The Dragons of Ash and Smoke (Tales from the New Earth Book 5) (7 page)

“
Simplicity
for a master smith, really,” Stanis said modesty.

Opheilla rolled her eyes
silently behind him and Simon stifled a laugh.

“
The
runes inlaid with gold spell out a second enchantment; one that could
prove very useful in the weeks and months to come.”

“
What
is it, Stanis?” the cleric asked as she stepped forward to peer
at the runes. “I'll admit, I'm not familiar with that
enchantment.”

“
It
is a very obscure one,” the dwarf replied with some excitement.
“I had to dig deep into old tomes and dusty scrolls, some
dating back to the early days of our people. I wasn't even sure that
it existed; I had only heard rumors and vague stories from my master
when I was an apprentice smith.”

“
Well,
don't keep us in suspense,” Opheilla told him with a touch of
exasperation. “What exactly is it?”

“
It
is an enchantment specifically created to battle dragons,”
Stanis answered and his tone became grave. He caught Simon's wide
eyes and nodded slowly. “Yes. You see, do you not, young
wizard? I have given you a staff of dragon slaying.”

Simon spent the rest of
the day and the next in bed. His first short walk had taken more out
of him than he would have believed and he was simply too weak to do
more than slip out of bed to use the latrine down the hall. He did
manage to wash himself, which was something of a relief, and he ate
as much as Opheilla put in front of him.

The cleric was encouraged
and endured his complaints about his weakness with good grace.

“
It
is to be expected, Simon,” she told him patiently yet again. It
was a few days after he'd woken up from his coma and he was rapidly
becoming short-tempered; not at the cleric but at himself and his
weak constitution.

“
Wizards
aren't known for their stamina, as I'm sure you realize by now. You
must allow your reserves to build up to sustainable levels before
trying anything physical, and that includes simply walking.”
She smiled at him and patted his hand. “Cheer up. Tomorrow,
whether I approve or not, you have an appointment with the ruling
council. It isn't too far, but I assure you that you will get as much
exercise as you can handle and more. So rest now and try to be
patient.”

That quieted Simon down
immediately. He'd forgotten about the council and now nervously
plucked at his quilt.

“
Are
they...reasonable people?” he asked in a small voice.

The cleric laughed
lightly.

“
They
are like any group of people. Some stubborn, some open-minded. Some
irritating beyond words, others quite endearing. A good mix of
personalities, I'd say. We've always chosen the council with an eye
toward balance. While my people are technically controlled by a
monarchy, we elect our own council members. The king, of course, has
the final say in all decisions, but he defers to the council members
in most things. Usually he acts as the tie-breaking vote if the
council is deadlocked about some matter or other.”

“
The
king is going to be there?” Simon asked, his stomach knotting
with anxiety.

“
Perhaps,”
Opheilla said with a gentle smile. “It's hard to say. With the
battles on the edges of our territory heating up, he is often in the
field, checking troop positions and boosting morale, that sort of
thing. I have no idea if he is even in the city at the moment, so I
can't really say whether he will be there tomorrow or not.”

“
What's
he like?”

The cleric smoothed her
clothing before she answered, looking pensive. She was wearing a pale
green robe today and it reflected in her blue eyes, making her look
younger than Simon thought she was. She smelled faintly of some
flowery perfume.

“
The
king is...a good person. No one can argue with that. But he is also
intractable in some ways. This rule about keeping the ban on
elementals is a good example. There are many in the council who
wanted to appeal to the elemental realms in our recent conflict with
the mutated dragons and their new allies, the water elementals. It
was believed that if we contacted you and asked that you act as an
intermediary, we might have stood a fair chance of gaining some aid.”

“
Really?
My name was brought up?”

Opheilla smiled at Simon's
surprise.

“
Yes.
As I've said, you are well known here. But the king would have none
of it.”

She stood up and began to
walk slowly around the room, appearing restless.

“
Our
ruler is a traditionalist. The decision to bar the elementals was
made thousands of years ago, before magic disappeared from the world,
and makes no real sense anymore but because it is entrenched in our
laws, he has refused to change it.”

She opened the closet and
stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the
door.

“
That
same mindset is responsible for the lack of magic-users among my
people,” she told Simon as she frowned at her reflection.
“While we do have the occasional seer or enchanter, talents
that are at least tolerated here, a mage or wizard has not existed
among us since ancient times.” She turned her head to look at
the wizard. “If people are born with that amount of magical
talent these days, they hide it most carefully. Granted, magic itself
has only been returned to the world for a handful of years, but my
people are still leery of those who can use it.”

Simon pushed himself up
higher on his pillows.

“
But
what would happen if someone just embraced their powers? You know,
acknowledged their abilities. What would your people do to them?”

Opheilla sighed and closed
the closet. She walked back to the bedside and sat down.

“
Banishment,”
she stated flatly. “It hasn't happened in a very long time, but
historical accounts are quite specific, as are our laws. Unacceptable
magical behavior will be punished by the perpetrator being turned out
of the city, escorted to our borders and left there. I doubt that the
innocent souls who faced such punishment long ago lasted very long.
There were a lot of deadly creatures out there in the dark, and now
they are returning.”

Simon sank back into his
pillows and closed his eyes tightly.

“
Those
poor bastards,” he murmured.

