To Andrelion's knowledge, there had never been a longer wait for any hatching to occur. Then again, to Andrelion's knowledge, he had never been so eager to see what might come out of the hatching. Specifically, he was awaiting the arrival of his dragon.
"Stop being so impatient!" Zallarn chidded as he trotted along at the silver haired boy's side. His melon coloured tongue hung out over midnight black lips, which was all a sharp contrast to the golden glitter of the sand beneath their feet. Over the past few months, Zallarn had grown into his adulthood. Which said nothing of his maturity. He was still the curious little pup he had been when he and Andrelion had first met.
"Hypocrite." Andrel snorted in reply, a wry smirk twisting his lips. His night blue gaze fixed on the raven wolf at his side, then turned nervously upwards; to the eggs.
Like the other candidates, Andrelion had been quick to don his blue robe and trot out to the hatching cavern when the call went up that the eggs were shaking. He stood with the lot of them, looking like just another droplet of water in a teeming, swirling blue sea. The eggs before them glittered like multi-coloured gems, but only one held interest for the Warren boy.
The egg he had been instructed to claim at the beginning of the FGPC project lay in the protective circle of its clutch siblings. The violet mother whom had lain it was outside, her bulk being too big to squeeze around the multitudes of eggs. Andrelion watched in muted facination as that particularly dark orb began to shiver and vibrate with the rest of the clutches.
And then it began. In a flash of broken shards and awed gasps, the first of the hatchlings broke shell and bonded to a candidate. Andrelion listened and clapped with the others, though had eyes only for his egg. He stared at it in a determined sort of yearning, trying to will the dragonet from the egg, even though he possessed no magic. His soul reached out to the creature struggling within its thick shell, imagined lines of colour twining them together. His, a combination of starry silver and midnight blue, and his dragon's, yet unknown. He felt, as he caught sight of another bonded pair leaving the sands, that he had never wanted anything so much in his life.
Trying so hard and so long for the hatching of his own dragonet, Andrelion didn't notice the hatchings of nearly a third of the rest of the clutches. He hoped so feverently, that he was surprised when the darkish shell began to crack and peel away in large chips. The coloured hide that was glimpsed between struggles within the shell was like no other that had hatched already.
Andrelion watched in confusion as a dark dragonet started toward him. "What the..."
I believe I would be a star dragon. Norierith said calmly, sitting before the young man. Starfield.
"Wow..." and he reached out to touched one of the twinkling stars on the young dragons hide.
Norierith snorted amusedly, large eyes whirling a sparkling blue as he watched his new rider study his hide. For a while, he suffered it, patience dominating his young mind as the silver haired boy ran wondering fingers across the damp expanse of his sides. Without encouragement, the pinpricks of light that lit the darkness covering his minute body shone brightly. At the same time, Norierith waited out the feel of Zallarn's cold nose pressing into his shoulder when the black fralamaraz let his inspection of the stars get a little too close. Soon though, the hatchling tired of it and turned a puppy-eyed gaze on Andrelion.
I am glad you like me, rider mine, but I am very hungry right now. The tiny dragonet bespoke his bond in a voice that pleaded deprivation.
Andrelion chuckled, moving his hands across Nor's sides and wrapping them carefully around the full bulk of his hatchling. He settled the starfield young to his chest, then rose from the hatching sands with a fluid grace. His voice, seconds before filled with awe, now whispered with the fondness of a new rider to his bond. "Let's get you fed then, Norierith."
* * * Wine poured freely into gilted goblets, accompanied by the spicey scent of roasted meats and the sweet fragrance of sugared fruits. Laughter trickled like water around the various tables, flowing and ebbing with the tide of joyous people who had come together to celebrate Falas' last, greatest clutch. Cutlery clinked, interspersed with the mingled babble of too many conversations at once. Background noise, like an ochestra warming up, flitted in and out of the gathering's hearing. Least of all did it reach the Weyrleader's table, where the largest variety of emotions filled voices high and low.
