Wyldfyre flew for a long time. He didn't really have a destination, other than away from Aspinara and Larieth. His rage and sorrow drove him on, northwards, out of the valley and over the mountains. Tears streamed from his eyes, drifting backwards through the slipstream created by his wings like a rain of sadness trailing through the sky.

The land below was unfamiliar to him. He saw some settlements, large and small, even spotted some crowds of people stood looking up at him in either awe or fear as he passed. But he did not desire company right now. Not from them, not from anyone. Once again he was alone in the world, the last of his kind.

Thoughts of the family he never knew haunted him as he flew. Echoes of people he could not remember, voices, pictures, memories that could not possibly have been real. They mocked him, mocked the prince with no race to be a prince of, and it served only to fuel his tears, his agonised cries echoing across the sky.

The sun set just as Wyldfyre was flying over a particularly large swathe of forest. His wings ached a little; it had been a long while since he had flown this long. Searching the treeline, he spotted a clearing and brought himself gently down into it. Knowing he was miles away from any human activity, he didn't bother to change forms to suit them. He maintained his wings and scales and built a small fire, piling loose branches and logs together and using a spark of magic to ignite them.

Wiping the tears from his muzzle with a paw, Wyldfyre settled and tried to dream good dreams, to escape from the pain of the day. His wish was not granted.

**********

Larieth was not dreaming well either. He and Art had arrived at Art's house in Aspinara a short while after darkness had fallen. They both quickly had something to eat and then Art introduced Larieth to one of the spare rooms he kept for any pupils who came from other towns to learn from his teachings, though none were currently occupied. With a brief goodnight, Larieth put his head down on the pillows, which were more comfortable than he had expected, and began to dream.

**********

The roof of the cavern had collapsed inwards. But that was a long time ago. Since then, the massive open air chamber had been sculptured by the tireless efforts of some of the best dragon architects of the time. The reddish brown rock, streaked with veins of white crystals, had been evened out and smoothed, shaping the cavern into a flattened sphere.

A lot of care had been taken in widening and fortifying the opening in the roof to create a grand entrance point. Then, around one half of the circular floor space, ledges had been cut, receding upwards into the walls, to create a series of tiered seats. The opposite half of the floor space had been sculpted into a series of small pedestals, with one large dais occupying the middle of the chamber. This dais was the where the Accused stood in the Chamber of Judgements in the capital of the dragon lands, Hyaralene, and it was where Larieth now stood in his trueform, facing the seven assembled members of the dragon ruling council, and surrounded by hundreds of dragons who were there to witness his trial.

The seven council members were ancient and wise, having lived for over a thousand years. Their scales were large and platy, having thickened over the years, their breathing and motions slow and ponderous. But they were very much respected, and their judgements would be obeyed.

The dragon at the centre of the council, his scales gold though dulled a little after so many years of life, slowly raised his wings and forelimbs. "Friends, dragons, please may we come to calm so that this trial may commence!" An eerie hush swept the chamber and Larieth felt completely alone in the gathering, still not sure exactly what was happening, but all too aware of where he was.

The dragon who had spoken, Gilfor, eldest of the council, let his wings drop to his sides gently and continued with his announcement. "Thank you, my friends. We have convened here to judge the crime committed by Larieth!" Gilfor's long talon raised and pointed at the blue dragon accusingly. "The crime of which you are charged, Larieth, is the crime of abandoning your youngling! How do you plead?"

Larieth almost choked in surprise. Then the reality of the situation hit him. He had abandoned his child, his dear Wyldfyre, to the winds. For so long he had been there to protect him, to see him through the pain and joy of his life. But he didn't want to let him go, he wanted him to stay! It was Wyldfyre who had run away... why had he run away?

"Your answer, Larieth!" Gilfor called loudly.

Forcing back his tears, Larieth nodded. "I plead not guilty, honoured council member."

There was a rumble of surprise around the chamber, and Larieth tried not to wince at the voices of derision that began to echo from behind him, satisfying himseld with staring at the ground before him instead. Gilfor raised his wings again. "We will have silence!" Calm again descended on the watching audience.

