Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  ‘What?’

  ‘Talking about the GFC outhouse again.’

  Ghene sighed, ‘I see, well. Perhaps one day when you’re old enough, I’ll tell you.’

  Broddor grunted and gave a brief dismissive wave. Ghene smiled, ignored the dwarf and told them of what he’d seen while scouting. Ten minutes later, they went on their way again.

  Ghene had found them a good campsite some miles further north and with the aid of magical lights provided by Floran to guide them they travelled through the night to get to it. It was deemed worth the risk of being seen to leave the territory of the Spire Dragons well behind them.

  There were fewer trees on this part of the coast, but Ghene had found them a ruined cottage that the druids pulled roots over to give a new roof. It was sheltered from the wind and warm enough for them to take off their coats.

  As they ate their evening meal the druids talked of politics.

  ‘So which is worse?’ asked Roztov. ‘Dreggen bringing his message to this King Primus fellow and the creation of some kind of portal that links Stovologard to Old Bones – or not?’

  ‘Sorry, explain this to a daft old dwarf will you,’ said Broddor. ‘Why would the opening of this portal be a good thing?’

  ‘Well. King Primus seems to think that he can negotiate with Old Bones. He’s wrong. You can’t negotiate with death, not even a dragon can do that. Primus may as well try and negotiate with a disease, or I don’t know, a tidal wave. The dragons on this island are immensely powerful, but they are of the living. Old Bones is undead.’

  ‘Right,’ said Broddor sceptically.

  ‘Don’t you see? This portal, or whatever, opens and Old Bones will send his armies through it. Tanud doesn’t have an ally; it has an invasion on its hands. Two threats to Nillamandor become neutralised.’

  ‘Oh but Roz,’ put in Meggelaine. ‘Think of the people that live here, not just the dragons. They’d be slaughtered.’

  ‘I know,’ admitted Roztov. ‘Or look at it this way, perhaps the three factions of Tanud, the Chasm dragons, the Spire dragons and the northern dragons would stop their own feud and unite against a common enemy. It may end up better for them.’

  ‘Whatever happened, it would keep them all busy,’ agreed Ghene. ‘We would certainly be glad of Garumuda being distracted from his schemes back on Nillamandor.’

  ‘Or,’ blurted out Meggelaine, ever the contrarian. ‘We end up with a massive undead dragon army not just in the east, but in the west as well?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Roztov, pulling on his beard as he thought. ‘We have no way of knowing. I’ve no idea what’s best. Whether to keep them apart, or let them have at it.’

  ‘You druids,’ grunted Broddor. ‘You won’t be able to help yourselves. You’ll interfere somehow. You should have stuck a knife in Dreggen when you had the chance Ghene.’

  ‘It would have made no difference; the Spire dragons know the message now. King Primus probably knows already from them.’

  ‘Knows what though?’ mused Roztov. ‘Was it just “Dear Kingy, getting together is a lovely idea, let’s set up a portal. Love and Kisses, OB” or more than that?’

  ‘Right. A portal. What do we know about portals?’ said Meggelaine.

  ‘Well it won’t be a druid’s ring, that’s for sure,’ put in Ghene. ‘They function through the glory of Etruna. Dragons could move the stones I suppose, but the magic required is closed to them.’

  ‘Well, you are the expert on druid rings, sweetie,’ said Roztov as he tried to reach over to tussle Meggelaine's hair.

  ‘You shut your face,’ she said as she ducked out of reach. ‘Tup, you have magic teleporty thingies in Hyadna don’t you?’

  Floran had been paying little attention to their conversation.

  ‘Eh? Sorry, what?’

  Meggelaine scowled at him. ‘Those strange pyramids of yours. Magical travel etcetera.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ smiled Floran as he bowed his head in apology. ‘There is a network of twenty-three pyramids throughout the Al Hamdalla region. Only the Vizards of Heshmatiye know how to use them. You couldn’t get a dragon through one, a horse maybe. They use a great deal of magical power to send even just a man. They are somewhat limited in range, but not only can a Vizard travel from pyramid to pyramid he me also travel to other destinations as long as he has magically marked them beforehand.’