The crystalline sound of a feminine voice raised in laughter lilted through the air like the strike of a tuned bell. A bass chuckle mixed into it, the backup for her mesmerizing melody. Mystic let the last of her jovial vocalization fade into the buzz of the crowd as the source of her mirth continued his story-telling. Aaron soon joined her in rapt silence, the grin on his face ready to release another peel of laughter where it was necessary. Several others, including their beloved son, Thayer, were listening to the tale, each of them leaning forward in an attempt to both drown out the background, and better hear the speaker.
Ever since the end of the war on Tris'Hath, Mystic had found herself enjoying certain things a lot more. Gathers, for one, and Falas' grand finale of a feast was no exception. She had sat with the Weyrleaders during the hatching, applauded each new bond (loudest for Andrelion and his starfield Norierith), then journeyed back with them to their current small conglomoration; all in the company of her husband and fifteen-year-old son.
Thayer, to the left of the red mage, leaned forward almost as eagerly as his mother. His mop of blonde hair shone silken beneath the bright day's sun and cast delicate shadows into his sky blue eyes. Eyes that drank up each word and action and appearence of his current focus of attention with the vivid curiousity of a child. Though maturing quickly into his position of Ayanrix, future Prince of Lanutha, Thayer Dragon-Audil had never lost his zeal for adventure and excitment.
Aaron sat to Mystic's right, taking a more languid approach in his attention to the story. He sat with one arm resting on the arm of his chair, and the other idly turning a half-eaten apple over in his hand. Automatically, his hand would come up every now and then, and allow him to take another small chuck from the red skinned fruit. While he chewed in silence, he listened with the unblinking focus of his eyes. That was the black-haired Prince's sign of admiration, far different then the forward bent poses of his wife and son.
All seemed in perfect order to the royals of Tris'Hath. Which came as a welcome change from the chaos of their daily lives. Aaron, ruling Prince of a decade old princlet, fought a continuous battle of trade agreements, peace treaties and law giving that left him drained at the end of the day. Mystic, no longer needing the steely mind of a war commander, turned her imperious attention on the influx of demands for 'personal' dragon riders being requested by the other princlets and kingdoms. Since the Warren had been key in fighting the war, they should be the ones to repair the damange. Or so the other high-borns thought. Thayer, on the other hand, was proving to be more of a trouble for the people around him. Though offically still squired to Magika, he often made unscheduled visits back to Tris'Hath to go on 'outings' with his friends. Sometimes, the carefree Weyrwoman of Adanuk would tag along. She had never been known to pass up a good time with free flowing ale. All curtesy of the Ayanrix, of course.
Mystic languidly tipped the edge of her goblet to her lips and let a trickle of wine moisten her tongue. The flavour was sweet and not too sharp. A full bodied drink that tickled the tastebuds long after it had passed down the throat. A good year, the aging Princess mused. Since the declaration that had turned the Warren into the heart of a princlet and made Mystic and Aaron its rulers, the red mage had begun to familiarize herself with the extravagances of life. Though she had never been comfortable with it, leadership fit her well. She wore it like a cloak, draped in its finery for all to see, and yet weilding it against the chill weather of politics with an ease that made many wary. A woman in power was not commonplace on Tris'Hath. Then again, Mystic was not a commonplace woman.
She opened her mind as the storyteller continued. Long years of living in constant vacinity of loud thinkers had allowed the mage to hone her telepathic skills until she was able to use them and her physical senses at the same time. A sixth sense that was as familiar as breathing.
A battle howl of some sort. Stupid wolf. The gilted tones of Zenith's mental voice touched the edges of her senses and made the mage quirk a smile. He didn't sound amused at having his sleep disturbed, yet his message made her curious.
What would Falas have to battle? Mystic wondered aloud as another trickle of wine slid down her throat. She was rewarded with a passing shrug from her gossiping bond and a dismissive snort from her draca familiar.
~Alynn's old. Maybe he's just gone senile too.~ Hope returned with her usual level of mockery and sarcasm. She was far too busy keeping Trinient, Aaron's blue flit, from gourging himself on the human food to pay much attention to her mage's pondering. She had little liking for the wolves anyway. Something about them being big carnivores bothered her.
