The Lazy Dragon and Bumblespells Wizard (10 page)

Cl'rnce couldn't scream and flame at the same time, so he hoped Great and Mighty would know to dodge out of the way. Too late to stop the fire, he prayed she would not be caught up in the flame with which he intended to crisp Nasty Sir George and his goblin horse.

The inferno engulfed the horse and rider. At the last second, Cl'rnce tried to suck it all backward toward him, but he couldn't stop it from reaching Great and Mighty and the mangy raven perched on her shoulder.

Raspberries' wings beat Moire Ain's face, breaking her concentration. She grabbed him and held him to her chest. But the next moment, she dropped him and threw her hands back up. A huge ball of fire galloped at her. Sir George's face resembled a flaming jack-o-lantern, and his burning horse and sword were aimed straight at her.

“I need protection,” she breathed to Raspberries, now silently huddled on her shoulder. “Like that shield bouncing at Sir George's side.” And she knew what to do.

Her hands steady in front of her, she pictured a huge shield and sent it flying at the oncoming knight. He hit the invisible shield and flew backward, falling off his horse. But he was still on fire. Since she'd managed to get this spell right, Moire Ain flipped another one on him quickly, covering him with dirt.

The fire died in a column of smoke and dust. Moire Ain heard Sir George choking on the thick, dirty air. Before she could take a step to inspect her triumphant spells, Cl'rnce rushed at her. His arms pinwheeled through the
smog. When he got to her, he stopped, staring first at her and then down at soot-and-dirt-covered Sir George.

Sir George's goblin horse pawed at the dirt, then head down, it butted Sir George over onto his back. Moire Ain tried not to laugh at the knight once again doing an imitation of a turtle unable to flip off its shell and back onto its feet. The horse snorted, turned, and cantered away.

Cl'rnce shot a look after the horse. “He's headed for the Elf Mountains.” He gave Sir George a shove, making him spin on his back. “In case you were thinking of riding that horse again, you better head east. And leave us alone.”

Brushing ashes off her robe, Moire Ain smiled to herself. Raspberries shook himself so hard, he almost fell off her shoulder. Soot sprayed everywhere, and Moire Ain had to dust herself off again.

Cl'rnce asked, “What did you do? You're not a bit burned. Dirty thanks to your ratty bird, but how did you get away from Sir George? Did his horse throw him?”

Moire Ain smiled. “It wasn't his horse! I watched the knight with his shield nearly bouncing off him. It came to me that shields were good defenses, even if Sir George didn't use his to avoid your fire. So just like that, I pictured a shield spell. He ran into it and bounced off. I'm not sure if he fell off the horse or was thrown. But the important thing is—that makes two!” She held up her pointer fingers on both hands. “That's two enchantments I've cast.” When Cl'rnce didn't smile back at her
right away, she added, “I know. You're thinking this one was the only one that's worked so far.” He didn't say anything snarky about her magick, so she went on. “You surprised me when you breathed fire at Sir George. Good thing I put that shield up, huh?”

“Yeah.” Cl'rnce stared at her, looked down at the knight and then up at the rapidly disappearing horse. “But what happened to my fire?”

Something in his voice sounded a lot like how she felt about her spells when they went wrong. He was worried his flaming had gone wrong. Maybe they had something in common. “Was that your first flaming?” she asked.

Cl'rnce shrugged. “Maybe I was only trying to make him smoky.” He flicked another glance at the thrashing knight. “Maybe that's all I need to stop him. Smoke.”

Not wanting to say anything that made him feel bad that his flame had gone out so easily, Moire Ain shook her head, letting more ashes fly. Her hair seemed to want to stick to her face. She pulled everything into a stubby ponytail and stood holding it behind her head. “I need something to hold my hair up. Do you have a ribbon?”

Cl'rnce choked. “Pardon? We just got through escaping death, and you think I carry around
accoutrement
for hair?”

She smiled. “I guess not.” Letting her fistful of hair
drop, she peered down her filthy robe and stuck out an ash-smothered foot. “I guess I should have left the shield up a little longer. Like until the wind blew this cloud away. Maybe that's a flaw to my shield spell. It didn't last long enough.” She went on, “Or maybe it was that extra I put on the spell. It sounded pretty impressive, but ….”

