Dragon Lad: Tale of the Talisman

By J. C. Stevens

Magic and adventure abound in this second book in the Dragon Lad trilogy.

Tale of the Talisman follows our young dragon-hatched hero as he seeks his parents, his past and his destiny in Roman-ruled Britannia. A boy without a history—at least one that he can remember—Dirk turns to his shape-shift

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragon's Egg Books
• Release date: Nov 9, 2017
• ISBN: 9780996383974

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Written and Illustrated

by J. C. Stevens

Dragon Lad: Tale of the Talisman

Copyright © 2017 - J. C. Stevens,

Dragon’s Egg Books

Interior illustrations, text and story: J. C. Stevens

Cover design and layout: J. C. Stevens and R. Powell -

http://www.behance.net/rpowell

The Dragon’s Egg Books logo is a registered trademark

of Dragon’s Egg Books.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are a product of the

author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual

person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form without written permission.

ISBN-13: 978-0-9963839-3-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017915615

www.dragonseggbooks.com

CONTENTS

Chapter One: Mist-Spell

Chapter Two: The Quest

Chapter Three: The Red Dragon of Greenwild

Chapter Four: The Ring

Chapter Five: Nightmare

Chapter Six: The Road to Isca

Chapter Seven: The Cave

Chapter Eight: Dragon’s Wrath

Chapter Nine: Lost Gift

Chapter Ten: Calling the Whale

Chapter Eleven: A Seagull Chanty

Chapter Twelve: Mermaid’s Kiss

Chapter Thirteen: Facing the Truth

Chapter Fourteen: Guilty

Chapter Fifteen: Spell of the Talisman

Chapter Sixteen: Hagnore’s Talent

Chapter Seventeen: Protection Charm

Chapter Eighteen: The Two Mages

Chapter Nineteen: Remembering

Chapter Twenty: Three Gold Coins

Chapter Twenty-One: Official Visit

Chapter Twenty-Two: In Danger

Chapter Twenty-Three: Serious Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Messenger

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Mission

Chapter Twenty-Six: Sorrow Shared

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Dragon Spell

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Roman Rule

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Magic Tricks

Chapter Thirty: The Two Grimoires

Chapter Thirty-One: Half Successful

Chapter Thirty-Two: Hagnore’s Account

Chapter Thirty-Three: Hexed and Unhexed

Chapter Thirty-Four: To the Chase

Chapter Thirty-Five: Last Flight as a Dragon?

Acknowledgements

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Mist-Spell

Dirk set his satchel on the seacliff, and breathed in the chill salt air.

There are times I wish I were still a dragon. Not forever, but I sure could have used a set of dragon wings for this journey. And dragon-fire to keep me warm....

For the past four days, he’d slogged over frost, snow and ice at a pace worthy of a Roman legionary. He’d stopped only to eat, sleep, and rub the numbness out of his frozen, blistered toes.

Determined to reach his destination, he’d raced across the strange, ancient landscape of Britannia. He’d wandered through eerie, fog-bound woods, farmsteads and bogs; past centuries-old tin and coppermines and even older moss-covered fingers of rock pointing to the sky. He’d torn his clothes on bramble thorns, dirtied his shoes crossing sheep and cow tracks and come close to tumbling down the sheer, rugged slopes lining the coast. He’d gone as far west as he could go without leaping off the bluffs.

A stranger in an unfamiliar yet bewilderingly familiar realm, he hadn’t lingered to ask about his surroundings. The only history that interested him was his own. The mystery of his origin had compelled him to travel alone during a season better spent huddling by a fire. He hungered for action, hungered for certainty in his uncertain existence, and the journey fed the hunger.

Tall and slim, with raven hair and eyes of a gold hue rare in humans, Dirk possessed the outward appearance of a boy of twelve human years. But he could only remember the past seven months of his existence. For all he knew, his life had begun the previous spring, when he’d hatched as a dragon.

But just as birds and reptiles molt, casting off their old feathers and scales, the dragon Dorg shed his skin to become Dirk, the boy hatched as a dragon… but perhaps also born human.

And now he dwelled in a world as vague and grey as the approaching dusk: a world in which he was not quite human, not quite dragon, and might revert at any moment. Living in two worlds and welcome in neither, he yearned desperately to learn where he truly belonged.

For now, he’d be content to find the cave.

Pulling his sheepskin cloak tighter, he gazed north, then south along the bluffs and saw nothing. And yet…

There it is. The mist-spell. Thank you, Draco, for guiding me. A little way longer and I’ll sleep by a warm fire tonight.

Shouldering his satchel, he trudged a few hundred yards more across the withered grass and found the stairway leading to the cave. The slate and granite stairs dropped steep and slick, the plunge to the bottom steeper still. Peering down into the murk, he could hear and smell the waves but saw only a grey wall of haze.

