That night found the two, dragon and horse, sitting across
from each other outside under the stars. Huntchy had proved to be everything
that had been said of him. His stupid act was as brilliant as the rest of his
abilities, which begged the question as to why he was wasting them. But he
directed the conversation away from himself. “I think you'll be here a few days
milord," he said with only slight disrespect. “It seems to me your lady has
taken disfavor with your recent actions. Considering the ill effects of said
actions, she seems within her right to forgo your companionship for as long as
she wants. So perhaps you might tell me more about yourself. You are not what
you appear to be, nor are either of you birthed from this world." Jon-Tom the
dragon, now named Drake, tried his best to put on a quizzical face. It didn't
work on a wyvern's features. “Now how the hell did you come to that
conclusion?"

The horse whinnied out a hearty
laugh. “It's simple really. You carry a duar, a rare and valuable spell singing
tool. Yet you failed to recognize the formidable power that was likely
contained within the potion inside that archaic cask. Yet again, you proclaim
to have been a unicorn once. Your wife is very nice and well known to me. She
is listed as being a very bright student, yet nothing was known about her prior
to her arrival. She was dropped here by some unknown female who made some
unreasonable demands of the guilds and the townspeople. Strangely, these conditions
were met without complaint. Sybeele, if that is truly her name, talked to her
classmates about her former home, and how it was a world away."

He continued. “She seemed a little
young to have the reproduction knowledge she had, but then, being a horse, I
have some fault along those lines as well. She spoke of you; at least I assume
it was you, as if you were some sort of…well, for lack of a better term; a god.
Certainly you seemed to have once been powerful, yet it is not presently readily
apparent. Therefore, something has happened to it. If she changed you into this
form, then she would seem to have inherited it. This town needs a wise ruler,
not some gimmicky couple with their own agendas. Yet, despite your flagrant
show today, you seem to have a good heart and more wisdom than you let on to.
Would you care to elaborate?"

Jon-Tom; or was it Drake now?
Anyway, he sighed, allowing a bit of smoke to escape. “I'm from a world called
Earth. I was pulled over to here by a wizard who needed help fighting the
Plated Folk. He was looking for an “engineer" to help combat the insect's
newest weapon, but he latched onto me instead. It turns out I could make magic
playing that duar.  It helped turn the
tide of the battle."

The horse looked at him oddly. “I
know the full history of the battle with the Plated Folks. There is no mention
of a human with a duar. I would therefore call you a liar, except that I feel
you speak the truth. Give me a moment to cogitate on this until I can resolve
the inconsistencies I find in your statement." Jon-Tom sat silent, amused by
his host's new method of speaking. He was beginning to think he liked the
“dumb" Huntchy better.

Both of them sat there in silence.
The dragon used his remarkable vision to peer into the night sky, searching out
stars and galaxies.  He became so
engrossed in what he was doing that he was startled into reality by the snort
of his companion. The horse was staring him down. “You are a greater
incongruity than I first surmised. If you speak the truth, and I believe you
do, then you must be from the future. If this is so, then I need to recalculate
the possibility of time travel. Up to this point I would have dismissed it as magically
impossible."

The dragon leaned back and sent a
flash of fire into the blackness surrounding them. “Time travel seems to be
possible only thanks to a greater power than I. Do you have a religion; a
belief in an all powerful creature?" The horse took in his question seriously.
“There are many legends. Some say it is a male, others say a female. A female
god makes more sense to me, but there has never been empirical evidence to
confirm or deny the presence of such a power. Magic can be measured, sunlight
can be measured, rainfall, the seasons, life, death; they can all be observed
and measured. But a god, that is beyond our ability to perceive and quantify."

In his early days, this talk would
have made Jon-Tom's head spin. Now it was just like afternoon tea with his
aunt. The dragon blew a few smoke rings before answering. “Kuja-Yotay is her
name. She herself says that she has gone by many names over the millennia. I
call her Eve. It was she that brought Sybeele here. The stories my new wife
tell are likely all true, given that I haven't actually heard them. She is from
my world, but four hundred years in the past, on par with your present. This is
some three hundred years before I first arrived on this world. It doesn't make
sense to me, so I don't question it. I met Sybeele through an accident of
fate."

“I assumed I was here, though I had
no idea where here was. Eve tells me very little about whatever mission she has
me on. I'm here now for some reason I yet do not fathom. Perhaps it is you, my friend,
which I'm here to change. Or perhaps not. I have no idea. Things simply seem to
work out for the best in my presence."

Huntchy snorted. “Like today? I
hope that wasn't a sign of things to come. This town might never survive the
likes of you at that rate." He said it with a hint of humor in his voice, but
also with an edge that said he rather meant it. The dragon took no umbrage with
the remark. The horse was correct after all. He could have done some terrible
destruction had it not been for his wife's quick witted, if ill conceived
solution.

