Dolgan looked at Tomas, who bobbed his head in agreement. ‘Aye, dragon, we will, though it is not a thing to gladden our hearts.’
The dragon closed his eyes; Tomas and Dolgan could see they were beginning to swell shut. ‘Thanks to thee, Dolgan, and to thee, Tomas.’
The dragon lay there and spoke to them of his life, flying the skies of Midkemia, of far lands where tigers lived in cities, and mountains where eagles could speak. Tales of wonder and awe were told, long into the night.
When his voice began to falter, Rhuagh said, ‘Once a man came to this place, a magician of mighty arts. He could not be turned from this place by my magic, nor could I slay him. For three days we battled, his arts against mine, and when done, he had bested me. I thought he would slay me and carry off my riches, but instead he stayed, for his only thought was to learn my magic, so that it would not be lost when I passed.’
Tomas sat in wonder, for as little as he knew about magic from Pug, he thought this a marvelous thing. In his mind’s eye he could see the titanic struggle and the great powers working.
‘With him he had a strange creature, much like a goblin, though upright, and with features of finer aspect. For three years he stayed with me, while his servant came and went. He learned all I could teach, for I could deny him not. But he taught as well, and his wisdom gave me great comfort. It was because of him that I learned to respect life, no matter how mean of character, and vowed to spare any that came to me. He also had suffered at the hands of others, as I had in the wars with men, for much that I cherished was lost. This man had the art of healing the wounds of the heart and mind, and when he left, I felt the victor, not the vanquished.’ He paused and swallowed, and Tomas could see that speech was coming to him with more difficulty. ‘If a dragon could not have attended my deathwatch, I would as soon have him sit here, for he was the first of thy kind, boy, that I would count a friend.’
‘Who was he, Rhuagh?’ Tomas asked.
‘He was called Macros.’
Dolgan looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve heard his name, a magician of most puissant arts. He is nearly a myth, having lived somewhere to the east.’
‘A myth he is not, Dolgan,’ said Rhuagh, thickly. ‘Still, it may be that he is dead, for he dwelt with me ages ago.’ The dragon paused. ‘My time is now close, so I must finish. I would ask a boon of thee, dwarf.’ He moved his head slightly and said, ‘In yon box is a gift from the mage, to be used at this time. It is a rod fashioned of magic. Macros left it so that when I die no bones will be left for scavengers to pick over. Wilt thou bring it here?’
Dolgan went to the indicated chest. He opened it to discover a black metal rod lying upon a blue velvet cloth. He picked up the rod and found it surprisingly heavy for its size. He carried it over to the dragon.
The dragon spoke, his words nearly unintelligible, for his tongue was swollen. ‘In a moment, touch the rod to me, Dolgan, for then will I end.’
‘Aye,’ said Dolgan, ‘though it will give me scant pleasure to see your end, dragon.’
‘Before that I have one last thing to tell. In a box next to the other is a gift for thee, dwarf. Thou mayest take whatever else here pleaseth thee, for I will have no use for any of it. But of all in this hall, that in the box is what I wish thee to have.’ He tried to move his head toward Tomas, but could not. ‘Tomas, thanks to thee, for spending my last with me. In the box with the dwarf’s gift is one for you. Take whatever else pleaseth thee, also, for thy heart is good.’ He drew a deep breath, and Tomas could hear it rattle in his throat. ‘Now, Dolgan.’
Dolgan extended the rod and lightly touched the dragon on the head with it. At first nothing happened. Rhuagh said softly, ‘It was Macros’s last gift.’
Suddenly a soft golden light began to form around the dragon. A faint humming could be heard, as if the walls of the hall reverberated with fey music. The sound increased as the light grew brighter and began to pulse with energy. Tomas and Dolgan watched as the discolored patches faded from Rhuagh’s scales. His hide shone with golden sparkle, and the film started to lift from his eyes. He slowly raised his head, and they knew he could again see the hall around him. His crest stood erect, and his wings lifted, showing the rich silver sheen underneath. The yellowed teeth became brilliant white, and his faded black claws shone like polished ebony as he stood upright, lifting his head high.
Dolgan said softly, ‘’Tis the grandest sight I’ve ever beheld.’
Slowly the light grew in intensity as Rhuagh returned to the image of his youthful power. He pulled himself to his full, impressive height, his crest dancing with silver lights. The dragon threw back his head, a youthful, vigorous motion, and with a shout of joy sent a powerful blast of flame up to the high vaulted ceiling. With a roar like a hundred trumpets he shouted, ‘I thank thee, Macros. It is a princely gift indeed.’
Then the strangely harmonic thrumming changed in tone, becoming more insistent, louder. For a brief instant both Dolgan and Tomas thought a voice could be heard among the pulsing tones, a deep, hollow echo saying, ‘You are welcome, friend.’
Tomas felt wetness on his face, and touched it. Tears of joy from the dragon’s sheer beauty were running down his cheeks. The dragon’s great golden wings unfolded, as if he were about to launch himself in flight. The shimmering light became so bright, Tomas and Dolgan could barely stand to look, though they could not pull their eyes from the spectacle. The sound in the room grew to a pitch so loud, dust fell from the ceiling upon their heads, and they could feel the floor shake. The dragon launched himself upward, wings extended, then vanished in a blinding flash of cold white light. Suddenly the room was as it had been and the sound was gone.
The emptiness in the cavern felt oppressive after the dragon vanished, and Tomas looked at the dwarf. ‘Let’s leave, Dolgan. I have little wish to stay.’
Dolgan looked thoughtful. ‘Aye, Tomas, I also have little desire to stay. Still, there is the matter of the dragon’s gifts.’ He crossed over to the box the dragon had identified and opened it.
Dolgan’s eyes became round as he reached in and pulled out a dwarven hammer. He held it out before himself and looked upon it with reverence. The head was made from a silver metal that shone in the lantern light with bluish highlights. Across the side were carved dwarven symbols. The haft was carved oak, with scrollwork running the length. It was polished, and the deep rich grain showed through the finish. Dolgan said, faintly, ‘’Tis the Hammer of Tholin. Long removed from my people. Its return will cause rejoicing in every dwarven long hall throughout the West. It is the symbol of our last king, lost ages ago.’
Tomas came over to watch and saw something else in the box. He reached past Dolgan and pulled out a large bundle of white cloth. He unrolled it and found that the cloth was a tabard of white, with a golden dragon emblazoned on the front. Inside were a shield with the same device and a golden helm. Most marvelous of all was a golden sword with a white hilt. Its scabbard was fashioned from a smooth white material like ivory, but stronger, like metal. Beneath the bundle lay a coat of golden chain mail, which he removed with an ‘Oh!’ of wonder.
Dolgan watched him and said, ‘Take them, boy. The dragon said it was your gift.’
‘They are much too fine for me, Dolgan. They belong to a prince or a king.’
‘I’m thinking the previous owner has scant use for them, laddie. They were freely given, and you may do what you will, but I think that there is something special to them, or else they wouldn’t have been placed in the box with the hammer. Tholin’s hammer is a weapon of power, forged in the ancient hearths of the Mac Cadman Alair, the oldest mine in these mountains. In it rests magic unsurpassed in the history of the dwarves. It is likely the gilded armor and sword are also such. It may be there is a purpose in their coming to you.’
Tomas