Having finished checking the outer walls for signs of breach or disrepair, and satisfied that the Dark Hoarde would not be able to easily reach them now that the main gate was secured, Art and Alara had taken to the palace itself, sweeping through looking for anything that might have been of use.
The entrance hall, once grand and impressive, was now ruined and dilapidated. The crystal chandelier in which light charms would have been suspended to magnificent effect had been brought crashing to the ground, embedding itself in the tarnished marble floor and spreading fragments of shattered crystal all over the hall. The tapestries hanging from the walls had, in most cases, been torn and shredded, and any item of furniture that could have been knocked over or smashed had been. It was a scene of destruction that they would find repeated throughout the palace. As they searched, it became clear that nothing of value was left intact, and nothing of much use, either.
“They really wrecked this place,” Alara said, a sense of sorrowful awe reflected in her tone as she picked her way through the shards of broken crystal on the hall floor on her way back to the main entrance. “The stories used to make it sound such a wonderful, beautiful sight. A palace like no other, they said.”
Art sighed and followed Alara’s nimble steps. “I heard the same stories on my travels, Alara, but they were written a long time ago. Just imagine the life Wyldfyre might have had if the war had not happened. It would have been one to envy, that I’m sure!”
“Life? What life?” Alara asked, not paying too much attention to the coverstaion as she hopped over a patch of broken crystal.
“Well, Wyldfyre’s life, of course,” Art replied with a hint of confusion in his tone. “Can you imagine the life of a prince inside these walls? Things would certainly have been different for him!”
Alara stopped in her tracks and spun round to face Art, who stumbled backwards in surprise as he hopped over the same patch of crystal Alara just had, narrowly avoiding stepping back into it. “What did you say?! Wyldfyre was prince? Here?!”
Art struggled to regain his composure. “Well, yes, he was. Did he not tell you?” Silently he cursed his own lack of confidentiality, hoping that Wyldfyre would forgive him for the slip.
The half-cat considered this for a moment, her eyes wandering around the hall before snapping back to Art’s slightly worried gaze. “But that would mean he’s an...”
Art nodded his response to the unfinished question, seeing little point in attempting to hide the obvious.
Alara smiled slyly. “Interesting. I had assumed he was a dragon, with all that shapeshifting.” Her thoughts seemed to drift for a moment before she snapped back to reality and she seemed to hesistate momentarily before continuing. “But I thought they were all dead?”
“So did I,” the sword master replied. “Until about a week ago, that is. I just wonder what else might be revealed before this journey is-”
“Wait! Do you hear that?” Alara interrupted, suddenly crouching, her cat-like ears laid back as she directed her sharp glance through one of the opened doorways in the hall.
Art span round and raised his hand to his back, grasping the hilt of his broadsword in readiness. He stared through the doorway that Alara had indicated and strained his hearing to try and make out what it was that the half-cat had heard. “I don’t-“
Then suddenly, there it was. A low growl, coming through the large door, which was only slightly ajar, obscuring the view of the room beyond. Alara looked up briefly at her companion, her voice a mere whisper. “I thought you checked through there!”
Art looked downwards at Alara, his face marked with surprise as he tried to keep his voice down. “I thought you did!” Looking back towards the door and hearing the growl growing louder, now also coming from more than one source behind the door if his hearing didn’t deceive him, Art grunted his irritation at being caught almost so off guard. “I don’t like the sound of this. Go for the door, now!”
Alara rose to her feet and made her way quickly past Art, who was still standing ready, hand on broadsword. She turned after a few steps. “You’re not staying here are you?”
As the growling grew yet louder, now definitely from more than one source, Art turned to look at Alara, and began to stride quickly through the broken crystal. “Not a chance! I prefer my battles to be in more open ground at least. Come on!!”
The two hopped their way through the broken crystal towards the main entrance to the palace. By the time they reached it, the pair were at a sprint, throwing the doors open and leaving without so much as a pause or a glance backwards. As they left, there was a crash and the sound of splintering wood as the door the growling had been coming from was ripped from its hinges and smashed to the ground.
“The stables, quick!” Art gasped as they ran. “If there’s even one here, there could be more in the palace, or anywhere in the gardens. We need to reach Larieth and Wyldfyre and consolidate our position. Maybe they can set up a barrier of sorts.”
“You sure about that?” Alara cried as she used her feline agility to keep pace with the swordsman.
