Fantastical Ramblings (14 page)

The storm that would kill me.

Chill invaded my limbs.

Darkness crowded my vision.

Snow built up around me. My body warmth kept the flakes at
bay for a time, but as I chilled even more, the snow would cling and bury me. No
one would find me until Spring.

I could not even tremble in fear or shake with the endless
pain. Each breath became a new agony.

But I had to live. I had to stop Krej and his plans to rule
Coronnan.

The cat crept closer to me, nose working.

I breathed. Snow moved in a different pattern in front of my
nose.

The cat jumped back. Hissed. Crept forward once more.

I live
, I tried to
tell it.
Get help
.

My mind spun and drifted. Each time I blinked seemed to send
me away for longer and longer.

Darkness claimed me. I welcomed death. Anything to relieve
me of the pain and the cold.

Some time later, hours, minutes had no meaning anymore, I
felt someone digging the snow away from my body. Someone breathed a gentle
warmth across me. It eased one discomfort. Magnified others.

I looked up into the swirling circles of dragon eyes. The
nearly invisible creature towered above me. I had to concentrate to see it. Very
difficult. My hurts demanded my attention. And yet the dragon drew my gaze,
challenged me to look closer. Each hair of its fur was a thread of crystal. Or
an icicle.

Easier to look around it than at it.

It spread its all color/no color wings to shelter me from
the snow and wind. A long spiral horn growing out of its forehead provided its
primary tool to remove the accumulation of insulating snow from around me. Once
more it blew a warming breath over my fur.

I watched the snow turn to steam.

Why did it protect me? My wolf body should have been a
tempting meal for the giant predator.

(
You will be safe now,
my prince,
) the dragon spoke directly into my mind. A feminine voice. A
mother’s concern for a pup. (
Brevelan
will guard you. Remember this day and remember me
.)

Then the dragon launched herself into the sky. The downward
thrust of her wings blew more warm air around me. I lost sight of her within an
eyeblink; obscured by snow and her own camouflage.

A woman appeared out of the storm. She must be the Brevelan
the dragon had called to me. A thick coat of oiled wool covered her from crown
to toe. Within the shadows of her hood I detected a wisp of red hair and deep
blue eyes. Krej’s eyes.

I recoiled in fear, baring my teeth and growling.

She crouched before me, murmuring soothing words.

A sense of comfort and safety washed over me.

The brindled brown cat jumped from the woman’s arms and
pressed her nose against mine. I blinked in surprise.

“Golden brown eyes to match his fur,” Brevelan said quietly.
“Why?” she asked, looking up into the air. “Why did you bring me out in this
storm to save a wolf? You should have just eaten him.”

I cringed away from the dragon’s roaring reply.

The woman sank to her knees and covered her ears.

“All right!” she shouted back to the dragon. But it sounded
more like a protest than acceptance.

A braver person than I to question a dragon.

“This is going to hurt, golden wolf,” Brevelan murmured.

Her words invaded my mind and I did not fear her, or the
pain I knew must come. Somehow she would make it all better.

Gently, agonizing inch by agonizing inch, she rolled me onto
a blanket she had spread on the ground.

I tried not to cry out. A noble man did not show his pain. But
I was no longer a man; noble, peasant, or prince. Pitiful whimpers escaped me.

Pain robbed me of breath. I went to a place deep within the
core of me, beyond pain, beyond thought. I was still conscious, I think, aware
and yet....

Then wrenching pain. Brevelan grunted and pulled with all of
her might on one foreleg. She had planted her tiny foot on my shoulder joint.

I snapped my fangs. Bit only air.

Grind. Twist. Wrench.

My shoulder popped into place. Dull ache replaced sharp
pain.

I retreated once more to that place where pain and memory of
treachery could not reach me.

In later days I would remember what I saw on that long
lonely trek. But I did not feel anything.

I think Brevelan and the cat dragged me some distance out of
the valley, and up a hill or three. They paused often whenever a rocky overhang
or the spreading branches of a tree offered a semblance of shelter. The woman’s
teeth chattered. She and the cat clung to each other for warmth. Once they even
curled around me on the ground throwing a second blanket over all of us.

