talents, and their ability to bear him many sons. Some women were even so bold as to come to his shop on pretense of buying silks only to flaunt themselves before him.
“Turan saw none of them. His eyes saw only the Sultan’s beautiful daughter. He had never met her, only seen her on the balcony of her room overlooking the palace gardens. Many a warm night Turan scaled the garden wall. He sat concealed in the limbs of a lotus tree watching her raven hair sway lightly in the breeze; her gown hugging to every glorious curve of her body. Now that he was rich, Turan dared to dream of having the princess for his wife.”
James squirmed uncomfortably at Farloft’s side. He didn’t know what to make of all this talk of girls and their habits. He far preferred the stories of knights, royalty, even blacksmiths.
Farloft didn’t seem to notice James’ disinterest. As always he pushed on with this story, lost in far off memories of people and places long dead.
“And so Turan turned away all the fathers and all the other women of the city who came to call. Instead, he sat listening to the song of the ruby as he polished and dreamed of a life with the princess.
“It was not long after he thought of the princess as a bride that her father, the Sultan, paid a visit to Turan’s shop and offered his daughter in marriage to Turan. The young man and his dream princess were married a week later.
“However, dreams do not always come true as you imagine them. Like Turan’s dream of wealth which brought about the death of his grandfather and his family’s desertion, his dream of the princess soured too. For though his wife possessed beauty beyond compare, she was ill tempered, spoiled and a nag. Her meals were never quite to her liking. The servants never kept the house clean enough. Her jewels did not sparkle enough. Even her silks, the finest in all of Zonguldak, were not soft enough. The older Turan’s wife became the more negative and mean she grew.
“As time went by, Turan began to dream another dream. He now realized the ruby really was the source of his daydreams coming true in their own twisted fashion. So he tried his best to dream something the ruby could not destroy. He thought if he kept the dream simple and not involving anyone else, he could make it work. So he dreamed only of getting away from his troubles. As the years passed the simple dream became a little clearer. He would go West to where it was cool; where a man could walk in the rain and be surrounded by green fields instead of deserts.
“One day a pale skinned man, from a land far to the West, came to Turan’s shop. He invited Turan to come home with him and to bring his silk worms to make the fine silks of his trade in the new land far to the West. He said Turan would be a rich man; that no one in his land had ever seen fabric as delicately woven as Turan’s silks.
“Turan saw his chance to escape Zonguldak and all his problems. He carefully packed several crates with silk worms, settled his affairs, bid his wife goodbye, and with the ruby in his pocket, sailed West with the pale skinned stranger.
“The voyage was long and arduous. The sea tossed the ship and threatened to sink it more than once. Turan was never more thrilled to see land than when he reached the shores of our kingdom.”
“He came here?” James asked with surprise.
“Aye,” Farloft answered. “But, his landing was not as he wished. When the crates of his precious silk worms were opened, he found they were all dead. Seawater seeping into the containers drowned his irreplaceable cargo. Turan finally came West, but the ruby destroyed this dream too. Turan was a pauper in his new land with little more than the clothes on his back.
Farloft yawned and rested his head on his front paws. “He wandered aimlessly through the countryside as a beggar half out of his mind from his misfortune, until he came close enough to my lair that I heard the ruby’s song. Just like Turan years before, I followed the song to find an old man with white hair and beard, warming himself by a small fire in the edge of the woods. Turan held the ruby in his hands, still enticed by its song.
“Once he got over the shock of meeting a dragon, Turan, told me the story of the ruby and his misfortunes. I offered to relieve him of his jeweled burden. The ruby’s song was lovely, but it could not destroy a dragon’s dreams. Even after all these years of trial and ill fortune, Turan was still reluctant to part with the ruby. We talked long into the night before he finally handed over the stone to me for safe keeping. And that is how I came into possession of the Zonguldak Ruby.”
“What happened to Turan?” James asked, as he stretched out at Farloft’s side, eliciting a big yawn.
“He lived out his life not far from here working the soil in peace at last.”
