As night is falling, they come across a grassy mound with a smoking chimney. Pix flutters over to the half visible door and knocks. Almost before she finishes, the door is opened by a wizened old man with long white hair and a matching beard. He squints at the sprite and delvar through half moon spectacles before grinning.
“Better get inside,” The wizened man rushes them into the mound, “You two are in big trouble, you know.” He closes and locks the door. “How much worse could it get?” Pix scowls, “We've been just ahead of the Athelon guard all day.” “You're wanted for the murder of a kitchen elf.” Pix and Gor exchange annoyed looks. The wizened man raises bushy eyebrows, “You didn't actually kill her, did you?” “Of course not,” Pix flutters over to a stool at the wobbly table, “But we left her cleaning up a big bag of her master's gold. Our last employer paid us off in stolen gold. We tried to return it... get the price off our heads for the theft.” The wizened man nods to himself, “Out of the cooking pot, into the flame.” Gor drops his sack beside the door before claiming the only large chair in the single room. Their host fills two tankards, one for each of the companions. Once they are sipping contentedly, he picks up a battered metal goblet. “How did you come to be paid in stolen gold?” He looks from Pix to Gor and back. “Well...” Pix sets down her tankard, “We were in a tavern and Gor was well into his tankard...” The wizened man is slowly shaking his head as Pix winds up the tale. He drains the last liquid from his goblet, then gets up to refill it. “The two of you certainly stepped in it this time,” The wizened man sips from his newly filled goblet, “You did both the worst and best things you could have done.” Pix cocks her head, “Worst and best?” “That weasel is one of Her agents.” Gor mutters into his beard. Pix shivers violently. “The gem's sole purpose is to revive dragons,” The wizened man continues, “Fortunately, you took the egg as well.” “What good is it?” Pix frowns. “Heat it well and it will hatch a dragon,” The wizened man sips from his goblet, “But a newly hatched dragon is a far cry from a revived ancient dragon.” “Aren't all dragons extinct?” Gor drains the last drop from his tankard, “Killed themselves off in some big war.” The wizened man shakes his head, “History makes the matter sound so much simpler than it was. The dragons left... that much is self evident. Killed themselves off... far from it.” “But why would we want to hatch a dragon?” Pix studies their host curiously.
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AuthorAlexandra A. 'Lexa' Cheshire is the author of numerous novels and short stories published through Howling Wolf Books. Lexa is a wife, mother, cat owner, and music lover. Archives
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