Dream - 9 (Patreon)

The water burbled in the polished stone bowl hanging over the fire.  Samazzar kept both his normal and magical gaze trained upon it as the bubbles hit the surface and released small puffs of steam.

Dussok and Takkla both sat next to him, their legs folded underneath them and their eyes glazed with the vacant look of the focusing trance.  Sam smiled slightly as he felt the steady metronome beat of Takkla’s tail tapping on the stone next to him.

Tazzaera walked over to the fire, the click of her cane echoing throughout the otherwise quiet cave.  The rest of their littermates were either sleeping, curled up into silent balls, or digging tunnels in the snow outside the cave entrance.

Instead of rest or play, the three of them took advantage of the relative silence to improve their understanding of the magics that the Crone was trying to teach them.

Sam’s eyes widened as Crone Tazzaera reached into the fire.  The heat from the flames curled around her claws, tongues of angry writhing heat crackling angrily while leaving the old kobold untouched in a pleasant blue cocoon of temperate air.

Her withered talons closed around the handle to the bowl, lifting the pot of liquid out of the fire just before it began to boil over.  Tazzaera wrinkled her muzzle in concentration as she stared at it before nodding in satisfaction.

“Samazzar,” she called out, holding the bowl about a pace above the fire.  “Be a dear and grab my satchel from my chambers.”

Sam hopped to his feet with a smile before scampering into the sub cave that the Crone used as her bedroom.  He ducked past the skeleton of a kobold, long ago bleached white by a solution of ground up lime and water.  It grinned down at him, suspended from an alcove with twine just above Sam’s head as he shouldered past a collection of leaves, fungi, and lichens hung on drying racks along the cave’s walls.

He stepped past the Crone’s bed, a pile of pelts raised slightly off of the ground, before arriving at her desk.  Pushing aside a pile of crystals and rare minerals Samazzar wistfully ran a claw across one of Tazzaera’s four books.  More than every other curiosity and alchemical reagent in the room in the room, they represented an absolute fortune.

Folklore, history, magic, and biology.  The lovingly handwritten pages contained a wealth of knowledge that an ordinary kobold would never have an opportunity to learn the barest hint of.

Sam snorted to himself.  To be fair, the average kobold was more concerned with survival or lazing about indolently to learn.  An absolute waste of the quick minds they’d inherited from their draconic ancestors.

Of course, no one bothered to ask him.  Still, Tazzaera promised to teach Sam to read so he could study her books.  Unfortunately, he just hadn’t found the time to learn.  Between earning merits and learning magic, Sam barely managed to get a full night’s sleep.

Shaking his head, Sam began pulling out shelves from the rough wooden desk.  Most were filled with powders or tinctures of dubious origin.  Sam made sure to avoid those.  Tazzaera would know what they did, but he didn’t want to risk being covered in boils from exposing himself to the wrong potion.

Finally, he found the satchel itself.  It was little more than a leather pouch with a braided rawhide strap, its only ornamentation a small illustration of a dancing flame, seared into the the bag’s flap.  He picked it up carefully, knowing from experience that he didn’t want to jostle the many slots full of herbs and powders sewn into its interior.

The last time he’d dropped the bag, the Crone had made him clean up his mistake.  The mess itself had been bad enough, but sweeping up the remnants with his unprotected claws had made his scales itch and flake for days.

Samazzar ran outside triumphantly, satchel in hand, extended above his head.  Tazzaera nodded to him.

“Come over here little dragon,” the Crone called out to him, shifting the bowl of boiling water slightly over the fire.  “I will need both claws for this next step.  I’m afraid that I will need to borrow your shoulder.”

Without responding, Sam ran up to Tazzaera and traded her the satchel for her cane.  She draped her claw around his shoulder, leaning her crooked body against his much smaller form.  Sam put a claw on her back to stabilize her as the Crone deftly picked the right bundle of herbs and leaves to throw in the bowl.

Samazzar watched in fascination as the leaves absorbed the heat in the water.  Almost immediately, the bowl stopped boiling.  Tazzaera stared intently at the pot, whispering something to herself as she sloshed the water back and forth.

The fire surged slightly, the extra heat guided by an invisible funnel into the bottom of the vessel in the Crone’s claw.  She sloshed the mixture inside the bowl, causing the heat to distribute itself equally.

Tazzaera squinted at it once more before nodding in approval.  With a hitch in her step, she walked over toward her ledge, dragging Samazzar with so that he could provide support.  She pulled herself up onto her edge, hissing at the exertion as she extended a claw for her cane.

“What did you make?” Sam asked, wonder in his voice as he handed the cane back to Tazzaera.

