Windrider VI: Alone
Becky Minor

Majestrin and I

silently faced the rank of twenty dragon-kin that stood before us, framing the far side of the clearing. Some carried bare bladed swords, glistening cold in the moonlight. Others hefted axes; yet others, maces or bolas. I looked down at my clenched fists. What did I wield? A broken stick. At least it was pointy.

A guttural croak boomed from the throat of the reptilian creature in the center of the group. They charged.

Majestrin’s ribs expanded beneath my legs in a sudden gulp of air, much deeper than a normal breath. He reared with such suddenness that I flung my arms around his neck to keep my seat. The dragon thrust his head toward the advancing line of enemies, and a devastating cone of white burst forth from his maw. No fewer than a dozen of our foes writhed, engulfed in the deadly cold, their piercing screams cut short by sudden death. The shriveled remnants of their frozen remains toppled onto the ground and crumbled on impact. As Majestrin dropped his foretalons to the ground again, I felt much more secure with the odds of the battle.

My assurance evaporated more quickly than the curling tendrils of mist rising from our frozen opponents. Out of the gloom surrounding the clearing, another score of enemies emerged.

“Blast!” Majestrin said from between clenched teeth.

“Yes, please do!” I replied.

“I wish I could. But it takes a mo--”

The onslaught of the dragon-kin reinforcements cut off Majestrin’s explanation, for they swarmed in with whoops and croaks. Tonight, would I depart this mortal plane, to join my friends who had fallen to the merciless attacks of these villains? Not without a fight.

It had been a long time since I had taken the blow of any weapon without the protection of armor, so when the first set of bolas flew, wrapped around me, and battered my ribs, my eyes flew wide. I grunted involuntarily. Another set, then another found their mark on my head and torso.

Majestrin scuttled to the side, dodging the whistling blades of the sword- and axmen. His tail swept in arcs that scattered our foes. All the while, he gulped in repeated deep breaths. He dared not unfurl the membranous expanse of his wings, his only area of vulnerability, as far as I could tell.

I swung the remnants of my make-shift lance, driving off a few of my attackers despite my partial entanglement and the odds.

A throwing ax came hurtling my way, and while I saw it soon enough to duck it, my movement opposed Majestrin’s, and I pitched from his back. Would the dragon trample me in his frenzy? Or prone, would I meet my end at the blades of the enemy? Both seemed as likely a future.

I hit the undergrowth of the clearing, and to my surprise, no legion of blades dived in to vivisect me, but instead, the black webbing of a net obscured my vision. I flailed in one last desperate hope to avoid capture, but the dragon-kin were too swift. They dragged me clear of Majestrin, and though I could see little from the ground, it seemed they all circled around me, packed tight.

Above the chaos, my dragon mount again reared high, towering thirty feet above the fray. He took one final, deep breath, but when his battle-crazed gaze met mine, ensnared in the midst of the dragon-kin pack, his lungs deflated, and the barest trickle of ice-cold vapor drifted from his maw.

A mocking chuckle rumbled through the pack of brigands around me. Their strategy grew clear to me: they gambled that Majestrin would not breathe his deadly burst of cold on them if the stroke would kill me too, and they won that wager.

In the moment of stillness, I bellowed, “Majestrin, get out of here!”

Majestrin stepped back, his eyes bewildered and pained. I did not have time to explain. Another Rider, my people could find. Another dragon, willing to bear him? Unlikely.

“Go! NOW!” I roared.

A steely look overtook Majestrin’s face as the front-most of the dragon-kin warriors brought their weapons around, taunts spilling from their lips. For a moment, I feared he would make a foolish stand. But instead, he lifted his wings, already battered, and launched into the sky. I heard cheers from the crowd before a sharp blow to the back of my head plunged me into darkness.

*

Veranna wended her way through the throng of elvenkind that clogged the lawn around Delsinon’s fortress; young and old raised their glasses to the newly established King’s Champion, Sir Direllian Mithveranon. Every time a cheer rose up in the warrior’s honor, she shuddered. Yes, the Blackwatch, the king’s elite intelligence agency, had done a matchless job of keeping the news of the body discovered on the tournament grounds quiet, but yet, they had unearthed little else in their days of investigation. Did anyone else at the night’s festivities share her clawing sense of unease at the mystery that remained unsolved? Somehow, every time she looked at the Champion’s broad grin, she more so beheld the death grimace of the corpse in the rubbish.

