pack,” Piers explained, adjusting his clothing into place. “He lived in a tree, or beneath one rather, as your homes we have seen in the village.”

  Swallowing, the gnome shook his head slightly. “I assure you we have no such member within our ranks.”

  “Could he have been born elsewhere?” Hayt suggested. “Perhaps to a couple who left Falconmarsh in the past.”

  “There is no such couple,” the leader insisted. “Gnomes do not live outside the marsh, ever. We are born here, and although we visit distant lands via transposition when the need arises, we do not travel. We do not move. And we do not mingle with those outside our kind.”

  “So say the trolls,” Reynard mocked.

  “Rey,” Amicia gasped.

  “Well, it’s true,” he laughed, cutting his eyes over at the tiny creature before he stood and strutted away.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ami breathed. “He must be tired after their mission,” she apologized to the gnome.

  “Think nothing of it,” he replied. “It has been many centuries since we allowed any into our lands, much less accepted them as equals. We have shown you great honor in the forming of this alliance.”

  “And we appreciate the gesture,” Zaendra grinned, giving him a small bow of her head.

  “I only hope it is enough,” Thirac agreed, getting to his feet. “For now, I will leave the ossci in your care and you in theirs. They have full use of the libraries in the village when you are ready for them, and we wish you the best of luck upon your quest.”

  “Libraries?” the Mate parroted, but the gnome did not reply, having turned his back and disappeared into the forest.

  Down in the Valley

  By midafternoon, the ossci had made their selection, a very large old oak tree that stood behind the table the Mate had constructed, but not directly as a few smaller versions hid it from their camp. Using their magic, they hollowed the space underneath, added steps, and furnished it for the three of them.

  Climbing down to investigate, Amicia shook her head. “I know you have said Sevoassi could not be real, but this is too much like his dwelling. You have even hung the tiny pot next to your fire as he did,” she gasped, pointing to the device.

  Shaking her head, Yimath agreed, “If you think he was real, perhaps he was. This is a magical land, after all, and anything is possible.”

  “Rubbish,” Ziyath scowled, muttering under his breath as he adjusted a hammock that hung scarcely a foot off the ground along the wall. “Gnomes do not live outside the marsh,” he added, climbing in to test the bed that would be
his.

  Chuckling at his display, Ami offered, “I think you have just earned a nickname, my friend, and I shall call you Grumpy.”

  “Grumpy!” he spat, sitting up to face her squarely. “I shall not be insulted in my own home, new or otherwise,” he growled.

  Laughing openly, Mizath nodded at the girl. “Yes, he is! May I have a nick name as well?” the grey-haired gnome beamed.

  “Well, if he is Grumpy, then you are Happy,” she grinned, liking the idea of not having to recall their proper names. “Grumpy, Happy, Yimath, the three ossci of Falconmarsh,” she teased. The joy she felt in their presence calmed her, as if they were old friends and their behavior perfectly expected.

  Rolling his eyes, the first gnome only grumbled as he left his bed and climbed the miniature steps, exiting their quarters in a huff. Outside, he called, “Which of you shall be my first apprentice?”

  “If you are referring to the transposition, I would love to hear more of it,” Meena volunteered, setting her stitching aside.

  “Good,” he coughed. “Let us move away from these hecklers and begin our work in earnest.”

  Giggling at his frumpy attitude, the wan agreed with their assessment of the long-haired gnome. However, rubbing his nose in it would not suit her purpose, and she hid her smile behind a straight face. Leading him down the tree line, the pair located a spot they could practice their craft undisturbed.

  Having climbed out as well, Happy nodded his agreement, “Yes, we should begin in earnest if the battle is to be won.” Turning to Animir and Hayt, he added, “Would you like to hear of the orb?”

  Refusing the offer, Zaendra laughed, “I shall stick to my spear.”

  “And I my new axe,” Hayt agreed, holding up Bally’s weapon, which Animir had bestowed upon him.

  “Good, because you were terrible with that sword of yours,” the elf grinned as well.

  “Then we’ll have an afternoon of training,” the Mate agreed, hunting for his blade.

  “I think I will learn of the orb, actually,” Animir countered. “I found it doubtful when the gnome first spoke of it, but perhaps there is merit in his offer of its greater use.”

  “Indeed, there is,” Happy nodded, producing his small, golden sphere. “Do you have your own, or shall I retrieve another?”

  “No, I don’t,” Animir shook his long, cinnamon-colored locks.

  Opening his hand, Mizath offered one to the elf. “We have plenty,” he explained.

  “Yes, I know they are common,” his new student agreed. “I have never had one of my own is all.” He could have gone into detail and explained his circumstances, but he saw little point in sharing his sorrow over the past.

  “Then you may keep it,” the gnome grinned, indicating a path for them to follow. “Let us walk, and we shall acquaint you with its use and power.”

  Accepting the gift, Animir pursed his lips, glad he had kept the story of his existence hidden. “Thank you. That is most generous. I’m sure it will be of great use to me.”

  Watching them go, Amicia sighed, “It finally feels as if we are getting somewhere.”

  “The path has only begun, my queen,” Yimath warned, her golden strands catching the light as she looked up at her. “Shall we visit the libraries and begin our search for your cure?”

  “Yes, right we should. Which way?”

  Taking her hand, the gnome transported them in an instant, and they landed in a large hollowed tree. A portion of the ground missing beneath, it formed a large cave that extended for several feet into the trunk that spanned at least twelve feet in diameter.

