The Ballad Of A Semi-Benevolent Dragon - Chapter 33: The Dragon And The Dwarf Talk

Chapter 33: The Dragon And The Dwarf Talk

Corundum was the other special doppelganger that Doomwing had brought along. With Vngr staying behind at the dwarven settlement, it was his duty to accompany the sky ship on its journey to the great tournament. However, they first had to pick up Antaria, as well as a few ascended animals.

Doomwing himself was flying alongside the sky ship whilst Corundum lingered on the deck, standing silent sentry beside Harald as the dwarf gazed out over the railing. There were only a handful of clouds, which left the moon free to illuminate both the sky and the lands below in pale silver light. It was an impressive view although Harald could not enjoy it the way Corundum could. Even as a doppelganger, his sight and other senses were far keener than any dwarf’s. Still, the sight must have pleased the recently crowned king because there was a small smile on his lips, and the tension that had clung tightly to him for much the day had given way to an ease that a dwarf half his age would have envied.

Truly, Harald had been born to seek the skies. It was just a pity that his loyal roc was no longer with him. Dooming and by extension, Corundum had never thought too highly of rocs. The ones he had encountered in the past had either fled at the mere sight of him or had postured as though their threat displays and cries meant anything at all to a dragon. From how Harald had described him, Goldwing would likely have been tolerable, and such loyalty as the bird had shown was to be commended.

And the bird had deserved a better end. To be so old and feeble that he could no longer fly? The bird had fought in many battles and proven himself many times over. He should have died in battle, his beak and claws stained with the blood of his enemies, his loud, pealing cry echoing over the mountains. At least Harald had honoured him properly, scattering his ashes from the tallest peak of the Sky Claw Mountains. The skies had been taken from Goldwing in life, so it was fitting that he be returned to them in death.

If the day should come that Doomwing fell, he could only hope that his end would be better. Let him meet death with fire and claw and teeth. Let his magic rage and his flame howl. Let the enemy know the full measure of his might, and if that was not enough, then let his last moments be worthy of remembrance that he might enter the cycle of death and rebirth with a roar and not a whimper. His parents had given their lives for him, and so had others over the years. He would not shame them by falling easily. Let none say that Doomwing lived his life in vain!

Was it the moon, or was it the wind? Perhaps it was the stars and the landscape spread out beneath them. Whatever it was, he found himself in a contemplative mood, his thoughts venturing to places and people far off in space and time, all of them lost save for in his memories and the slowly dwindling echoes they’d left behind in the dreaming lands.

“Why are you named Corundum?” Harald asked. The dwarf was staring up at the sky now, to the constellation that his people called the Hammer. Corundum could remember Doomwing’s lessons with Mother Tree. The dryads called those stars the Forked Bough, and the merfolk referred to it as the Trident. Honestly, he didn’t think it looked much like any of those, but he could understand the temptation to name them. The brightest star in the constellation was easy to see, even on cloudy nights, and there was something comforting about its light.

The only time that Doomwing could ever recall seeing that star vanishing was when the Exiled Star had come. Was it another living star then, perhaps a more benevolent one? Maybe. But if it was, it had never left the heavens, nor had it spoken as the Exiled Star had often done, his voice at once heavenly and infernal, each word accompanied by the soul-piercing music of the spheres.

“What do the scales of my real body remind you of?” Corundum asked.

Harald’s gaze drifted to where Doomwing flew, a cloud of sapphire and ruby, more resplendent in the moonlight than any gem the dwarves had ever dug up from the earth. “Sapphires and rubies ah.” His lips twitched. “I see.” Visit nov3lb!n(.)c𝒐m for new 𝒏ov𝒆l𝒔

“Yes. As any decent alchemist can tell you, sapphires and rubies are both variants of the mineral known as corundum. Only certain trace impurities give them different colours. And yet those minute differences give rise to such contrasts, both aesthetically and magically. Doomwing thought it fitting to name me after the origin of the gems that are most frequently likened to his scales.”

“Seems as good a reason as any,” Harald replied. Despite the late hour, his eyes were still keen. It was common for the youngest dwarves to sleep early and rise late, but older dwarves slept late and rose early. Ragnar had once said it was because the old had no time left to waste, but it was common amongst many species for the youngest to need more sleep.

“It also seemed fitting since I will be the doppelganger assigned to Daphne and Antaria.” Corundum flexed his wings. They were rather large for his size, but they still had the general appearance and proportions of a hatchling’s wings. “I or rather, Doomwing trained Antaria’s ancestor. He was fond of alchemy but he was absolutely hopeless at it, as in he genuinely possessed zero talent for it and his magic was completely incompatible with it too.”