“A little bit of simple alchemy,” a smile split the faded scales of her muzzle.  “It helps with the inflammation in my hip and lungs.  I don’t have the skill or materials to actually cure myself, but the least I can do I can still trade some of the merits you’ve gathered for some low grade medicinal ingredients.”

“Wow,” Samazzar’s eyes sparkled as he watched Tazzaera dip a cup in the bowl and drink deeply from it.  “Will you teach me how to do that?  It would be really useful when Takkla, Dussok and I go into the deep caves if I could cure minor cuts and aches.”

“Gahhhh!” The Crone made a face as she set down the cup, scrunching her eyes shut and sticking her tongue out several times.  “I never get used to that taste.  Maybe it’s just because I’m a novice, but everything I make tastes like the wrong end of a rat.”

“You have to roast them until they’re crispy,” Sam nodded sagely, glad he could finally offer some advice back to the woman who had imparted so much knowledge to him.  “If you undercook a rat they’re stringy and taste foul, but if you overcook them they end up dry and leathery.  A quick blast of flame to sear the juices in, and then you use heat magic to take them off the spit the second the heat spreads evenly throughout them.”

“You’re a good hatchling Sam,” Tazzaera chuckled.  “Now come over here so I can get a better look at you.”

“I won’t be a hatchling for long,” Samazzar responded proudly as he walked over to the Crone and sat at her feet.  “We have our coming of age ceremony tomorrow.  Then I’ll unlock my bloodline powers and become a full member of the tribe.”

“Then indulge an old lady before you become too busy to spend time with her,” Crone Tazzaera chuckled as she scratched Sam behind one of his ears.  “As for learning this recipe?  Probably.  If you’re going to keep learning magic, you’ll need to pick up some alchemy along the way.  As you progress, baptisms become more and more difficult.  Alchemy will be all that keeps you alive when you expose yourself to their full force.”

“Honestly,” the old kobold scratched a dry patch of scales beneath her ear.  “You’ll need to learn alchemy if you want to evolve your bloodline as well.  The more draconic the blood you draw from a beast, the more it will ravage your body unless you temper it.  I suppose that’s one more skill I’ll have to teach you before you run off…”

“Of course I’ll come back,” Samazzar did his best to prevent his claw from spastically scratching against the cavern floor as the Crone scratched him.  “You’re probably the nicest kobold I know, and you have so much to teach me!”

“Good!” Tazzaera smiled down at him.  “If you’re going to become a magi, it’s better that you learn from me rather than that traitor Lellasa.  It took her years to become a magi, and even now she doesn’t show any artistry.  It’s all the same applications of fire over and over again.  Remember, there’s more to the world than whips of fire and explosions boy.  Even amongst magi of the different tiers, an active imagination and experience applying magic can be enough to bridge the gap.”

“Who is Lellasa?” Sam cocked his head, leaning into the Crone’s hand.  “You’ve mentioned her name before, but you’ve never actually talked about them.”

“Her,” Tazzaera’s muzzle screwed up in distaste.  “Years ago, she was my apprentice.  Not nearly as eager or talented as you, but she had a keen mind.  I taught her what I could, but before she completed her training, she learned some other unfortunate lessons about power.  Namely, raising your tail around males will get you further in a tribe like ours than actual magic.”

“What does raising her tail have to do with anything?” Sam asked, confused.  “Does it alter the way a magi interacts with the mysteries?  Maybe I should try it!”

“Shush dear,” she patted him on the head gently before she continued speaking.  “Once Lellasa got Chief Duromak under her sway, it was all over for me.  Oh, he’s still respectful when we speak, but it didn’t stop him from assigning the tribe’s former shaman to be the caretaker of a creche.  Specifically a creche that the tribe couldn’t afford to maintain during a lean winter.”

“Did you know that I haven’t gotten a merit from the Chief in months Sam?” Tazzaera snorted.  “Even when you and your friends ended the risk of starvation with your weekly trips into the deep tunnels, I haven’t gotten a single scrap of meat from him.  He hasn’t even sent us firemoss.  If it hadn’t been for the three of you risking your lives over the last four months, everyone in this cave would have frozen or starved to death.”

“Maybe he just forgot?”  Sam frowned.  “Paklen says that the Chief has a lot to worry about.  Plus, it’s been a tough winter for everyone.”

“That’s possible,” Tazzaera chuckled darkly.  “Still, you should be careful around Lellasa.  She’ll be in charge of your coming of age ceremony and if I’ve learned anything from my last couple years of ‘exile’ in the creches, she’ll be out to destroy anything I’ve touched.  That means you Samazzar.”

He shifted on the ground thoughtfully, resting the chin of his muzzle on the Crone’s good leg.  Sam chewed silently on his lower lip before looking up at her, concern in his eyes.