Perhaps we slept, tangled together for warmth and comfort.

Eventually we reached level ground. A tingle of magic
rippled over me as we passed into a clearing. As a wolf I had no problem
crossing the invisible barrier—was it like the one Krej built to imprison me
before working his evil spell? Would the barrier be so accepting if I still
walked upright as a man?

I might never know. Only the cat had seen my transformation.
Brevelan saw me only as a wounded golden wolf. A new pet to gather close to her
heart.

Across a snowy field stood a hut. It looked almost as if it
grew out of the land, thatch nearly reaching the ground, weathered plank walls,
a rough chimney spouting a trickle of smoke like steam rising from a dragon’s
breath.

That memory seemed very far away, though I knew it had
happened only hours ago.

A little more fuss and Brevelan dragged me inside. Heat from
the glowing coals in the hearth blasted me. I jolted out of my reverie back
into reality. The pains seemed worse as the warmth rooted out the numbing
chill.

I think I whimpered again.

Immediately Brevelan crouched beside me. She stroked my ears
and spoke in soothing tones. The words passed beyond my ability to understand.

The pains eased to a tolerable level.

I think in that moment I fell in love with Brevelan of the
magic clearing.

She placed a bowl of fragrant broth before me. I studied it
for long moments wondering how to drink it. I could not grasp the bowl with
wolfen paws even if one of them were not broken or sprained and the other
immobile from the dislocation.

The cat appeared before me. She bent to the bowl and lapped
a few drops of the nourishment. My wolf instincts took over. My tongue darted
out, curled, captured a little moisture, drew it back into my mouth.

Wonderful flavors and healing warmth coursed through me. I
lay back exhausted after only a few mouthfuls. But the broth had already worked
wonders on my body and my spirit.

My Brevelan held my face in her hands. She looked directly
into my eyes. “Who are you that a dragon called me out into a storm to rescue
you?”

I stared back at her wishing her to read my mind,
challenging her to read the cat’s memories.

Eventually she looked away and shook her head.

“Now for the hard part, wolf. Don’t snap at me because it
hurts.” Brevelan glared into my eyes.

I accepted her words for truth and gritted my teeth. A tiny
growl escaped me without thought.

She was right. It did hurt. She splinted a break or two and
bound my ribs so tightly I could barely breathe. She draped wet bandages around
my shoulder and chest. As they dried they hardened. I could not move that limb
if I wanted to.

Once more I went into that place beyond pain. I wished only
for the release of death. A prod to my mind broke my trance.

(
Remember
.) A
voice came to me from a far distance.

Remember what?

Pain still existed within me. Much of it oozed out of me. A
few more tonguefuls of broth.

Brevelan dragged me closer to the hearth and rolled me onto
a dry blanket. She sat at my head, stroking my fur. Each time her hand touched
my fur I grew sleepier and more in love. She sang to me. The cat joined us,
adding her rhythmic purr to my lady’s song.

Blue light engulfed us, shutting out the storm, shutting out
the pain. My world shrank to this hut, my lady, and her song.

Perhaps I drowsed. I awoke hungry again. The broth had
cooled. I lapped it up anyway.

Full tummy. Warmth. A lady to love. Safety.

What about tomorrow? Would I remember who I was? I must
remember that I was betrayed. The dragon had commanded it.

Tomorrow.

What is tomorrow?

I knew only now.

Warm.

Safe.

Not hungry.

~THE END~

This little vignette is some of the “extra” material that
sometimes gets written for a book but never makes it into the book. This one is
from
The Glass Dragon, the Dragon Nimbus
#1.
Here’s the story of how Magician Jaylor and Crown Prince Darville met
as adolescents.

<<>>

Darville de Draconis, Crown Prince of Coronnan, kept a
wary eye on the river as he put his back into his oar strokes. Sheltered by a
myriad of islands, the water flowed evenly toward the Great Bay, barely
affected by the tides.