Mystic's colours returned with melodic laughter. A sea at sunset would best describe what she looked like to an open mind. All reds and golds lapping against the shore of her soul. Peaks of white topped the smooth waves, glinting in and out of sight in a playful dance of pure light against her fiery threads of thought.
When her laughter subsided and the conversation died, Mystic was prepared to return her full attention to the speaker who had, in the time of her quick chat, changed topics. But that was not to be allowed.
A dragon's scream split the serenity of the Gather. Movement at the far end of the table caught the attention of all. To her horror, Mystic watched as K'man dove for cover, clutching an arm that was already covered in crimson blood.
Aaron was on his feet in the next instant, sword scraping against leather as he draw it from its sheath. Darksbane, the blade that had nearly cost Aaron his life, glowed faintly. Evil was near.
A round of thunder exploded through the air as bullets tore into the tables. Wooden spliters flew in all directions, one of them catching Mystic's hand as a bullet made its mark inches away from her plate. The red mage drew in a sharp breath, dropping her goblet as pain laced through her fingers. Her gaze flickered briefly to the blood stream down her palm, and when she looked back to where the Weyrleaders of Falas sat, J'tha was sprawled over his weyrmate, bullet wounds in his back leaking the vital red liquid of life. Mystic stood abruptly, her good hand clenching around the smooth metal of her staff as it appeared at her command. Though her stance was one of battle readiness, her mind was not yet prepared to unleash a spell.
Thoughts raced through her mind, some of them very similar to thoughts she had been thinking constantly only two years previous. Battle was at hand. The enemy had to be identified and destroyed. Who was the enemy? What means of weaponry were they using. Mystic clenched her teeth, darting glances left and right for an answer.
A man brandishing a gun leapt onto the table before them. Darksbane cut him down, wielded by Aaron's skilled hands. As he fell back, a death scream lodged in his throat. It never reached his lips. The man was dead before he hit the ground.
Mystic began to work, her eyes closing in concentration and her lips working themselves around the words of magic. Golden light danced through the air, following the path she traced with her staff. Now she knew what she needed. Now she could form a shield that would allow herself and her husband to attack while repelling the long range bullets of their opponents.
"What in the-" Thayer never got to finish his profane question as he rose uncertainly to his feet. A bullet grazed his forehead, sending one second of searing pain through his body before he collapsed back into his chair; unconscious.
Mystic's eyes opened when the spell was finished, pleased to see a hail of bullets ricochet off the invisible barrier and fly back towards their shooters. A prismatic ripple swam outwards from the bullets' point of impact, the only visible sign that her spell was at work. The Master Mage spared a glance for her husband as he thrust a swordtip through the gut of another enemy fighter. She would have plenty of time to start casting her offensive spells. Thayer was strong enough in his own magic to help her. She half-turned to deliver orders to her son, and froze in terror.
Mystic screamed her son's name, feeling the blood in her head drain away and leave her chilled. She didn't realize she was moving until she was kneeling beside her unconscious son and had one hand pressed against the free flowing blood streaming down his temple. Panic clogged her throat and stole the breath from her lungs. Her fingers trembled as they searched through the mess of blood-matted golden hair plastered to his face. She found the wound, ran numb fingertips over the deep slash. Stark white bone was made visible when she wiped away some of the crimson fluid seeping from his skull.
"What's wrong?" Aaron snapped over his shoulder. He, unlike his wife, refused to show the crippling fear he felt upon seeing his only son slumped over his chair. Steely nerves kept his eyes facing forward and his sword steady in his hands.
"I- I don't know." Mystic stuttered. She cupped Thayer's head in one hand and used the other to stem the flow of blood coming from his temple. "He's alive... but unconscious." She looked up, visage of power and calm dissipating under a mother's fright. "He may have a concussion."
"We have to get him back to the Infirmary." Aaron replied stoutly. He swung Darksbane deftly through the air, taking out the swordarm of another opponent. A pile of bodies was already beginning to grow at his feet.