“I drank it, because if I didn't,
everyone would have called the deal rigged. I had no idea that stuff ever
existed. I figured it was just some old wives' tale concocted by the distillers
to increase sales. I'm afraid I was never informed about the earlier insect
wars." That much was true. He had been told about the last time they had waged
war, but nothing in regards to earlier attempts at taking over the hills and
vales of the warmlanders. On the other hand, he hardly needed to know about it
either. At the time, simple survival had been the highest priority.

Huntchy shook his head. “There is
enough alcohol and magic in that cask to fuel the fire of the greatest of
dragons for weeks on end. Maarteel was old and nearing the end of his years. He
figured that a brilliant end to his life would help memorialize him to future
generations. But his fires were growing weak. This stuff gave him the necessary
kick to incinerate a good one hundred thousand of the Plated Folks before he
expired. It is said he went through sixteen casks. Twenty three were said to be
left over. All twenty three were accounted for as being detonated. Apparently
the accounting was wrong."

The dragon let loose a chuckle. “Do
you think so? I'll have you know though, that for the first second or so, that
stuff tasted pretty smooth. After that, it rather burned going down…" His droll
tone caught the horse off guard, but only for a second. He started laughing
uproariously. He didn't stop until he had tears in his eyes. “Oh my lord, Lord
Mayor, you are too much. You make light of what could have been the final
stroke of your life!"

Jon-Tom sobered up. “It would be
none too soon in coming Huntchy. I'm way past the normal age of a human. I've
lost count, jumping between times, but this is essentially my third or fourth
life. I'm well over a century old now. There comes a time when you simply get
tired of it all. But Eve says I need to do these things, for even though I was
never meant to be here, I have somehow managed to fit into events with the
comfort of a well tailored suit. Even this mishap with Sybeele, on my home
world, resulted in things happening that had already happened by my temporal
reckoning. It boggles the mind if you devote too much time thinking about it.
So I don't."

“As for whatever she may have said
about us, the fact is yes, we did have a brief relationship. And yes, she was
really too young for it. But I assumed I was here, only four hundred years in
the past. Here, things seem to follow different rules than from where and when
I'm from. Only when I returned here, in the future, did I find out my mistake.
Only…it didn't seem to be a mistake. Everything that happened seemed to have
happened as it was meant to unfold. Maybe it would have happened without me,
and maybe not. There is no way of telling. It's both eerie and awe inspiring to
know you had a hand in shaping your world's history."

Huntchy was mulling that over.
“Like now. You are here in the past, shaping the future without knowing how
your influence will alter the course of events, or knowing the terminal outcome
your presence here will evoke from the timeline. I find this to be reckless and
dangerous and damned irregular. Are you certain your presence here is
necessary?"

Jon-Tom the dragon shrugged. “I
don't know a damn thing. If you ask me about my first wife, Talea, who hasn't
been born yet, I can tell you a lot. Ask me about my friend Mudge, I can tell
you even more. Ask me about spell singing, or pirates, or lovely tigresses, I
can spill my guts for hours. Interrogate me about my mentor, Clothahump, and I
can go on for days. But when it comes to Eve and her infernal meddling, I am at
a loss to explain a thing!"

  The
horse started during his little tirade. “Clothahump? That is a rather unique
name. I suppose he was some sort of wizard? Perhaps another spellsinger?" The
dragon wrinkled his nose. “No, he was a bone fide, run of the mill,
all-powerful, know-it-all, conniving, pain in the ass reptile-in-a-plastron as
ever I have met on this world. He was also very patient and very wise."

  Huntchy
was looking at Jon-Tom with a curious stare. “So, this Clothahump was very old
then, when you first met him?" Jon-Tom scratched at some itchy scales. “Yes, he
was old. And cantankerous and grouchy and opinionated and…" The horse cut him
short. “But he was old. How old do you estimate him to be?" Jon-tom continued
scratching. “I think around three hundred years or so. His kind lives a good
long time. He's still alive, in my time. Of course, that could be said for
everyone I know. They're alive at some point along the timeline. But he was an
incredibly wise wizard, even given his propensity for exaggeration. Why do you
ask?"

  The
horse sat back on his haunches. “No reason I guess. The more I learn about you,
and how you came by your magic, the more I can grasp with who you are.
Clothahump is an old name. It's a family name that goes back to the very
earliest wizards. Of course, it was not always pronounced that way. Before the
Great Awakening they went by their cultural name of…"

  Jon-Tom
interrupted. “Great Awakening? What the hell was that?" The horse would have
been knocked back on his tail had he not already been sitting on it. “What?!
You've never heard of the Great Awakening? It was the point in our mutual and
collective history when we first were able to communicate between ourselves in
a common language. Did it never strike you as strange that you were able to
talk with your new friends as easily as if you grew up with them? Or did all
the species on your world already have this ability"

  That
was going to bring up an aspect he didn't wish to deal with right now. “No,
there are multiple languages on my world. Some of us cannot understand others,
so it makes for a poor communication network. Even among my own kind, there is
a great disparity in our ability to have civilized conversations." Huntchy was
nodding knowingly. “Like here. We had many languages and dialects. Today, we
speak the same tongue. The old languages are remembered in names. Huntchfeld,“ he
said with a wince, “is a leftover from my sire's side." To Jon-Tom, it sounded
vaguely British. As did his former Cockney accent.