  “Oh my,” Amicia gasped, startled by the sudden travel and even more so by their destination. “Is this the library?” Large tomes lined every wall, and she could see no physical entrance or exit to the place.

  “One of them, yes,” the gnome agreed. “They are sealed and hidden, so only those who know of them may enter,” she explained.

  “Fascinating,” Ami breathed, turning slowly as she took in the sheer number of volumes. “It doesn’t harm the tree to remove what’s in the middle?”

  “Not at all, as the living part of the wood is out next to the bark,” the ossci explained. “The center isn’t really vital, and it makes the perfect place for storing our sacred historical texts.”

  Patches of light shone through holes in the top, illuminating their find in bright yellow and white. “Historical texts,” Amicia repeated quietly, contemplating the notion. “So, what’s in them that is so sacred?”

  “These are the history of Eriden. Stories of our people and our past.”

  “The gnomes,” the girl presumed.

  “And all other creatures who have lived within our realm,” Yimath beamed. “We do not interact with those of the kingdom because we are too busy watching and recording what we see,” she explained, holding up her golden orb. “We can watch any and all that takes place within our world and document the cause in our great journals. We even hold the power to visit the scene should the need and desire arise.”

  “Can you hide within a shadow?” Amicia asked, her gaze still fixed on the texts, her eyes focusing on a few of the bindings and titles.

  “Of course,” the gnome agreed. “Secrecy is always vital when one wishes to observe without affecting the players upon the stage.”

  “How beautiful,” the girl grinned down at her new friend. “But there are so many. Where shall we begin?”

  “I think it would be best to start with you. I believe we will find the tome of Kaliwyn within these shelves.”

  “I have a book?”

  “I believe that you will.”

  Moving to the end of the last shelf, Amicia suggested, “Perhaps I can start here on the bottom and work my way up, while you climb to the top and come down to meet me.”

  “That plan is sound,” Yimath agreed, using a rickety ladder to reach the highest point.

  A few hours later, Amicia’s eyes had grown tired, but she refused to give up. They were inside their third tree, and she had just begun her second row when she gasped, “Oh my God. Could this help us?”

  Sliding down the ladder, Yimath inspected the title. The Rise and Fall of the Supreme Dragon Ziradon.

  “Well, he is your father, is he not?” Yimath observed.

  “Yes,” Amicia breathed, her fingers trembling as she reached for the oversized book. “Return us to the camp that we may peek inside,” she commanded brusquely.

  In an instant, they stood next to the table, where Meena and Zae were busy preparing their evening stew. “There you are,” the older woman observed. “We had begun to wonder what kept you.”

  “I may have found something,” the girl gasped, dropping her find on the far end of the flat surface and opening the first page, which held a picture of her father in all his glory.

  Tears in her eyes, she laid her hand against the image. He was a magnificent creature, she observed, recalling the worn and beaten version she had met only a few days before. “We should start at the end,” she said aloud, flipping the book and starting on the last page.

  Finding the end blank, they continued to turn until they came to the portion containing writing. The hand a fine script, the words blurred as her drops of sorrow escaped and dripped upon the page.

  “I will have to read it for you, my lady,” the gnome offered. “It is in a special –”

  “I read it fine,” Amicia countered, turning back a few more pages while dabbing at her eyes. Her finger tracing the page, she noted a great battle between Ziradon and Gwirwen, with two of his followers helping him. Deciding more would be in order, she turned back farther, coming to a chapter titled Kaliwyn.

  “This is it,” she whispered.

  “You can read this?” Meena asked. Her chore finished, she had joined them and glared at the strange writing in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Amicia nodded. “Can’t you?”

  “No. It’s more like… scribble,” the wan confessed, glancing at Yimath. “It’s like a ma
gical code.”

  “Yes, to prevent anyone from deciphering the words should the tome ever fall into the wrong hands,” the blonde gnome explained. “It was given to our kind by the creator. A special gift only for the ossci and the gnomes. How my queen may see is a mystery.”

  “Not so much,” Zae laughed, joining them. “We told you Amicia is a very powerful dragon. We saw her bring Piers back to life with our own eyes even if you do not believe.”

  “And so her skill would testify,” Yimath agreed, her amazement at that fact evident. “What does the story say?”

  “I will read and summarize,” Amicia suggested, “but it will take me a while. I don’t want to miss anything important.”

  Continuing her cursory assessment, she noted that the front held a table of contents, as the recorder outlined the great dragon’s life one or two words at a time. The pages that corresponded written in a beautiful script, she traced the swooping letters with a stiff digit, admiring the beauty with which the words had been crafted.

  Flipping to the end once more, she compared the two samples, noting most of the penmanship held the same features, but the last few pages stood out, as the change held abrupt and stark contrast. “Who records these, exactly?” she asked more thoughtfully. “I can tell the hand that penned them is different.”

  “We gnomes do get attached to our subjects,” Yimath agreed with a smile. “It would appear one of us followed Ziradon’s life in great detail to put this history in place. Where the writing changes, another took over in the telling, and in this fashion, there may be many who work on a particular subject over time.”

  “Using the orb,” Meena suggested, “by looking into the past. But surely they cannot see the future.”

  “Yes,” the gnome nodded, “that would be most likely. Futures are much harder to assess as I am sure you are aware.”

  “Looking into his past,” Ami breathed, still drawn to the contents and his early adventures. “It would be a beautiful thing to behold, I am certain.” Lifting the book, she carried it to her shelter. Lying across her blanket, with the tome flat beneath her, she propped herself on her elbows and drifted into the past.