"Andrelion. We have to find him." Mystic breathed, regaining some of her composure as she drew away from Thayer's side. He would live, but only if they managed to get out of this chaos. People running, screaming, dying. She had to help. A firm grasp lifted her staff into the air above her head. Words passed over her lips, and the golden tip exploded in a series of magical sparks. The five purplish-blue missles arrowed across the table, catching another gunman in the back and felling him instantly.
"Andrelion!" Aaron bellowed, and his voice carried clear across the Gather.
* * * The moment the first shots were fired, Andrel ducked for cover. He had been enjoying the after hatching feast with his bond and the other new riders. Laughing, talking, exchanging stories, and trying to clean his hands after feeding Norierith his messy meal of meat. Much as he adored his starfield bond, he didn't want the raw meat on his hands when he went to eat his own food. Zallarn occasionally stopped by to check on him, but was most often galloping away to annoy his kinsmen or steal a bit of food from the other dragonets. He'd stopped bothering Norierith when the hatchling had killed his fun by allowing him to share.
Now, Andrelion cowered beneath one of the long tables with Norierith clutched at his side. He trembled from head to toe, listening to the death screams and sounds of battle echoing all around him. Norierith shifted his bulk against his rider's side and tried to look over the boy's shoulder. Andrel's grasp on him was almost suffocating.
"What's going on?" Zallarn asked as he padded up to Andrel's side. Though his ears perked forward curiously, the black fur of his hackles stood on end. Instinct had told him something was wrong, so he returned as fast as he could to his bonded.
"Zallarn, get down here!" Andrel shouted in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. It was too high-pitched, filled with fear. He was laid out flat on his stomach, so grabbing the winged wolf and dragging him down was impossible. But as soon as the framalmaraz's shoulders came within touching distance, the silver haired boy shot out a hand and found a firm grip on the wolf's fur. He pulled Zallarn against his free side, both arms now occupied with his two companions. The warmth was comforting but, stretched out as he was, he looked like an oddly conscious corpse being supported on either side by a dragon and a winged wolf.
"Who're we fighting?" Zallarn quiried, amber eyes peering in interest out at the battle field. A body fell to the ground in front of the black fralamaraz. Blood spilled from a wound in the man's chest, staining the ground and turning durt into crimson mud. Zallarn twitched his nose away as the offensive scent of death filled the air.
"Those guys." Andrel whispered through cold lips. He stared wide-eyed at the sea of gunmen that brought death and destruction upon the people of Falas and their guests. It seemed none were safe from the free flying bullets, and Andrel was painfully reminded of the war in which he'd grown up. People screaming, bleeding, dying. Though there wasn't a hydra in sight, the host of men weilding guns was enough to shock the boy back to his war-based instincts. Get down, find cover and then get to safety as fast as possible. But this wasn't Tris'Hath, so the safety of the Warren was denied him. Andrel felt the beginnings of sense depriving panic steal over him.
Andrelion heard a masculine voice call his name, recognized it as Aaron's. A quick glance from beneath the table showed him a display of magic that could only be Mystic's. Fireballs arcing through the air, slamming into the ground and hurling enemies left and right; magic missles that followed their targets until they hit; and a shield of light just visible over the heads of the fighters. He only saw it when bullets struck its surface and bounced off with redoubled force. The Prince and Princess of Lanutha were doing their bit to fight this onslaught.
Pulling his arms away from his two bonds, Andrel propped himself up on his elbows and began to crawl forward. His movements were slow and awkward, one arm lunging forward, planting on the ground, dragging him forward, and then the same with the other. He wriggled the rest of his body across the blood slicked ground, clamping his jaw tightly shut as he felt the sticky wetness of it seep through his clothes and cling to his skin.
Stay with me. He projected to Zallarn and Norierith, though only one needed the command. The starfield blue dragonet was crawling on his belly at his bond's side, making not a peep of sound. Zallarn, on the other hand, had almost gotten himself left behind.