  “Hutchfeld
is a nice enough name. Mine is much longer. I think I'll adopt the new one you
folks thought up for me. Aiden Drake seems quite appropriate considering the
circumstances. So you're saying that a name can give away a person's heritage?"
The horse groaned. “Not exactly. All you need to do is look at the species to
know that. But narrowing that down, yes, their name can tell you where they're
from. My father was originally from the island nation of Kenilor, just a bird's
flight away from the shores here. Mother was a local. The pattern doesn't work
for everyone, for some break with traditional names, but for the most part,
there is some order to it. As it is, my father was from the stable of Studor,
in the county of Prenwall. Therefore, if I liked putting on airs, I could call
myself Hutchfeld, of the line of Studor-Prenwall. However, I actually prefer
Huntchy. It's less presumptuous."

  This
horse might be super smart, but he was down-to-earth. The dragon was beginning to
like him. “I've gone by many names, so adopting another is hardly new. I like
keeping it simple too. But this island, how come I've never heard of it?" The horse
had no answer for that question. “How would I know what you would or would not
know? Are you a specialist on this world's geography?" Jon-Tom was about to
spout off, telling him of the map he had placed inside his head. It dawned on
him that the effects had faded until they was gone, and whatever had remained
had slipped away until nothing was left except that which he himself had
learned…the hard way."

  “I
guess not. Still, it seems that I should have heard of these places. I did a
lot of traveling to faraway places. I guess I missed more of this world than I realized."
Huntchy was less than sympathetic. “I haven't seen much of this world, and I
grew up here. How much of your own world have your seen?" It was a good
question. “Not much, I'm afraid. I think I traveled it more since coming here.
I had a run in, in the Bahamas when I was with Mudge and Roseroar, and I ended
up in Texas via a connected passage in a cave another time, and then in Germany
when I met Sybeele. Otherwise, I guess not much."

  “I
figured as much. People with responsibilities often get tied to them. That often
means getting tethered to one place. I almost envy you your travels. Almost. I
believe that you should live your life to the fullest, but you should only have
to live it once. To live life over and over again; I can see where that would
wear you down. Yet, it seems to have done you more good than you are aware of. I
see the fire in your eyes as you remember your days past…or is it future?
Either way, you value your memories. Today is yet another for you. If you
treasure those you love; those gone and those here, then you will remain young
forever. The trick is knowing when to savor one over the other. Sometimes
memories need to be put to rest to make room for new ones. It's rather like
colts growing up and moving out, to make room for their newest sibling. The
older is not gone, but has made the necessary sacrifice for the good of the
next in line."

  Jon-tom
was prepared to argue against that simile, but realized that Rundain didn't fit
that mold. Besides, he, the colt's sire, had not been present in a proper
capacity as a parent. It was therefore a sufficient comparison for the discussion
at hand. Or hoof. “I suppose you're right. But my mind is overflowing with
memories. It's difficult to put them out to pasture. I don't want to forget
anyone I've met, or loved, or mated."

  Huntchy's
eye lit up. “Mated? Loved? How many have you dared to bed?" That brought forth
a low, somewhat disgusted chuckled from the dragon. “Oh goddess, how many? We don't
have that kind of time. There was Roseroar the tigress, Talea my first formal
wife  - and a human, Lorissa the horse,
Mel-Aura the eagle,…" Huntchy whinnied. “A horse? And a human? I would think
the match improbable." Jon-Tom sighed. “Not when you're taken over by the
spirit of a unicorn and transformed into such a likeness of him as to be
indistinguishable from the original." He declined to mention his endowment in
the nether regions made the match closer than might be imagined.

  The
horse snorted. “Hence you being a unicorn was not an over exaggeration. I sense
the list is impressive, so I don't wish to be intrusive into your personal
life. Perhaps a better question is; who is the most memorable?" Jon-Tom found the
tigress's name on the tip of his tongue. “Roseroar was my first and greatest.
But Eve has to be the most unusual and spectacular. It's been a learning experience
for both of us."

  “Eve?"
The horse pondered that for a moment. Then he fell over. “Are you saying that
you and this goddess entity have somehow managed to perform the act of
reproduction?" The dragon was back to blowing smoke rings. “Do you want the
particulars?" Huntchy hastily apologized. “I'm so sorry for doubting you, but
if you're so intimate with such a being, why are you here serving as the mayor
of a simple town. And why are you married to a simple human girl?" His eyes
suddenly narrowed. “You really have no idea why you're here, do you? You bed a
goddess and do her bidding, yet she tells you nothing. You're either very
faithful or very stupid. I believe you will need to tell me more before I can
figure out this particular enigma. I would suggest we get to bed, though with
all you have told me, I don't think sleep will come easy." Jon-Tom grumbled to himself
that the lack of information about his present host was going to keep him up. What's
a stupid dragon to do though? He put out his fire and closed his eyes. Images
of burning sugar plums danced in his head.