The land once known as Athyria, once the beautiful home of the elven race, passed beneath Wyldfyre's silver wings. The once green and luscious land was now blackened and dark, as if the life itself had been drained from the place. Very little grew there now, save for the odd sparse patch of vegetation somehow managing to hold on to survival, and the various twisted creatures of the Dark Hoarde that he spotted every so often. Many of the creatures spotted him as a silver point against the dark storm clouds that seemed to blanket all of Athyria, and would turn to hiss and roar at his appearance, angered at their inability to reach the intruder. But now they knew he was coming.

It had been a foregone conclusion. Of course, on the journey over Athyria, the Dark Hoarde could hardly not spot him. If the Hoarde were as numerous and intelligent as the stories seemed to suggest (and he could now vouch for the truth of their numbers), then he couldn't have even hoped that he would not be spotted.

"Over those hills, Wyldfyre," Alara reached up, pulling against Wyldfyre's horns to point a finger over some hills just the left of their current flight path. The silver dragon nodded and adjusted his course slightly, his wings dipping as he changed his direction.

"How far now, Alara? It must have been a few hours, I'm sure, even though I can't see the sun from here."

"Not far," Alara sighed. "Just over these hills and up towards the mountain slopes beyond. At the speed you fly, it will be just a few minutes."

"You sound unhappy. Are you wishing I'd left you in Gateway?" Wyldfyre smiled to himself, though his concern was sincere.

"It's not that. You can't tell me that you can look at all this, at all that happened here, and not feel sorrow." Alara rested herself back comfortably against Wyldfyre's upper body and watched the dark land glide past beneath them.

Wyldfyre dipped his head a little. He did indeed feel the sorrow, much deeper than he was certain Alara ever could. This was his home that had been destroyed, a home he had never known. But even as he looked at the broken landscape, he could see that once, years ago, it must have been beautiful. Lightning flashed over the mountains in the distance and he saw the silhouette of the hills. He imagined those same shadowed crests, bathed in bright sunlight and covered in a forest that seemed to have no end, just as Larieth had described in his stories. Then the effect faded and Wyldfyre was left with the reality of the burned forests and dead land.

"I feel it, Alara." Wyldfyre agreed after a few moments pause.

"There's nothing there for you, you know." Alara said quietly, but loud enough for Wyldfyre to hear over the wind.

Wyldfyre stumbled over his next thought, suddenly worried that Alara had figured him out and knew what he was. "What do you mean?" He blurted out without thinking.

Alara looked up curiously at the back of his head with one eye, sensing the momentary change in attitude before Wyldfyre recovered his calm demeanour. She filed that reaction away for later reference. "There's not much left. If the stories are to be believed, the Dark Hoarde looted the whole city long ago. There are no artefacts or valuables to be had, no treasure to uncover. Just ruins and decay."

Wyldfyre sighed, partly with sadness at the mental image of the city in ruins, and partly with relief that Alara had not referred to the emotional reasons for his visit. But then, how could she realise? He had appeared to her as a dragon and as a human. Why would she guess that he was the prince of the elven race, the last of his kind alive?

"I'm not treasure hunting, Alara," was Wyldfyre's simple reply.

"Oh yeah?" Alara smiled. "Then why exactly are we flying deep into the most dangerous land in the known world?"

Wyldfyre wasn't quite sure how to answer that question without giving away more than he wanted to at that moment, which made the interruption that came seconds later something of a relief, if a troublesome one.

"What's that?" Alara pointed again over Wyldfyre's head, marking out a dark dot against the clouds, moving quickly towards them. The dragon strained his eyes to try and make out more detail on the intruder as it came closer, and what he saw was not promising.

The creature resembled a giant bird of prey, as large as Wyldfyre was in his current form. His heart sank as he realised, inevitably, that it bore all the hallmarks of a creature of the Dark Hoarde, and as such, its intentions could not have been benign. Dark feathers sprouted unevenly all over its body, while its claws seemed too long for any natural creature, almost like blades attached to its feet. The eyes, now fixed on the dragon and his passenger, seemed to glow a dull red inside deep sockets, the only real indication of colour anywhere on the beast. It opened its twisted beak as it drew close and unleashed a terrifying cry that would have shaken any man to his knees in fear.

"By the stars," Wyldfyre exclaimed. "I had never imagined such a thing."

"Surely you didn't think that an army made of twisted creatures and mockeries of nature wouldn't have some airborne forces?!" Alara cried, turning to hold tightly on to Wyldfyre's silver neck.

