Delgar awoke to the soft glow of the hoard. As he sat up, the Dragon's huge head turned to regard him, gazing at him with deep green eyes.
“You are not of the Tuatha de Danaan,” the Dragon stated.
Delgar gulped and glanced around, looking for some way to escape. “No sir, I am not.”
“I have been here for millennia, but I have never seen one like you,” the Dragon said. “What are you?”
“I am a human,” Delgar answered. “A poor farmer from far away.”
The Dragon shook its mighty head. “You are far more than that. I can see wyrd cloaked around you. What did you see as you came here?”
“I saw ghosts,” Delgar replied, standing up slowly. “I saw small men with treasure, and I heard them say things in a language I do not understand.”
Delgar heard a deep grunting, and then realized the Dragon was laughing. “You are not yet a wizard, and you can see the ghosts of this place and hear their speech. Truly you are special. I will exchange names with you. I am Fleot'heortan the ancient one.”
“I am Delgar, son of Daegar. Why did you not kill me?”
“I could sense what you will be,” Fleot’heortan replied. “I could feel the corruption in those that wished to harm you. And I was told you would come.”
Delgar blinked. “Told? Who told you?”
“You will meet him soon enough,” the Dragon said. “He will come to collect you when the time is right. Until then, I will nourish and teach you.”
“Teach me? What must I learn?”
“You must learn what we are,” Fleot’heortan stated. “You must learn what has come before. You must learn of the great Road. But now, you must rest. Sleep and be healed, Delgar of Nordland.”
Delgar opened his mouth to protest, but only a yawn came out. He found himself falling slowly onto the hoard, and then he dreamed.
He dreamt of a great mist covering all he could see. Then there was a great thought, loud and clarion, and the mist parted to reveal a strange world. Delgar found himself swooping down on the world, its strange vegetation a blur beneath him. Creatures beyond his imagination reared up to see him, and then he was flying away, high above the world into the great mist.
Another thought sounded, great and all powerful. The fog parted yet again, and another world came into being. Delgar looked down on the world, seeing Dragons and other creatures bowing to some great figure. Then another figure came to be, and the attention of the lesser creatures was divided.
Then the Dragons and other creatures attacked one another, and in the chaos the majority fled, and as they ran more thoughts sounded in the mist, each forming a world from the ether.
Delgar startled awake, sitting up on the hoard. As he moved, gold coins rang as they knocked together. Fleot’heortan looked down on him, a merry glow in his eyes.
“You slept so long, little mortal! I feared you would never awaken!”
Delgar rubbed his eyes in amazement. His hunger had fled entirely, and when he moved his aches and pains were gone. “How long did I sleep.”
“The sun has risen and set ten times since while you slept,” the Dragon replied. “What did you dream of?”
“A great mist,” Delgar replied. “And there were worlds in the mist, and powerful figures. I don't remember much more.”
Fleot'heortan nodded sagely. “You dreamt of the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?”
“The beginning of all, many eons ago.”
“Why did I dream of this?”
Fleot’heortan glanced around. “This mountain is special. Millennia ago, before the rise of the kingdoms of man, this was a place of the Dragon Masters. After the Great Rebellion, this palace was abandoned, but many of the creatures of that time remembered it was there, even if they did not remember what it was.
“Soon this mountain became known only as a place of power, and all who found it coveted it. The first to find it were the Tuatha de Danaan, who fought many wars over it. They were driven out by the Dwarves, who used the power of this palace to make many trinkets and steal from those around them without mercy or pity.
“And then I came, scattering the Dwarves and claiming this mountain until the end of the great cycle. Because they had changed this place, their spirits were linked to it, and thus their ghosts remain, even though it has been seven thousand winters since they fled elsewhere.
“I claimed this place and made it my own, and thus my spirit is chained here as well. But, I, like all Dragons, am a creature of power, and I have worked my magic here. Now, only the oldest peoples even remember that this place exists.”
“What is the Great Cycle?” Delgar asked.