"Your plea is 'not guilty', Larieth, and as such we will now put your plea to trial." Gilfor turned to one of his colleagues, a red dragon sitting in position on the left of the council. "Vorle! Call your witness!"

The red dragon nodded and smiled. "As you request, honoured Gilfor. I call our witness, Larieth!"

Larieth expected the council to question Vorle's statement, knowing that he would not testify against himself. But silence remained, and instead, a bright white light descended on to the witness's pedestal next to Vorle. The light faded away, and there stood Larieth! But it was not the blue dragon, more an image. It was ghostly and translucent, but turned and nodded to Vorle, acknowledging him, and then the council. The real blue dragon blinked a few time, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He had not been to the Chamber of Judgements often, but he had never seen or heard of anything like this!

"Witness to the crimes of Larieth, do you stand ready to answer our questions, swearing to the stars that you will do so truthfully?" Gilfor asked, solemnly.

"I do, and I swear that I shall," Ghost-Larieth replied in the traditional manner.

"Then Vorle, you may commence your questioning."

The red dragon nodded his acknowledgement to the elder council member, and turned back to the ghost of Larieth. "Larieth! You witnessed the moment in question, when the accused cruelly abandoned his child to the winds, did you not?"

Ghost-Larieth nodded. "I did, honoured Vorle."

"And did the accused show remorse in any way?"

"He did not," Ghost-Larieth replied plainly. There was a collective gasp from the onlookers behind the real Larieth.

"That's not true! I didn't want for him to leave!" Larieth cried, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't just aba-!"

"Silence!" Gilfor cried out, his wings raised once more and his eyes trained on the blue dragon. "You will have your chance to speak, and until that moment you will abide by the rules of this chamber and remain silent! Do you understand?"

Larieth nodded.

"Then proceed, Vorle." Gilfor motioned for the questioning to continue.

"He did not show any remorse at all, Larieth?" Vorle asked again, his voice raised a little so all those present could hear.

"Not at all," the ghost of the blue dragon confirmed. "In fact, he was almost eager for him to leave."

"And why do you think that was, Larieth?"

Ghost-Larieth paused for a moment, considering his response. "He has always resented Wyldfyre for making him spend so much time as a human in their lands. He has always yearned to be home again, in the sky, raising his wings to the sun each morning."

Larieth drooped a little, looking back to the floor and searching his own thoughts. Yes, he had always wanted to be home. He missed it so much, flying through the clouds, not fearing that someone would attack him for being who he was, not having to listen to the rumours that he was stomping through a forest somewhere nearby, laying waste to the countryside. He had faced the threat of that kind of prejudice in the distant human lands, but he had never blamed Wyldfyre for it. It had at first been his duty, and then his joy, to raise the little elf into adulthood, and then to journey with him.

"In your opinion, Larieth, what sort of danger did the accused release Wyldfyre into?" Vorle glanced across to the central dais, where the eral blue dragon stood, then turned back to the ghostly figure next to him.

"For all he knows, he could be dead by now, attacked by some gang of unruly humans. He left Wyldfyre flying away in his dragon form, which would be enough for many humans to attack on sight, given the stories that circulate in those lands. They are tormented by rumour and fear, the humans in the southern lands., and are not beyond such reactions."

Larieth felt tears begin to roll down his cheeks again. Wyldfyre would be all right, surely? He was intelligent, he knew not to just walk into a town with his wings and scales showing, right? But he had been very upset... Common sense could be discarded under circumstances like that. Could he really have let Wyldfyre go to his death?

"Finally, Larieth, I have one further question. Given the decision, what sentence would you place on the accused?" Vorle sat back and waited for the answer.

Ghost-Larieth wasted no time in replying. "Give him the same fate he left his child to. Give him death!"

Vorle nodded with satisfaction. "Thank you, Larieth. You may go." The image of Larieth faded from the witness pedestal, and the red dragon turned to address the council. "Honoured colleagues, I rest my case."