  There was a pause for a moment or two then Ghene spoke. ‘I’ve heard stories, I expect we all have, of how Old Bones moves his undead about. If you look at how overrun Gnarlwold is, there are those that hypothesis that he has some magical means of moving his armies around. Nobody knows, but one theory is these things called Dead Gates. No one has even seen any evidence of them, but he must have some method of moving thousands of undead around Nillamandor without them being seen. He can’t be marching them through Eask and Lodz and he’s definitely not taking them by sea.’

  ‘Straight up teleportation, without rings or pyramids then?’ asked Roztov.

  ‘Not even the Dynar could do that. They considered it impossible, other than by the use of the druidic rings and the grace of Etruna.’

  ‘And yet the Vizards can do it.’

  ‘We don’t know!’ snapped Meggelaine. ‘Perhaps if we had more druids helping out at the GFC we would know, but we don’t.’

  Roztov and Ghene remained silent after their friend’s outburst. She scowled and busied herself with the few cups and pots they had retained since fleeing Moletown. Roztov got up from his place by the fire, grunting as his knees popped and went over to where he had arranged his bed and lay down to sleep.

  The next day their journey led them down out of the mountains and away from the coast, into a more relatively flat forested area. There was a narrow strip of land, no more than a few miles wide, between the eastern end of the chasm and the sea. Although it was well covered by trees the druids kept careful watch and Ghene scouted ahead of the main group.

  Once they were clear of the chasm they entered an area of rugged hills that didn't seem to be inhabited or hunted by anyone. It was a desolate land, with short fat alder trees growing only in the shallow valleys.

  The terrain remained the same for the next four days they travelled through it. Always going north, they camped each night in a secluded hollow or glade, usually lighting a fire and eating whatever food the druids had gathered from their trek through the valleys. There was little game to be had, but the druids found all sorts of things that were edible, although not necessarily pleasant to the taste.

  The druids led the group slowly, keeping their eyes open for threats. The few dragons that did fly overhead were easily avoided and on the fifth day they reached the sea again. Spring was well on its way now, but the strong winds that came off the half frozen white tipped waves was flecked with ice.

  Between the alder scattered hills and valleys and the sea was a strip of sand dunes covered in hardy grass. The hollows of the dunes were filled with snow, blown in by strong winds coursing along the coastline. The druids stopped for a while, taking in the view, reading the weather and the lie of the land. Eventually they led the group west along the beach, into the wind. There was little cover in this region, none at all on the beach and only a little shelter to be had behind the taller dunes further inland.

  There wasn’t much the druids could do about the harsh wind. Everyone pulled their cloak hood’s down over their faces and did their best to shield their eyes from the sand and ice being blown at them. Roztov was watching the sky though and after about an hour of slogging west into the wind he shouted out when he saw a dragon high overhead.

  ‘Everyone lie down!’ he yelled over the howling wind. 'Put your hands over your noses and mouths.'

  Then with a sweeping motion of his right hand he magically covered everyone in a few inches of sand. Roztov himself was covered, except for his eyes, and he watched as the dragon flew over. It was following the coast, from east to west, a dark silhouette against the pale grey sky. As it flew off into th
e distance he raised his head up out of the sand, then gradually his body. When it had completely gone he called out to the others that the coast was clear. They all then rose out of the sand, brushed off their cloaks and clothes, then continued on their way, battling against the wind with every step.

  On the second day heading south-west along the beach they could see mountains looming out of the mist, dark smudges against the slate grey sky.

  'I think we need to attune to this area,' said Ghene when they stopped for a short rest, 'and learn what lies on the other side of those mountains. I only have the vaguest of notions of where Stovologard could be in relation to where we are.'

  ‘We’ll need to find a decent place to camp,’ replied Roztov, holding his cloak’s hood down with one hand to stop it from being blown back. ‘It’s impossible to fly in this wind. I’ll scout ahead for a bit.’ He then crouched down and turned into a fox, then sniffed the air and cantered off down the beach.

