Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga) (4 page)

He knew, from Carina’s maps, that the
northern part of the forest ended at the Elburgian Mountains. The
longest he’d ever spent in the forest was two days, and he’d gotten
an earful from his grandmother when he returned.

By mid-afternoon, he had reached a secluded
clearing that he knew well. There was a natural spring on the left,
surrounded by a circle of oak trees. On the right, there was a
mound of rotted logs. Every type of mushroom and fungus grew there,
fed by the moist air and decaying wood. Soon, Elias was gathering
tiny red-capped mushrooms and collecting them into a mesh bag,
being careful not to smash them in the process. They needed to be
kept intact until he got back to the cottage, where Carina would
sort and dry them. Even though he enjoyed being in the forest,
collecting mushrooms was a tedious business. It was too cold to
take a quick dip in the pond, but he could feel the sweat running
down his back as he bent down over and over to harvest the tiny
mushrooms.

By the time he finished filling the bag, he
was tired and hungry.

“I'll just eat my lunch,
and hurry back home,”
he thought.
“It will be cold out here after the sun sets, and
I don't want to get stuck out here if it starts to
snow.”

Blooming winter flowers
grew everywhere, especially lilies. Elias noticed an unusual number
of bees collecting pollen in the clearing. There seemed to be so
many that he suspected there was a new hive right in the clearing.
Wild honey was difficult to find, and even more so in the
winter.
“Maybe I'll get lucky and find
some honeycomb. That would be a rare treat for us.”
He observed the bees for some time, and he was
rewarded when he saw the opening to a beehive in a nearby
tree.

“What a stroke of luck! If I can come back
with some honey, grandmother will be delighted,” he thought.

Elias set to work on a smoke stick. He
stripped a sturdy branch of its leaves, and then wrapped the end of
with some dried bark and grass. Then he rolled the end in
pitch.

He crawled up the tree slowly, glad that
there were only a few dozen bees at the mouth of the hive. Even
when calmed by smoke, the bees were still dangerous, so Elias put
on his hood and wrapped a piece of cloth tightly around his face,
leaving only a slit for his eyes. He whispered a short spell under
his breath, and the end of the stick caught on fire. It burned with
a greasy black smoke.

Elias jammed the smoke stick into the
opening. The effect was immediate, and the bees started to stumble
around the hive. Perfect. The hive was small—about arms-reach into
the tree trunk. He could smell the delicious scent of wild honey.
There was also something strange—a piece of the honeycomb looked
green, as if something had grown into it. He grabbed his knife and
cut combs from the hive, moving fast to prevent being stung. Bees
swarmed on his cloak, and as he removed the precious honeycomb, a
bee landed on his thumb and stung him.

“Ow! Sweet Baghra, that hurt!” He jumped
down from the tree, running a safe distance while shaking off his
cloak. He removed the stinger, sucking his thumb. His thumb
throbbed, but it was worth it. He wrapped the honey in leaves and
tucked it into his bag. His grandmother would appreciate this
treat. He considered using a healing spell to stop the swelling,
but decided against it. His grandmother said that sometimes is was
better to just let your body heal naturally.

Elias left the clearing.
The sun was low in the sky, and the air felt colder.
“I must hurry or I will be stuck here after
nightfall,”
he thought. Instead of
walking, he ran the entire way back to Persil, and made it to the
forest’s edge just after sundown.

“Grandmother!” he shouted as he flew through
the door, “I have a surprise for you!”

Carina was hunched over the hearth, stirring
the leftovers of the previous night’s stew. She seemed better
today. “Elias? You’re home late. Was it difficult to find the
mushrooms?”

“No, I found them and filled the jar, just
like you asked. But look! I found a bee hive. I got honey!”

“Really?” Carina’s wrinkled face broke into
a wide grin. “Let’s see it!”

Elias pulled the broken honey combs from his
pack and unwrapped them. It was only a small amount, about the size
of a man’s fist, but it was such a rare indulgence and Carina was
ecstatic. “Oh, my lovely boy! What a marvelous treasure. I will
make some flatbread and we will enjoy it with our leftover soup.
Tonight, we eat like kings!”