“
Indeed.
Thankfully such things haven't occurred in ages. And now I think that
the people have learned better. Perhaps even become more tolerant. At
least I hope so.”

The cleric sighed and
looked away, lost in thought. Simon hadn't seen her looking this sad
before and he felt a great affection toward her and her big heart.

“
So,
I'm to go before the council and be questioned. Any ideas on what
they'll be asking me?”

“
Oh,
routine things, I'd imagine,” Opheilla answered, looking at him
and trying to smile. “Your health, perhaps some questions on
your encounters with dragons, that sort of thing. Also, it will give
them a chance to meet an actual living wizard. Perhaps they will see
that you and your kind aren't as scary as old legends make you out to
be.”

Simon had to laugh.

“
Lady
cleric, any of your people, including the kids that I've seen passing
by in the hallway, could snap me in half without any effort at all.
Scary I am not.”

She laughed in return.

“
Exactly
my point, Simon. Legends and old stories grow with the telling but
you are real. Flesh and blood. And you consort with elementals. My
goodness, imagine it. An elementalist! The first one that has existed
since time immemorial. Why, there should be pipes and drums playing
every time you go out in public.”

Simon gaped at her and her
ridiculous statement and was met with an impish grin. He cracked up
and the cleric nodded.

“
That's
better. We were both becoming too solemn with this talk of kings and
laws. Take the meeting for what it is; a chance to meet the council
and get to know my people better. It works both ways, you know. They
want to see you and understand you and in return, you get to do the
same. It is a golden opportunity for both sides.”

“
Yes,
I understand. Thanks, Opheilla. You've eased my mind and given me
something to think about as well.”

“
Good.”

She stood up and walked to
the doorway.

“
Now,
get some rest. You will need your strength tomorrow. I will return in
a few hours with your dinner.”

“
I'll
try. Thanks again.”

The cleric smiled and
walked out, closing the door behind her.

Simon rolled over to the
far side of the bed, reached down and picked up the staff that was
lying on the floor. He left it beside the bed now and often held it,
getting used to its presence.

He moved back to lean
against his pillows and laid the staff across his body. Stanis had
advised him to seal the weapon to himself the same way he'd once been
bound to his first staff; with blood. So in private he had pricked
his finger with a needle he'd found in the chest of drawers and had
written his real name on the staff with blood: Valagar. Nothing
dramatic had happened but Simon had a feeling now whenever he picked
up the weapon; the feeling of a connection being made, of something
clicking in his mind. It felt good.

“
So,
my inanimate friend,” he said to the staff as he rolled it
forward and back. “What should I call you? All of the old tales
say that enchanted weapons should be named and you are definitely
that.”

He stared at it
thoughtfully.

“
My
first staff was called Bene-Dunn-Gal, the Bane of Night. I didn't
christen it myself but it was a good name, don't you think? You need
something equally fitting.”

He ran his fingers down
its length almost in a caress, not stopping to wonder if it was
healthy to sit alone and talk to a length of metal as if it was
alive.

“
The
problem is,” he continued, “I don't really know what you
can do. Stanis said that you were made to slay dragons. Sounds nice I
guess, but I remember those old advertisements from back in the day.
Big talk, small return. All of the taste, none of the calories. I
don't doubt his prowess as a smith, but copying some old runes on to
a metal staff doesn't really mean anything until it's used in battle.
Right?”

He began rolling the staff
again, down his stomach to his thighs and then back up again. Simon
knew a lot of words and phrases in the old language, the language of
magic. It reminded him of Latin and he'd often wondered which one had
come first. He filtered some of the words through his mind, trying to
come up with a name that was easy to remember but significant as
well.

Then he stopped moving the
staff, pushed back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed.

“
I've
got it,” he said. “It's so obvious. I must be even
thicker than I thought.”

Simon stood up and picked
up the staff. He felt slightly ridiculous standing on the cold stone
floor wearing nothing but a loincloth, his skinny scarred shanks
covered in goosebumps. But he felt that he had to stand up for
something as formal as the naming of his new staff.

He rested the spiked end
of the weapon on the floor and held it upright with both hands.

“
All
right, my friend. I hope you like this.” He took a deep breath.
“I christen you Mortis de Draconis: Killer of Dragons.”

He hadn't expected
anything to happen when he named the staff. After all, unlike
Bene-Dunn-Gal, it wasn't an ancient artifact. It was a newly made
weapon and had no history behind it. But perhaps Stanis had done a
better job than even he would have believed. Or maybe Simon's touch
ignited something within the staff; some deep power. Either way, what
happened next caught him completely off-guard.

The staff erupted in fire.
Simon shouted and tried to fling it away but his hands seemed to be
locked on to it in a death grip; he couldn't let go. But there was no
pain, just a burst of intense red flames burning along the length of
the staff like dragon fire. His hands were engulfed and then the fire
raced up his arms to his shoulders. Suddenly all Simon could see was
flame. It was a terrifying reminder of his last memories, of being
attacked by a red dragon.

But again there was no
pain, no damage. Just a gentle warmth, like standing in the sun on a
mild summer's day. It was actually quite pleasant, he thought, as his
racing heart began to return to a more normal rhythm. There was a
tingling along his skin, like the caress of an unseen breeze. The
hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were standing up as if he
was being exposed to static electricity.