Gusting waves of icy cold brushed past Darius. The blanket tied about his neck did little as the dragon soared higher and higher into the sky. Drops of moisture stung at his face, and his breath was challenged by the thinning air. The clouds had long since thickened, and it seemed hours since the ground below had been visible. Darius would have welcomed the swamp or even the dead stalks that had pounded him outside Klavon’s kingdom to the frigid air that now whipped past his shivering body.
“Where are you taking me?” Darius screamed, his lips quivering from the severe cold, but Prydon didn’t answer.
Darius wasn’t surprised. Even he could barely make out his own voice amidst the bursts of wind howling past his ears. Or was it the echo of his own thoughts as he attempted to yell the words? He couldn’t be sure. He was numb—mind, body, and soul. Darius gave up his desire to communicate and buried his face between the ridges on Prydon’s back.
He closed his eyes and tried to envision a warmer place. His thoughts settled on the gentle slope of land above his home in Brandor, where he would spend lazy afternoons lying on the soft hillside and chewing the sweet end of a tall piece of grass. When he was a young boy, his mother would pack a lunch, and they would lie in the grass together and pick out shapes in the clouds. They would make a game of it to see who would be the first to discover a flower or a ship or some other predetermined shape. He wondered why they ever stopped playing the game.
Darius opened his eyes and looked at the thickness of clouds around him. There were no shapes here—no flowers, no ships—only the expanse of white fog as they flew through the mass of unending cold. His heart ached for home, and his arms throbbed from clenching Prydon’s massive neck.
Just when he thought he might lose his grip, his friend began to descend. Soon, the white sea of clouds became a ceiling, and a small shelf of snow-covered land appeared. Most of it was surrounded by walls of mountainous rock which rose sharply and faded into the blanket of clouds above. On one side, however, a lower curtain of clouds replaced the mountain, and the shelf vanished deeply into an abyss of fog below. The entire powdery white shelf appeared to be floating in a bubble of clouds.
As they neared the ground, a wave of energy washed over Darius’s body. The pulse almost felt warm, but he couldn’t be sure as it faded as quickly as it had come.
“What was that?” he asked, this time clearly heard.
“A barrier.” Prydon’s landing was markedly less rough than when Darius had been dumped onto the plateau above his father’s village. This time, Prydon delicately placed Darius on the soft, snowy ground.
“Barrier for what?” Darius looked around at the walls of rock and the drop-off on the opposite side.
“A barrier to prevent those unwanted from entering here.”
“Like the one Klavon has.”
“That,” Prydon frowned in distaste, “is a feeble attempt at best. This, however, is the real thing.”
“I thought you said Klavon was powerful.” It was a sincere comment—Darius’s voice echoed his trust in Prydon’s previous words of Klavon’s strength.
Prydon nodded, “Yes. He is, but the barrier that surrounds this place is beyond the ability of any wizard or sorcerer. It was formed long ago by the combined power of many wizards. Even Klavon could not match—or penetrate—this.”
Darius shuddered. “It’s freezing! With all that power, you’d think they’d have blocked out the cold weather as well.” The bitter wind stung like needles against his bare arms, and Darius gripped the blanket more tightly in a vain attempt to offer himself protection.
Prydon’s lips rose slightly on one side, and he chuckled as he turned and headed for the rock wall. Darius stumbled along behind him, knee deep in snow and falling with every step. He was pleased when the mountain wall blocked the wind.
Prydon turned behind a large boulder and disappeared. Darius quickened his pace, and as he rounded the large rock, he stood at the opening of a rather large cave, at least large enough to hold him and Prydon with room to spare. Prydon nodded him in, and Darius entered, standing next to his friend. It was still terribly cold, but at least he no longer felt like a slave being flogged by his master with an icy whip.
“So now what?” he asked, picking up a stone and letting it supinely roll from his palm. It fell to the ground, creating an echo as it cascaded over a small pile of rocks.
Prydon ignored his question and stared at the farthest wall. A low rumble began to shake bits of rock loose from the ceiling above, and Darius instinctively bolted for the opening of the cave. A large tail slapped in front of him, blocking his path.
“Watch,” Prydon said, standing firm and calm as if it was the most natural thing in the world to have pieces of rock falling all around.
Darius turned, and with the rumbling noise of waves crashing in the ocean, the back of the cave slid open to reveal a lush, green valley. A gentle wind caressed the cold off of his skin, and Darius leaned toward the entrance, breathing in the heat and filling his lungs with the warm breeze. It was the first time in hours he’d felt any relief from the bitterness.
