““Theix…grututa…fei…feir,” Ignatius said, speaking each word slow and deliberately, letting the syllables and accents roll off his tongue. He repeated twice more for good measure; once slowly, and the last with emphasis, the way a spell was meant to be spoken.
“Theix grututa fei feir!”
Sherlock’s eyes closed in concentration. His lip curled upward, baring his teeth in a silent growl. The dog is concentrating; by the two moons, he is!
They watched him anxiously. Is it working? Maria was nowhere near, for the dragon had soared back up to the heavens, so far away that as Ignatius looked upward, he saw what could’ve easily been mistaken for another shooting star in a night sky full of them.
Then Sherlock’s eyes opened. Slowly, he shook his head back and forth. It was not a shake brought on by an itch, but one brought on by disappointment.
“Keep trying, Sherlock,” Ignatius said. He turned to Salem and Agnes. “You and I will have to find another way to reach her.”
Salem’s mouth opened as if to ask ‘How,’ but Agnes elbowed him before the word escaped his lips.
How was right.
How, Ignatius? How?
It was then that the Rogue Dragon swooped over them once more. In what seemed like super slow motion, the dragon’s belly lit up with oncoming fire. Ignatius looked on with horror. Frozen.
This is the end for me, he thought. Before he could even protect his granddaughter. At the last second, he tried to draw on a protection spell, but realized he couldn’t. Ignatius closed his eyes, ready for death. His hand was tight around Frieda’s, and he was surrounded by those who he cared about. Could it be so bad? Death?
Then the fire roared through the air, baking them all in its heat. Great, leathery wings sounded muffled above him.
Ignatius opened his eyes. The fire bounced off a dome-like shape in the air.
A protection spell! But who had done it?
The dragon roared and ascended again into the air. The spell wore off and the dome disappeared. Gramps looked at Salem, then Agnes, and lastly Frieda. None of them had their wands pointed up. The protection spell came from seemingly nowhere.
“Ig! Watch out!” Salem said, now drawing his wand and whirling toward the ruins of the town off the beach.
There stood a robed figure, its face shrouded by the shadow cast from its hood. He held no sword, and no flames rippled from his hands. This Dragon Tongue held a wand—one that seemed to be…3-D printed?
The man threw his hood back, and it was not a man at all.
“Lois!” Ignatius shouted. As weak as he was, he tore off along the sand and hugged her.
Laughing, Lois said to Salem and Agnes, “Did you really think I’d forget about our pact?”
“Of course we didn’t,” Agnes answered, a smile on her face.
“Always be there for the ones you care about,” Lois intoned. “No matter what.” Now she hugged Salem and Agnes, and even Claire and Tabby, as if they were old friends, too.
“Thank you, Lois,” Ignatius said. He noticed the burn on her arm when she threw off her cloak. It wasn’t too bad, but it would leave a scar. “It seems the old crew is back together.”
“It seems we are,” Lois said. “I cannot stay long. Your quest is hardly over, but I will do my best to help.”
“Thank you.” Ignatius hugged her again. “I believe you’re right. For now, we have a dragon to slay.”
Lois smiled. “Just like the good old days.”
The wind and rain continued to sting Maria’s face and eyes. What felt like a soft drizzle to the wanderers on the beach, who were trying to send a telepathic message to her via Bloodhound, was a like being caught in a hurricane to Maria.
She held on for dear life, but at least she had the sword. It did not help much in getting to the ground safely, that was for sure, but it did offer an odd sort of comfort.
Because it is my sword, passed down to me from Ignatius Mangood, and his father before him, all the way back to Anwyn, the Dragon Slayer, destroyer of Odarth.
How she knew all of this, she wasn’t sure. It was as if false memories of lives past had been implanted in her brain. Perhaps it was shock, the fear of impending doom about to take her life away.
One such memory was of a young warrior, barely as old as Duke when the Arachnid Malakai turned against Dominion’s army.
This warrior had bright eyes full of knowledge and wonder—full of magic. His name was Ignatius; that, Maria knew on her own accord. He was in a field, the fresh scrapes and bruises of sparring standing out on his skin as plainly as black ink on white paper.
There was someone else, too, a man of middling age. He wore a long, dark beard, salted with gray.
Son, I have a gift for you.
For graduating from the academy? the boy asked.
The older man smiled and bent backward to retrieve something. It was in a velvet sheath, one Maria recognized.
This was mine.
The boy’s mouth hung open. Your sword, father? But—
No, ‘but’s, Ignatius. You deserve it as much as anyone. And maybe you will be able to wield its power properly. The man who many ages ago held this very sword was one of the most powerful wizards in all of the land.
What happened to him, father? the boy asked. His eyes never left the velvet, and as the man drew the sword from its cover, young Ignatius’s eyes sparkled with astonishment.
He did something great…he saved an innumerable amount of lives. Because of his bravery, valor, and strength, the people of Oriceran were set free before they could be enslaved.
Did he kill Rhazdon, father?
The older man laughed and shook his head. No, my son, it was long before that, in a time of forgotten history, one left to legend.
Legend, the boy said, enunciating the word carefully.
Yes, legend. The older man handed the sword to young