"I had hoped not!" The dragon admitted. "You'd better hold on tight."

"You can handle this, right? You're a dragon, you're a professional flyer, you can deal with this thing, yes?" Alara increased her grip and tried not to look down and remind herself exactly how far up they were.

"Larieth never talked much about aerial combat... It's not really much of an issue back home." Wyldfyre sounded a little distracted as he altered his course to head straight for the giant black bird.

"Larieth?! Who in the seven realms is Larieth?!" Alara was shouting now, and Wyldfyre realised his error in revealing more than he had intended.

"Later," the dragon called back. "Have to deal with this first!"

If Alara said any more, Wyldfyre did not hear it. He placed all his concentration on his flying and hoped he would prove skilled enough to defeat this foe. All in all, at that moment it was probably better that Alara did not know he wasn't a true dragon.

Dipping his left wing slightly, Wyldfyre allowed his trajectory to curl a little as he neared the giant bird. Summoning all his concentration, he focussed his magical strength on to his muzzle, the most flexible limb available to him. A silvery gold glow began to form around his scales there, growing in intensity, and he waited until the last possible moment to release the energy he had called upon. A ray of bright shimmering light cut through the dismal sky like the first rays of dawn sunlight and slammed into the side of the monstrous bird as it passed, causing it to cry out in pain as the energy tore at its dark flesh. Its outstretched claws missed Wyldfyre's underbelly by mere inches.

Buoyed by the success of his first attack, Wyldfyre looped around quickly to line himself up for another strike on the wounded beast. But when he came around to where the bird should have been, he found nothing but empty sky waiting for him.

"Where in the -?"

"ABOVE YOU!" Alara shouted.

Flicking his neck upwards, Wyldfyre saw a great black silhouette descending upon him across the dark clouds. It was too late to avoid the collision, and in the seconds that he had before the impact came, his foremost thought was to protect Alara. He hadn't dragged her into this just to get her killed. Rolling over in flight, Wyldfyre presented his underside to the creatures claws, and tried to dive away as much as possible whilst throwing as much of a magical attack as he could muster in a few seconds at the beast.

As Alara cried out in alarm at being held upside down a thousand feet in the air, the dim ray of silver light that was Wyldfyre's attack glanced virtually harmlessly off the creature's chest. He felt a sickening pain as the long blade-like claws begin to cut through his scales and flesh, almost in slow motion, and saw a fine red rain of his own blood following him as he dived downwards.

Then, without warning, the bird kicked off Wyldfyre, sending him sprawling towards the ground, unable to maintain his flight any longer. As the black beast rose back up, Wyldfyre saw another ray of light, this one pure gold, strike the creature head on as it struggled to regain its momentum. The ray pierced the monster, driving a path straight through its body and erupting from the other side in an explosion of black blood. Now lifeless, the giant bird began to tumble to the ground.

Feeling his vision fading into darkness as he plummeted downwards, Wyldfyre tried to find the strength within himself to stop his descent, but his wings refused to straighten and unfold. He couldn't see the source of the golden blast, but he somehow knew the solution to that particular puzzle.

Almost as if on cue, a familiar voice spoke somewhere off to his side, diving with him. "Lady, if you would hold on to me?" It was Art, all the way from Aspinara, and Wyldfyre felt his burden lessen, both physically and emotionally, as Art somehow managed to retrieve Alara from Wyldfyre's falling form. And there could only have been one way for that plucky sword master to be there at that moment, meaning that with him had to be...

"Wyldfyre, listen to me." Larieth. It was his father, and his friend. All the emotions of the past few days came to a point, and Wyldfyre began to cry uncontrollably, tears streaming along his muzzle, driven by the airflow in his rapid dive, and falling upwards like a reverse silver rain.

"Larieth," he managed to force weakly from his voice. "Father... I'm sorry."

"Forget that, Wyldfyre. Open your wings and fly." Larieth's voice was calm and unhurried, everything Wyldfyre would have expected from him.

The silver dragon limply shook his head. "Can't. No strength."

"Yes you can, Wyldfyre. Open your wings, now." Larieth's voice was a little more firm this time, but still was devoid of panic or worry.

Wyldfyre strained his wings, sure now that the ground would soon be upon him. There was a little movement, they straightened a little, but still refused to unfurl. He exhaled painfully. "No more. Can't open them."

Larieth's voice turned away from Wyldfyre for a moment, and the silver dragon felt a stab of panic that he was being abandoned. But of course, that was not the case. "Art, hold on to our new friend, and keep a tight grip on me."

"I can hold on for myself!" Alara protested as Art offered her an arm.