“I only got one sting, on my thumb.” He
stretched his hand out, and Carina grasped it. The right thumb was
badly swollen.

“Tsk. I’ll fix this for you, my dear.”
Carina went to her cupboard and pulled a jar off the shelf that was
filled with a gooey black substance. “This will reduce the swelling
and draw the poison out. Your finger will be normal by tomorrow
morning.” She spread a thick film on his affected thumb and wrapped
Elias’ hand with a clean strip of cloth. “There you go, boy.”

“Thank you, grandmother. It feels much
better.” It was the truth. The pain was almost gone, and Elias
could feel the swelling going down.

“Have a seat, Elias—you’ve done enough work
for today. I’ll pour you a big bowl of stew. It will only take a
minute to warm the bread.” Carina went to the cupboard, and took
out three pieces of brown flatbread. She placed them near the fire
on a flat stone.

Elias sat down near the fire, stretching his
hands out. The cabin was tiny—not more than a one-room shack, but
it was warm and comfortable. It felt good to be home. The soup
bubbled softly, and he watched Carina ladle a giant helping into
his bowl.

“There you go. Eat the soup, and I’ll go
spread some honey on the bread.” Carina turned to the table and
opened the leaves that held the honey comb. “Tsk. One of the
honeycombs has a bit of muck inside of it.”

“Yes, I noticed it when I was collecting the
honey, but I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I didn’t
remove it. It’s probably fungus.”

Carina dug into the comb with her fingernail
and pulled out a greenish stone, about the size of chicken’s
egg.

“No! It can’t be!” she screamed.

“Grandmother! What’s wrong? What is it?”
Elias ran to her side. Her face was white.

“It’s—it’s not... it’s not a fungus. It’s a
stone. An emerald. Elias, where did you find this?”

“An emerald? Really? I wonder how it got
inside the tree?” Elias walked to the table and picked it up. The
surface of the stone was carved in a negative image, like the
opposite of a cameo. “Grandmother, look! It’s carved into the shape
of a dragon!”

“I know. It’s an intaglio—a Dragon Rider’s
gem. Elias, I haven’t seen anything like this in years.”

“Really? They must be very rare! We could
sell this—make lots of money!” Elias’ eyes glittered with
excitement.

“No! Elias—you don’t understand. This gem
once belonged to a rider. Simply possessing this gem could have us
both killed.”

“But why?” asked Elias.

“Dragon stones have immense power. When a
dragon is wild, the gemstone on its throat is smooth. The uncut gem
is a cabochon—opaque, and shiny. If a dragon accepts a rider,
powerful spells are cast to bind the dragon to the rider. During
the binding ceremony, the dragon’s gem splits, and an image is
scorched into the gem. The dragon stone is then divided in two by
magic. The rider gets one half, and the other half stays embedded
in the dragon’s throat. That is the way it will remain until they
die. The dragon and the rider are united together permanently.
Their minds link, and they are as one.”

“I wonder how the stone ended up in
Darkmouth Forest?” asked Elias, his hunger forgotten.

“It could be very old.
This is not the dragon’s half—this half belonged to a rider. You
can tell because the image is carved
into
the stone. The half that
remains with the dragon is a relief carving—a cameo. The two halves
of the stone fit together—like a mold and its casting.”

“If we have the stone, does this mean that
this rider is dead?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what happens
after a rider or his dragon dies. If the stone is shattered, then
it usually kills the rider and the dragon, too. This stone is
undamaged, so I don’t know if that means the rider is alive or
dead. Some riders wore the stone as a pendant, but many opted to
have the stone implanted permanently in their chest. That ended up
being a mistake, because during the war, the Emperor’s men would
merely strip off the rider’s shirt to confirm their identity. If
they found a rider, the emperor would kill him or her on the
spot.”

“Does the stone have any magical power?”

“Yes. The stone links a dragon and his rider
together. The stone also makes it possible for a rider to
communicate telepathically with other dragons. A dragon and his or
her rider can communicate as soon as they are bound together. A
dragon’s language is a combination of guttural sounds and
telepathic images. Learning dragon-speak is extremely difficult,
and it requires telepathic abilities.