“The ruby did talk to me,” James affirmed. “That must be why I stole it. It made me. It bewitched me like it did Turan.”
“It talked to you?” Farloft asked, as though he needed the fact repeated in order to believe it.
“Yes, it said ‘take me’.”
“The ruby of Zonguldak does not talk, James. It sings.” Farloft shook his head from side to side. “That was not the ruby talking, that was your inner greed voicing its desires, much as Turan’s greed worked its way into his dreams years ago.”
James looked away in embarrassment.
“Perhaps you should stick with your original apology for taking the ruby,” Farloft suggested. Farloft nuzzled the boy gently in the chest. “Come now. I have run on too long. It is time for some sleep.”
James hugged up against the dragon’s side. “I’m sorry, Farloft.”
“I know, James. The best lesson learned is one learned from your own mistakes. Believe me. A thief cannot be trusted and trust is the one thing we all crave. Remember this time, but do not dwell on the negative. Instead, remember what you have learned of honesty, trust and loyalty these last few days and you will grow into a fine man worthy to someday carry the dagger of King Ludlow.”
Farloft nuzzled James again and raised the corners of his lips revealing many huge sharp teeth in a dragon’s equivalent of a smile. James hugged Farloft’s nose in reply. When James released him, the dragon laid his head down, using the end of his tail for a pillow, and quietly hummed them both to sleep.
- WIZARD’S BREW -
The lights in the wizard’s tower burned day and night. Laval’s heart contained only hatred in it and plans for revenge. He returned from his meeting with Farloft to find his only child dead. He had not been in time to save his beloved daughter. If Farloft had not been so stubborn...If the dragon had just complied the first time he asked for the wing portion, Megan would still be alive.
In spite of his grief, he brewed the potion and others that were ill were now recovering. In the process, he discovered a very interesting property of the wing.
He wanted revenge against Farloft. The wizard could not kill the dragon even with his considerable magic, but he could make the dragon miserable for the rest of his life. The best revenge he could think of was worse than killing the dragon - far worse.
With the use of the unusual properties of the wing and by combining it with other elements, he believed he could succeed in changing Farloft from a dragon into a mere human. It was the worse punishment he could think of for the dragon. Farloft would end his days as a tired old man in a village of poor peasants trying to convince everyone he once was a powerful dragon.
He only needed another portion of Farloft’s wing for the potion and somehow he would get it. Laval would have his revenge.
- THE WAY HOME -
Farloft stood at the outside entrance to his cave, his nose stuck upward in the cool morning air. The day promised sunshine and warmth - unexpected considering the land remained locked in winter. The snow that was several feet deep earlier was melting fast, leaving riverlets of water and mud puddles everywhere.
James had been with Farloft over two weeks. Now that the weather was exhibiting its milder side, Farloft thought it was time James headed home. The boy did not want to leave.
“Your people will be worried,” Farloft said.
“I told you, I don’t have any people,”
James reminded the dragon. “Can’t I stay here with you?”
Farloft looked down at James. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a mixture of duty and concern, tinged with regret. “This is not the proper place for a boy. You belong with your own kind.”
“But, I want to stay here,” James protested. He threw his arms around Farloft’s stump of a front leg. “Please, Farloft. I want to stay with you.” He buried his head against the dragon’s leg.
Farloft felt the wetness of the boy’s tears on his scaly skin. He would like to have given in. He loved James and wanted the boy’s company forever, but that was not possible. James was young and needed the company of other humans. Besides, living with a dragon could prove dangerous for the boy. Humans had grown to hate and fear dragons over the years and that included anyone who associated with a dragon.
“I am sorry, James, but you must go. It is for your own good.” Farloft nudged James away from his leg with his nose. “I have greatly enjoyed your company these last weeks. I assure you I will never forget our time together. It will be quite lonely here without you.”
“Then let me stay,” James pleaded with tears brimming in his eyes.
Farloft shook his head. “It is dangerous for you here. There are those who hunt dragons and would think nothing of cutting down a boy who stood between them and their prize.”
James took