The Lazy Dragon and Bumblespells Wizard (3 page)

Hazel scratched the last name and tossed the paper into the air. She shot flame at it, turning it into a fiery ball. Cl'rnce ducked as the blazing paper whizzed a scale's width from his head.

“Fine, Cl'rnce. I'm done. Find your own Wizard Partner. And wipe that crafty look off your face. I know what you're thinking. You will not talk my partner into helping you. Gaelyn has more sense than to hitch her entire life and career to the likes of you. Find your own sucker—I mean wizard.”

When she pointed her paw and snapped her claws, Cl'rnce winced from the sharp magickal thump behind his right horn. His sister had learned too much magick and used it to torture him. “And don't go back to napping. You have only five days from today to complete your mission and claim your inheritance.”

“What if I don't want to be the next leader?” Cl'rnce asked, hoping to move Hazel to the edge of fury again. She was so entertaining when she was almost trying to contain her temper.

Hazel stomped on Cl'rnce's burned paw. “Think, you lazy, self-absorbed slacker. It doesn't matter that I'm twice the royal River Dr'gon you are and would work harder than you've ever dreamed of working. You, Mom, and I are all that is left of the royal Merlin Clan River Dr'gon line. But the Law dictates that royal male
River Dr'gons be considered to inherit first. Until all the royal male River Dr'gons are gone, you are it!” She mumbled something about current Primus Thomas, but Cl'rnce couldn't quite hear it.

A cloud scurried over the sun, sending down a shadow and a chill through Cl'rnce. He was pretty sure it was the cloud, not the picture flashing in his head of him dead and Hazel smiling.

She took a deep breath and continued, “Is this very clear? Even if you said no, I could not take your place without a contentious vote in the Dr'gon Council. Think about the chaos that would ensue if the Primus was up for grabs among the royals of the other clans. Who would kill to claim the Primus? Philomena Flannach from the Geilt Dr'gon clan, that's who. How many of her kin have turned killer? How many Merlin Clan River Dr'gons have they slain? I suspect her uncle killed our father.”

Hazel stepped closer to Cl'rnce.

He shrank back from her.

“In what cobwebbed corner of your ill-used mind,” she continued, “do you truly believe Philomena wants you alive, if you become Primus? Even if you'd be a lazy slug who would let anyone who asked do your work for you. If she wasn't a Geilt, she'd just wrap you around her claw and manipulate you, but she's a killer and she wants—”

“See what I mean about females?” Cl'rnce stepped
away two more paces.

“What?” Hazel screamed. “Do you really mean to say my friends and I are like Geilts?”

“No.” Cl'rnce backed up again. Hazel's explosion wasn't nearly as much fun as he'd thought it would be.

Hazel snatched the ridge of his wing. “For the sake of all the Dr'gon Nations, you will get a Wizard Partner and return the Whisper Stone to the Uamha by midnight five days hence. You will not allow the Geilt clan to become Rulers of all the Dr'gon Nations! You must follow law and custom, so you have the backing of all the other clans.”

Hazel reached into her neck pouch and pulled out a small black rock. “I was going to give you the Whisper Stone when you had your partner and were ready to head to Ghost Mountain, but I've had enough. Take it. And don't lose it.” She tossed the rock to him.

He recognized the soft vibrations in the stone. There went his last hope. There was no pretending this was just Hazel bullying him. The Council really had sent her. She'd been entrusted with the Whisper Stone. Whatever this superannuated meant for the old Primus, Cl'rnce had no way out. His whole clan, and the peace-loving other dr'gon clans, were depending on him. Cl'rnce tucked the disk-shaped stone in his neck pouch. Keeping his eyes on Hazel, he lifted his painful back paw.

Hazel returned his stare for a few seconds. “For crying out loud, stop licking your toes. I can't talk to you when you look stupider than usual.” She snorted a medium stream of flame.

Cl'rnce jumped away and up to a low branch.

“I'm going to find Gaelyn. We have work to do with the First Years,” Hazel said.

As his sister started to stride away, Cl'rnce dropped down in front of her, shoving his un-singed paw under her feet. “Have a nice trip.” He laughed.

