The Windrider
By Becky Minor
By Becky Minor
I pounded my heels
into the flanks of my horse, wondering how something so small as a chalice could be worth all the suffering and loss I had already confronted that day. The chalice, no bigger than a mundane cup, obviously bore immeasurable significance, if the pack of dragon-kin who followed me were any indication. Nothing mattered more than the safe delivery of the black vessel, cast from demon's blood and rimmed with the teeth of a basilisk, to my superiors in the Elven capitol of Delsinon. Never again would the servants of darkness use it to call demons into the world of men and elves. The dragon-kin were formidable enough foes without the ghastly apparitions of hell to swell their ranks.
I spurred Solaris harder toward the jagged arm of the mountains that lay ahead, for though I could not see my pursuers, they were surely only far enough behind to be out of sight. The thundering of hooves over the open plain turned to hammer strokes as the ground became rocky. Yet, he never slackened, sensing the dire nature of our mission-- perhaps more than I. Could he smell the acrid scent of dragon-kin on the wind?
We wound along a narrow path that meandered between two shoulders of salt white rock, when suddenly, Solaris' scream shattered the air. He dropped from beneath me. I flew from his back and landed hard with a rattle of plate mail and armaments.
I rolled over to see my horse lying on the ground. His flanks heaved, which I expected from his long exertion, but something about the uneven rhythm of his short breaths told me he gasped in pain. No arrow or other attack had pierced him, so why had he fallen?
When at last I saw what had happened to him, my stomach lurched. Wedged tightly between two jutting stones stood the lower half of his foreleg. The blood and bone did not trouble me; I had seen enough battle to be numb to such gore. My inner turmoil came rather from the inevitable loss of a faithful companion. In his final effort to serve me, he had seen his leg sheared off by terrain I had no business asking him to gallop through. Flashes of every trial we had endured together raced through my mind as I drew my crossbow.
I only hoped the bolt would end his long duty to me with dignity. His last shrill cry as the missile discharged from my weapon rent my heart with searing finality.
I had no time to linger or mourn, however, as the unmistakable tramp of feet and the guttural shouts of my enemies reached my ears. Hefting my pack, I dashed deeper into the mountains.
The wounds I had collected winning the chalice this morning throbbed as I pressed onward, and I searched my mind for tactical options. Could I stand my ground? Doubtful. Outrun them? The growing clamor of pursuit testified this strategy had already failed me. As a Captain of the Elves, I bristled at the idea, but I knew I must hide.
We wound along a narrow path that meandered between two shoulders of salt white rock, when suddenly, Solaris' scream shattered the air. He dropped from beneath me. I flew from his back and landed hard with a rattle of plate mail and armaments.
I rolled over to see my horse lying on the ground. His flanks heaved, which I expected from his long exertion, but something about the uneven rhythm of his short breaths told me he gasped in pain. No arrow or other attack had pierced him, so why had he fallen?
When at last I saw what had happened to him, my stomach lurched. Wedged tightly between two jutting stones stood the lower half of his foreleg. The blood and bone did not trouble me; I had seen enough battle to be numb to such gore. My inner turmoil came rather from the inevitable loss of a faithful companion. In his final effort to serve me, he had seen his leg sheared off by terrain I had no business asking him to gallop through. Flashes of every trial we had endured together raced through my mind as I drew my crossbow.
I only hoped the bolt would end his long duty to me with dignity. His last shrill cry as the missile discharged from my weapon rent my heart with searing finality.
I had no time to linger or mourn, however, as the unmistakable tramp of feet and the guttural shouts of my enemies reached my ears. Hefting my pack, I dashed deeper into the mountains.
The wounds I had collected winning the chalice this morning throbbed as I pressed onward, and I searched my mind for tactical options. Could I stand my ground? Doubtful. Outrun them? The growing clamor of pursuit testified this strategy had already failed me. As a Captain of the Elves, I bristled at the idea, but I knew I must hide.
I searched the defile, ever watchful should enemy scouts close the gap between us. There-- a cave! I parted the brambles and vines that hung over the entrance and peered into the deep shadows within. As my gift of elvensight turned the interior darkness to day, I drew my sword and slipped inside the cavern. The first chamber of the cave was too small to hide me for long. Best to investigate deeper into the cavern, I thought.
The rear of the chamber narrowed into a slim corridor. I treaded softly as a cat on the prowl. Oddly, instead of the cave growing darker the deeper I pressed, a faint, bluish glow flickered in the distance ahead. What devilry had I walked into in an effort to forestall my slaughter? I inched down the channel, each breath, like each heartbeat, coming quicker than the last. Which would be worse? To turn back to the known battle behind me, or to risk danger untested ahead? I set my jaw and forged onward.
The corridor opened into another chamber. At last, I saw the source of the blue light that had grown with every step I took. Glowing stones poked out at intervals from the wall, bathing the cavern in unearthly hues.
"You have been much delayed, Vinyanel Ecleriast. Surely your commanders despair of your return."