She cast her glance to the height of the moon as it made its nightly voyage across the summer sky. The agreed time she and Vinyanel would meet for his next lesson in Creo’s statutes neared. It was as good an excuse as any other to slip away from the crowd in which she stood. While amidst the throng, she felt no part of it.

Veranna pressed through the revelers to make for the fortress itself. She fought to ignore the way the mothers in the crowd steered their children as far from the half-elven prophetess as the space allowed. She turned a stoic cheek to the disdainful sneers that jabbed from the eyes of the venerable elves she passed. She lifted her chin high, making no apology for her parentage.

The fortress itself, nearly emptied by the festivities outside, offered some respite. Only her footfalls on the marble floors, the rustle of her skirts and scarves, and the occasional muffled hurrah from outside spoke to her within the walls. Up, up, up the spiral stairs of the north tower carried her, until she reached the door to the battlement. Veranna laid her hand upon the scrolling iron handle, gripping the cool metal for one moment, then another. Only after a deep breath and a smoothing of her hair did she push the portal open.

She stood in the doorway, staring across the moon-bathed walkway. Though the floor was certainly wide, the parapet to her left. . .why did it have to be so low? One careless lean would pitch even a person of her diminutive stature over the edge. Perhaps the captain had set this battlement as their meeting place out of pure spite. He knew her weakness for heights. With a grit of her teeth, she strode out into the blue light of the moon.

Her gaze did not so much as touch upon the winking lanterns and riotous colors of the festival below. Creo help Vinyanel should he not appear soon.

Veranna hugged her arms around her middle as the evening breeze snaked its way through her clothing, sending a chill up her spine. Odd, on a balmy summer night. The barest whisper of breath turned the prickling chill to a shiver, and Veranna whirled around, her hands thrust out in front of her to ward off whatever danger might approach.

A figure, dressed in black from chin to heel, leaned against the fortress wall she now faced. The tall building cast him in shadow, though Veranna could see him buff his nails against the pile of his waistcoat. Her muscles, tight as a bowstring, relaxed.

“Is that you, Major?” she breathed.

The figure pushed away from the wall and took several soundless strides toward her.

“It is.” He reached out toward Veranna.

She slipped her hand into his, the caramel tones of her own fingers looking shockingly dark against the paleness of his, but she concealed her reaction as he brushed her hand with his lips. Of all the elves she had met in Delsinon, so far only this Major, whose name she did not know beyond his rank, treated her as a lady of his own kind.

“What brings you up here?” Veranna asked.

“I might have made the same inquiry to you, Prophetess.” He released her hand and cast her a small, lopsided smile.

“I await Captain Ecleriast.” Veranna searched the sky. “He has studying to do, and he set this as the rendezvous point this evening. What about you?”

“I stand on duty.” The major took a few purposeful strides along the parapet. “It has been a dull post. Until now.”

Veranna smoothed a tendril of hair over her ear. She cleared her throat. “Any new developments with the research about the surname Mithveranon?”

The Major’s smile dissolved. “None. It will be some time before we receive any communication from the family that sent a competitor to Tourney, so until then, I fear we have exhausted all our resources.”

Veranna glanced down to the center stage of the festival, where Sir Mithveranon shook countless hands. The four-story drop made her stomach lurch, so she averted her gaze.

“Well,” the Major continued, “I hope your study time with the Captain does not overtax even your measure of patience, Prophetess. You seem set up for quite a trial there, in my mind.”

“All pursuits that stand to bear such an immense harvest come with hardship, Major,” Veranna replied. “I await the glorious testimony that will surround whatever Creo makes of the unruly Captain Ecleriast. I grow more thankful that the task does not lie in my hands alone.”

The major chuckled, but his mirth dropped away as he stared into the distance.

“What is it?” Veranna stepped to his side. Her last stride wobbled as she neared the wall’s edge.

“There,” the major said, pointing. “If I am not mistaken, it appears your wayward student rushes to the schoolhouse now.”