As he followed Prydon into the valley, the wall behind them sealed shut, leaving no sign that it had ever been opened. Darius stopped and stared out into a vast valley. Clusters of trees filled with birds chirping in the sunlight scattered his view. Colorful flowers grew everywhere, and even more colorful butterflies fluttered about. A large lake resided in the center, glistening like jewels as the sun above in the cloudless sky danced across the surface. Shelves of mountain all around were draped with green vines, atop several of which small buildings sat. Higher up, the shelves appeared vacant, but Darius couldn’t tell from this vantage. He envied the birds that flew across the sky and longed to have Prydon join them so he could witness the scope of what spread out before him.
“What are you doing here?” An old man sprang in front of Darius’s view, causing Darius to stumble and fall back against the ground. “What do you want?”
Darius sat dazed, perplexed by this odd man who appeared from nowhere. He didn’t seem to be of any significance. In fact, he looked the part of a common gardener. The man was dressed in a loose, pale green shirt that tied at the neck. His pants were brown with a drawstring waist. About his neck was fastened a thin, tan cloak. His hair fell far below his shoulders, tied back in a single ponytail and gray from root to tip. Darius couldn’t make out the color of his eyes as they were merely slits burning into Darius’s face as he looked up, still sitting on the ground where he’d fallen.
“Well? What do you want?” The old man’s eyes widened as if he were trying to force an answer from Darius’s lips, and they flashed ash gray in the sunlight.
“I…” Darius paused. All words had been yanked from his tongue.
“He is here to train,” answered Prydon, stepping toward the man.
“Humph. Where is his staff? He has a blade, but…that is not his blade to have!” The old man pulled a long stick from where Darius knew not and began jabbing it at him. “Thief! Scoundrel!”
“Hey!” Darius shouted. He threw up his arms in an effort to shield himself from the invading stick. Prydon stepped in front of him, but the man simply persisted in stabbing the stick at Prydon.
Darius stared, completely befuddled by this ridiculous man. Watching him poke Prydon with the staff was almost amusing. The dragon stood like a fortress being pelted with toothpicks. But somehow Darius could sense that residing inside this old man existed fortitude beyond this pretense of weakness.
“Who are you?” he asked from behind Prydon.
“Why have you brought this phony to my valley?” the man screamed, still jousting with the dragon’s massive thighs.
“Enough, Barsovy! You are not the fool you pretend to be!” Prydon pounded the ground with one of his clawed hands, and the old man halted.
Barsovy’s eyes returned to the slits Darius earlier witnessed, and he moved closer to Prydon. The man’s stance confirmed Darius’s earlier thoughts. No longer a small, feeb
le man, Barsovy stood tall in front of Prydon. Prydon lowered his head until their noses almost touched.
“I know you, but this cannot be. Confirm your identity and your right to be here?” asked Barsovy, his lips closing to match the slits in his eyes.
“I am Prydon, old friend.”
Barsovy stared at Prydon. A thin smile touched his lips and he bobbed his head in agreement. “I heard you were dead.”
“Obviously, I am not,” replied Prydon.
“And for that I truly am thankful. How did you—” Barsovy began, but his question was cut off by a quick snap of Prydon’s jaws.
“Our discussion is about the boy. Let us save talk of my exploits for another time, shall we?”
Barsovy rubbed his bearded chin and nodded toward Darius. “And why would you bring me a child of no real significance to train? A thief at that—a thief marked by evil.”
Darius’s eyes shot to his glove-covered hand and as quickly back to the old man’s face. “But…how could you know this?”
Prydon turned to Barsovy. “Darius is the son of Thyre. He is no thief. He has been charged with saving Brandor from the sorcerer Klavon, and the sword was a gift from the town as their wizard has long since been gone.”
“Utter nonsense. Gone is not the proper choice of words. Did he not leave protection? A book, I believe?” A strict brow arose on Barsovy’s forehead, and Darius was overcome with the impression that the old man was blaming him for the wizard’s strange disappearance.
Prydon sighed, seeming to read the same accusatory impression. “Klavon has stolen the book. The town is fading. And the boy knows nothing of the wizard who once resided in Brandor.”
“That sword was not theirs to give, and the boy’s ignorance is no excuse.” Barsovy walked in small circles, staring at the ground and stroking his beard. He halted and grunted. “And what of the mark?”
“You know as well as I that he has been touched by Klavon, although for reasons I do not know. Perhaps to force him into confrontation.”
“Does the boy know what that means? Does he know the dangers that he must face to overcome such a challenge, if indeed such a challenge can be overcome?” Barsovy’s head swung back and forth, and his tongue ran across his bottom lip.
“He knows enough, and he will learn more, but for now he must be trained. You and I both know the consequences if he were to face Klavon without proper instruction.”