Art smiled wryly and glanced across to the half-cat. “Honestly? I have no idea. But from what we’ve seen so far, I’m certainly hoping so!” He winced as there was another crash behind them, echoing across the courtyard as the main doors to the palace, which the pair had swung back shut behind them, were smashed back open. They rounded the corner of the palace and headed for the stables, hoping that Wyldfyre and Larieth were all right.
**********
Larieth placed his paws on one of Wyldfyre’s shoulders and closed his eyes. There was a glow from within his paws and the silver scales beneath them started to shimmer and ripple slightly.
“Try not to resist it, as you used to do when I taught you to shapeshift... Does that feel any better?” Larieth moved his paws slightly up over Wyldfyre’s back, opening his eyes slightly to concentrate on his work.
Wyldfyre stayed still, his head looking forwards, out of the stables. “I’m trying, Larieth. But it was hard then, and it is still quite difficult now. Though it does feel a little better, thank you.”
The blue dragon nodded and grinned. “Good. It is never easy to shapeshift someone else, even if they are willing. Any individual’s body is set into a natural pattern, and it is designed to unconsciously stay in that pattern, otherwise everyone would be randomly shapeshifting all the time! It takes a lot of will, on the part of the shifter to break that pattern, and a lot of effort on the side of the shiftee, as it were, to overcome the natural barriers that keep them in that shape, even if the goal is to restore the original pattern and heal injuries, as we are trying now.”
“I understand the principle, but it is still no easier to overcome that barrier!” Wyldfyre smiled, chuckling quietly.
“Try to stay still,” Larieth said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed his paws, which were now tracing around Wyldfyre’s side, beneath one of his wings, the pattern of rippling scales following their every move. “Try breathing in deeply, where does it hurt?”
Taking in a deep breath, Wyldfyre winced as he felt pain run through his chest, heavily bruised and possibly broken in places after his heavy landing. He gave the pain a moment to subside, carefully letting the breath go. “Just about everywhere, I’m afraid.”
Larieth nodded, removing his paws for a moment. “I thought as much. You’ll have to roll over on to your back, but I think the rest of you will be all right now, or as much as you could expect after a fall like that!”
Bracing himself for the inevitiable pain, Wyldfyre pressed his paws down on one side of his body, carefully and slowly rolling himself over. A muffled moan escaped his muzzle as he felt a particular flash of pain run through his chest, and his eyes began to water slightly, but he managed to make it over, his wings splayed out beneath him. He panted a little from the exertion.
“Good, Wyldfyre. Thank you.” Larieth extended his paws again and began the same slow action, drawing the glowing magic over Wyldfyre’s scales, rippling them and healing, shapeshifting the flesh below into its proper shape. The silver dragon could almost feel the muscle and tissue knotting itself back together, along with bones reconnecting and the bruising subsiding. After a few minutes more, Larieth removed his paws again and took a step back. “Better?”
Wyldfyre nodded with a smile. “Yes, it is feeling much better now, Larieth. Thank you.” He pushed himself to roll back upright, but felt a twinge in his chest and limply fell back to lying on his back. “Ouch...”
“Take it easy, my child. I’m not a healer by trade or training, I can only do so much.” Larieth placed a paw gently on Wyldfyre’s chest, using his magic once more to try and sense and mend the damage that had caused the discomfort. The pain subsided in Wyldfyre, but he was only moderately successful. “The rest will have to come naturally. If I had any choice, I wouldn’t have you fly for a while, or at least until we could get a proper healer to check you out. But we have little choice, I fear. When Art and Alara return, we should begin making preparations to fly to Hyaralene. There’s no telling how much time we may have.”
Wyldfyre pushed again, more carefully this time, rolling himself slowly upright and feeling no pain this time, much to his relief. He looked apologetically at his friend. “I know, Larieth, and I don’t wish to stay in this dangerous place any longer, I saw what I came to see, and I wish I hadn’t put you all through so much.”
Larieth smiled and placed a paw gently on Wyldfyre’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Wyldfyre. I should have told you the truth of your heritage and your people a long time ago. I only hope that you understand why I kept it from you for so long now.”
Wyldfyre opened his mouth to make a reassuring reply, but before he could speak, a crashing sound echoed around the courtyard. Both dragons looked quickly around and out of the stables, trying to discern the source of the sudden noise. There was nothing they could make out, but a moment later Art and Alara came hurtling around the corner of the palace at breakneck speed, dashing into the stables and coming to a screeching halt by the pair of dragons.