It was easier before. I flew to the ledge and didn’t have to walk down wet, slippery steps with night falling…

Why does Beldor have to live in a place a body has to kill himself to get to? There’s no telling the rock from the mist, or solid ground from air. Enough of his magic. I like things plain and clear.

Dirk let out a long sigh. Then, groping the clammy, lichen-covered rocks for balance, he descended the steps.

One… two… three… four… five…

The mist twirled like a whirlwind, obscuring the edges of the stairs.

Six… seven… eight… nine.

The stairs were spaced so unevenly it was hard to gauge where to put his foot.

Ten… eleven… twelve… twelve.

Probing for the next foothold, he found only mist.

What if there isn’t another step? I wouldn’t put it past Beldor and his wizard’s tricks. Should I climb back up? Wait until morning?

He peered up, thinking about it.

The cliff top was no longer visible.

Afraid to go forward, afraid to go backward, and with mist streaming into his eyes, too miserable to stay put, he lowered his foot slowly until it touched rock.

Thirteen.

He put his full weight on it. On the edge.

Aagghh!

Down, down, down he slid to the flat rock ledge near the cave entrance.

Landing on all fours, he repositioned himself and examined his scraped, throbbing knees. He’d skinned them badly, and his hands, too.

A hundred feet below, the sea lashed the cliffs violently, without pity.

Dirk shuddered.

That could have been my body crashing against those rocks.

Rising to wobbly legs, he hobbled forward a half-step at a time, not daring to widen his stride. In the thickening mist, he might step off the cliff.

If I were still a dragon, my wings would save me if I fell. And I could rake my foreclaws across these sharp, uneven rocks to find the door. But human nails and skin are delicate, and my fingers already ache and burn from the fall.

Wind whipped at his face, snatched at his cloak. Lurching forward to escape the gust, he cried out as the thin sole of his shoe scraped a large, jagged rock.

Hands, knees and now my foot.

He stooped and picked up the cause of the new pain. Shaped roughly like a half-moon, the rock was sharp enough on its straight edge to use for a cutting tool.

He flung it angrily into the mist, willing it to shatter to pieces.

It struck granite and landed intact at his feet.

Which gave him an idea.

Dirk retrieved the stone and hurled it again, harder.

Once more, stone hit rock and skipped back.

He gripped it, aimed and threw with all his might.

This time, rock struck metal.

Along with something altogether unexpected…

Out of the gloom, accompanied by a tremendous creaking and clanging, looped a large, disembodied eye. The eye appeared human, with a vivid green iris and long brown lashes. It scanned up, down, left, right––and then fixed on the boy.

Clanking closer, it aligned to his eye level.

But it wasn’t an eye after all. It was a manmade contraption that magnified one through a thick disk of glass in a cylinder segmented like a snake’s spine.

The disembodied eye clinked, blinked, and acquired a voice.

Who goes there? it demanded.

CHAPTER TWO

The Quest

It was a low-pitched female voice, speaking in oddly accented Brittonic.

Ydda! Is that you? It’s me, Dorg. I mean Dirk. That’s what I call myself now.

Instantly the mechanical eye retracted into its cylinder and clashed noisily back into the cave. A moment later he heard the iron door grate open.

Welcome, Ydda intoned from somewhere in the fog. "Fearclaw, dear, please clear the mist for our visitor."

Concealing mist end, in the presence of a friend, commanded a deep, crackly male voice.

Gradually the mist thinned, revealing two human shapes in the doorway. Dirk stumbled forward to hug them, and then stepped back to marvel at their new appearance.

He’d seen Fearclaw as a human before, after the dragon had merged his being with Beldor. Still, he could scarcely believe this grey-bearded middle-aged man held the essence of his dragon friend.

And as for Ydda ... The last time he saw her, she was a grandmotherly female dragon starting to sag at the shoulders and bulge at the belly. Now he saw a spry human woman of thirty, with waist-length coppery curls and fetching green eyes.

You’re beautiful! he proclaimed to her.

She laughed. So you like it? Fearclaw prefers the old me, and I prefer my humpbacked, long-necked old companion. She pinched the nape of her mate’s human neck affectionately. But Dorg … I mean Dirk … you’re injured. And wet from that nasty mist. Come in and warm yourself while I tend to those hands and knees.

He needed little coaxing. Whisking the satchel off his shoulder, he limped inside.

The cave was just as he remembered from his last visit: a large squarish chamber tastefully tiled in a dragon and leaf mosaic, with a homey fire blazing in the hearth. Overhead hovered the long, skinny protrusions, bumps and crevices of the natural cave ceiling. Below stood tall, dusty shelves crammed with rolls of parchment and papyrus, a small kitchen with a stone counter, and the sleeping cots of Beldor, High Wizard of the West, and his two permanent houseguests.