Art shrugged as much as he could while holding on to the great dragons neck. "Seems she's fine where she is. Do what you have to, Larieth."

In one fluid movement, Larieth rolled beneath Wyldfyre in mid-dive, grabbing the silver dragon's wingtips and wrenching them outwards. Continuing the roll, Larieth emerged from beneath Wyldfyre's back, still holding on to the two wing tips and pulling Wyldfyre back over so he was the right way up. Wyldfyre screamed with pain, and the scream only intensified as his wings caught the influx of air from the dive and began to slow his descent.

It had taken too long, though, and the fall could not be completely stopped. At the last safe moment, Larieth released his friend's wings and beat his own to bring him downwards safely, if a little roughly, on to the crest of the rocky, angular hill they had been flying over.

Wyldfyre did not fare so well. His wings somehow stayed open once he was released, but he still struck the ground hard, throwing up a cloud of dust and gravel. His limbs folded uselessly beneath him and his underside struck the floor with a crack. He lay there, hardly breathing, a broken heap of a dragon.

As soon as Larieth landed, his passengers dismounted and the three raced to Wyldfyre's side. "Wylldfyre!" The blue dragon called, the panic finally rising into his voice. "Wyldfyre! Please answer me! In the name of the stars, answer me!"

The silver dragon groaned in pain and opened a single to look at Larieth. "I..." he stuttered, "I wish I hadn't run from you, father."

Larieth fought back the tears he felt climbing within him. "Don't worry, Wyldfyre, my child. It's going to be all right. Look," the dragon extended a claw past the crest of the hill, into the valley beyond where, rising up the mountain on the other side of the valley, were the broken remains of what must have once been a large and impressive city. "You made it home, Wyldfyre. That is Korylth."

Wyldfyre managed to smile weakly, then the single open eye closed and he lost consciousness. Larieth slumped to his side and wept, while Art and Alara looked out over the devastated city that used to be the capital of all the elven lands.

After a few moments, Art turned away from the sight and walked briskly over to his dragon friend. "Larieth, I know this isn't the best time, but it's not safe here. We have to move on, the Hoarde could come at any moment."

The blue dragon raised his head to look at Art, the last few tears rolling down his muzzle as he forced himself to his senses. "You're right, Art. We need to get to Korylth. As far as I could see, some of the main palace is still standing. We can hide there for a while." Larieth's gaze dropped back to his child, still lying unconscious in his dragon form. "Usually I could nudge Wyldfyre back into his trueform, but with such grievous injuries, I dare not try. I will have to carry him."

"You sure you can do that? He's almost as big as you are!"

Larieth smiled and closed his eyes, concentrating. "We have our ways," he replied cryptically.

Wyldfyre's limp form began to glow slightly and after a moment, lifted from the floor as if raised on an invisible platform. From his belly there was a trickle of blood issuing from the worst wound the giant bird had inflicted. Larieth drew a sharp breath as he saw the long gash, and redoubled his concentration, willing the wound to close up and heal. Then the unconscious silver dragon floated across to Larieth and was slowly deposited over Larieth's back, laid lengthways, his head propped up against the blue dragon's neck.

"It is tiring, but I can keep this charm on him for a while, and the bleeding is at least stopped, though his injuries remain severe." Larieth groaned a little, admitting the challenge this situation presented. "His weight will be reduced enough so that I may carry him, but we must make for Korylth quickly."

Art nodded. "Then we move now." He looked across the where the lady was standing, still wrapped up in the purple cloak and staring at the three of them. It was the first time Art had been able to have a proper look at her, noticing her feline features. There was a story there, no doubt, but it would wait. "Lady, may I have the pleasure of your name?"

"It's Alara," she replied. "And you are?"

"The name is Art," the swordsman smiled genially. "I'm from Aspinara, in the far south."

"Never heard of it. Glad you decided to show up when you did, though." The half-feline smiled in thanks and looked back out over the valley. "There's a track down the hillside nearby. We can use that, it should go directly to the city." She turned on her heels and headed off in the direction of the track.

Art scratched the back of his head ruefully. "You're welcome," he muttered as he turned back to his friend. "Come on, Larieth, we'd best follow her. Take it steadily, if you injure yourself carrying his weight, there's no way I'd be able to carry the both of you, levitation magic or no!"

Larieth managed a slight smile. "Thank you, Art." He paused for a moment, shifting his shoulders slightly to nudge Wyldfyre's head in line with his own neck. "I am glad I didn't manage to persuade you to stay behind in Aspinara."