Veranna followed the major’s outstretched finger with her gaze. A dark shape blotted out a few of the distant stars. For several long minutes, she watched the shadow in the distance grow until even she could see the beating wings and lithe body of the dragon, reflecting the moonlight. Majestrin closed on the keep, circling it as he scanned the structure. He whipped his head back and forth, searching.

Veranna stood on tiptoe and waved her hand above her head. Why would the dragon look so unsure of where to land? Vinyanel himself had set the place of meeting. The Prophetess stared more intently at Majestrin.

He was alone. No rider.

Majestrin’s gaze fell upon Veranna and he banked suddenly to fly straight toward her. With a gusty flap of his wings that sent wavy tresses across Veranna’s face, he gently settled on the battlement. The perch seemed precariously insufficient for his girth and length. Now that he was close, Veranna heard his breath coming in great gasps, like wind rushing through an enormous bellows.

“Majestrin!” Veranna said. “Where is Vinyanel?”

“Alas, Prophetess.” The dragon continued to gulp great draughts of air, creating an ebbing and flowing breeze atop the battlements. “He’s in a…mess--terrible mess....”

“Oh, is that so?” The major said, betraying no more sense of alarm than might be conveyed by the arch of an eyebrow. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard such a phrase applied to Captain Ecleriast. What’s he gotten himself into?”

Majestrin shot a quick, black look at the Major, but then turned attention back to the Prophetess. “I took him on a little flying lesson. Fully—fully intended to have him back for his appointment. But some leagues to the north…dragon-kin. Ambushed us.” Majestrin’s sides continued to heave, but slowed as he spoke.

“Ambushed? Where is the captain?” Veranna blurted.

“Dragon-kin? In the elf-lands?” the major said at the same moment.

“It is far—just beyond the forking of the Nuruhain and Arin…but I think we can make it back in time,” Majestrin said, glancing to the sky.

Veranna hesitated, unsure of which part of Majestrin’s response to address first. We? In time for what?

Majestrin lowered his wing to the walkway. Veranna’s every horrifying memory of the flight to Delsinon flooded her mind, and she felt a palpable sensation of the color draining from her cheeks.

“Surely, Majestrin, we ought to take some time to strategize…to send the right elves to handle this situation with the greatest hope of success.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the Major said, briskly piling his words on top of Veranna’s. “I will notify my unit, and we can assemble a reconnaissance team—”

“And march all the way to Vinyanel’s location?” Majestrin shot back with a snap of his jaws. “By the time your team arrives, you’ll find naught but Vinyanel’s blackened bones!” The dragon leveled his gaze at Veranna. “If you insist on dalliance, I shall return on my own. The dragonsbond compels me. Though I had hoped to have your help.”

Veranna closed her eyes, raising her face to the heavens and stretching her arms wide. The evening breeze filtered through her clothes and jingled the silver bells that dangled from every hem and corner. Her expression shifted from placid, almost blank, to resolute--though distressed.

“I will go. You will need a Miracle Worker of Creo if you are to succeed in this rescue.” Her slow steps carried her to Majestrin’s side, and she clasped her hands as she walked, in the hope of masking their sudden trembling. Whether she could bear the idea of flight again or not, something even more demanding than Majestrin’s dragonsbond to Vinyanel insisted she help.

The major scratched his head as Veranna took shaky hold of Majestrin’s wing. The elf strode to her side, offering a gentle boost to her lofty seat upon the dragon.

“Creo speed you on your rescue. I cannot abandon my post at this moment, as it seems neither can you.” The Major patted her hand. “I will appraise my superiors to the situation. If my instinct serves me, you shant be alone in this task for long.”

Veranna smiled, albeit through her trepidation. “I never am, Major. I never am.”



New to Digital Dragon be sure to Check out the first 5 episodes of the Windrider:

1. Windrider - http://www.digitaldragonmagazine.net/minor-windrider.php

2. Facets of Might - http://www.digitaldragonmagazine.net/minor-facetsofmight.php

3. Broken - http://www.digitaldragonmagazine.net/minor-broken.php

4. Eliminating the Competition - http://www.digitaldragonmagazine.net/minor-windrideriv.php

5. Fight or Flight - http://www.digitaldragonmagazine.net/minor-windrideriv.php