“Larieth!” Art panted, bending over slightly and resting his hands on his knees. “Can your magic make a barrier? Or a shield? Something to protect us in here?”
Larieth didn’t reply for a moment, astonished at the sudden appearance of their two companions. His thoughts suddenly flicked into focus and he stuttered out a reply. “Uh, yes, yes it can, Art. Why?”
Alara, slumped against the blue dragon, pointed out of the door as three tall, dark, savage looking creatures came charging around the side of the palace. “That’s why!”
Almost instinctively, the blue dragon raised a paw and concentrated his thoughts as he waved it across the entrance of the stables. A shimmering wall of light faded into view behind his paw as it swept across, blocking the entrance. The creatures were upon it in an instant, battering and clawing against the translucent barrier. Wyldfyre looked away in disgust as he saw their twisted, but obviously elven forms.
“Great, now we’re trapped in here,” Alara sighed, resting her head back against Larieth.
“How long will it hold?” Art asked, looking up at the blue dragon and unsheathing his broadsword.
Larieth winced as the creatures continued to hammer at the barrier, creating a strange noise like flexing metal. It was obviously taking some effort to maintain. “A little while, I think. But we have to figure out how we are going to get out of here. I think I will tire before they do!”
The swordsman clambered quickly over the wreckage of the pens in the stable, testing the walls at regular intervals, looking for any sign of weakness that they might use to create another entrance. As he finished checking the third wall, he turned back to his friends and sighed. “Well, the good news is that they won’t be coming in from behind us. The bad news is that we won’t be escaping that way either.”
Larieth narrowed his eyes in concentration again as another barrage of blows against the barrier put more strain on his efforts to keep it maintained.
“What about fighting?” Art suggested. “There’s only three of them, I’m sure we could beat them together.” He brought his broadsword up in front of him, smiling confidently. “Larieth? Wyldfyre? What do you say?”
“That’s all right, don’t mind asking me.” Alara complained, folding her arms across her chest and frowning as she rested against Larieth.
“My apologies, dear lady, I meant no offence.” The swordsman bowed slightly. “But I have not noticed any arms upon your person.”
Alara grinned and slipped a hand inside her purple cloak, neatly withdrawing a pair of short, silver daggers, their hilts wrapped in purple and green. “When you’ve lived as I have, it pays to stay prepared.”
Larieth groaned a little, his eyes now closed completely, pouring all his energy into holding the barrier up as the echoing sound of flexing metal increased, the barrier itself bending and flexing as he began to lose control of the magic. “I can’t. Can’t shapeshift, not while holding the barrier up. And Wyldfyre, he mustn’t either, or the shapeshifting magic I used to heal him might be undone.”
Art lowered his sword slightly, feeling a little disappointed. “But Larieth, that barrier will fall whether you shapeshift or not. Right now it’s our only way out.”
The blue dragon, his face now strained with effort, opened his mouth to speak, but was beaten to words by Wyldfyre. “I’ll hold it.” Forcing himself to his feet, which hurt less than he had expected, he raised a paw and held it up towards the barrier, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The effect was immediate; the barrier shimmered and seemed to gain more solidity, each impact against it having less effect. The creatures beyond the barrier sensed the change and they redoubled their attack. The strain of holding the barrier against such a strong barrage of attacks immediately impressed itself across Wyldfyre’s expression, his eyes shutting tightly. “Can’t hold it long!”
Lowering his paw, Larieth summoned his strength to himself and willed the change to take place. Scales flowed around him, changing and shifting in the way that was now familiar to Art, but frightfully new to Alara, who watched with a mix of wonder and uncertainty, stepping back slightly from the changing dragon.
After a few moments, Larieth the human stood before the pair, clad in his blue cloak and armed with the sword he always carried, already drawn from its sheath. He smiled and swung the blade experimentally through the air. “Very well, Wyldfyre,” he said quietly. “Let them come.”
With one final groan, Wyldfyre let his paw fall limply to the ground, panting with the exertion of his efforts as his three friends stood in front of him, ready to defend the silver dragon, and themselves. The barrier faded away as quickly as it had appeared, the light dissipating away into the air.
The twisted creatures did not move at first, uncertain whether the sudden disappearance of the barrier was a trick. Their hesitation created an opening that a swordsman such as Art could not resist, and he charged forward, swinging his sword high above his head. Alara and Larieth followed immediately behind, their weapons raised to strike against the unready creatures.