Barsovy continued with his circling and again halted, snapping his staff firmly against the ground. “Has he had any training?”
“No.”
Darius’s mind was a blur. “Wait a minute! I’ve read some on spells.” Darius’s voice faded and his words slowed. He recalled the failed attempt when he had been confronted by the vagabonds and the necessity of rescue by Prydon at the uselessness of his words.
Barsovy continued his questioning. “Why does he not have his staff?”
Were it not for his recent acknowledgement of his own failure, Darius might have been offended by the inconsiderate tone Barsovy maintained. Nevertheless, it was irritating to say the least to have this old man continually speak of Darius as if he were not standing three feet away.
“As I said,” answered Prydon, “he knows nothing of his past. Do you not agree that it would be dangerous to ask him to retrieve the staff at this time?”
“Hmm. Dangerous for whom? All who train here must first face danger.” Barsovy stroked his beard even harder, running his hand over his face and head until settling on the back of his neck. He stood there several moments, almost as if he wasn’t breathing until a heavy sigh broke the silence. “I will have a word with you alone, Prydon.”
Darius’s mouth shot open, but Prydon nudged him. “Patience. I know that is a difficult task for you, but trust me. It will be all right.”
Several paces away, Prydon stood tall above the old man. They spoke in hushed tones. Occasionally, Barsovy would glare at Darius. Other times, one of his gray brows would raise and he’d shake his head, although Darius didn’t know if the nods were for or against him. With one last nod the old man turned and walked away. Prydon made no attempt to follow and waited respectfully until Barsovy vanished. Then he turned and in a few paces stood once again at Darius’s side.
“So? What happened?”
“You will train.” Prydon held out a pair of coarse leather gloves. “Barsovy has demanded that you wear these at all times.”
“Why?” asked Darius as he removed his old gloves and replaced them with those Prydon offered. They reached almost to his elbows.
“Your gloves have no power to shield your mark from the curiosity of unwanted eyes, at least not all of them.”
“Oh, so that’s how Barsovy knew about the mark,” Darius said, “because he’s a wizard.”
“Yes.” Prydon nodded agreement. “These, however, possess an enchantment that will guard your secret. Barsovy does not wish the others to know of your mark, and I concur.”
“Others?” Darius glanced up at one of the shelters on a nearby ledge.
“There are others in this valley who are training. Now follow me.” Prydon began walking down a wide path, and Darius followed.
“Will I get to meet them?” The prospect of making friends, real friends, ones who were wizards like him, was interesting to Darius.
“With your situation, your mark, and Klavon, that would be unwise. No, we will remain as isolated as possible while we are here.”
A small amount of disappointment entered Darius’s thoughts, but Prydon’s response did not bother him. He was used to being alone, having grown up that way in Brandor, and was content to leave it be. “Where are we going?”
“We will take our residence in one of the shelters on the far mountain cliff, as far away from the other students as possible. Now follow but say nothing more. Any conversation between us can wait until we reach our lodging.”
“No talking?” Darius was certain he must have misheard his friend.
“No talking,” Prydon responded slowly.
“None?” Darius questioned. “But why? I have so many questions.”
Prydon stopped and turned to face Darius. His massive jaws were clenched tight as if forcing patience. “Keep your eyes forward and hold your head high and with confidence as we will soon be passing others in training. It would be unwise to appear weak in their eyes. Can you do that?”
“Yes, of course. But I still don’t understand why?”
Prydon sighed and scratched his forehead with one of his claws. “You are unfamiliar with all that is happening here, right?”
“Well…”
Prydon raised his brow. “Asking me questions would be perceived by others as lack of knowledge. A lack of knowledge would be perceived as a grave weakness. In this world, knowledge is power.”
Darius’s face wrinkled with confusion.
“Darius, you have no way of knowing which of these wizards will become evil and which will not. Any weakness you show now will be remembered and used to their advantage, should they believe it in their best interest to do so. Another’s weakness is often exploited by those seeking power.”
Darius nodded slowly and bit the side of his lip. He no longer felt an equal to his peers, potential friends with those like himself, but beneath them. He came to this valley with nothing, neither knowledge nor equipment. All he possessed were a book on spells he couldn’t cast and a second hand sword which wasn’t even his to have.
Prydon appeared to read his mind. “You will learn, and you already have one advantage of your own.”
Darius’s brows pulled together, and his head jolted ever so slightly back. “I do?”
Standing taller, Prydon smiled. “Yes. You are not alone. You have me. And that is no small feat, even among wizards.”
Darius returned Prydon’s smile, and Prydon turned back down the path. Following a few paces behind the spiked end of Prydon’s tail, Darius obeyed, his lips secured in silence.