  He found them a place to shelter from the wind although it was dark by the time they got there. It was a cramped little cave, formed from the spaces between piles of large rocks. The druids shaped it a little to keep out the draughts and a fire was lit. The cave soon grew warm, a happy respite from the wind howling outside. There was barely enough room for everyone to lie down, so Roztov used his magic to carve an additional space out of one of the rocks at the rear. The others brought in bundles of course dune grass to make beds from.

  ‘I’m exhausted. Every step against that wind is a struggle,’ said Meggelaine as she threw a stick on the fire then flopped onto her bed of grass.

  ‘This is a harsh land,’ said Broddor. ‘This is our third night on this coast and the wind hasn’t stopped for a second. I’ve got sand everywhere, and I mean everywhere.’

  Roztov was closest to the low entrance of the cave. ‘It’s started snowing again.’

  ‘That’s all we need,’ grumbled Meggelaine. ‘I’ve never seen the sea iced over before.’

  ‘You have.’

  ‘Eh? When?’

  ‘That winter after we came down from the Moon Marshes. The harbour of that town, I can’t remember its name. It was frozen over. We had to wait until spring to get passage on a ship.’

  ‘The town’s name was Shellbe,’ said Ghene. ‘I’m going to the back of the cave to start the attuning process.’

  ‘Do you want anything to eat?’ offered Meggelaine, although she was too tired to think of cooking.

  ‘Later perhaps, thank you.’

  They stayed in the cave all the next day and night. It was warm though, and there was enough to eat, so everyone was content just to be in out of the weather. Ghene spent the rest of the first evening attuning. In the morning, with the wind having died down a bit, he turned into a bird and flew north.

  By the next day though, most of them were bored of life inside the cave so they went fishing in the rock pools nearby. That evening they had crabs for their dinner.

  Late on the second night Ghene returned and as he warmed himself by the fire with a cup of tea he gave his report.

  'There is a narrow isthmus between this area and the rest of the island to the north. It’s virtually impassable on foot. Beyond it is a wall of tall mountains, then a ridge that leads down into the forest. Beyond that I did not see.'

  He put his cup down and stretched out his legs before continuing. ‘Just north of here is an inlet, it’s about a mile wide. There are jagged cliffs on either side, like the fjords of Vegas. All of it looks impassable, I saw no animal trails, let alone paths. I don’t think anyone ever travels this region. People going between the two halves of the island must go by boat.’

  ‘Perhaps we should do some mountain hoping then,’ said Roztov. ‘Scout for a good camp, fly everyone up, then do it again.’

  ‘In these winds?’

  ‘If we are not flying right into the teeth of it we should be fine. What other choice do we have?’

  So it was decided that they would begin their cautious hoping flights north in the morning. By the light of the fire they sharpened the blades of their weapons and cleaned their armour. Meggelaine washed out the cups and pots with melted snow.

  As Roztov washed some of the dirt off his dented helmet, Ghene smiled and asked him, ‘Why have you never replaced that old thing?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. It brings me luck maybe.’

  ‘You are too tight to buy a new one, more like,’ put in Meggelaine.

  ‘Was it dented in some mighty battle?’ asked Arrin. ‘Fighting against a foe like Doomshade?’

  Roztov liked that the sailors were joining in with the group conversations more these days.

  ‘Actually no,’ he admitted. ‘Strangely, one day when I was on the road to Timu, I was hit on the head by a falling turtle.’

  ‘Really?’ said Arrin in confusion, ‘Where had it come from?’

  ‘To this day I do not know. I can only assume it was dropped by an eagle.’

  Broddor was laughing. ‘Don’t listen to him lad. He tells a different story about that dent each time he is asked.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Arrin leaning back as he realised it was a joke.

  ‘When Roz first came to our fortress, he was wearing that helmet and it had a dent in it then. Did it have a dent in it when your father gave it to you?’

  ‘Why actually yes, and he told me he got the dent when an ogre hit him on the head with a roast ox leg. You see, he was in a cave...’

  Roztov paused when he saw Meggelaine was scowling at him; she was still grieving over the death of Ophess and found their mirth annoying.

  ‘Just buy a new one, for Etruna’s sake,’ she snapped.