The black wolf made to stand, then thought better of it. He remembered the urgency in Andrelion's voice when the boy had called him to the ground. Though normally a very upbeat thinker, this was something he knew shouldn't be toyed with. Ducking his head until grassy tips tickled his jaw, he began to wiggle his body in the same manner Andrel was, and found it worked. Subconsciously, Zallarn grinned in triumph.
The distance between himself and the Weyrleader's table seemed to be made of innumerable dragon lengths. For every inch he gained, Andrel felt that he was moving two inches back. It didn't help his nerves at all when stray bullets burrowed into the ground a few feet away from his head. He stopped abruptly as clods of grass were torn out of the ground and sent flying past his nose. Long, dark scars marred the once prestine Gather grounds, made of booted heels, bullets, and sword slashes. Andrel quelled the twitching of his nerves and berated himself for losing hold of the calm he was struggling so hard to maintain. Sucking in a fortifying breath, he struck out for the Weyrleader's table once more.
This time, the distance was quicker to fade away. Andrel soon found himself facing the feet of his leaders, along with several lifeless bodies left in the wake of Aaron and Darksbane. He was about to reach out a hand to pull himself to his feet when he was reminded of the shield thrown up by Mystic. An enraged rebel threw himself against the magical barrier with a battle cry that turned into a death scream the instant he hit. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain as his skin boiled and burned away. The noxious scent of burning flesh filled Andrel's nostrils and left a coating that trickled all the way down to his lungs. He gagged and coughed.
Aaron was closest to the hiding boy and heard his cough a split second before Mystic. He was already thrusting out a hand to grab the boy when Mystic began unravelling her shield for him. Aaron took hold of Andrel's shoulder, unhindered by the searing bubble of magic, and hauled him to his feet. In one fluid motion, he set the silver haired boy on his feet and pushed him back to keep him out of the way of his death-dealing blade.
Andrel stumbled unsteadily on feet that refused to cooperate with the commands of his mind. He caught himself on the back of Thayer's chair, spared a glance for his unconscious friend, then looked wildly around for his two bonds.
I am here. Norierith reassured him quietly as he waddled up to his rider's ankles. Though only a few hours old, he seemed far more controlled considering the situation they were in. Norierith cooed soothingly as he was scooped up in Andrel's arms and cradled against the boy's chest.
"All safe and accounted for." Zallarn piped cheerily, padding up to Andrelion's side and flashing him a wide grin.
"What happened to Thayer?" Andrel shouted over the din of battle. He heard his voice strain anxiously, made harsh by the amount of adrenaline running through him.
"He was knocked out." Came Aaron's sharp reply. He didn't so much as spare a glance for the new Warren rider. A knight trained in battle from moment he could wield a sword, Lanutha's Prince knew to keep his attention focussed on the area from which death may come. He also knew that they were outnumbered and unprepared, lost without the guidance of the Weyrleaders. "We have to get out of here."
"They still need our help." Mystic rejoined as her deft fingers wove magic out of thin air. The golden staff augmented her power and cast it out against their enemies.
"If we don't get Thayer to the Infirmary soon, he may die."
That was enough to convince Mystic. Aaron saw the colour drain from her cheeks, knowing his words had cut deep. He hated using their son against her, but she wasn't the only one fearing for his life.
Mystic nodded quickly and raised her hands, one open-palmed and facing outwards, the other wound loosely around her staff. "Cover me."
Aaron did so with practiced ease. With Mystic's shield down, he was the only thing that stood between her and the bullets of their opponents. Fortunately, he was very good at what he did, and Darksbane was an enchanted blade.
Andrel hung back as knight and mage went to work in perfect unison. He felt his heart rabbiting away in his chest, the rush of blood thundering in his ears and providing background noise for the clash of battle all around him. He wanted to check on his unconscious friend, but he didn't want to let go of Norierith. The dragonet was sending him thoughts of discomfort caused by his iron grip, none of which registered among his chaotic tangle of thoughts. He knew only what his fear-filled senses told him. The smell of blood and smoke; the feel of Norierith pressed against his chest; the sound of fighting, gunshots and terror; the taste of bile sitting in his mouth; and the sight of purplish-blue light threading around Mystic. An immense amount of magic was answering to the mage's call.