Gilfor raised his paws and spoke aloud to the audience. "We have heard the witness speak. Now we will consider our verdict."

The seven dragons began to turn around, and Larieth cried out in surprise. "Wait! Don't I get a chance to state my case? You promised me a chance to speak!" The questions that had already been asked were highly irregular, Larieth knew that, but not allowing the defendant a chance to speak in his own defence was intolerable.

Gilfor turned back to Larieth and sneered at him. "And what could you possibly say to affect the judgement of this chamber for a crime as heinous and terrible as yours?"

"I... I loved him." Larieth sobbed, his tears running along his drooping muzzle and falling to the floor. Gilfor snorted and turned back to his colleagues, who were busy quietly discussing the fate of the blue dragon.

There was silence in the chamber for a few moments, save for the murmur of discussion between the council members. Then, as one, they turned to look upon Larieth. Gilfor remained at the head of proceedings, and he spoke aloud again. "Larieth! You have been tried and judged by this chamber. On the charge of abandoning your youngling, Wyldfyre, we find you guilty! By the decision of this council, the penalty for your terrible crime will be death!"

**********

Larieth sat bolt upright, sending his blankets flying from the bed. He screamed "NO!" into the darkness and then fell back, panting, his pillows drenched with sweat. It had been a dream, just a dream. The council hadn't judged him guilty, he wasn't to be put to death. It had been a ridiculous trial in any case, only fit for a dream.

Turning his head, Larieth looked through the window and saw that it was still dark outside. He started to reconstruct the dream in his mind, slowly remembering each accusation, and feeling more and more distraught with each new recollection.

In the corridor outside, Larieth heard the sound of footsteps running towards the door. Art burst through the doorway, sword rasied. He looked around quickly and then sheathed his weapon, giving Larieth a curious glance. "What's wrong? I heard you yelling."

Larieth shook his head and looked apologetically at his host. "I have to leave," he sighed.

"Leave? You mean, leave right now? Where do you have to leave for?" Art allowed his surprise to show in his voice and in his expression.

Larieth looked away, out of the window to where the stars shone dimly through the light cloud painted across the sky. "I just have to find him, Art. He's out there alone somewhere, and I fear for him. He's never been alone before."

Art smiled sympathetically and sat on the edge of Larieth's bed, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. "Wyldfyre's no child, Larieth. I've known him only a few hours at most, and already I know that much about the lad. He can take care of himself. All he needs is some time to think through things." There was a pause, and Art felt the need to fill the silence. "He'll come back looking for you in a day or two, I'm sure."

"No, he won't," Larieth replied sadly. He finally allowed himself to realise what he had known ever since Wyldfyre had left him in Korlath's tower. "I saw the look on his face when he left, and even if he doesn't know it yet, I know where he's going."

"Where?" The swordsman spread his hands to emphasize the question.

Larieth sighed again. "He's going home. He's going to Athyria."

**********

The voices continued to torment Wyldfyre as he slept. Images of a past that could not be his, and of a war that tore his homeland apart when he was too young to remember filled his subconscious.

He was standing on the wall of a large castle. Along its length stood a whole battalion of soldiers, all elven, heavily armed and stood in readiness. They did not seem to notice him. Looking out over the land beyond the castle, Wyldfyre could see mountain slopes, dropping down into a sea of green, a forest stretching out to the horizon. A forest that was burning.

Flames licked across the green expanse, burning and consuming the forest. In its wake it left nothing but blackened ash and destruction. Wyldfyre could almost feel the heat against his face, though the trees stopped about half a mile further down slope.

Unable to face the terrible scene, Wyldfyre turned to look again at the castle guards, staring down the fire as though waiting for something to emerge. The castle itself was impressive, half carved out of the mountainside, and half built on a plateau stretching away from its slopes. There were a few unarmed civilians running around in the courtyard, pulling carts or carrying sacks and boxes. Most were hurried away by the guards indoors into safer parts of the castle.

