The Lazy Dragon and Bumblespells Wizard (8 page)

“Yes. This is my best friend, Raspberries.” She ran a finger over the top of the bird's head. “You know, I've almost finished my
Magicks Mysteries
book.” Great and Mighty patted her pouch. “I mean the parts I can read. So I don't think I can really do ….” She clamped her lips shut like there was a bad secret she didn't want to share. Then she pushed her lips into a tight smile. He hoped her secret wasn't that she doubted she could do
any magick.

Looking at her pouch reminded Cl'rnce. He tapped the locket he wore around his neck. It still had the dull sound of being full. He hadn't lost the Whisper Stone. Which was good, since he'd spent the time after setting up his spell traps trying to find where to stash it safely so he could raid Dr'gon Wiz's kitchen for a “Going on a hero's journey” lunch. And then he'd spent precious time
remembering where he'd hidden it before he finally ran from the angry school.

It wasn't putting out the vibrations any longer, but he figured that was okay. Since Hazel had given it to Cl'rnce, it would probably start nagging instead of vibrating sooner or later.

“There's a diploma in the back of my book,” Great and Mighty rattled on.

“Sorry. But I'm kind of in a rush.” With just three days left to finish his Journey, for once he really did need to hurry. He definitely did not want to think about what would happen if he failed. It wasn't the Geilt clan he feared, but his formidable sister. Which meant really big-time mean. If he messed up, she'd make his life not worth living. She knew a thousand ways to torture him.

Thinking about all of Hazel's rules and instructions finally reminded Cl'rnce. Hazel had said something about him having to read a message in …. He tapped his small case's center. It opened, and cupping it, he used one talon to snag a piece of paper wedged next to the stone inside.

“What's that?” Great and Mighty's voice went up an octave to match how she stood on her tiptoes trying to see into his paws.

“Paper.” Cl'rnce felt proud that he'd remembered Hazel had said to read it on maybe the fourth day. He didn't think he should wait until then. What would a day early matter? Especially if it meant he could ignore
her orders. He unfolded the paper.

“No. I meant that shiny thing in your necklace.” The little wizard want-to-be stretched higher on her toes.

“Male River Dr'gons do not wear necklaces. They wear chains with small cases for carrying important papers and things.” He snapped the locket closed. “Like this paper.”

“No. I mean the shiny thing. The thing that looked like it was on fire inside your lock … I mean, ornamental case.”

Cl'rnce wrinkled his brow at her. The Whisper Stone was the only thing in his case, and it was just a dull, dingy old rock as silent as any pebble. Which it shouldn't be. It was almost like Hazel had switched the real one for something she picked up in a bathroom pit, so she could send him on the Journey and drive him crazy.

Tricking him made more sense than so easily giving in to sending him off to become Primus. The sister he'd grown up with would never give away the chance to be Primus to Cl'rnce. She was probably busy getting a waiver so she could become the next Primus while he was on this wild snark chase. It didn't matter so much. Just for the chance to get away from her and school, Cl'rnce was willing to make the trip. Who wanted to be Primus anyway? Not him. After he got back, he'd tell on Hazel to their mother. No matter how important Hazel thought she was, she would never cross an Elder, especially their mother, who was very good friends with
Thomas, the current Primus.

Cl'rnce decided the sun was in the little wizard's eyes. The pebble he carried was definitely not shiny, not special. He ignored her question and read his paper, which oddly was written in Albion instead of Modern Dr'gon:

Dear Lout of a Brother who does not deserve anything,

This is not a trick, which you've probably convinced yourself it is. You are definitely on the quest to return the Whisper Stone to the Council Chamber and claim the Primacy.

I know it's ridiculous to believe you'd be doing a good job, but I hope at least you've remembered to read this on the third day. If you'd put any effort in, you could have flown straight to Ghost Mountain and delivered the stone in one day and completed the Journey required of every Primus to be. But I know you. You're fooling around doing stupid stuff.

“Then why didn't she just do it herself?” Cl'rnce muttered. He read on.

I know you're asking why I didn't do the job myself. Why I didn't usurp you. Believe me, if I were allowed, I would have. But you, you lout, have to be the one. Just believe me on this.