  ‘Where?’ said Roztov looking around in an exaggerated fashion and then shrugging.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘They say you are wealthy, is that true?’ asked Salveri curiously.

  ‘Oh Roz is richer than a king,’ replied Broddor.

  ‘Not true.’

  ‘Oh it is. He’s a hoarder. Like a dragon. He never spends a single penny unless he absolutely has to. Typical Stykian.’

  ‘Well, I invested my share from Volek’s horde. Unlike other people I know that drank it all away.’

  ‘Hah! Playing into the stereotypes of dwarves!’ accused Broddor although he had just done the same to Roztov. ‘I didn't drink it, well not all of it. Most of it went to the temple.’

  ‘Well, you can both donate something to Ophess’s family when we get back then,’ said Meggelaine.

  ‘Sorry, Meg,’ said Broddor. ‘Insensitive of us.’

  Roztov rolled his eyes, then turned back to watch the snow being whipped about by the wind outside the door of the cave.

  In the morning they put their plan to push north into motion. Roztov carried Salveri and Arrin, Ghene carried Broddor, while Floran summoned a giant bee to carry both himself and Tankle. Meggelaine carried no one and turned into a kestrel.

  They dropped down twice, once on each side of the fjord and finally made their camp at the end of the day high in the mountains in a deep cave that Ghene had found. There was no fuel for a fire, so Floran created a magical one to keep them warm.

  ‘What a desolate region this is,’ remarked Meggelaine as she rubbed her hands and heated herself by the fire. ‘I’m never going to be able to sleep on this rock. I need pine branches, or reeds, or earth at least. Who has the food?’

  Roztov handed her the bag with their supplies. She opened it and began to sort out the rations.

  ‘Not a bird, not a dragon, not a living soul did I see the whole flight today,’ Roztov said later as he ate his meal of baked potatoes and smoked rotrok meat. Tonight they were finishing the last of the food from the forests around the Spire.

  Meggelaine was still apparently in a foul mood, as from nowhere she said, ‘you are of an age, you should be in the Council.’

  ‘Now then, Meg,’ he said softly.

  ‘You and all your money. Sat on your big pile of wealth in your estate in
Angor. You should be helping out at the GFC.’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing now?’

  ‘You should join the Council when we get back then.’

  ‘Sure sure, when we get back. Anyway, there are plenty of druids older than me all over the place that have nothing to do with the GFC.’

  ‘Yes, but they are all hermits and mendicants. You have incredible power in you. Lilly talks of you daily.’

  ‘Does she?’

  ‘You are a great disappointment to her. She says you have squandered all your potential.’

  ‘Hey!’ scolded Roztov. ‘I’m trying to raise a family.’

  ‘Oh please. Your poor wife waits on you hand and foot in that mansion of yours.’

  ‘Firstly, it’s not a mansion, which you would know if you had ever seen it, and secondly Jeb doesn’t wait on me hand of foot, which you would know if you had ever met her!’

  ‘The reason I’ve never been to visit,’ said Meggelaine with tears forming in her eyes, ‘is because we are so busy trying to do everything back at the Council because of all the bloody druids that don’t pull their weight!’

  Roztov held up his hand defensively, ‘Listen. How can this be the time to browbeat me into joining the GFC?’

  ‘It’s not,’ agreed Ghene. ‘But what Meg says is true. You would do a lot of good there.’

  ‘Build me a bloody proper toilet and I might consider it,’ said Roztov, getting to his feet angrily. ‘I know you are still upset about Ophess, but that’s all done now Meg. I’m going to sleep. Goodnight!’

  Roztov turned into a large grizzly bear, snarled, then curled up into a huge furry ball at the back of the cave.

  ‘That’s never good,’ remarked Broddor. ‘When he goes to sleep as a bear.’

  ‘I know that,’ snapped Meggelaine.

  There was silence for a while. The strange magical fire made no sound; there was no crackling as from a wood fire, just the faint roaring sound of the flames. Meggelaine sat and watched it for a while, as the others began to bed down on the hard rock, spreading their cloaks and using their packs and bags as pillows.