I sucked a sharp breath through my teeth. The willowy, raven haired speaker rose from behind a stone slab that served as a sort of table. A faint tinkling drifted through the air as she stood, doubtless from the hundreds of tiny bells that adorned her slim bodice, her many layered skirt and the riot of scarves cascading from her body. She seemed jarringly out of place in this rough cavern in the wilderness.
I had no patience for bandying of words. "How do you know my name?"
"I know all things the Creator reveals to me," she replied, gliding towards me. Only the occasional peek of a bare foot from beneath her hem told me she walked rather than floated. Though I could guess little about this strange woman, at least she was mortal.
As she drew near, I narrowed my eyes. A half-elf. Her rounded features and lightly pointed ears bespoke her mixed parentage. I gripped my sword until my knuckles whitened; one never knew what to expect from one of these outcasts.
Her penetrating amber eyes locked onto my own. "You are less than you are meant to be."
"You talk in riddles," I shot back at her. "I simply hope to find a way to evade the dragon-kin who are doubtless already at the mouth of the cave."
"Ah, you are much troubled by such a little thing."
This maiden grated on my battle-raw nerves. "A fine conclusion for you who has not lost stalwart companions to the swords of enemies this day."
She sighed, the sound gently musical as she cast her gaze to the earthen floor of the cavern. "The clamor of your youth in your ears prevents you from hearing truth, young Windrider."
Young? She had nerve. Her human parentage had robbed her of half of the years she might have lived, and yet she called me "young". I slammed my sword into its sheath. "Windrider? More riddles! Explain, or trouble me not with them."
The maiden took on a distant look, her eyes gazing beyond our surroundings. She drifted back to the stone slab, and turned a page in a worn tome lying upon it. The page crackled, its brittle sound echoing through the room.
"On the wings of the dragon I shall bear them up. They shall soar to victory, proclaiming my glory, enacting my justice, in humbleness and mercy. In their partnership, they shall trumpet the loving-kindness of their Maker, as well as the dread power of my fury on those who profane me." She forthspoke the message; it flowed from her lips of its own accord.
I knew the passage--but why speak it now? As the words worked their way into my soul, I felt the steel in my gaze softening, my muscles uncoiling. "I fail to see how these words explain your strange address. But if you will enlighten me, Servant of the Creator, I will listen."
She smiled, her expression growing 'present' again.
"The chalice must arrive in Delsinon. Yet you may not, with your horse slain and your enemies upon the doorstep."
As if to punctuate her words, the clamor of voices echoed in the distance. I had delayed, and now I was trapped.
"Come with me." The half-elf maiden took my hand and led me briskly toward the wall. Just when I thought she would recoil from the hard smack of her head upon the stone, the wall dissolved into an opalescent glimmer, and we passed through as easily as one passes through a curtain of water.
The rear of the chamber narrowed into a slim corridor. I treaded softly as a cat on the prowl. Oddly, instead of the cave growing darker the deeper I pressed, a faint, bluish glow flickered in the distance ahead. What devilry had I walked into in an effort to forestall my slaughter? I inched down the channel, each breath, like each heartbeat, coming quicker than the last. Which would be worse? To turn back to the known battle behind me, or to risk danger untested ahead? I set my jaw and forged onward.
The corridor opened into another chamber. At last, I saw the source of the blue light that had grown with every step I took. Glowing stones poked out at intervals from the wall, bathing the cavern in unearthly hues.
"You have been much delayed, Vinyanel Ecleriast. Surely your commanders despair of your return."
I sucked a sharp breath through my teeth. The willowy, raven haired speaker rose from behind a stone slab that served as a sort of table. A faint tinkling drifted through the air as she stood, doubtless from the hundreds of tiny bells that adorned her slim bodice, her many layered skirt and the riot of scarves cascading from her body. She seemed jarringly out of place in this rough cavern in the wilderness.
I had no patience for bandying of words. "How do you know my name?"
"I know all things the Creator reveals to me," she replied, gliding towards me. Only the occasional peek of a bare foot from beneath her hem told me she walked rather than floated. Though I could guess little about this strange woman, at least she was mortal.
As she drew near, I narrowed my eyes. A half-elf. Her rounded features and lightly pointed ears bespoke her mixed parentage. I gripped my sword until my knuckles whitened; one never knew what to expect from one of these outcasts.
Her penetrating amber eyes locked onto my own. "You are less than you are meant to be."
"You talk in riddles," I shot back at her. "I simply hope to find a way to evade the dragon-kin who are doubtless already at the mouth of the cave."
"Ah, you are much troubled by such a little thing."
This maiden grated on my battle-raw nerves. "A fine conclusion for you who has not lost stalwart companions to the swords of enemies this day."
She sighed, the sound gently musical as she cast her gaze to the earthen floor of the cavern. "The clamor of your youth in your ears prevents you from hearing truth, young Windrider."
Young? She had nerve. Her human parentage had robbed her of half of the years she might have lived, and yet she called me "young". I slammed my sword into its sheath. "Windrider? More riddles! Explain, or trouble me not with them."
The maiden took on a distant look, her eyes gazing beyond our surroundings. She drifted back to the stone slab, and turned a page in a worn tome lying upon it. The page crackled, its brittle sound echoing through the room.