Suddenly, a particularly tall elf, dressed in full battle armour, marched up to Wyldfyre. "Report, soldier!" He barked.

Wyldfyre almost stumbled backwards in surprise. His mind raced, trying to think of how to reply. "I... er, I mean..."

"Captain Tarva!" The young voice came from behind Wyldfyre and he span round to see the source. Before him stood a younger soldier, probably no more than Wyldfyre's age. He looked well composed and ready to face whatever foe the castle faced, but his expression belied some eagerness for the battle to begin, and perhaps even a little apprehension. "Captain! All units report ready for your command. You need only give the signal."

"Very good, Parin. Report back to your unit and stand ready. The battle will soon begin." Tarva smiled, recognising the young soldier's impatience.

"Thank you, Sir." Parin turned to leave, then turned back and stood at attention once more. "Sir! It has been rumoured that the prince is missing and cannot be found." The young soldier allowed his official attitude to slip, and looked worried at his commander. "Is it true, Sir?"

Captain Tarva sighed and nodded glumly. "It is true, Parin. Prince Wyldfyre has gone missing, and none of the search parties sent out after him have returned. But fear not, even without his courage and leadership, we will still see this battle through to victory!"

"Yes, Sir!" Parin saluted confidently and turned to leave.

Wyldfyre snapped out of the shock that he had frozen in after Tarva's remark. "Hey! I'm here! I'm right here!" He waved his hands through the air, trying to grab someone's attention. No-one responded, though, and when he caught sight of his own arms, waving above his head, he noticed that the were translucent. Checking the rest of his body, he found that he was no more than a ghost.

There was a cry from a section of the wall and the attention of all the guards, as well as Wyldfyre, was directed back down the mountain slope. At the edge of the trees there, emerging from the towering flames, were a number of black and twisted creatures, almost like the ones he and Larieth had faced when confronting Korlath, but larger and more fearsome. They ran towards the castle, their growls and snarls audible from even this distance.

"Archers! To the fore!" Tarva called out, hearing his command repeated by his subordinates along the length of the battlements. "Fire!"

The elves carrying bows stepped to the front of the defensive line and prepared their arrows. At the command, they lit the tips of their arrows with a torch provided by a younger soldier, then loosed their deadly ammunition high into sky, watching it rain down on the monsters climbing the slopes to the castle. Some fell immeidately, others were merely injured and continued up the mountain. Others, though not that many, escaped injury and continued their assault unhindered.

Wave after wave of arrows were ordered by Captain Tarva, and more and more creatures fell before the firey rain. But in their place, twice as many twisted creatures would emerge from the burning forest and begin the ascent to the castle. It was only a matter of time before they reached -

There was a scream as one of the archers recoiled and fell backwards into the courtyard, an arrow sticking clean through his armour. These beasts were armed! Larieth had been right, these twisted monsters were intelligent!

The next few minutes passed in almost slow motion for Wyldfyre. The creatures continued to return fire at the archers on the wall, injuring or killing many of the defenders. Those creatures that did not have bows continued their rapid ascent to the castle gates, and all too quickly reached them. The sound of claws on wood echoed around the courtyard, while more metallic thuds indicated that the beasts were armed for close combat as well.

In virtually no time, the gates were breached, allowing a flood of creatures into the courtyard. At once a flood of magical attacks and defences were triggered by elven mages, tearing through the first wave of attackers. But there was no end to them, and the mages tired of holding back so many. The remaining guards descended from the walls, and were immediately outnumbered and overpowered by the invaders.

Wyldfyre stood, alone, amidst a rapidly growing sea of blood and death as his people were murdered. There was nothing he could do, his incorporeal form allowed him to take no action in their defence. His insubstantial tears fell to the floor as he mourned the death of his race. This could not be, it couldn't be real! He was not responsible for this, if he had been there or not, how could he have stopped this as a mere baby?

The scene faded to black, and Wyldfyre was left tumbling through darkness. The final voice he heard was Korlath, repeating his final words. "There is still hope..."

