Chapter 22 - The Dragon Slayer.
Despite having a very medieval feel about it, Trymyll also had some very modern traits, one of these was a pizzeria, owned by a semi-retired Italian wizard and his family, Pomodoro Mozzarella Pizza was the name, and they did the finest clay oven-baked pizza in the whole of Trymyll. This was not too great an accolade, as there was only one pizzeria in Trymyll!
So, it was pizza all round for the now extended family Jones. They did get a few hostile looks bringing a dwarf into the restaurant but seeing who he was with, none other than the Elder of Elders, people soon stopped looking and got on with their meals. But Samuel was not your normal grumpy, bad tempered, foul mouthed, and violent sort of dwarf, he was a very gentle dwarf and guardian to Glynda Guilliams-Erwood. And she was not your average run of the mill acolyte. She had done magic without a wand, something incredibly rare and special in the wizarding world, something she knew she would have to work on, and something she had not yet mentioned to either Llewellyn or Gwen.
The next day, Glynda went into the training room to practice on her own. She had asked Llewellyn if she could practice in the desert, and so she stood there on the scorching sand under the blistering sun and deep blue sky thinking about her next move. This time however it was going to be vastly different. She didn’t draw her wand, she just looked at her hands. In her hands there began to spin a ball of bright blue energy about the size of a grapefruit. She held it there, spinning. Then she released it into the desert, it hurled itself across the sand and into a large sand dune, exploding with such force that the dune disappeared and for several minutes a homemade sandstorm erupted around her.
She stood again, in her hands there spun the blue sphere of energy, this time she held it for a few seconds, spinning ever faster until it turned white. She released it and what followed beggar’s description, The desert seemed to disappear, when the dust had settled, for that was what was left of the sand, just a cloud of fine dust, there was a crater several hundred feet across and several hundred feet deep, almost perfectly round and most perfectly formed, like an inverted hemisphere. Glynda stood there with an excessively big smile on her face. Incredibly pleased with what she had achieved.
The energy was pure white, which meant it was for good and could not be used for evil. She had found her true self at last and she now needed to know her destiny. She laughed out loud, not the manic laugh of someone who had great power, but a laugh of pure joy, a laugh of happiness.
Once her excitement had died down, Glynda had a very strange feeling, she had to go to the mountains far above Mynydd, she didn’t know why, but it was as if the mountains were calling her. From the training room, she apparated out of the desert and high into the mountains of Mynydd. She had never been there, so technically she should not be able to apparate there as she was unable to visualise her destination, but she was somehow drawn to this very spot. She was many thousand feet above the plains of Trymyll, way above the snow line, she was in a small valley, surrounded on all sides by the white peaks, but somehow, there was no coldness here, none of the snow and ice that should be here at this height, just a small valley of rock interspersed with pine trees and shrubs.
Again, without reason, she had an overwhelming urge to blow a hole in the mountainside, she worked up a small ball of white energy about the size of an egg and hurled it against the mountain. There was an explosion as a couple of tonnes of rock disintegrated, exposing a hole in the side of the mountain and opening an entrance into a cave. The entrance was about six feet across and about the same height, Glynda knew she had to go in. Inside, the cave sloped away steeply downward for several hundred feet. For the first time in a couple of days, she called on her wand and used it to light the way. Eventually, she arrived in a cavern, at the centre of which was a stone plinth, illuminated faintly all by itself. In the middle of the plinth standing upright, was the hilt of a sword. The sword was sunk into the stone right up to the quillon, so the only visible components were the pommel, the grip, and the quillon. For all she knew, that might be all that was there. Glynda climbed up onto the plinth, as she did a light penetrated from above flooding the plinth with light and illuminating the whole cavern. This made Glynda jump with fright and set her heart racing, all around the perimeter of the cavern stood heavily armoured knights, ancient knights, dressed in a fashion not seen for many, many centuries. None of them moved nor made any sound. They seemed to be guarding the sword. Almost in a panic, Glynda grabbed the sword and withdrew it from the stone. As she did, there was a terrible racket and a clanging of metal, at first, she thought the knights of the cavern were coming for her. But no, all the armour, which was quite empty and devoid of life, just fell apart and fell to the ground; it was as if their work was now over. They had stood guard over the sword for many centuries, now they could rest. The light above the plinth dimmed and she just stood, looking at the sword, it wasn’t plain, but the light was now too dim for her to make out any of the markings. Despite obviously being there for centuries, there was no sign of any rust or decay. It was light and well balanced, Glynda had never really held a sword before, she gave it a swing, slightly lost control of it and it crashed into the plinth. But it didn’t just stop and clatter, it sliced through the stone as if it were soft cheese, taking off a sizable corner that then rattled down to the cavern floor. What was this sword? Why had she been drawn to it?
Then darkness, complete and utter darkness. Glynda didn’t panic this time, she just imagined the training room and dropped back into it, left through the door and into the living area. The others looked over casually, then stopped and stared at her.
“What’s the matter? Why are you all staring at me?”
“Glynda, what have you done?” Gwen said softly, “and where did you get the sword?
“What do you mean, what’s the matter?” she said, ignoring the sword question.
“Go and look at yourself in the mirror.”
Glynda went to the corner of the room where there was a full-length mirror, she looked, she gasped.