Mystic's voice rose in pitch and volumn the longer she cast her spell. She needed no actions except for the summoning stance she had taken. Eyes closed, head tilted back, arms raised in supplication to powerful entities that existed on all worlds. She called upon the power of the earth, drew its unbending strength into her working and coaxed it to follow her commands. It fought at first, testing her strength against its own to find her worthiness. She fought back, wielding magic as one wields a blade, prying at the earth's weakness until it relented. A rumble of satisfaction vibrated through her blood as the very core of life surrendered to her will.
The ground directly before Mystic gave a mighty heave as the spell began to take effect. Grass trembled, bending back and forth with the rolling ground like worshippers before an all-powerful god. Tables overturned, cutlery that had not already been smashed shattered on the quaking earth, and stunned people fell to their knees, unable to stand on the soil that suddenly mimiced the instablity of water. Grass skittered away in a wide circle before the chanting mage. Solid, brown earth curved into a small hill that grew larger with each passing second within the cleared patch of ground. The hill rounded off after a point, then extended into a long, broken oval on either side that resembled shoulders. The shoulders lengthened into arms, and the arms ended in gigantic, rock fists. The rest of the creature's titanic body emerged from the land bit by bit until it stood on ground that solidified under its earthen feet.
The earth elemental waited, standing perfectly still, and staring out at the battle field with onyx eyes too small for its hilltop of a head. It resembled, in the odd way that natural formations sometimes took, a human that was only slightly out of proportion. Club-like arms hung down to its knees, standing out from its sides in a straight line down from its shoulders. Thick, tree-like legs literally planted in the ground, its boulder-like feet barely discernable from the ground it stood on. A mountainous chest tapered into an upside down triangle of granite muscle to its flat waist. No cloth was needed to cover the lower half of his abdomen, for the rock giant could effectively be termed a eunice.
Mystic's arms dropped back to her side, weighted down with fatigue after the drain on her energy. She tilted her head back, nearly breaking her neck in an attempt to look all the way up to the back of its head. Her mouth opened in a small circle, sucking in and exhaling breaths in quick succession to refill her labouring lungs. The giant did not move, acting like just another natural formation though it had sprung from the ground only seconds before. The mage pursed her lips, swallowed hard to find her voice. She straightened her back, though the action shot needles of pain down her spine and made her muscles groan with weariness. Too many spells had been thrown already. Her power was vast, but not unlimited. She was loath to admit it, but she needed this retreat just as much as her son.
"Titan of the earth!" Clear, brassy notes made up the ringing probe of her voice, eminating from deep within her lungs. The earth giant stiffened, if that was at all possible, and seemed to be listening. Mystic sucked in another breath before delivering her command. "Guard our escape, kill the rebels."
She watched, half in awe, as a boulder-sized fist raised above the titan's head, then came crashing down on a band of rebels who had been too slow to avoid the attack. Or too fearful of the death that was promised them in those beady, onyx eyes. Though Mystic had been casting spells for as long as she could remember, she still felt a twinge of adoration and devotion to the gift the gods had given her. There was no greater sensation then the swell of pride felt as a mage watches their magic, their will, wreak havoc, or heal wounds, or raise a fallen companion. The Red Mage of the Warren was no less humbled by the destructive force of her earthen creation then she had been the first time she had called such power to her command.
The wistful reminicence was broken a second later as Aaron latched an iron grip into her arm and began dragging her towards their awaiting bonds. Mystic turned, half running and half allowing herself to be pulled along, and let the earth giant do its work. It would not stop until either the spell wore off or she gave it another command. Falas would have a powerful ally for a few hours yet.
Myrah'Care and Blakoreth took turns spearing rebel bands with their fiery breath weapons. Blakoreth's: a pure blast of flame that seared the ground blakc. Myrah'Care's: a silven stream as delicate as starlight, and as deadly as a laser cut. The dam and sire of the Warren cared little for the death screams of their foes as they made a pathway for their riders.
