The Dragons of Bone and Dust (Tales from the New Earth Book 7) by J. J. Thompson Page A
Authors: J. J. Thompson
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turned
away before he exploded with laughter.
“ You
replace me? Ha! You make a barely adequate laborer; you will never be
a scout. Never! I'm going to find those accursed horses, right now.
And the cattle and chickens too, if they still live.”
Aeris
turned away and shot down the steps toward the front gates. Then he
stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“ Or
die trying!” he added dramatically.
With that,
the air elemental flew off, fading into invisibility as he went.
When he
was sure that Aeris was out of earshot, Simon looked at Kronk and
both of them burst out laughing.
“ Oh
my friend,” he wheezed through his chuckles. “You are a
very bad person sometimes, do you know that?”
“ No
master, I prefer to think of myself as motivational,” Kronk
replied with a wide smile.
He looked
over at the main gates, which were still broken and wide open, and
frowned slightly.
“ Aeris
needed to feel useful, master. He is not a very good artificer, but
he is an excellent scout. Now he can put his skills to their proper
use and find the horses as well. Everyone wins.”
“ Sneaky,
Kronk, but well-intentioned. I like it. And I hope he really does
find them.”
“ So
do I, master. And now that you are awake, my fellow earthen and I can
repair your front gates without fear of making too much noise.”
Chapter
7
The next
few days were spent putting the finishing touches on the tower. Simon
discovered that while some of his books had become moldy on their
shelves in his study and had to be destroyed, most had fared quite
well and only needed to be cleaned.
His
leather office chair and sturdy wooden desk were likewise fine and he
happily wiped them down along with the shelving.
The rest
of his home was soon gleaming like new again, thanks to Kronk and
some help from his fellow earthen. Once that task was done, Simon
began the rather more somber job of trying to discover what the world
had become since he had left it.
And so,
the third morning after Aeris had left to search for the horses, the
wizard sat down in his study to reluctantly find out how things had
changed.
He had a
fresh cup of tea beside him and was well-rested. Perhaps it was an
omen, but it had rained all night and continued through the morning.
The gloomy weather suited Simon's mood; he expected nothing good to
come of his efforts.
“ Well,
get on with it, magic man,” he said to himself. “Waiting
won't make things any better.”
He picked
up his late mother's hand mirror, its silver frame now brightly
polished, and stared at his smooth, hairless face in its reflective
surface.
His blue
and brown eyes stared back at him; wide and innocent and always a
shock to the man who lived behind them.
“ Who
are you?” he whispered at himself. “Who are you really?”
He shook
his head irritably and focused on his magic. Soul searching was a
waste of time and he had more important things to do.
“ Nottinghill
Castle,” he said firmly and concentrated on that old edifice,
picturing it the way he'd last seen it several years before.
The
surface of the mirror shivered and warped, becoming foggy, and Simon
waited for the spell to connect to its target. He sipped some tea and
listened to the rain tapping on the windows; always a sad and lonely
sound.
As the misty surface began to clear,
the wizard put down his cup, concentrated on the emerging scene and
held his breath.
“ Oh my God,”
he murmured. “What's happened?”
The castle was a shattered ruin. Its
soaring walls were torn down and the buildings inside the courtyard
were gone. It was such a scene of unwarranted destruction that Simon
couldn't comprehend it.
But rising out of the middle of the
wreckage was a tower. Not a squat, square tower like his, but a
misshapen, soaring monster of a building.
Simon had no way to judge its size;
three hundred feet? Five? Maybe even higher than that. But it looked
as if the builders had taken all of the pieces of Nottinghill Castle
and stuck
away before he exploded with laughter.
“ You
replace me? Ha! You make a barely adequate laborer; you will never be
a scout. Never! I'm going to find those accursed horses, right now.
And the cattle and chickens too, if they still live.”
Aeris
turned away and shot down the steps toward the front gates. Then he
stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“ Or
die trying!” he added dramatically.
With that,
the air elemental flew off, fading into invisibility as he went.
When he
was sure that Aeris was out of earshot, Simon looked at Kronk and
both of them burst out laughing.
“ Oh
my friend,” he wheezed through his chuckles. “You are a
very bad person sometimes, do you know that?”
“ No
master, I prefer to think of myself as motivational,” Kronk
replied with a wide smile.
He looked
over at the main gates, which were still broken and wide open, and
frowned slightly.
“ Aeris
needed to feel useful, master. He is not a very good artificer, but
he is an excellent scout. Now he can put his skills to their proper
use and find the horses as well. Everyone wins.”
“ Sneaky,
Kronk, but well-intentioned. I like it. And I hope he really does
find them.”
“ So
do I, master. And now that you are awake, my fellow earthen and I can
repair your front gates without fear of making too much noise.”
Chapter
7
The next
few days were spent putting the finishing touches on the tower. Simon
discovered that while some of his books had become moldy on their
shelves in his study and had to be destroyed, most had fared quite
well and only needed to be cleaned.
His
leather office chair and sturdy wooden desk were likewise fine and he
happily wiped them down along with the shelving.
The rest
of his home was soon gleaming like new again, thanks to Kronk and
some help from his fellow earthen. Once that task was done, Simon
began the rather more somber job of trying to discover what the world
had become since he had left it.
And so,
the third morning after Aeris had left to search for the horses, the
wizard sat down in his study to reluctantly find out how things had
changed.
He had a
fresh cup of tea beside him and was well-rested. Perhaps it was an
omen, but it had rained all night and continued through the morning.
The gloomy weather suited Simon's mood; he expected nothing good to
come of his efforts.
“ Well,
get on with it, magic man,” he said to himself. “Waiting
won't make things any better.”
He picked
up his late mother's hand mirror, its silver frame now brightly
polished, and stared at his smooth, hairless face in its reflective
surface.
His blue
and brown eyes stared back at him; wide and innocent and always a
shock to the man who lived behind them.
“ Who
are you?” he whispered at himself. “Who are you really?”
He shook
his head irritably and focused on his magic. Soul searching was a
waste of time and he had more important things to do.
“ Nottinghill
Castle,” he said firmly and concentrated on that old edifice,
picturing it the way he'd last seen it several years before.
The
surface of the mirror shivered and warped, becoming foggy, and Simon
waited for the spell to connect to its target. He sipped some tea and
listened to the rain tapping on the windows; always a sad and lonely
sound.
As the misty surface began to clear,
the wizard put down his cup, concentrated on the emerging scene and
held his breath.
“ Oh my God,”
he murmured. “What's happened?”
The castle was a shattered ruin. Its
soaring walls were torn down and the buildings inside the courtyard
were gone. It was such a scene of unwarranted destruction that Simon
couldn't comprehend it.
But rising out of the middle of the
wreckage was a tower. Not a squat, square tower like his, but a
misshapen, soaring monster of a building.
Simon had no way to judge its size;
three hundred feet? Five? Maybe even higher than that. But it looked
as if the builders had taken all of the pieces of Nottinghill Castle
and stuck
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