The drab clothes she had been wearing when she entered the training room were gone, she was now dressed in white robes from head to toe, her scruffy dark hair was now auricomous, and glowed like strands of the finest gold.
“What’s happened to me? Why have I changed like this?”
“Well, for a start, don’t start panicking,” Gwen said, “you look absolutely beautiful, stunning in fact.”
“What happened in there?” asked Llewellyn.
“I can’t explain it, but I can show you a little if you wish.”
“Go on then,” said Tom with interest. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, he was smitten.
Over in the other corner, there was a large cast-iron statue of a mythical creature. She calmly walked over and sliced it down from top to bottom with one stroke, it was the proverbial hot knife through butter. She was expecting more resistance, so she also accidentally sliced deep into the stone floor below. The sword shone in her hands, and she turned to see the shocked and ashen faces of the others in the room.
“Where did that come from?” Llewellyn said, breaking the awkward silence.
“I don’t know, it started as a ball of energy in my hands…”
Llewellyn interrupted. “What do you mean, in your hands?”
“Like this.” Glynda put down the sword to demonstrate.
A ball of blue energy appeared, floating above her hands, it spun faster and faster and within two or three seconds was a pulsating ball of pure white energy. She moved her hands together and the ball disappeared.
“Who taught you to do that? Was it Songhai?” asked Gwen.
“No one, it sort of happened by accident, yesterday, Tom threw a dead pigeon at me, I held up my hand to bat it back, but halfway across from Tom to me, it flew back on its own. Because of that, when I went into the training room, I thought I would see if I could do some magic without using my wand.” Glynda was getting nervous. Why were they so concerned? She stopped her story as Samuel interrupted.
“I thought I would never see it again,” Samuel said, “I think I know what this is. Hold the sword and plunge it into the stone floor, then step away from it.”
Glynda did as she was asked and plunged the blade deep into the solid rock and stepped away. The hilt was suddenly surrounded by a brilliant white light, a few seconds later the bright white light vanished, and there in the rock was the now far more ornate pommel and hilt of the sword. The pommel was now what looked like gold and the grip was beautifully carved black mahogany wood.
Flintock was interested and brave enough to move towards the unknown sword, he gripped it and pulled, but it did not move. Then Llewellyn had a go, still, the sword would not budge, not even the slightest movement.
“Let me have a go,” Samuel said, “I’m stronger than both of you two put together.”
He tugged and he pulled, he grunted and muttered a few dwarfish curses under his breath, he went red in the face and strained until sweat was forming on his brow. Nothing, the sword was stuck.
Then Faraji said, “Glynda, go and retrieve your sword.”
“Don’t be silly, if three strong men cannot pull it out, how could I?” Glynda said.
“No,” Faraji repeated, “Glynda, go and retrieve your sword,” emphasising the word ‘your’.
Glynda went over to the sword, gripped it with one hand and it slid out as easily as it went in. It was still a sword, but now the beautiful etchings were prominent on the previously dully engraved blade, the etchings were in a language unknown to Glynda, but the pictures were of dragons.
“It’s changed completely now, it’s just a pretty sword, it looks all delicate and ornate and it probably won’t cut through anything.” She swung the sword around her head and at the granite wall as if to demonstrate. The sword slipped into the wall easily as if it had been a watermelon. Glynda looked quite shocked.
“It’s returned, the mythical sword Dragon Slayer has returned,” Samuel said.
“How do you know of The Dragon Slayer?” asked Faraji.
“It was made by the dwarfs over three thousand years ago and enchanted by the elven community just as my axe was many centuries back,” Samuel answered, “It was made for a powerful wizard of his day, Giamillus-Weorod, and when he eventually died at an incredibly old age, the sword vanished and was never found again.”
“And it can only be wielded by the rightful owner,” continued Faraji, “and that must be Glynda, but why or how, we do not know.”
“Why is it called Dragon Slayer?” Tom asked nervously, he didn’t like the idea of anything that could do such a thing.
“Because normally you can only slay a dragon if you know where its one weak spot is and only then with a cold iron blade, spear or arrowhead. But with this sword, you can cut through anything, a dragon's armoured scales melt like butter and even an impregnable protective shield like the ones Jon throws up so effectively, would be no protection.” Samuel said.
“But there’s more,” Faraji continued, “This sword will deflect any spell aimed at the holder, so with this sword, you become a one-person army.”
“Also, it cannot be lost in battle or anywhere else come to that,” as if there was nothing more to say on the subject, Samuel started with another property of the sword, “Glynda, throw it as hard as you can into the wall at the other end of the room.”
As it was Samuel who asked her, Glynda threw with all her might, the sword spun round and round and disappeared deep into the wall.
“Now call it back,” Samuel said.
“What do you mean, how do I call a sword?”
“Call it by its name, ‘Dragon Slayer’,”
“Dragon Slayer,” she whispered with a little embarrassment.
The sword then flew back and into her hand.
For some minutes they all stood around in amazement as they all considered the potential of this beautiful sword.
“Right, enough of this,” Llewellyn said as if there was anything more important than the sword, “back to work, Flinty and I have business to attend to, and you need to somehow get a scabbard for your sword, you can’t walk around with an open blade, it would be dangerous.”
“It could also be misunderstood,” Gwen said, calmly explaining, “walking around with a drawn sword means you are looking for a fight, so best keep it covered until we find it a proper home.”