Now get your rear in gear and get to Ghost Mountain. And if, as I'm sure, you're still nowhere near it, you know time's up and you HAVE to GET a Wizard Partner and get help with the toad-swallow spell to unleash your ability to fly. It's an embarrassment to this family and all River Dr'gons that you've scared off all possible Wizard Partners, and for River Sakes, never bothered to learn to fly. HONESTLY!

Cl'rnce turned the paper over looking for a map or anything more. But the back was blank. “I don't think she meant I have to swallow a toad,” he muttered. “She was just being angry Hazel, I think.”

“Yeah. Whoever wrote that was really snarky,” Great and Mighty said from where she'd climbed on a rock to read over his shoulder. “You need my help. It says you need a Wizard Partner. I'm coming with you.”

“Didn't you say you were just learning to be a wizard?” He looked up at her. A beginner wizard who really
didn't know how to throw a spell? She thought he needed her? He needed to get the troll's-breath-rotted rock delivered to the Council so he could appoint someone to do the work, then go back to Dr'gon Wiz and skip class and nap by the river. Instead he was doing Hazel's bidding while running from Nasty Sir George.

Cl'rnce shuddered from snout to tail-tip. Nasty Sir George wanted to nail Cl'rnce's extremely attractive green and purple hide to his knight's hovel's walls. Hazel told the truth about the knight. Nasty Sir George had shouted at Cl'rnce and bragged that he'd slain every genus of dr'gon on Albion except one, and that one was Cl'rnce's, the River Dr'gon.

Cl'rnce was maybe fifty percent sure Nasty Sir George might be smarter than he looked. Dressed in armor that was at least as much rusted holes as metal, he wore two left boots. Which seemed really dumb but had been very helpful to Cl'rnce in keeping ahead of the knight. Apparently the boot on Nasty Sir George's right foot hurt a lot, and the knight had stopped to take it off and complain so often the first day Cl'rnce had finally gained enough time for a nap today. Knowing where the knight was by his loud whining—Nasty Sir George spoke in nothing but a loud voice—and the extra time Cl'rnce gained while Nasty Sir George took off and put back on his boot, had given Cl'rnce a head start twice.

Today, Cl'rnce had been certain his escape would
be permanent. He'd made that amazingly clever fake map to River Dr'gon Territory and dropped it where the knight couldn't help but find it. The map should have sent Nasty Sir George in the wrong direction. In fact, he should have ended up in Killer Dr'gon lands. Those guys didn't mess around with tricks and running away. They would have just eaten Nasty Sir George.

Cl'rnce was proud of the exceptional job he'd done making the map look authentic. He'd crumpled the parchment and rubbed it with mud to make it look old and real. But either Nasty Sir George had been too smart to fall for the ruse, which was doubtful, or he couldn't read. “Probably can't read,” Cl'rnce muttered.

“Yes, I can,” Great and Mighty said.

“Didn't mean you.” Cl'rnce checked over his shoulder. “I think we should hurry. Run!”

Moire Ain sent Raspberries into the air and sprinted to catch up. Behind them, Nasty Sir George's snores grew louder and louder.

“Dr'gons are supposed to fly,” she called to Cl'rnce's wide rear. “Why don't you take to the air to get away from that knight?” She flapped her arms as she ran.

Cl'rnce turned and shot her a glance that was both sad and mad at the same time. “Don't ask me that. Unless you're some kind of mean person, stay away from the flying. It's enough that Hazel heckles me about not flying almost as much as she makes fun of me for walking and running on my back feet. She even has Mother sighing at me about ‘her odd son.' And I get lectured at Dr'gon Wiz. If I wanted to fly, I would have passed
Aviation for Dr'gons
and been the most popular dr'gon at Dr'gon Wiz. I'd already have a Wizard Partner, and I wouldn't need you. I. Do. Not. Fly. So leave me alone.”

“Sorry,” Moire Ain said, swallowing the harsh words about not needing her.

Cl'rnce walked backward as quickly as Moire Ain could jog forward. He kept droning on, “I like being different. I like walking. And I'm very good at it. I can walk very fast or very slow.” He stuck up one and then the other of his well-muscled back legs. “I'm quite a bit faster at walking and running than any other dr'gon.”