“The Great Cycle is time itself,” the Dragon explained. “Everything is a cycle. When a mortal dies, they only complete part of the cycle. When a mortal is reborn, the cycle is continued. Even worlds are subject to the cycle. When the world dies, it is reborn as the new cycle begins.”
Delgar shook his head. His mind reeled with the new, strange concepts, and he found himself longing to talk about something more mundane. “What happened to the goblins?”
“The fire consumed them.”
Delgar frowned. “Then what do you eat?”
The Dragon chuckled. “I have no need to eat. This place will sustain me until the end of the world.”
Delgar was silent for a moment, and then he ventured another question. “What does ‘Magus Draconum’ mean?”
Fleot’heortan's head rose above Delgar, the serpentine eyes filled with what Delgar could swear was alarm. “You do not need to know. How did you learn those words?”
“I dreamed them,” Delgar replied, stepping back towards the darkness of the tunnel. “When I was younger.”
The Dragon's head lowered. “Now I am beginning to understand. Great events truly are coming.”
“What events?” Delgar inquired. “What are you talking about?”
“You do not need to know that now,” Fleot’heortan stated. “You must now learn of Dragons. There are different kinds of Dragons in the world.
“I am a Great Dragon, and I am a creature of power. Like any creature of power, if another Great Dragon is near, I will sense it. Any creature of power can sense another. There are many Great Dragons in the world, but I am one of the oldest: I remember the Dragon Masters.
“There are also lesser Dragons. The Teraeni Dragons are some of the most powerful lesser Dragons, but they will never be equal in power to the Great Dragons. They are exceptional, as they have the intelligence of the Great Dragons. Other Dragons, such as the grass drakes, are not as intelligent, but are still Dragons. The grass drakes are the least of the Dragons, for they do not have the power of speech, and they do not have the intelligence of the other Dragons.”
“Who were the Dragon Masters?” Delgar asked.
“You will discover that later,” the Dragon replied. “I will only say that they were second in power only to the gods themselves.”
“Why are you teaching me all this?” Delgar inquired.
“Your wyrd is already written on the Great Road,” Fleot’heortan replied. “You are near to becoming a Dragonfriend, and then you will become much more. It is difficult to decide what to tell you at this early time.”
Delgar blinked. “What is a Dragonfriend?”
The great head lowered to look Delgar in the eyes. “A Dragonfriend is a mortal or immortal who has rendered a great service to Dragonkind. A Dragonfriend has earned the protection of the Dragons, and is watched carefully so that he will never want. No Dragon has ever harmed another, and no Dragon has ever harmed a Dragonfriend.”
Delgar frowned. “So am I a Dragonfriend now?”
Fleot’heortan shook his head. “Now you are in my debt. Some day, perhaps I will be in yours. But you must let wyrd work as it will; to fight it or try to control it is futile, and will only cause problems.”
“I want to command my destiny,” Delgar stated. “I do not want to be a puppet of fate.”
“Nobody can ever truly command their destiny,” Fleot’heortan said. “One can only ever be certain of their destiny once they have met it; until then, they must travel in the eddies of life and wyrd, uncertain of where they will finally end.”
“And what is the Great Road?” Delgar asked.
“I don’t think you need to know that,” a new voice said, lyrical to Delgar's ears. Delgar turned to find himself facing a tall man with the purest long blond hair he had ever seen. The man's slightly slanted grey eyes gazed at him with a piercing stare, and he stepped forward with an inhuman grace, reminding Delgar of something almost feline. The stranger wore a grey cloak over a grey tunic, and on his head was a dark, wide brimmed floppy hat.
The Dragon bowed. “Then you do not think he is ready?”
The stranger shook his head. “He is still a child, no matter how his fate hangs on him.”
“I will resign myself to your wisdom,” Fleot’heortan said, sliding back.
Delgar stared at the stranger for a moment, trying to place him Then his hand closed on the luckstone, and he knew who the man was.
“Well met, Daelyn,” Delgar said.
