The Wyrm Awakens
In the distance, above the crimson peak of Caron mountain Windriders dove and whirled in a chaotic dance. Aerthinth stroked his Wosthawk companion’s neck beneath the feathers, reassuring her as they rode the currents of wind.
As they approached the distant cacophony of battle he wondered if it had all been worth it. Sacrifice was part of being an elf, but he'd paid the ultimate price when the light of the eternal root had cast its transforming light.
Memory washed through him as icy currents of air tickled his streaming hair.
Hariethen's azure eyes shining like crystal with tears of pride as he received his fledgling Wosthawk.
The shared joy they felt in training that small Hawk in the shining Brenbark forests on the slopes of mount Aielienthen.
Watching the light of the great tree reach out to touch the hawk in flight, confirming its divinity.
Wrapping Hariethen in his arms as the Wosthawk fledgling screamed for the joy of flight in the forest night as they coupled in earthy leaf loam.
Tears streamed from Aerthinth eyes with the final bitter memory, carried away by the maelstrom of wind and cloud of the sky-field.
The queen standing, frozen like a statue on the great fortress's steps, arms upraised as the new battalion of Windriders looked on in wonder. Her body, a conduit for the magic of the eternal root, azure fire flowing through her from the earth illuminating the sky above.
The queen convulsing as the light struck the earth in some distant village or town, taking an unfortunate soul to sacrifice for the divine growth of the Wosthawks. A sacrifice every elf learned to accept from birth.
Watching his companions Wosthawks growing as the light hit them one after another, merging elven soul with raptor leaving both changed irrevocably, his Wosthawk the last in line for the eternal light.
The Lord commander Calienth, stern and silent at the head of the line.
The heart-wrenching screech of his Hawk mingling with his guttural wail as the light flowing from the queen to the clouds lanced straight down to strike Hariethen, standing transfixed at the ceremony, holding a single peony to her breast collected from the fields before the eternal fortress.
The gasps of all around as he fell to his knees and the queen came out of her trance, arms falling limply to her sides as she strode forward to raise Aerthinth's chin in her hands.
The queen’s words: "You have made the ultimate sacrifice Windrider, this has never happened before. Never forget that which has been given, nor that which was taken. She is with you now, mingled with your sky companion."
Deep beneath the blood-red peak of Caron mountain, a rumbling stirred. Small wyvern scrambled among the golden detritus of an age of plunder as a gigantic tail crashed into the cavern wall. Their tiny slatted eyes blinked at Hartdyran in wonder, the giant Red dragon that was both father and mother to them.
A huge maw snapped around quicker than lightning spewing a small fireball of flame to crisp four of the unlucky wyvern pups to a golden crisp.
Hartdyran considered what he heard above his lair as he devoured his sour-tasting offspring.
The screech of Wosthawk and elven singing enlivened the old Worm. It seemed an aeon since he'd eaten well, and Elf flesh was among the finest delicacies, all be it a bit stringy.
With an almighty in-breath Hartdyran spewed fire at the small opening to the mouth of its lair.
Rock flowed like treacle, widening the opening so he could exit in full flight, instead of crawling on his belly through the short tunnel to the mountainside. Rivers of molten gold mingled with the newly formed lava as the backdraft of his mighty wings scattered chalices, coins and crowns about the cavern.
With a bellow that shook the mountainside Hartdyran burst forth from the lair beating crimson ochre-streaked wings that flashed in the light of the sun.
Aerthinth banked left, then right, spinning a full circle as the snapping maw of a wyvern missed Hariethen's beak by a wingtip's length.
Specks of blood misted the air as an unfortunate Windrider was snapped from the back of his Wosthawk and rent to pieces as a wyvern convulsed in the air like a shark in the darkened seas of the dagger coast.
The severed head sailed past and Aerthinth recognised Palinsen, a young elf of only eighty winters, his second ward in the training school that all riders attended after the great ceremony.
The dead Windrider's feathered companion screeched an unholy keen as it circled and dove onto the wyvern's back in a suicide embrace. A hurricane of scales and feathers tumbled from the sky, claw vs tallon, maw vs beak, until Aerthinth could no longer see the ballet of death.
Aerthinth set his sights on a small group of wyvern flying in a v-shape. Revenge was a pointless endeavour but sometimes rage fuelled a perfect moment in the chaos of airborne battle. It was time to roll the dice in this game of chaos, only the older and more dangerous wyvern were intelligent enough to fly in formation.
Every day was a good day to die when you had lost everything. He felt Hariethen's feathered body quiver beneath him as if agreeing with his thoughts.
To be continued...
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