“Why does she hate you so much?”  He asked.  “I can understand why you’re upset with her, but it sounds like she won.  I don’t understand why she’s still trying to hurt you.”

“Because,” the older kobold flashed her teeth evilly as she rested a claw on the back of Samazzar’s head, “she crippled her development in her arrogance.  She made it to the fourth level of fire magic before she betrayed me.  Foolishly, she assumed that achieving the same tier of mastery in fire as she had in heat, embers and good air would be sufficient.”

“Embers?” Sam asked, his eyes closed as the Crone’s claws scratched across the itchiest scales, just behind his ears.

“The third of fire’s lesser magics that I know,” Tazzaera replied.  “Now shush Samazzar, you keep interrupting me.  The fourth tier is enough for her to amplify and control existing sources of fire, but not to create it from scratch.  It’s a powerful skill, but limited.  Only now, after she’s cast me aside, does Lellasa realize that she needs my skill with alchemy to prepare the materials needed for the baptism that would make her a magi.  Even if she has the knowledge she needs to advance, without my help she’ll burn herself to death.”

“Is that why you’re going to teach me alchemy,” he opened his eyes and looked up at the Crone once more.  “So I won’t run into the same problems Lelassa has?”

“Well that and it doesn't hurt that teaching you  will piss her off to no end,” Tazzaera chuckled.  “Knowing that her knowledge and power are incomplete while a precocious youngster runs around with everything I’ve refused to give her.  If that doesn’t dull her scales while she’s still young, nothing will.”

“Now Sam,” the Crone prodded him with a claw.  “You’ve got a big day in front of you tomorrow.  Shake your friends out of their trances and get some sleep.  You don’t want to be so tired that you miss out on your bloodline awakening ceremony.”

Samazzar jumped up, scurrying away from a quietly laughing Tazzaera in a second.  His claws barely touched the floor as he ran over to Takkla and Dussok, shaking their shoulders as he bounced from foot to foot in excitement.

“Just five more minutes,” Takkla mumbled the words as she tried to brush Sam’s claw aside.  “I just got comfortable.”

“Crone Tazzaera said that we’ve trained enough for today,” Sam tried to reign in his enthusiasm as it threatened to boil over.  “She told me to get the two of you so we can go to bed early.  The Crone wants us well rested for when we unlock our bloodline powers tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Takkla blinked, finally looking at Samazzar.  “I could use some actual sleep.”

“Come on Dussok,” Sam grabbed the bigger kobold, a claw on each shoulder as he shook him.  “I don’t want you to claim that you were ‘too tired’ to remember the moment when I unlock my first draconic ability.”

The faraway look in Dussok’s eyes faded, and he focused on Sam.  He stood, stretching his arms and tail to work the kinks out from staring at the fire for hours on end.

“I’m up little dragon,” Dussok shook his head slightly to try and clean out the mental cobwebs from his trance.  “I know you’re excited for the ritual, but I don’t understand where your confidence comes from.  You’ve heard Crone Tazzaera’s lectures.  Fewer than one in four kobolds have any sort of bloodline abilities, and even then it is usually something weak or cosmetic.  We might have the blood of dragons in us, but that blood is incredibly thin.”

“One in four or one in a million,” Sam wrinkled his muzzle.  “I was born to be a dragon.  When creche caretakers tell their hatchlings about my story, tomorrow will be when they start.”

“Maybe,” Dussok reached out with a claw to help a blushing Takkla to her feet.  “But it doesn’t hurt to be aware of the odds and have a backup plan.  You have the potential to be the greatest magi the tribe has ever seen.  You absorb knowledge faster than a cave rat can strip carrion, and every time we venture into the deep tunnels you come up with a new and innovative way to use the magic you’ve learned to increase our yields.  Despite our age, the three of us have been the most productive hunters in the tribe for months.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, cocked his head to the side as his ears flicked in confusion.

“You’ve already accomplished a great deal,” Dussok graced him with a rare smile.  “It’s no great shame if a kobold fails to awaken a bloodline power, and you’ve proven yourself more resourceful than almost every kobold that has a power.  I know you’re excited, but statistically, it isn’t very likely that you’ll awaken your bloodline tomorrow.  I just don’t want you to start moping if that happens.”

“Don’t worry,” Samazzar grinned back.  “I can feel it from the tips of my scales to the very marrow of my bones.”

“This isn’t me,” he motioned at himself and the more expansively to the other kobolds in the cave.  “This tiny and scared form isn’t what I was destined to be.  There’s a wyrm in my blood, sharpening its claws and gnashing its fangs, just waiting to get out.  If I give it the chance, I’ll be able to soar free of these caves and bring the two of you with me.  Just you wait, there’s plenty of flame and adventure in store for the three of us.  Tomorrow is just the beginning.”