Harald chuckled. “It reminds me of my luck with instruments. I’ve a fine voice for speaking, and I’m a decent enough singer, but I’ve been trying my hand at the fiddle for decades now, and I swear I’m little better than where I started.”

“Elerion found the idea of being able to transform matter and energy fascinating. Alas, his magic was geared almost entirely toward enhancement. He could have learned the rituals and procedures, but his magic was so specialised that even those would have been difficult for him. He always found it amusing that corundum could give rise to gems with such different appearances. He said it reminded him of people.”

“How so?” Harald asked. He had a gourd full of stout dwarven whiskey, and he took a small sip from it before offering some to Corundum.

“The offer is appreciated but unnecessary,” the doppelganger replied. “I cannot eat or drink the way you do. But to answer your question, Elerion was struck by the fact that all humans shared the same general shape: two arms, two legs, one head, and so on. Yet seemingly small differences in these things could lead to people looking quite different indeed. Moreover, small differences in people’s lives could lead to dramatic differences. A bit of good luck might see a farmer’s son rise to become a king whilst a bit of bad luck could see a king’s son with his head on the chopping block.”

“Hmm the same could be said of dwarves,” Harald replied. “My brother and I share the same parents, and we share the same general form, for we are both dwarves. Yet our strengths and weaknesses are very different, and those differences have led to us living very different lives. Indeed, one could argue that if I had been born first, well, we would not be speaking to one another right now.” Harald’s expression sobered. “In truth, I am glad I was born second. I do not think that my brother would have survived exile, and I would not see him come to harm.”

“The same goes for dragons,” Corundum said. “We all share the same general form, yet the simple matter of lineage can dramatically alter our powers and appearance. Even amongst those with the same lineage, small differences in fortune or experience can have dramatic effects. There were many hatchlings of the same lineage as me, yet none have risen so far as I have. Indeed, of the hatchlings of the first age who shared my lineage, none still live although some do have descendants.”

Corundum thought back to those long ago days. It had been good fortune that allowed him to befriend Dion, and it had been good fortune again that had helped him to befriend Mother Tree. Those friendships had all ended in pain, yet he would not trade them for anything. Those friendships and the deaths that had followed had made him who he was, and regardless of how they may have ended, those friendships had nevertheless meant something to him. That he had been forced to help strike down Mother Tree did not erase the many years of companionship they had shared, nor had the tragedy of Dion’s death erased the happy memories.

“Do you know what a storm opal is?” Corundum asked.

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“A storm opal?” Harald rubbed his beard and took another sip of his whiskey. From the smell, it was strong indeed and likely of high quality. Doomwing had never been one to indulge much in alcohol, but Ragnar had, and the dwarf had frequently lectured him on what made various drinks good or bad. “I have heard of them, but I have never seen one myself. They are said to be exceedingly rare. I believe only three exist in the Sky Claw Mountains, and they rarely leave the vaults in which they are kept.”

“They are indeed extremely rare,” Corundum replied. “Even in the First Age, they were not common.” He chuckled. “I had a friend named Stormtooth. She wanted one more than anything else in the world. She was young then we both were.” He shook his head as if to clear away the memories, but they remained, stubborn as always. “She was my best friend, and after she achieved her First Awakening, I wanted to get her one as a gift.”

“That would have been a kingly gift,” Harald said, blinking. “Were you so wealthy even in your youth that you could afford it?”

“Hah!” Corundum laughed. “Not at all. My hoard was as meagre as any hatchling’s, but I had an advantage. Even in those days the dwarves and elves did not always get along, for they viewed the world in very different ways. To a dwarf, it was only natural to delve into the earth for riches. To an elf, such riches were better left in the bosom of the world. As a result, it was rare for dwarves to have access to certain magics. Luckily, I was much favoured by Mother Tree, the oldest and greatest of all dryads, and it was she who had given elves the knowledge they were famed for. I was able to learn certain magics from her and then trade them to the dwarves for a storm opal.”

“A cunning plan indeed,” Harald said. His gaze was shrewd. He would no doubt tell his historians of what Doomwing had said to help them get a better grasp of the past. “Would could I see it?”

“I will make one.” Corrundum raised his claw and focused. In those long ago days, he could never have imagined that he would one day possess the power and skill to make a storm opal. Now, however, making one was no great labour, merely a matter of concentrating for a few moments and being willing to expend a significant chunk of power. “Behold.”

In his hands, an opal formed. It called to mind an approaching thunderhead, at once white, and grey, and black with an interior that gleamed from within as though lit by the flash of lightning in a storm-darkened sky. Shifting it back and forth, it seemed almost to crackle, the trails of electric blue that writhed in its depths seeming to spread like cracks upon a pane of glass before vanishing, only to reappear when the light struck from another angle.

“Magnificent” Harald breathed.