Without missing a step, Hazel skimmed over Cl'rnce's foot, then ripped open her broad wings and launched skyward. “Trip. Amusing, Cl'rnce. Just what the Dr'gon Nations need. A clown.” She clacked her claws three times and disappeared.

Cl'rnce shrugged off her insults. Throughout their childhood, she'd said worse to him. He was glad to be rid of her, even if she'd left him with a lot of work and a puzzle about super-whatsit. He was bothered that Hazel hadn't told him what that was. But maybe it wasn't important. Maybe.

Whatever it was, he needed a new plan, preferably one where he found someone else to do this quest for him, or at least most of the work.

At least for now Hazel was gone. He did a little dance, kicking up dandelions so that their fluff showered him like snow. Soon the dandelions were worn
down to stems, and Cl'rnce was tired out with so much exercise.

“Nap time again. The one good thing about the Primus Journey is that I won't be here to get blamed for the assembly prank.”

He stretched his scaly arms and yawned. “I'll nap up a plan to get the Whisper Stone quest done, maybe even without a Wizard Partner. Although it's too bad my vision-wizard isn't around. She's kind of okay. She knew I was special, so she's smart. She probably knows all about super-whatsit.”

Cl'rnce wadded some weeds into a pillow and curled up in the deepest shade beneath the mulberry tree. “If only I could unload this Primus thing on Hazel. She's mean enough to keep the whole Geilt clan in line. I'm just too nice.”

He sighed and plumped his pillow. “Hazel's right about one thing; if I had a Wizard Partner, I wouldn't have to do the hard magick. Too bad all the wizardry students hold grudges. A couple of crispy body parts, and no one speaks to me.”

His words felt fuzzy as his muscles relaxed. “No wizards here desperate enough to volunteer to partner with me. School needs a new student like my vision-wizard who thinks I'm great,” he muttered and dozed off. She walked into his first dream. He could see her freckled nose, but the rest of her face was hidden by her hood.

Hugging her secret under her tunic, Moire Ain ran toward the village. Over her skinny shoulders, the sun poured midday heat, a scalding reminder of the awful fury Hedge-Witch would be in. Hours ago Moire Ain should have returned to their hut with the herbs, including the pale and odorous tuber she was sure was poisonous.

For once Moire Ain didn't care how bad a beating she would get. She finally possessed the one treasure she had never expected to own. Moire Ain had found her own magick book. Finding a place to hide it was more important than Hedge-Witch's wrath.

Running past the first village hut, Moire Ain thought a thanks to Goodwife Greenfield for the reading and writing instructions. Not that the goodwife knew she had been teaching the witch's foster child. For the last few years, Moire Ain had hidden in a tree and soaked up the lessons the goodwife taught to her brood of children. No one knew Moire Ain could read and write.

As she sped past more village huts, the peasants
turned their backs. For as long as she could remember, the villagers had hurried inside their homes whenever she passed. But this time, she couldn't slow to wish one of them wanted to know her, become her friend.

Where the book touched her, her skin prickled again. Strangely it was the same feeling she'd gotten when she'd spotted the piece of leather-wrapping sticking up out of the earth. She'd quit digging for Hedge-Witch's poisonous plant when she caught sight of the leather. At first she feared that the plant and the buried book were one and the same—evil. But curiosity got the better of her, and when she'd unwrapped the book and held it in her hands, she felt the good. The happiness.

Moire Ain had magick in her. Not much. Not as much as she wanted. But she knew the feel of good over evil. She knew which herbs would counteract the poisonous ones Hedge-Witch fed to the villagers' animals in order to force the peasants to pay for cures. When Moire Ain could, she secretly cured the animals before Hedge-Witch could do any real damage.

This book prickled and tickled with good magick, even if it was mostly written in a language she didn't know. Enough of it was in her own language for her to be certain of the good. She could become a great wizard with this book. But first she had to find a safe place for it.

She stopped thinking of hiding places when she spotted a horse tied to one of the haphazard branches
that made up the walls of their hut. Not only was a horse unusual, but Moire Ain had seen this horse once before. Last time, Hedge-Witch had taken off and been gone for three days. She'd returned in an abnormally good mood, with gold to hide under the dirt in the corner of the hut. For a week afterward, the old witch sang of murder and mayhem and giggled like a wrinkled little girl.