Daelyn nodded. “It is good to see you, Delgar. You seem to have grown well. Are you ready to face your destiny?”
“You are not of the Tuatha de Danaan,” the Dragon stated.
Delgar gulped and glanced around, looking for some way to escape. “No sir, I am not.”
“I have been here for millennia, but I have never seen one like you,” the Dragon said. “What are you?”
“I am a human,” Delgar answered. “A poor farmer from far away.”
The Dragon shook its mighty head. “You are far more than that. I can see wyrd cloaked around you. What did you see as you came here?”
“I saw ghosts,” Delgar replied, standing up slowly. “I saw small men with treasure, and I heard them say things in a language I do not understand.”
Delgar heard a deep grunting, and then realized the Dragon was laughing. “You are not yet a wizard, and you can see the ghosts of this place and hear their speech. Truly you are special. I will exchange names with you. I am Fleot'heortan the ancient one.”
“I am Delgar, son of Daegar. Why did you not kill me?”
“I could sense what you will be,” Fleot’heortan replied. “I could feel the corruption in those that wished to harm you. And I was told you would come.”
Delgar blinked. “Told? Who told you?”
“You will meet him soon enough,” the Dragon said. “He will come to collect you when the time is right. Until then, I will nourish and teach you.”
“Teach me? What must I learn?”
“You must learn what we are,” Fleot’heortan stated. “You must learn what has come before. You must learn of the great Road. But now, you must rest. Sleep and be healed, Delgar of Nordland.”
Delgar opened his mouth to protest, but only a yawn came out. He found himself falling slowly onto the hoard, and then he dreamed.
He dreamt of a great mist covering all he could see. Then there was a great thought, loud and clarion, and the mist parted to reveal a strange world. Delgar found himself swooping down on the world, its strange vegetation a blur beneath him. Creatures beyond his imagination reared up to see him, and then he was flying away, high above the world into the great mist.
Another thought sounded, great and all powerful. The fog parted yet again, and another world came into being. Delgar looked down on the world, seeing Dragons and other creatures bowing to some great figure. Then another figure came to be, and the attention of the lesser creatures was divided.
Then the Dragons and other creatures attacked one another, and in the chaos the majority fled, and as they ran more thoughts sounded in the mist, each forming a world from the ether.
Delgar startled awake, sitting up on the hoard. As he moved, gold coins rang as they knocked together. Fleot’heortan looked down on him, a merry glow in his eyes.
“You slept so long, little mortal! I feared you would never awaken!”
Delgar rubbed his eyes in amazement. His hunger had fled entirely, and when he moved his aches and pains were gone. “How long did I sleep.”
“The sun has risen and set ten times since while you slept,” the Dragon replied. “What did you dream of?”
“A great mist,” Delgar replied. “And there were worlds in the mist, and powerful figures. I don't remember much more.”
Fleot'heortan nodded sagely. “You dreamt of the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?”
“The beginning of all, many eons ago.”
“Why did I dream of this?”
Fleot’heortan glanced around. “This mountain is special. Millennia ago, before the rise of the kingdoms of man, this was a place of the Dragon Masters. After the Great Rebellion, this palace was abandoned, but many of the creatures of that time remembered it was there, even if they did not remember what it was.
“Soon this mountain became known only as a place of power, and all who found it coveted it. The first to find it were the Tuatha de Danaan, who fought many wars over it. They were driven out by the Dwarves, who used the power of this palace to make many trinkets and steal from those around them without mercy or pity.
“And then I came, scattering the Dwarves and claiming this mountain until the end of the great cycle. Because they had changed this place, their spirits were linked to it, and thus their ghosts remain, even though it has been seven thousand winters since they fled elsewhere.
“I claimed this place and made it my own, and thus my spirit is chained here as well. But, I, like all Dragons, am a creature of power, and I have worked my magic here. Now, only the oldest peoples even remember that this place exists.”
“What is the Great Cycle?” Delgar asked.