“A trinket,” Corundum said. “Made in the image of something far more special.” His lips curled. “Ask any alchemist of worth, and they will tell you that making a gem with alchemy will result in an empty husk unless you are willing to add power to it.”

“Is that so?” Harald reached for the opal gingerly, and Corundum let him take it. “Why is that?”

“If you are only interested in appearance, then an alchemically made gem may actually be superior to a natural one. A skilled alchemist with the right materials or magic can make a flawless gem in the form you require without the need to risk damaging it by cutting and polishing. Yet if you wish to use a gem for magic and the most valuables gems are valuable because of their magical properties then a natural gem is superior. You see, natural gems are born in the heart of the world and are wrought from mundane and magical processes of tremendous power. You can use alchemy to mimic the form of a gem, but it is much more difficult to replicate those esoteric properties, for they are bequeathed to the gem through millennia of formation. Some, such as myself can do so, but that requires great power and a deep understanding of the processes involved, as well as the nature of high alchemy.”

“You said this was only a copy,” Harald stared intently at the opal in his hands. “What became of the original?”

“I gave it to Stormtooth,” Doomwing said. “And she was most pleased with it. It took pride of place in her hoard, and she was forever saying that she would get me a suitable gift in return upon my Second Awakening.” He paused. “She never did keep that promise, however. She perished right before my Second Awakening.”

“I’m sorry,” Harald said. He made to give the opal back, but Corundum shook his head.

“Keep it. It matters little,” Corundum said. “I only ask that you remember the words I have spoken.” He stared at the moon. “After she died, I went to her hoard. All of her kin perished alongside her, and she had never been too good at making friends. She was too much for most dragons stubborn, foolish, and never the smartest, but she was loyal, and in my youth, she was my finest friend. I took her hoard for myself, and I have kept it ever since.”

“All this time?” Harald whispered. “How many years is that?”

“Too many years, some would say,” Corundum replied. “But not enough, others would argue, for the memories have yet to fade. We would talk, she and I, of all the great deeds we would accomplish when we had Awakened further. We would be legends in our own lifetimes, fighting battles worthy of story and song, our names known in every corner of the world.” His gaze hardened. “She died at the hands of an enemy so mighty, he likely never even knew she existed. There was no glorious death for her, no passing worthy of remembrance.”

“Yet you remember her,” Harald said. “That must be worth something, right?”

“Yes. I suppose it is.” Corundum chuckled. “Stormtooth never had the chance to do great deeds and become a legend. But that is why I kept her hoard. In many ways, a dragon’s hoard is a concrete expression of their dreams and aspirations. As long as I have her hoard, her dreams are not dead. We could not reach our dreams together, but I have been able to reach them for both of us.”

Harald looked at him for a long moment, and a single tear trickled down the dwarf’s cheek. It was fitting, perhaps, because Corundum could shed no tears, for Doomwing’s had run dry long ago. Carefully, Harald reached into his tunic and took out a charm that hung upon a necklace. It was made of roc feathers. “I burned Goldwing, as was his wish, and in accordance with the ways of my people. But I kept these feathers and had them made into a charm.” He pointed to the dwarven writing carved onto the charm. “Do you know what this says?”

“Together,” Corundum said. “That is what it says.”

“Aye. Goldwing had gone as far as he could, and I would not shame him by denying him the burial he had earned with his great deeds. But I wanted some part of him to be with me, for no truer friend could I have asked for. Too short did he live, and unfitting was his ending, but at least some part of him can accompany me on the rest of my journey, wherever that might take me.” Harald tucked the charm back into his tunic. “When I pass, all that I have shall be given to my children and my people. No grave piled high with treasure for me, no tomb filled with swords and shields and spears. No. It will be the wind that takes me, and I shall be ash as my friend was. Let our journeys end the same way. Only the charm shall go with me, the last of him to pass with the last of me.”

Corundum nodded. “Rule well, Harald, and I will give you a pyre worthy of a king. Rule well, and it will not be a torch that sets you aflame. It will be dragon fire the fire of a dragon of the First Age.”

Harald’s lips curved up into a smile. “Aye aye, what a thing that would be. I’ll have to do my best then, if I am to prove worthy of that honour.”

“Indeed.” Corundum chuckled. “In the Third Age it was custom to pour a drink out for those who passed, to give it to the winds and the sky. What say you to that?”

Harald smiled and took up his gourd again. He opened it and tipped it out over the railing. “To Goldwing,” he said. “And Stormtooth. To those who passed too lateor too early.”

Alongside the sky ship, Doomwing continued to fly, his gaze solemn as he watched the sky and land for threats. There were none, but still he watched. A faint smile crossed his lips. Each of his doppelgangers was just a little bit different from the others. How fitting that the one he’d named Corundum should be the most sentimental of the bunch.