Ydda retrieved her healing basket and placed it on a wood table in the center of the room.

Sit, she ordered.

She gingerly washed his knees and hands, applied a soothing salve and rolled strips of clean cloth loosely around the treated areas. His attention meandered to the various glass and metal objects cluttering the table, including the snaky eye contraption. He picked it up with his bandaged right hand while Ydda wrapped his left.

What’s this?

Fearclaw snatched up the other objects on the table and found a place for them on a crowded shelf. One of Ydda’s scientific experiments. She just finished that peephole extender you’re holding. Go ahead and try it.

Dirk lifted it to his eyes and focused on Ydda as she rose from the table and walked to the kitchen.

The glass alone must have cost a fortune, Dirk murmured.

"If I had paid for it, Ydda smirked as she poured a steaming liquid from a small pot into a glass beaker. But I made it myself. Beldor and I visited a Roman glass works in Londinium. While we were there, pretending to shop for bowls, Beldor put the artisan in a trance and tricked him into showing us his process. I discovered glass can be used to make objects appear larger. And I find the act of glassblowing thrilling, a little like breathing fire! She thrust the beaker into his hands. Here’s another of my projects, but mind your fingers, it’s—"

Too late. The beaker whisked out of his bandaged palms and shattered across the floor.

Ydda gaped incredulously at the shards.

Staring at the broken pieces, he swallowed. I’m sorry. He tried to help her collect them, but she waved him off. Feeling awful, he just stood there until Fearclaw nudged him into a large, high-backed chair next to the fire.

Rest your feet! And what a relief you’re the right size for this chair! The last time I saw you, you wouldn’t have fit through the cave door! I suppose Hagnore changed you back into a human?

Settling in the chair, Dirk angled his cold, sore heels against the hearth. The fire’s warmth, added to the aroma of mutton and herbs boiling in the kettle slung over it, improved his spirits. He took a breath and answered.

Yes. And no.

Tell us about it while we wait for the stew. He scooted the table chairs next to the fire, and once Ydda finished tidying, they all sat spellbound by the flames.

Fearclaw raked the fire until it crackled. So what brings you here in the dead of winter? Anything amiss on Codhaven? Is your father well?

Gone north, with what remains of the dragon colony.

Ydda squeezed his arm gently. You’ve been all by yourself? Poor little hatchling.

Not completely alone. I had my bird friends. And of course Galinda. She helped me. Saved my life. I will miss her. Dirk tried to hold back the flood of feelings, but a tear leaked from his eye. He had to bridge a gaping chasm in his life before he could face his friend as an equal, and he could not return to the island until then.

Why are you here? Fearclaw repeated softly.

I came … because I think I lived here before. As a human. I’m sure of it, and Galinda thinks so, too. And Hagnore.

Who is this Galinda you speak of? Ydda asked.

Fearclaw replied for him. She’s the human girl who was kind to you, right? And now you’re on speaking terms with Hagnore as well. Did she apologize for causing you to hatch small?

Dirk splayed his fingers in front of the flames. Ydda’s salve had worked wonders; they still smarted but no longer throbbed.

No, but we’re not enemies anymore. And as for her spell, I’m almost certain it had nothing to do with my hatching.

Really? Ydda said.

Well, even Beldor said I reminded him of someone.

Is that so? I’ll see about that! Fearclaw closed his eyes, cleared his throat and addressed the second being sharing his body. Beldor, I realize you’ve gone to bed, but Dorg, er, Dirk, dropped by and needs your help. Please speak up and tell us whom he reminds you of.

Dirk rested his bandaged hands on his thighs and bent forward expectantly. Fearclaw leaned back, nodded off, and then reawakened as Beldor.

The wizard blinked, jerked forward and seized him by the hand. My boy, your face still baffles me, he said in his high-pitched croak. Whoever it was, we must have crossed paths in the last ten years, when my memory started to go.

Dirk slumped back against the chair. At least you confirmed what Hagnore said.

Hagnore? Who is she? And how did you become human again? Beldor yawned. Pardon me, it’s past my bedtime.

Fearclaw invaded the conversation. Hagnore is the witch who cursed his dragon mother. Go back to bed, Beldor. I’ll find out and tell you later!

The wizard fell asleep and Fearclaw reassumed control. "So, Dirk, how did you become human again?"

It happened the night you and Ydda left Codhaven. Our dragon colony raided Galinda’s settlement. I didn’t want to go with them, but had no choice. Galinda shot me by accident during battle but pulled the arrow free, and I turned back into a human.

Remembering the pain, he grimaced.

"But