“Okay. What extra did you say? Do to my fire?” Cl'rnce sounded more irritated than anything. He didn't sound like he cared about her spell but only wanted to know what went wrong with his flame.

“Fog of war, shield me now.” Moire Ain lifted her chin. She was sorry he felt bad, but she'd done something she hadn't been so sure she could do. She wanted him to be proud of her. “Pretty fancy, huh?”

Cl'rnce finally looked her in the face. It took a full minute before his mouth curled up in a smile. “You bumbled it.”

Moire Ain felt like she'd been slapped.

He reached out and touched her lightly. “Wait. That's a technical term in magick. It means ….” His muzzle screwed up like he was trying hard to think of some way to get out of insulting her. “It means … you fancied it up. Yeah, it's Dr'gon for fancied-up spell.” His eyes pled with her to be happy again.

Moire Ain had had enough of unhappy. If he cared how she felt, that was good enough. “I think I like that.
I'm a Bumblespells wizard! Fancy.” Her smile slipped into place as she slapped again at the dirt on her robe. “I need a bath.”

Cl'rnce chuckled and said, “You're not the only dirty one.” Using a back talon, he shoved Nasty Sir George, which made the snarky knight curse even louder. “I think your fog addition maybe put out my fire. That's very interesting. You're sure you didn't see Nasty Sir George counteract my flames?”

Moire Ain covered her mouth so she wouldn't laugh at the knight. She tried to keep her voice serious like she was being very logical and not critical of a knight who was flailing harder as he spun on his back turtle-like in his overturned shell.

“I don't think he does magick.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, but being curly the hair sprang forward again. Moire Ain sighed. “As for your flame, he looked like he was covered in it, but you know he wasn't burning. I think your blast went right over and all around Sir George and his horse, then bounced off my shield. That's when it got interesting.”

She waved her hands to demonstrate. “When the bounced-back fire hit Sir George, I'm pretty sure his horse bucked Sir George into the air toward me. Then there was this loud bang. For a second it looked like Sir George was really on fire, but then the fire floated around like a cloud, sort of licked at Sir George, then
drew into itself until it was a tiny little speck. Next I heard a second burp, and ashes blew out along with dust when he hit the ground.”

Before she could finish, Raspberries rocketed off her shoulder, flying back the way they had come. “Come back!” Moire Ain called. But the raven cawed and swooped low. He snatched something off the road and flew back to her.

“My book!” she said as he plopped on her shoulder, dropping the book in her grubby hands. Moire Ain felt so good having her book, she wanted everybody to feel happy too.

She leaned close to Cl'rnce and whispered, “I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I think Sir George was so filthy and rusty his dirt caught fire and sort of became smog or something.”

“Bumbled spell,” Cl'rnce muttered. “At least it looks like my blast pretty much worked. Even if it was my first attempt, it would be catastrophic for a dr'gon to fail at flame throwing.” He looked up as if startled to realize he'd said all that aloud. “So I guess now he's mad about being set on fire.”

Moire Ain cocked her head to one side and watched Sir George flail and curse. “I think you're right that he's angry about the fire, but he didn't start cursing until his horse ran off. He's been saying some pretty interesting things about the horse. Listen.”

Sir George threw his arms and legs this way and that, clearly trying to fling himself back onto his feet. “Dratted rotten goblin horse. Should never have trusted them. The next better not run away like a coward.” In his struggles, he spun faster, like an out-of-control merry-go-round. His eyes found Cl'rnce's. “Don't think this is over. I will kill you, dr'gon. I will. It'll be different next time,” he said, his voice rising and falling as he spun faster.

Cl'rnce took Moire Ain by the arm. “Time to go. I know a pond where you can get cleaned up. It's on my way to ….” He glanced at Sir George, who had quieted down and seemed to be listening. Cl'rnce leaned close to her and whispered, “To Ghost Mountain. Let's go get you cleaned up.”

At once Moire Ain understood that they couldn't let the knight know where they were going. With one finger to her lips, she nodded, and she and Cl'rnce strolled away from Sir George. Raspberries rode on her shoulder, muttering a low growl.

“Where are you going? You miserable dratted dr'gon and your ratty friend, get back here!” Sir George screamed.