As he walked alongside the blue dragon, following Alara to the trail leading to Korylth, Art chuckled. "So am I, Larieth! This is turning out to be an adventure to remember!"

Larieth shook his head a little, his smile gradually creeping further across his muzzle. Art was certainly a unique character. His good spirits never seemed to fade, not even under the dark thundering storm clouds of this dead land. And by the stars themselves, his laughter was infectious!

Art turned back and smiled as he heard Larieth chuckle along with him. "That's more like the Larieth I'm used to! Everything will be all right, I can feel it." With that, the companions began in earnest towards the ruined city on the far side of the valley.

**********

Wyldfyre slowly opened an eye. He didn't quite remember what had happened, or where he was. He felt the pain, though, aching all the way through his body, concentrating on occasional spots like his underside and along his wings.

As he lay there, trying to make sense of his situation, the memories slowly seeped back into him. The fight, the fall... Larieth.

Larieth! Wyldfyre jerked upwards at that thought, trying to raise himself and look around. His body erupted in pain and he cried out weakly before slumping back to the ground.

"Don't try to move, Wyldfyre. You're safe now." The tired voice belonged to Larieth, though Wyldfyre could not see him. He concentrated on trying to see properly, his tired, blurry vision slowly wielding as he focussed.

As the world became clearer, Wyldfyre could tell that he was in a courtyard of some sort. The ground was paved, and there were high walls all around him, topped with battlements, though they were in a state of disrepair, some missing whole chunks of their construction that had tumbled to the courtyard level, cratering the otherwise smoothly paved surface.

Raising his eyes, and being careful not to tilt his painful neck, Wyldfyre saw that the section above him was covered. To the sides were wooden pens, though most of them were decayed or broken. It looked like this was a stable of sorts, quite a large one, too, though the doors had been broken off, the shattered wood that covered the entranceway marking their demise. Thankfully, the large main gate of the courtyard wall, on the far side of the courtyard, seemed sturdy, and virtually intact. It was closed, and Wyldfyre didn't need to be told that it would be firmly locked.

The actual castle to which the stables belonged was not visible, but given the lighting of the surroundings, even in the dim evening light beneath the thick grey storm clouds that never seemed to dissipate over the once beautiful land of Athyria, Wyldfyre could tell that there was a very large, imposing structure to the left of the stables.

"Larieth, where are we?" Wyldfyre asked, the sudden pain along his neck reminding him not to move to see his friend.

There was a slight chuckle from the blue dragon, followed by a sigh. "I thought you might recognise your home, Wyldfyre! This is the palace at Korylth, the place you were born."

Wyldfyre smiled as Larieth spoke. It was old, it was decaying, but it was home. The place he'd longed to see for so many years was finally all around him. There was a tinge of sadness to see the place as it was, empty and lifeless, but the joy at having finally made the journey overcame it. The sadness would come later, once the feeling had had time to sink in.

Another memory came back to Wyldfyre, and he resisted the urge to look around. "Where's Alara?"

"Alara went with Art to check the castle, make sure it was secure. The walls look sound enough, but we thought it best to check anyway. I stayed here to watch over you." Larieth gave a short, tired, sigh. "I'm not in a state to go exploring the castle right now."

Wyldfyre yelped as he turned his neck at Larieth's last comment, and was rewarded with a flash of blue scales before he had to return his neck to its more confortable position. "Larieth? Are you all right?"

"I told you not to move, Wyldfyre." The blue dragon's tone was chastising, but warm with it. "I am fine, just tired from the effort of carrying you all the way here from where you landed. You, however, are not fine, and you need to stay still!"

"That would be much easier to do if I could see you for myself!" Wyldfyre complained.

Larieth chuckled lightly and Wyldfyre heard his companion groan as he pushed himself upright. The blue dragon stepped carefully around to the front of the stable, laying in front of his friend, and smiled at the silver dragon. "See?" He grinned. "I'm fine."

Wyldfyre nodded slowly, feeling a little less pain from the movement this time. His muscles, all tensed and strained from the shock of the heavy landing, seemed to be relaxing just a little. He stretched experimentally and bit back the yelp that tried to escape his mouth.

The silver dragon looked away from his friend and let his voice drop to just above a mumble. "I'm sorry, Larieth."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, my dear child," Larieth smiled warmly and reached a paw out to hold Wyldfyre's own. "I should have brought you here a long time ago. We would have been better prepared and ready for the dangers of this land. Your injuries are my fault, really." He looked away, his reproachful expression belying the feelings he felt for himself.