Aaron's muscular legs carried him across the blood slicked and battle torn ground far faster then his wife, who lacked in physical strength, and Andrelion, who was stumbling over his own two feet in his haste to get away. Though the Lanuthan prince carried his unconscious son in his arms, he had still put a good few feet of distance between himself and the others by the time he reached Blakoreth's side. Aaron cast a quick glance over his shoulder as he hoisted Thayer's limp body onto Blakoreth's back.
"Take Andrelion with you, I'll watch over Thayer!" He bellowed to Mystic. The mage returned with a curt nod, steering their newest dragon rider towards her silver bond with a clawing grip in his arm. Andrelion merely followed directions, moving about as if caught in a dream. The tiny, starfield dragon clutched in his arms looked oddly out of place against the background of chaos. His eyes, bluer then the dark hue of his hide, shone calmly, even as he was literally thrown to the dragoness' back.
It took a moment for all four Tris'Hathians to find a firm seat on the shifting shoulders of the two dragons. Gouts of flame still shot through the air, arching left or right according to the nearest patch of enemy gunmen. Blakoreth was the first to lurch into the sky, blasting the ground with one more fiery breath for good measure. His silven mate was close on his tail, her assent following on the stirring currents of his wing strokes.
They went between as one, twinned blue and silver bodies disappearing seconds before a shower of bullets struck the place where they had been. Too early to hear the crystaline voice call out salvation to the rest of the Gather patrons.
Evacuate the Weyr! To the Hold! To the Hold!
* * * Cold, darkness, numbing silence. Norierith experienced all these fears and more as he was enveloped in between for the first time in his life. It was different then what his dragon-dreams had spoken of. There, he had been warm and safe, knowing of this all-consuming void but unable to be touched by it. Now he felt the sting of breathless air ice his lungs, frosting the edges of his wingtips. He shivered in Andrelion's arms, but could barely tell if that was where he still was. Sightless, senseless, the young dragonet could only hope that he was still with his beloved rider. The cold was lasting too long. He was scared.
Then, suddenly, there was light and sound and warmth again. Norierth dragged in a deep breath, tasted the spice on the wind and felt the baking warmth of the sun on his back. Zallarn's fur tickled his side from where the fralamaraz had wedged himself between Mystic and Andrelion. His rider's arms wound tightly around him, crushing him against his chest comfortingly.
Norierith felt his stomach lurch out of his body as Myrah'Care turned into a steep dive. Glancing over Andrel's shoulder, Norierith saw tiny specks milling about on the field below them. The longer he looked, the more they grew into recognizable, humanoid figures.
A few minutes later, the tiny starfield dragonet was being jarred against Andrel's chest, the backwinged landing chosen by Myrah'Care suited more for speed instead of rider comfort. His claws dug into the boy's thigh, releasing a second later as Andrel sucked in a gasp of pain. Norierith looked up apologetically at his bond, but the silver haired boy was staring fearfully at his comatose friend. Thayer was being lifted from his father's arms by a team of healers that had gathered the moment the two dragons had appeared in the sky.
Andrelion was helped down from Myrah'Care's shoulders by the concerned hands of his parents. He refused to let go of Norierith. All their pleading and worried glances could have been just as effectively directed at a brick wall. They soon gave up on coaxing the boy to relax, instead directing their attempts at getting him to sit down and allow a healer to look him over. So long as they weren't trying to pry the starfield dragonet from his arms, Andrel was compliant.
Thayer was being sent to the Infirmary, where he would be treated by their Master Healer himself. Andrelion was safe, unharmed, and being doted on by his frantic parents. The dragon riders were gathered;the call had only to be given to send them scurrying for their armor and weapons. Mystic whirled to face her bond, adrenaline coursing through her veins and heightening her desire to get back to the battle. Aaron stood in her way.
"Aaron, we have to go back." Mystic stated sternly after fixing her beloved husband with a confused frown. It was unlike him to step down from a fight. Especially one concerning their friends.