“Okay. And I'm sorry. You are fast.” She looked back over her shoulder. “Oh, oh. Do you see how that taller tree is shaking behind us? I bet Sir George is awake and pulling on that tree to get upright.” She turned to Cl'rnce. “How fast would you say he can run in that armor?”

Cl'rnce looked over her head. “Good question. He's been chasing me for two days, and I'm mystified at how he keeps catching up. Wait. Come to think on it, he did have a horse or two. Did you happen to see a horse or anything he could ride?”

Moire Ain was impressed. Cl'rnce wasn't just bragging about being a fast runner. If he could keep ahead of a horse and rider, he really was. Which made a new problem for Moire Ain. Her legs were pretty short, and she couldn't run fast enough to keep up.

She thought of
page 125
in her book. There had been a picture of a flying wizard. Moire Ain could do that, couldn't she? She'd made a rope out of her belt and crossed the river.

“I can fly,” she said.

“Huh?”

“See the picture of the flying wizard?” She pulled the book out of her pouch and flipped it open.

Cl'rnce leaned close to the page. He ducked his head, peering underneath the book and then staring at the front cover. He said, “Just curious. But how far along are you in your
Magicks Mysteries
book?”

Moire Ain pointed again at the picture, trying to picture herself in the air like she had pictured her river crossing. “Flying!”

“You've done this spell?” Cl'rnce looked skeptical. He was probably thinking about how her spell on Sir George had expired.

She couldn't lie. “Well, not yet. The words. I can't—” Moire Ain started to say.

“So you can't fly.” Cl'rnce turned and strode away like he was going to leave her behind. “We need to get out of here.”

“I can too fly.” She couldn't let him decide he didn't need her, didn't want her along. She ran and caught up with him. Jumping in front of him, she waved her arms to make him stop. “I can do spells, which means I can fly. It's just another spell.”

“I hate to bring this up. But your spell to make Nasty Sir George stay still didn't really work. Are you sure you can do spells?”

Moire Ain's shoulders drooped, and her chin dropped nearly to her skinny chest. She couldn't lie to
him, even if it meant this dr'gon was going to abandon her. “Not exactly.”

“Well, then. Let's do it my way and
RUN
!” He scooped her up and sped faster than Moire Ain had ever seen anything run.

In no time they were so far down the road and past the forest that they were racing through fields. “Can you see him?” Cl'rnce panted.

Moire Ain, from her position slung over his shoulder, answered, “Nope. No sign of him. You really are some runner. No wonder you don't fly. Or are you some species of non-flying dr'gon?”

“Too many questions. There's a village up ahead. I'm going to put you down. You're going to walk into the village and scout for a place for us to spend the night.”

“Why am I going alone? Why are we looking for a place for the night so soon? It's still daytime.”

Cl'rnce groaned. “Are you as naggy as my sister?” He slowed and stopped behind a very tall haystack. As Moire Ain slid to the ground, he sighed as if he was expecting her to keep on berating him.

But she knew what it was like to hear nothing but negatives, so she cocked her head to one side and asked quietly, “Why is Sir George chasing you?”

“Because he kills dr'gons. According to my sister, he's looking to kill a River Dr'gon, which I am. So he's after me.”

Moire Ain plopped down in the shade of the haystack. “I hate killers. Why you? Why not your sister? Pardon me. I didn't mean anything against your sister. But why you?”

“No problem. My sister should be the one he's hunting, if he wants a real mean dr'gon to slay. Come to think of it, I don't know why me and not my sister. Good question. Unless ….” But he didn't continue. He sat down next to her.

“There must be something special about you.” Moire Ain straightened her too-short robe so that it pulled as far over her outstretched legs as possible. It didn't reach her ankles as a proper robe would but made it halfway down her shins.

Cl'rnce stared at her again like she'd said something she shouldn't have, or maybe it was just that he disapproved of her. She blushed to think what he was seeing. Besides being raggedy, she was only a five-foot-tall human with reddish curly hair that was always falling across her round face. She wasn't pretty, although she thought her green eyes were okay. And of course she had freckles, which Hedge-Witch said were the sign of low-class people who didn't know enough to wear a hat in the sun. Not that she had a hat.