Some independent mages learned how to
communicate with dragons, but it always took years of training.
However, it is said that elves can communicate with dragons
effortlessly, as they can with all creatures.” She picked up the
gem, sticky with honey, and traced the image with her finger. “It’s
beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one up close. It’s green, so
it would have been from an emerald dragon. That’s—that’s all I know
about them.” She placed the gem back on the table.

“This is incredible!” Elias grabbed it and
held it up to the light. “Grandmother, be reasonable. It’s
valuable, and we could use the money. Let’s sell it to Frogar.”
Frogar was the village junk merchant. Unpopular for his sour
character and greed, he was also useful, because he would buy
almost anything—if the price was right.

“No! It’s too dangerous. Frogar is a liar
and a cheat. He would skin his own mother for a bag of coppers.
Take it back into the forest tomorrow and put it back where you
found it.”

“But grandmother…” Elias started to protest,
but she shook her head.

“Do not argue with me, Elias. My decision is
final. Tell no one of the stone. Take it back where you found it.
We cannot risk bringing this type of attention upon us.” Carina
took the stone and hid it in the cabinet, behind her bottles of
herbs and remedies.

Elias hung his head, annoyed. Why let
something so valuable go to waste, just because of some silly
superstition? They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Even
the delicious taste of the honeyed flatbread could not improve his
mood.

When he went to bed that night, Elias dreamt
again of dragons. This time, a single green dragon approached him
in the forest. It was twice the size of a horse, but he was not
afraid. The dragon reached out to him and Elias saw the carved
stone embedded in the dragon’s throat. The stone was identical to
the one that Elias found in the forest. The dragon’s claw scratched
at his throat, and Elias woke up in a cold sweat. “Aaaaugh!” he
yelled. His heart pounded. It was only a dream.

Elias rolled back over and went to
sleep.

***

Chapter 3: Frogar, the
Junk Merchant

When Elias awoke the following morning, he
shivered with cold. The fire had died down during the night, and
the tiny cottage seemed darker than usual. He shuddered, got up,
and fed another log to the fire. He peeked outside his tiny window
and saw the ground covered in snow.

“Blast! The snow will make
it impossible to find any food in the forest,”
he thought. His breath escaped in a cloud of warm vapor.
Elias took a deep breath, snuck into the kitchen, and grabbed the
dragon stone. He looked over at Carina and saw that she was still
sleeping. He put the stone in a pouch and hung it around his
neck.

Elias donned his warmest cloak, a thick wool
garment that had once been his grandfather’s. It was simple, but
very well-made, and it kept him warm even on the coldest days.
Carina had given it to him two years ago as a gift. He also had
some leather boots and a hat that was lined with beaver fur. He
hardly felt the cold as he stepped outside. The snow crunched under
his feet as he walked towards the village square.

Persil wasn’t a large settlement, but it
bustled with activity. There were children running in the streets
and farmers carting their winter harvest for sale. The village was
defended by local militia, and men patrolled the village borders
with simple weapons. Most of Persil’s revenue came from fur
trading. The hunting had been poor this year, and many families
were struggling.

A farmer dragged a large selection of winter
squash through the street. The squash came in different sizes and
colors. Some gourds were the size of a child’s fist. Others were
pumpkins; larger than a man’s head. A few women strolled up to the
farmer, haggling with over price. One woman was holding an infant
swaddled tightly in blankets, except for his mouth nursing at her
breast.

Last year the pumpkin farmer would not have
garnered so much attention, but this year, food was scarce. A
single large pumpkin could feed a family.

“Eeee! Kemril, give us a good price on your
pumpkins. I want two of these big ‘uns you’ve got here.” The
housewife plucked two large pumpkins from his cart.

“I can give you a good price. Them smaller
squashes are sweeter and good for makin’ pastry.”

“Ohhh, Kemril! Who has the money to make
pastry these days? No, no, these pumpkins will cook in my soup pot
with water and potatoes—they’ll stretch better that way. I have
five mouths to feed. I don’t have any coppers, but I’ll trade you
some butter; freshly churned this morning. All our goats are still
giving milk, thank Baghra.”