"I know, but I want you to stay here." The limpid calm of his sky blue eyes compelled her to listen, more so then the controlled insistance in his voice.
There is no point. The thought-speak broke into the conversation where Mystic would have given her stubborn retort. All eyes turned on the speaker: confused, demanding, curious, angry, all emotions at once. Norierith, extracting himself carefully from Andrelion's arms, waddled forward a few steps and returned the Red Mage's look, stare for stare. They are gone.
"I don't believe you." Mystic's voice wavered, caught between shock and denile. She couldn't understand how this youngling, this dragonet with no world experience, could know without a doubt the condition of Falas Weyr. Yet the tone of his voice, the absolute calm of his glittering eyes, made her believe that he did know. She resisted it as she had resisted defeat. By throwing her imperious will in the way of logic.
It doesn't matter if you believe or not. They are gone. By now, Norierith was noticing the absolute quiet that had descended with his first spoken sentence. He was uneasy with its weight, but the truth was a heavier burden, sitting leaden in his chest.
"Not possible!" Mystic snapped, turning a burning gaze on her husband. "We can gather the Wings, go back and help Falas. The battle is still new. We have time!"
Aaron was silent for a long time. His eyes rested on the starfield dragonet sitting on emerald grass, spattered with crimson blood from the battle. His midnight hide winked with starlight. Precious diamonds that were untouchable in a tapestry of the richest velvet. Just like night. His eyes, though, spoke of knowledge beyond the innocent thoughts of a new born dragon. Blue, bright blue like his own, they confirmed the words he had spoken with an eerie finality. Somehow, Norierith knew the fate of Falas Weyr. It pained him. Aaron could see it in his eyes.
Slowly, the Lanuthan prince turned his expressive glance upon his wife. He was like Norierith in the way that he adorned himself with midnight blues and starry silvers. She was the fire to his darkness, and she burned defiantly when he looked upon her. Gently, Aaron placed his hands on her shoulders and murmured words meant only for her. "I believe him."
"No. There's still time." Mystic insisted, though her voice had taken on a desperate moan. She darted a glance between Norierith and Aaron, and the fire of her eyes changed to dispairing embers. "There's still time!"
In the brief pause before Mystic's insistance and her broken will, Myrah'Care turned a respectful glance on Norierith. The silven dam tilted her head, offering up her mental tones to the young one. Will you lead us, little one?
I would be honoured. Norierith returned with a short bob of his head. He was so small compared to her, his entire body barely fitting the length of her skull. Yet when he raised his head and issued forth the first notes of a mournful song, not even Myrah'Care could content with his beauty.
Mystic felt cold, as if every vein in her body had filled with ice and her nerves were made of frost. Her heart hurt, aching as if someone had stabbed a knife into it and left it there to bleed. She let herself be enfolded in her husband's arms, resting her head against his warm shoulder. Something hot prickled her eyes. She only knew she was crying when the first salty drop splattered on Aaron's blue tunic. Mystic Dragon closed her eyes, clutched her arms around her husband's neck, and wept for the loss of her friends. She murmured their names as she cried, but the words escaped as no more then broken sobs.
Aaron soothed her as best he could, rocking her in his arms and whispering comforts into her ear. His own eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the tears threatening to spill over. Too many lives, too many battles, too many friends lost. Aaron Audil had seen too much. His voice choked on words he offered to his wife, but meant for his own peace of mind. "We're done fighting now."
The dragons raised their voices together in a meloncoly tune that was dreaded by those who knew it, and yet longed for. The ancient songs of a draogn race long dead had been taught to the dragons of the Warren. This was among them, simple and yet mistifying. Long, keening notes strung together, floating on the wind in honour of the slain. Baritones and sopranos rising and falling, threading with the natural voice of the earth. The voices so rarely raised in song now blended as one in a melody that moved listeners to tears. No bard could match their elegance. No singer could rivel their fluting notes.
The dragon song of mourning.
The most beautiful song.
Read Andrel's stats.
Read Andrel's story.
Zallarn was bonded at: Marbethil
Andrel bonded Norierith at: Falas Weyr