Then Wyldfyre woke up.

**********

Raising his silver scaled head to look to the tops of the trees in the clearing, Wyldfyre could see that dawn was upon him, the sky brightening and coloured in golden-red hues.

Slowly he brought himself to all four feet, overbalancing a little and then catching himself. Concentrating on the fire for a moment, Wyldfyre used his magic to ensure it was properly extinguished. As the flames died, the silver dragon was reminded of the burning forest from his dream. He shivered slightly, trying to ignore the visions of that terrible nightmare that would not leave him alone. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to block the tears that threatened to break free.

Then, in a moment of decision, he looked up towards the patch of brightening sky in the east, and stared, determinedly. His decision was made. He spoke quietly to the sky. "I will go home. I will go to Athyria, to see it for myself. I owe them that much."

And with a few beats of his powerful wings, he was gone.

**********

Larieth marched down the stairs into the main room of Art's house, decorated with his various swords, and his not inconsiderable clutch of trophies and awards from all kinds of competitions throughout the human lands. It was an impressive collection, but Larieth ignored it.

Art followed him, hurriedly putting on a leather jerkin and pulling a travelling pack with him. "Athyria? How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure, Art." Larieth replied solemnly. "I raised him. I know him. He has always wanted to go home, to see the land he came from, even though there is little left but ruin and decay. I didn't want to take him, partly because I didn't want him to have to face the pain of that scene, and partly because the place is still crawling with the Dark Hoarde, and that makes it more danger than it is worth."

Art considered Larieth's words for a moment, pulling the travelling pack to lean against a wooden chair in the room. "Children need to face these pains, Larieth. They need to see for themselves. Wyldfyre needs to face those ruins, face the memories he never had, and overcome them. He needs to mourn properly."

Larieth sighed and nodded. "I know. I just... I always feared I'd lose him if we went."

"Any reason in particular you thought that?" Art asked, a slight smile on his face. Larieth just sighed and shrugged. "It's funny, really," Art continued, checking his pack and tightening the knots that kept it fastened.

"What is?" Larieth frowned.

"Never figured that the great dragons could be paranoid."

For a moment, Larieth just stared at the sword master. Then he allowed himself a slightly nervous chuckle and smiled. "We are not so great as you may imagine. We live a long time, certainly, but we share many of the same traits as other races. Paranoia is not something we are immune to."

"I guess not," Art smiled. Looking out of the window, he could see dawn was upon them, the sky turning from a dark blue-black to a sky blue with golden-pinkish hues on the horizon. "Dawn. Time to go?"

"Yes, I must be leaving." Larieth sighed. He pulled his own pack on to his back and turned to look at his friend, noticing for the first time that Art had collected his own travelling things together too, and was now in the process of hefting his travel pack on to his back. "What are you doing?"

"Ah, now come on, Larieth. I may not have realised that dragons could be paranoid, but I know you're not all blind." He smiled warmly. "What does it look like? I'm coming with you."

"No, Art, I could not take you away from your teachings here." Larieth waved his hand, dismissing the offer.

"Did you see any of the other rooms up there, my dragon friend? They're all empty. It's been a slow year, teaching wise." Art finished settling the pack on his back, straightened the straps over his shoulders and marched across the room, opening the front door with a creak. "Besides, the locals are used to me disappearing off to tournaments and such, they won't miss me. And it's been such a long time since I was on a true adventure!"

Larieth didn't move, letting his expression show some slight discomfort at the thought of taking a companion with him. "But Art, I am travelling into the depths of Athyria, lands torn apart by the Dark Hoarde years ago, and still occupied by their forces. You know of the Dark Hoarde, yes?" Art nodded. "Well in that case, you must realise that this may well be suicide. I may very well be taking us both to our deaths by attempting this!"

"And that," Art smiled, adjusting the broadsword underneath his travelling pack, "is why I'm not letting you go alone. Besides, we may catch up with Wyldfyre before he reaches the border with Athryia."