“The Great Cycle is time itself,” the Dragon explained. “Everything is a cycle. When a mortal dies, they only complete part of the cycle. When a mortal is reborn, the cycle is continued. Even worlds are subject to the cycle. When the world dies, it is reborn as the new cycle begins.”
Delgar shook his head. His mind reeled with the new, strange concepts, and he found himself longing to talk about something more mundane. “What happened to the goblins?”
“The fire consumed them.”
Delgar frowned. “Then what do you eat?”
The Dragon chuckled. “I have no need to eat. This place will sustain me until the end of the world.”
Delgar was silent for a moment, and then he ventured another question. “What does ‘Magus Draconum’ mean?”
Fleot’heortan's head rose above Delgar, the serpentine eyes filled with what Delgar could swear was alarm. “You do not need to know. How did you learn those words?”
“I dreamed them,” Delgar replied, stepping back towards the darkness of the tunnel. “When I was younger.”
The Dragon's head lowered. “Now I am beginning to understand. Great events truly are coming.”
“What events?” Delgar inquired. “What are you talking about?”
“You do not need to know that now,” Fleot’heortan stated. “You must now learn of Dragons. There are different kinds of Dragons in the world.
“I am a Great Dragon, and I am a creature of power. Like any creature of power, if another Great Dragon is near, I will sense it. Any creature of power can sense another. There are many Great Dragons in the world, but I am one of the oldest: I remember the Dragon Masters.
“There are also lesser Dragons. The Teraeni Dragons are some of the most powerful lesser Dragons, but they will never be equal in power to the Great Dragons. They are exceptional, as they have the intelligence of the Great Dragons. Other Dragons, such as the grass drakes, are not as intelligent, but are still Dragons. The grass drakes are the least of the Dragons, for they do not have the power of speech, and they do not have the intelligence of the other Dragons.”
“Who were the Dragon Masters?” Delgar asked.
“You will discover that later,” the Dragon replied. “I will only say that they were second in power only to the gods themselves.”
“Why are you teaching me all this?” Delgar inquired.
“Your wyrd is already written on the Great Road,” Fleot’heortan replied. “You are near to becoming a Dragonfriend, and then you will become much more. It is difficult to decide what to tell you at this early time.”
Delgar blinked. “What is a Dragonfriend?”
The great head lowered to look Delgar in the eyes. “A Dragonfriend is a mortal or immortal who has rendered a great service to Dragonkind. A Dragonfriend has earned the protection of the Dragons, and is watched carefully so that he will never want. No Dragon has ever harmed another, and no Dragon has ever harmed a Dragonfriend.”
Delgar frowned. “So am I a Dragonfriend now?”
Fleot’heortan shook his head. “Now you are in my debt. Some day, perhaps I will be in yours. But you must let wyrd work as it will; to fight it or try to control it is futile, and will only cause problems.”
“I want to command my destiny,” Delgar stated. “I do not want to be a puppet of fate.”
“Nobody can ever truly command their destiny,” Fleot’heortan said. “One can only ever be certain of their destiny once they have met it; until then, they must travel in the eddies of life and wyrd, uncertain of where they will finally end.”
“And what is the Great Road?” Delgar asked.
“I don’t think you need to know that,” a new voice said, lyrical to Delgar's ears. Delgar turned to find himself facing a tall man with the purest long blond hair he had ever seen. The man's slightly slanted grey eyes gazed at him with a piercing stare, and he stepped forward with an inhuman grace, reminding Delgar of something almost feline. The stranger wore a grey cloak over a grey tunic, and on his head was a dark, wide brimmed floppy hat.
The Dragon bowed. “Then you do not think he is ready?”
The stranger shook his head. “He is still a child, no matter how his fate hangs on him.”
“I will resign myself to your wisdom,” Fleot’heortan said, sliding back.
Delgar stared at the stranger for a moment, trying to place him Then his hand closed on the luckstone, and he knew who the man was.
“Well met, Daelyn,” Delgar said.
Daelyn nodded. “It is good to see you, Delgar. You seem to have grown well. Are you ready to face your destiny?”
Comments (0)
See all