A riffle opposite the current made him gasp. He pulled the
oars into his little boat and watched the small disturbance.

The monster did not rise. Perhaps the swimming dragon was
merely a tale told to frighten children. No one had actually seen the beast
after all; only tales of slaughtered sheep and horses that wandered too near
the riverbank.

Besides everyone knew that everything good and wonderful
came from dragons. Dragons were the source of magic, and magic made life
bearable. Everything from grinding grains, to water flowing through conduits
into the city wells, to healing, to the wonders of Temple rituals came from
magic.

If only the Council of Provinces believed as strongly in
magic and dragons as they did their own importance, life in the palace would be
a lot more peaceful.

He started rowing again. Sacred Isle loomed large in his
periphery. He breathed a sigh of relief when his boat scraped bottom.

With the ease of long practice he jumped out and dragged his
craft above the tide line. It seemed pretty high right now, not likely to go
much higher. When he had run away from his tutors, governors, and tailors this
morning he hadn’t taken the time to check the tide charts. All of Coronnan City
scheduled their lives around the tides that surged up the Coronnan River from
the Great Bay twice each day. The many islands in the river delta that
comprised the city were connected by a series of bridges. If the city were ever
attacked, the bridges could be collapsed as the population retreated inward to
the defenses of Palace Isle and University Isle. Without the bridges each
neighborhood was cut off from the others.

Sacred Isle had never been connected to the city by a
bridge. That was why Darville had chosen it for this day’s escape. He wasn’t
likely to be found and would have the time and privacy to explore to his heart’s
content.

He breathed deeply of the salty air. Other than the
occasional bird chirp and the rush of water, no other sounds disturbed his
peace. No one railed at him to be smarter, faster, stronger, and wiser than
everyone else.

He’d be alone here; a rare and treasured experience.

“What are you doing on my island?” A squarely built, boy
about a year younger than Darville stood on the bank, fists on hips, feet
braced, and a belligerent look on his face.

“This is my island,” the prince shouted back, anger robbing
him of control of his emotions. “No one comes here but me.”

“I was here first!” The younger boy followed up his words by
dashing forward and shoving against Darville’s chest.

“Who are you?” Darville demanded. He dropped the lead rope
on his boat and returned the shove. His opponent reeled backward. The prince
tackled him.

“I’m Jaylor, and this is my island,” the other boy cried. He
kicked up, trying to loosen Darville’s hold.

They rolled in the mud exchanging blows.

Red filled the prince’s vision. What right had this common
city boy to claim the one place in all of Coronnan City that should be
deserted? Only journeyman magicians came to this haunted place. And then only
to cut their staffs from the circle of sacred oaks at the center of the island.

Water lapped at Darville’s back. He didn’t care. He wanted
only to humble this boy Jaylor, and send him back where he came from. He thrust
his fist into Jaylor’s gut and rolled on top. He drew back his elbow to slam
another blow into the boy’s face.

But he wasn’t there.

Darville staggered upright and whirled. A sharp pain in his
gut sent him wobbling and flailing backward. He splashed into the water.

The current grabbed him and drew him eastward, toward the
bay.

Jaylor laughed.

The prince tried to get his feet under him. Only water. “Help!
I can’t swim,” he called.

“Tell me another one, rich boy. No one grows up in a city
full of islands not knowing how to swim.”

“I can’t.” Darville sank gulping water. He thrashed and
fought to keep his head where he could breathe. Pure panic kept him moving. If
his father ever found out about this, Darville would have a dragon’s own time
sneaking out of the palace again.

Then he knew true fear. His mind and body grew numb with
chill. Darkness crept from the periphery toward the center of his vision. He
would die in a few moments. If he did not drown the river dragon would gobble
him.

“
S’murghit
, you
really can’t swim.” Jaylor ran along the bank, keeping even with Darville.

The current surged and spilled around something big moving
rapidly upstream, against the outgoing tide.

The world suddenly grew quiet, as if every bird, bee, rock,
tree, and even the wind, listened for the sounds of danger.