Larieth snorted a chuckle and smiled as he walked to the open door and stepped through to the outside. "So be it, Art. We will travel to Athyria together. I warn you though, you had better not have a fear of heights."

Art grinned and shut the door behind him, locking it firmly with a heavy metal key, which he then fastened in a pouch hanging from his belt strap. "I have a feeling we are about to find out."

Together the two of them headed out of Aspinara and towards the mountains, their shadow receding as the sun rose into the sky. It was a beautiful, cloudless dawn, and Larieth hoped it was a good omen for them, and for Wyldfyre.


WYLDFYRE

So long since I flew like this, and for so long. I'd almost forgotten how much I loved it. The wind caresses my wings and somehow erodes away the pain I feel. I almost turned around and headed back to Aspinara.

Almost.

But I cannot leave this path I have placed myself on. Whether Larieth wished it or not, I have to go home. I have to see it for myself. Then I maybe I can finally try and come to terms with everything.

It troubles me that I don't instinctively know where home is. Some animals have a homing instinct, but I lack that particular advantage. All I have are the memories of maps drawn for me by Larieth when I was young. For now it is simple, just fly northwards. But when I reach the Athyrian border, I will need help. Perhaps I can find a guide, or someone who can tell me where I'm going? In any case, I cannot stop now - I will find my way home or die trying. It's that simple.


LARIETH

I've never travelled with a human companion before. Well, not a real human, at least. It's odd, I thought it would be more awkward than this. But then, Art seems to accept me for what I am, a surprising perspective for these distant lands. His travels have made him wise.

We made our way back to the disused mountain pass, where no-one would witness my shift back to trueform. Even as the dragon flies, it is still several days to Athyria. Making the journey by land would take far too long, so this was our only option. Art settled himself comfortably on my back, then arranged my travelling pack so it was securely attached Then we were off, in pursuit of Wyldfyre.

But as we fly, the winds bring to me a question. What if we catch up with Wyldfyre before he reaches the Athyrian border? Will I still try to dissuade him from going back to the ruined homeland of his people? I suspect not, much as my heart still longs to save Wyldfyre the agony of seeing that place, Art is right. He must be allowed to face that pain and come to terms with it. I suppose I have always known that in my heart, I just did not allow myself to admit it.

Now I cannot believe I have never taken him before.


ART

I suppose it's a little ironic really. When I first started travelling, when I was a young man, not much older than I guess Wyldfyre is, I was told the same things all new travellers are told. Don't show too much gold in public places, always keep a sword handy...

Never, ever, trust a dragon.

Two out of three isn't bad, I guess. Obviously, once you've travelled a while, made it out of the distant and isolated south and been a little closer to the dragon lands, you tend to find more of the truth. In many ways, dragons are quite similar to any other race. They live, they love, and they like to eat good food. Of course, I'd never met one before. After travelling so far for so long and finally settling down to start passing on my accumulated skills to others, I didn't expect I'd ever meet one. And yet here I was, being taken on another journey by one of the same creatures I thought I would never meet.

Well, it was getting boring in Aspinara anyway. I suppose I'd been looking for a good reason to leave for a while. I don't know whether I intend to return there or not. I suppose my things are all there, I have a house, a good reputation, even a small business in sword training when the trade is good, or more accurately, when there's a war going on somewhere. But for a life of travels and adventures again... it's a tempting prospect.

But, whatever happens, whether I live or die, return to Aspinara or travel the world again, this was worth it. I hang on to Larieth's back as the great blue dragon carries me through the clouds. In my years I've done many things and travelled to many places, but none of them compare to this. The wind flows around me, making the edge of my jerkin flap a little. Larieth's wings catch the currents effortlessly and keep us on course as below us the land seems to stretch on forever, the hills and mountains seeming no longer imposing, but just more threads from which the tapestry of this land is woven. I would have sold every trophy I'd ever earned for this sensation, and yet I was being given this gift for nothing. When I realised that, I knew I was doing the right thing by joining the blue dragon in his quest.

And so we fly to the northern lands, where Athyria lies in wait for us...