Moire Ain veered behind the villagers' huts. She would come up behind her home, away from the front opening. There was nowhere to hide around her shack. Unlike the other homes, there were no trees or bushes shading Moire Ain's home. It was hot in the summer and cold in the winter. All the saplings Moire Ain had tried to plant close to the hut died at once. Moire Ain was sure the noxious gases scattering from the carcasses that dried on racks in the yard had killed the plant life. Or maybe it was the gathered plants, also set out to dehydrate, since many were poisonous instead of curative.

Moire Ain wanted to hear what the crone was up to with this visitor. So Moire Ain snuck up to their hut, sliding along the side. She was pretty safe since their hut had no windows. Even better, the walls were thin, and Moire Ain's hearing was acute.

“I tell you she is ready,” Hedge-Witch said. “She will do the deed within the five days.”

A voice, which creaked low but could have been either a man or a woman, answered, “You are certain?
Your life depends on it.”

“I am certain.” Hedge Witch's voice took on a wheedling tone Moire Ain had never heard before. “The king will die. You will rule. Do not fear. You have entrusted the right witch to do the job.”

“You mean the girl will kill him?” the voice said, a bit louder and more annoyed than even Hedge-Witch usually sounded.

“Yes. Yes. Of course. I control her. She will do my bidding. Now about the payment.”

“When the job is done.”

The voices grew fainter as they argued, as if they had walked farther into the hut.

Moire Ain slapped a hand over her mouth before she could gasp. The old witch was talking about turning her into a killer. No! This was not going to happen. Moire Ain had to escape.

But she heard the voices get louder, as if the stranger was approaching the hut's opening, leaving. She didn't dare run yet. Hedge-Witch would hear her pounding feet. It was eerily quiet now. The only noise was that of birds scolding a crow or a hawk. And then silence again.

There was no more conversation. At last the beat of the horse's hooves could be heard trotting down the road, out of the village, heading toward the woods to the south. Moire Ain listened for Hedge-Witch. She heard pounding. It sounded like Hedge-Witch was
beating something. Moire Ain leaned farther around the hut to see.

Hedge-Witch stood in the road, muttering and smashing her rod into the dirt. Even though everything else was still, her straggly hair whipped about like a tornado had hold of it. Moire Ain had seen the crone this angry only once before. Anger made her meaner and more determined. Not only was she furious, but there was payment to be had. For gold, Hedge-Witch would do anything, no matter who got hurt. This time she was going to use Moire Ain to kill a king.

Moire Ain didn't care if Hedge-Witch was angry about the way the stranger had spoken to her or if she was mad that Moire Ain was late. She was not going to stay to find out. Slinking back around the hut, Moire Ain pulled out her book. She flipped through, looking for anything she could use. Maybe something to silently call her pet raven, Raspberries, warning him to escape. But all the spells went on for pages, and none now seemed to be in her language. There wasn't time to master one, even if she could have deciphered the language they were in.

There was no choice. She had to run and hope Raspberries followed, but first she would take care of something. Since Moire Ain would not be around to cure the poison Hedge-Witch would make from the white tuber that reeked of evil, she would destroy it. Moire Ain threw it into the coals of the cooking fire burning
behind the hut.

As it hit the flames, the plant screamed.

Too stunned to move, Moire Ain was still staring when Hedge-Witch hurtled around the hut shouting, “What have you done? Get in the hut. I'll deal with you later. You are too incompetent to even gather a ….” She stopped. She stuck her staff in the fire and dragged out the blackened plant. Throwing dirt on it to smother the burning parts, she picked it up and stroked it like a pet cat. A crafty look crossed the old crone's face, and she shook her finger at Moire Ain. “You will find out what that was when I—”

“Feed it to me? You plan to poison me to make me kill a king?” Moire Ain tried to scream, but her throat had closed, and everything came out as a whisper.

The old witch smiled and started to chant.

By the third word, Moire Ain recognized the spell. Spider webs would fly out of Hedge-Witch's fingers in a moment. Moire Ain would be imprisoned in sticking silken ropes.

So she ran.

She heard Hedge-Witch screaming behind her. “Grab her. Grab the rotten thief!” Her howling brought out every villager who wasn't already outdoors. But they slunk back into their doorways as Moire Ain fled by. They were too scared of Hedge-Witch to help Moire Ain.