"Don't blame yourself, Larieth. I know that you only had my best interests at heart. As you always have done, right from the day you rescued me from here. I should have realised it sooner." Wyldfyre took Larieth's outstretched paw and squeezed it gently. "You have always been my father, and I should have trusted you more than just to run like that. I just wouldn't let myself admit it."

Larieth sighed again. "No, Wyldfyre, that's not true. My motives for keeping the whole truth from you were not completely selfless. I didn't want to lose you, I was afraid of what would happen."

Wyldfyre smiled and shook his head. "I don't believe it, Larieth. I have always put my faith in you, and you have never let me down."

"In that case," Larieth started slowly, a new expression, one of determination, forming on his face. "Let me justify your faith in me. Let me tell you the truth of what really happened to your people."


ALARA

I really shouldn't let myself get into these situations. Now I look back, it does seem rather ridiculous. Flying on a dragon you've only just met into the most dangerous part of the world, with no idea of what the goal is. I mean, just what is Wyldfyre looking for out here that isn't treasure and is worth as much as his life, which he damn near sacrificed trying to reach this place.

The jail cells in Gateway are sure starting to sound good about now.

Yet there is something about him... A certain innocence, and a warmth that draws people to him. Larieth would obviously follow him into oblivion without a moment's thought, and perhaps that is how this will end, but it turns out Art had barely known him before setting out across the continent to aid Larieth in finding and protecting him from the darkness Athyria holds.

But here we are, regardless of our motives. So I may as well try to make the best of it. The stories were true, there's nothing of real value left here. A once grand palace reduced to an empty shell by the Dark Hoarde, though I have no clue what they would want with things such as jewellery. I thought their aim was conquest, not self-beautification.

Not that it really matters. If Wyldfyre can come true with his word and rid my body of the magic that has held me in this unnatural form for so long, I will be more than happy.

Oh, and escaping unscathed from this wretched land would be nice, too.


ART

The outer palace walls were intact and secure. That was really the only bit of good news. Alara and I had swept the whole perimeter to check for any breaches, and it was very relieving to find that the elven construction had held up through so many years of neglect following the attack by the Dark Hoarde.

Of course, the Dark Hoarde also consisted of creatures that could fly, as we had witnessed with almost tragic results, but I really didn't want to think about that right now.

Alara and I were getting on well. I really don't understand why the inhabitants of the northern cities treated her so harshly. She was pleasant enough, though strong-willed and very independent, but I could tell she had a good heart, even after all those years of neglect and isolation. I suppose the proximity of those cities to the Hoarde made them a bit more sensitive to things like that. Even so, that was no real excuse to treat a lady badly.

Now the main problem facing us is that of Wyldfyre's injuries. I'm not sure how severe they are, but I don't think he'll be flying for a while. Maybe his shapeshifting magic could help, but I'm no authority on magic, and Larieth had said before that he feared making Wyldfyre shapeshift because of the seriousness of his injuries. But whatever the solution to our situation, we need time to make it work.

I just hope the Dark Hoarde is in a mood to co-operate.


LARIETH

It was all such a rush of emotion. I hadn't felt anything like it in a long time. Joy at finding Wyldfyre, terror at him being injured, guilt at letting him be injured, fear of being stranded within the Dark Hoarde infested land of Athyria, they were all there.

I just tried to focus myself on getting to safety. Wyldfyre was difficult to bear especially after so many hours of flying had tired me, and especially after the fight with the giant bird from the Hoarde. But I was not going to let anything stop us from reaching Korylth.

In the end, the journey had been trouble free. Either the Hoarde weren't interested in attacking us, which I found very unlikely, or they weren't present in great enough numbers to be confident of an attack. Which, come to think of it, I also found very unlikely.

But we had eventually reached the ruins of the elven capital city, and it had been remarkably easy to find our way to the palace. Interesting that Alara was able to trace the route, too, almost perfectly. She's an interesting girl, with a rough past, by the sound and look of her, but I get the feeling there's a lot more to her than she's letting on. Still, all in good time, I suppose.

And besides, right now I have a story to tell. A true story.


WYLDFYRE

It had been a long journey, and a dangerous one, but I had made it. We had all made it. Larieth and our new friends were united in the place of my birth. That fact alone was worth the pain. I feel guilty that I have put them through so much, but I realise now that I did not want to see this alone, and certainly not without Larieth.

Now the blue dragon I have always known as my father and dearest friend looks at me with caring eyes and begins to speak of my past.

He tells me the story.

He always tells me the story.

And as always, I listen... And this time it is the truth.