The Blue Mage Raised by Dragons

“You’re not drinking?” Fern asked, whispering to Volearden. The two dragons were sitting on their haunches in the burnt clearing, each holding a barrel in both of their front legs. While Volearden was busy thinking, the yellow dragon had helped himself to some booze.

The armored dragon glanced down at the barrels in his paws. Volearden turned his head towards Vur and Tafel, who were staring up at him with expectant expressions on their faces. “Alright,” he said. “Remember, you said it yourself, one barrel per question.”

“Why are you saying that so menacingly?” Fern asked and furrowed his brow. “Can’t you at least take off your helmet? We can’t even see what kind of expression you’re making.”

“That’s why I gave you the color chart,” Volearden said. He paused before taking a piece of paper out of his root bracelet, letting it drop to the ground towards Vur. “My armor changes color depending on the flow of my mana which, in turn, is influenced by my mood. You can tell how I’m feeling if you compare the pattern you see on my helmet to the ones on the chart.”

Vur blinked at the piece of paper falling from above. It was the size of half a dragon. The star-like rune on his body flashed with a green light as Zilphy pushed the paper aside with a gust of wind, causing it to flutter towards the forest. It landed in an easy-to-see spot propped up against three trees. Vur looked at the piece of paper before looking at Volearden’s helmet. Then, Vur turned back towards the piece of paper. Even though there were hundreds of different color patterns, it didn’t take long for Vur to decipher how Volearden was feeling. “You want to hit me, but you’re holding back because I’m family?”

“Oh, he’s good,” Fern said and looked at Volearden. “It looks like he really is your family member. How else would he understand your nonsense so quickly?”

“It’s not nonsense,” Volearden said. He didn’t even have to turn his torso to point the cannon on his shoulder to face Fern. It swiveled on the armored dragon’s pauldron by itself. “It’s a perfectly logical system; anyone with any sense in reading mana can understand it. You’re just a fool who can’t appreciate genius for what it is.”

“Yep, yep, that’s me,” Fern said. “I’m just a fool who was hired by a genius to give him advice.”

“A fool who forgot he’s shut up, sit still, and let me do all the talking,” Volearden said.

“I am letting you do the talking,” Fern said and brought a barrel of phoenix liquor up to his mouth. “I haven’t spoken a single word to Vur; you’re the only one interacting with him right now.”

“Oh?” Volearden asked, the colors of his helmet changing to red and black. “And what about that part about shutting up?”

Fern dumped the barrel of liquor into his mouth before pretending to zip his lips shut. Then, he threw away the imaginary key and shuffled away from Volearden. Although Fern was fast, to be sure of his safety, he needed a little more distance between himself and the cannon pointed at his face.

Volearden nodded at Fern’s reaction before chugging down the two barrels of phoenix liquor he held in his armored paws. He placed the barrels off to the side before looking at Vur. “Answers,” he said, making sure it sounded as much like a statement as possible.

Vur nodded. “I didn’t rob a phoenix nest,” he said. He gestured towards the barrel fortress. “A phoenix gave these to me; she insisted I have them.” His forehead lit up as his dragon imprint appeared. He pointed at it. “This is my imprint.”

Volearden leaned in closer to Vur. “Isn’t this Sharda’s imprint?”

“Sharda’s my grandma,” Vur said and nodded again. “Sera’s my mom. Vernon’s my dad.” He paused before gesturing behind himself. “That’ll be three barrels.”

Volearden froze. “What?” he asked.

“Four barrels,” Vur said. He pointed at the top of the barrel fortress. “Knowledge is precious. You have to earn it.”

The color of Volearden’s helmet changed into a mixture of purple and black. “I have to earn it … by drinking?”

“Yes,” Vur said. “Five barrels now.”

With Zilphy’s help, five barrels floated off the stack and towards the armored dragon. Volearden grabbed the barrels before they hit the ground, hugging them to his body with his front-left leg. He hesitated for a moment before prying the lids off the barrels and drank them one by one. After drinking them all, he leaned back and pointed his mouth towards the sky. A burp escaped from his gaping maw, and it was accompanied by a pillar of flames that licked at the clouds. “Strong stuff,” Volearden said as he lowered his head to look at Vur. His eyes shifted towards Tafel, a golden spot of light appearing on his helmet where his eye would be. “A phoenix insisted on you having these?” he asked as he grabbed another barrel off the stack.

“Very insistent,” Tafel said, recalling how enthusiastically Malvie had retrieved barrel after barrel of liquor from her root bracelet. Apparently, phoenixes were hoarders, and they didn’t feel comfortable unless everything they possessed were with them at all times. Tafel shook her head. Perhaps it was wrong to assume all phoenixes were hoarders simply because of their queen’s behavior; maybe, Malvie was just a weirdo. Tafel turned her head towards the tree where the three drunken women were staying. It looked like all the other empty residential trees within the forest: no lights or sound coming out of it.

Volearden turned his head towards the seemingly uninhabited tree. He frowned, causing his helmet to darken in hue. “Is someone there?” the armored dragon asked.

Vur pointed at the stack of barrels. “If you want to know, drink all the barrels.”

“What? All of them?”

“Fern can help,” Vur said. His forehead scrunched up. “No. He has to help.”

Fern blinked and pointed at himself while looking around. “Well, shucks,” he said. “I’m not one to turn down free liquor.”