Soon they passed along the
edge of the pond. It was as soothing as when Darius looked upon it from afar, and sunlight continued to play in the ripples that floated across its surface. Small barren fields bordered the path around the water’s edge, sectioned off by trees intertwined with thick vines. A sturdy fence could not have provided such privacy.
In each alcove there was a young man, close to his age, and…. Was he seeing this right? Barsovy? Several Barsovies? He recalled Prydon’s words and held his tongue. Instead, he concentrated on the dragon’s tail, strained to breathe steadily, and absorbed what was around him only through his periphery.
Some students stood in conversation with their master. Others were sparring Barsovy, and still others sat at rest, watching Barsovy perform some spell or maneuver. On occasion, a student would stop cold and stand in awe as they stared first at Prydon and then at Darius. To this, the Barsovy in their presence would soundly rap them across the head with his staff and yell choice words of which Darius could not quite make out.
Darius clenched his jaws together and successfully, albeit with extreme difficulty, resisted the urge to inundate Prydon with a thousand questions. It seemed forever they continued with this facade, but in time, they exited the opposite side of the valley, leaving the pond and training fields behind, and were again passing along a shaded path.
Darius opened his mouth to speak, but Prydon looked back and shook his head. Silence was his companion until they arrived the base of a small cliff that reached at least fifty feet up. Prydon nodded toward a rough ladder, and Darius began climbing. A rush of wind blew against his back followed by a thud from above, which gently shook the ladder he was climbing, and Darius knew that Prydon had already flown the ascent and had landed somewhere above.
By the time Darius finished his climb, his limbs were aching, having already been weakened from the long, cold ride. But the scenery was tremendous, and he walked to where Prydon was perched and sat down.
“Here,” said Prydon, handing Darius a small plate of food. Darius’s brows raised and Prydon chuckled. “Barsovy wants food on your stomach before tomorrow. It will be a long day for you.”
Darius took the food and stared at the scene that stretched before him. He would have immediately thrown questions at Prydon, but the view held his tongue. He breathed the fragrant air and gazed out at a valley so vast and so beautiful that for a moment he never wanted to leave. He wanted to forget his troubles, forget his trials…forget his failures. But thoughts of his mother entered his mind.
Darius wondered if she was hanging clothes as she always did, or was she sitting in their house, crying for him to return? Were the people of Brandor showing her any kindness in her sacrifice as they frantically awaited his success? Or perhaps they were expecting his failure, watching their neighbors disappear and wondering if they would be next. And here he was, helplessly waiting to be trained. With all the questions Darius had repressed as they passed through the valley, one thought emerged. “Prydon? Will I ever be able to save Brandor?”
Prydon leaned down, his muzzle very near Darius’s face. “As careless as you may seem, you are much like your father. And although I cannot say as to whether you will succeed or not, I will say this. Brandor could not have chosen more wisely. You are their best hope.”
Darius paused. Their best hope. With Prydon so close, Darius almost believed the words his friend spoke. But he wondered if his conviction in that strength would hold firm if Prydon were not near. Still, there was no alternative, and Darius tried to focus on his current task—to learn all he could in this strange and wonderful place with an even stranger master, Barsovy.
“Prydon, why were there so many Barsovies as we passed through the valley?”
Prydon laughed. “Oh, trust me! There is only one Barsovy! But he does manage to spread himself around quite easily for one so old, wouldn’t you say? Now, it is time to rest. We can talk more tomorrow.”
“But I have so many questions. I mean—”
“Rest first. Experience will answer most of your questions and probably much better than my words can explain.” Prydon stood and walked to a small structure. “Good night, Darius.”
Darius wanted to protest, but when he opened his mouth, he had nothing to say. His shoulders slumped, and he simply said, “Good night, Prydon. Thank you.”
“You are welcome, my young friend,” said the dragon.
Darius entered the hut and looked around. Only the bare basics decorated the modest shelter: a cot, a small wooden table, a pitcher of water, a cup, an empty basin, and a chair. Two windows opened on each side, but the back wall was the mountain itself into which smooth ledges, decorated with books, formed shelves. Darius picked one up and thumbed through it but returned it to its shelf. He looked outside at the soft glow of light. Prydon was already curled up, the sun low behind him.
Although it was not quite dark, Darius was exhausted. His body melted as he lay down on the soft cot. For a few minutes he stared up at the ceiling, watching a moth as it lazily awoke from its sleep, bouncing from crevice to crevice, readying itself for a flight in the moonlight. Darius’s eyes drew shut and his breathing slowed. His mind relinquished his thoughts, and he fell into welcome darkness.
Chapter Eleven
The Barrier