“The Albion Sea! I can wash up properly when we get to the ocean. Salt water takes out soot, right?” Moire Ain asked in a loud voice, winking at Cl'rnce.

He smiled back at her. “You're a smart one, even if
you are human,” he whispered.

As they walked away, every few seconds either Cl'rnce or Moire Ain turned and looked behind them, making sure Sir George was still incapacitated.

After they had traveled a while, Cl'rnce slowed and stood with his neck stretched up high. “Finally, the village. They must have food!” His stomach growled, making Moire Ain remember how long it had been since she had eaten.

Pointing at the same village, now a big smudge on the horizon, Moire Ain asked, “When we get there, we can ask someone to go back and help him out, right?” The knight might be their enemy, but Moire Ain couldn't stand leaving him helpless.

“It wouldn't be my first choice, but okay.” Cl'rnce sighed. “But we'll ask them to wait an hour, so we can get far ahead of him.” Cl'rnce rubbed his stomach. “I wonder if there's lots of food? Got any ideas on how to convince the villagers to give us some?”

Moire Ain thought of the poor villagers where she came from. As hungry as she was, she wasn't sure she wanted strangers to give what little food they had to her. She hoped Cl'rnce wasn't thinking of threatening them with fire or anything.

They walked through the outskirts and on into the center of the village without seeing a single person, not even a dog on the road.

“Where is everybody?” Cl'rnce wondered.

“Maybe they're afraid of you,” Moire Ain said. Raspberries swooped off her shoulder and perched on the top of one of the huts. She hoped they could walk through the village and keep on their journey.

Cl'rnce laughed. “Nobody is afraid of dr'gons. Be serious.”

“Well, they're not afraid of me.” Moire Ain pointed to the ten rickety stick huts lined along the dirt road. Not one of the shacks seemed big enough to house a flock of chickens, let alone a family of peasants. “These are a lot like the huts in my village. This is a very poor village.” She frowned, hoping Cl'rnce would get the point and keep traveling.

“What's this?” Cl'rnce kicked at a pile of straw and feathers squatting in the middle of the village's one road. The center of the mess was dabbed with huge, dried-mud footprints. He circled the pile, then bent over one footprint for a long time. Moire Ain paced around him. At last Cl'rnce stuck one of his back paws out next to the footprint. His large paw was tiny compared to the print.

Moire Ain leaned over. “Rotten frog farts! That's from the world's biggest dr'gon. Can you believe the size of his paw prints?” She was amazed and a little afraid. Cl'rnce had been kind to her, but he had thrown fire at a knight. What would a really huge dr'gon do to a village?

“No, I don't believe it, not for a second,” Cl'rnce said.
“This is a fake.”

“What do you mean? Like as in not real dr'gon paw prints? What else could they be? They look real. See how detailed, even the muddy bits where the claws and chicken feathers are stuck together.” Moire Ain bent, using her fingers to try to measure the huge prints. “It's twenty finger-lengths long! Wait. Do you mean these are some other kind of monster prints?” she asked.

Cl'rnce looked up at the huts. “No. I mean these aren't real anything footprints. Somebody faked 'em.” Cl'rnce pointed. “Look where the smallest claw is on each print. Notice it's always on the same side. They're all right paws. No left paw prints. Unless this was a one-legged dr'gon, hopping all over the place ….”

Moire Ain clapped her hands, relieved that this wasn't a fast, dangerous dr'gon. “You figured it out. It's a one-legged dr'gon. He hopped on chickens to catch them. And probably flattened them.” She took a step back from the mounds of mud and feathers. “It was an accident.”

Cl'rnce shook his head. “That would be a pretty good trick, and it would mean the paw prints should be really deep from the weight of such a big dr'gon jumping up and down. These prints look like they were kind of painted on top of the straw. See? The straw pieces aren't even broken. If something heavy had trod here, the straw would be in tiny pieces.”

“Why would anyone make fake prints?” Moire Ain asked.

“It was the chicken-stomping dr'gon! No food here. Pass on down the road,” a voice yelled from the nearest hut. Raspberries sat on the hovel's top, pecking through the straw roofing.

Moire Ain understood and headed down the road. But Cl'rnce called her back. “Great and Mighty, look at this! The peasant's sitting in the middle of a pile of bald chickens.” Cl'rnce had his head stuck into the opening of one of the huts.