"On the wings of the dragon I shall bear them up. They shall soar to victory, proclaiming my glory, enacting my justice, in humbleness and mercy. In their partnership, they shall trumpet the loving-kindness of their Maker, as well as the dread power of my fury on those who profane me." She forthspoke the message; it flowed from her lips of its own accord.
I knew the passage--but why speak it now? As the words worked their way into my soul, I felt the steel in my gaze softening, my muscles uncoiling. "I fail to see how these words explain your strange address. But if you will enlighten me, Servant of the Creator, I will listen."
She smiled, her expression growing 'present' again.
"The chalice must arrive in Delsinon. Yet you may not, with your horse slain and your enemies upon the doorstep."
As if to punctuate her words, the clamor of voices echoed in the distance. I had delayed, and now I was trapped.
"Come with me." The half-elf maiden took my hand and led me briskly toward the wall. Just when I thought she would recoil from the hard smack of her head upon the stone, the wall dissolved into an opalescent glimmer, and we passed through as easily as one passes through a curtain of water.
We emerged into an antechamber, lit from above by a wide entry, some hundred feet up the wall. Instantly I staggered back, whipping my weapon from its scabbard again and nearly losing my grip on the hilt in my haste. Curled nonchalantly in the center of the room was the most enormous beast I'd ever seen. His scales were like thousands of polished mirrors. His maw, instant death. But his eyes, gentle as the new leaves whose color they bore.
"Greetings, Vinyanel," the dragon rumbled. "We have a delivery to make, and none too soon. Let us leave behind the little mockers who so poorly reflect my kind." He jerked his head toward his withers, inviting me to do what I never would have presumed to try.
The words the prophetess had just read echoed in my mind. For so long, I had taken such passages from Creo's book of wisdom as words of beauty meant to be interpreted as symbolism alone. Could the Maker desire to partner me with this daunting creature before me? Could I be a vessel of his justice and his mercy?
I took one tentative step toward the silver dragon. A shudder ran through the floor, and the sound of cracking stone cut through the air.
"Quickly!" the prophetess cried.
I leapt upon the back of the dragon and pulled the half-elf up behind me as the cavern wall crumbled in a shower of rubble and dust. At least a dozen black hooded dragon-kin stood in the gap. They hesitated, deep cowls obscuring their reaction to the scene before them. I could guess how they felt.
With a single thrust of his legs and wings our mount launched us into the air.
We sped toward the mouth of the cavern, and I exulted in the exhilaration of flight. Lancing into the azure sky, we wheeled to the south. Not even my grief could keep up with me now. Was it my destiny to glorify my Maker from the back of a dragon? So be it. I knew from that point forward the matchless thrill of flight would be a delight for which my appetite would never slacken.
"Greetings, Vinyanel," the dragon rumbled. "We have a delivery to make, and none too soon. Let us leave behind the little mockers who so poorly reflect my kind." He jerked his head toward his withers, inviting me to do what I never would have presumed to try.
The words the prophetess had just read echoed in my mind. For so long, I had taken such passages from Creo's book of wisdom as words of beauty meant to be interpreted as symbolism alone. Could the Maker desire to partner me with this daunting creature before me? Could I be a vessel of his justice and his mercy?
I took one tentative step toward the silver dragon. A shudder ran through the floor, and the sound of cracking stone cut through the air.
"Quickly!" the prophetess cried.
I leapt upon the back of the dragon and pulled the half-elf up behind me as the cavern wall crumbled in a shower of rubble and dust. At least a dozen black hooded dragon-kin stood in the gap. They hesitated, deep cowls obscuring their reaction to the scene before them. I could guess how they felt.
With a single thrust of his legs and wings our mount launched us into the air.
We sped toward the mouth of the cavern, and I exulted in the exhilaration of flight. Lancing into the azure sky, we wheeled to the south. Not even my grief could keep up with me now. Was it my destiny to glorify my Maker from the back of a dragon? So be it. I knew from that point forward the matchless thrill of flight would be a delight for which my appetite would never slacken.
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Becky Minor has always been a storyteller, whether in the retelling of epic conflicts to friends on the school bus, drawing character sketches in her sketchbook or scribbling down anecdotes about those characters. She graduated from the University of the Arts in Philadelphia, PA in 1997 with a bachelor's degree in animation, proceeding to tell more stories through impossibly cute talking animals and their comrades.
Soon after graduation, she married her husband of nearly 11 years and started a family, which now includes three little boys. Life as a homeschooling mother has squeezed creative endeavors into fewer hours of the day, but she still finds time to pursue visual art in various forms, to dabble in music, and to write whenever she can get her fingers on the keyboard.
She is an enthusiast of all things fantasy, and hopes to have her novel, The Sword of the Patron, published in the near future. The book is the first in a trilogy, which follows the adventures of a young alchemist's daughter as she flees the wrath of the forces of Darkness, as well as seeks liberation for her beleaguered people. You can read more about Becky's thoughts on fantasy fiction at her blog: www.callofthecreator.blogspot.com.