“STOP!” A voice like thunder echoed from the sky, stopping all the combatants in their tracks before even a single blow had been dealt. The creatures, shaken from their stupor, cowered back, as if they recognised the voice and feared it.
The four companions looked upwards in surprise, their various weapons held in mid strike as the creatures backed away. There was no discernable source for the voice, but nevertheless, it had spoken.
Suddenly, directly between the four companions and the creatures, a figure appeared. It strode into existence as if walking from behind a wall that was painted to look like the scenery behind it, out of the very air itself. A crack of thunder rang out at the same moment, almost as if it was timed to coincide with the newcomer’s arrival.
A black cloak that seemed to absorb the very light around it and was thick with the stench of death and dark magic shrouded most of the tall, imposing figure. It looked away, towards the three creatures, who were now cowering in fear from the new arrival.
“Leave us!” It commanded in a powerful low voice, almost too low to be natural. The creatures obeyed instantly, turning and running back around the palace and out of sight. Slowly, it swung its gaze back around to the four companions, who still held their weapons aloft, ready to strike at the slightest sign of hostility.
The head of the figure was covered by a thick hood on the cloak, but it slowly raised its arms and pulled the hood back to reveal a pale, almost grey masculine face, thin and gaunt, with eyes as black as night that somehow seemed to glow with an inner darkness. His straight white hair draped behind his shoulders, and he wore an unreadable grin that was somewhere between malice and pleasure without being either in particular.
The four immediately recognised the cloaked figure’s features as elven, but Alara saw something more than that, she saw something she recognised. She leaped at the figure, daggers aiming straight for his throat. “YOU!” She yelled, her voice lost in uncontrollable fury.
The figure simply raised a hand from beneath its cloak, the thin fingers reaching out in a grabbing motion, as if to snatch Alara from the air by her neck. But the movement was too early, and should have missed. The half-cat, however, found an invisible hand grasp around her throat and bring her to a choking stop in mid air, suspending her momentarily and then, as the figure swept his hand aside, throwing her to the ground with some considerable force. She collapsed in a heap and struggled to get her breath back, limply curling herself up into a protective ball and moaning in pain.
“Foolish,” the figure said in the same low tones as before, echoing around the courtyard as if his voice was ten times louder than it was. “For one gifted such speed and agility, I would have expected better.”
“So you are the one who opened the black door?!” Larieth demanded, his sword still raised at the black-cloaked elf.
Looking up at Larieth, the figure grinned, this time in a more menacing way. “I am chaos and darkness combined, dragon, I am the will of the Shadow made flesh! And I am your destruction!”
“You’re also melodramatic, elf.” Larieth said plainly, seemingly unperturbed by the dark figure standing before him. He noticed Art cast him a slightly unbelieving glance and smiled confidently. “Give us your name or give us your silence.”
The figure laughed heartily, raising his gaze to the sky for a moment, an opportunity to strike that Art felt hard pressed to resist, both driven on and held back by what he had seen happen to Alara moments before. For the moment, though, he held his ground.
“Brave, dragon,” the cloaked figure sneered. “Very well, you shall have my name, if only to know the name of that which will destroy you, and all like you. This shell’s name was Grimweir, now servant and master to the Shadow that will soon engulf this world and all others like it.”
“And what would the Shadow want with us?” Art finally spoke up, raising his voice, as well as his sword, brandishing the blade defensively.
Grimweir snarled angrily at Art. “The rebirth of the elven race under my control will be completed as it should have been twenty years ago! And you,” he raised a finger to point at both Art and Larieth, his angry expression melting into a slight smile, “will be most useful as my test subjects. You will aid me in bringing my darkness to your races, and the world will belong to the Shadow!” His voice rose into a roar, and thunder echoed through the courtyard to complement it.
Art felt something snap within him and he finally took his opportunity, striking his blade forwards in a great arc at Grinweir. “Not in my lifetime!” He cried.
In the same moment, Larieth threw a paw forwards, generating a magical blast of pure golden light, striking Grimwear square in the chest and opening him up to Art’s sword. The black cloaked elf was too quick, though, and as he recoiled from the magical attack, he managed to pull himself away just enough that Art’s attack caught only cloak and did not strike flesh.
“You dare to strike at me!” Grimweir roared in anger. Bringing both his hands from beneath his cloak, he summoned twin gouts of black flame to spring forth from his fingers, aimed directly at his two attackers. Larieth raised a paw and blocked the fire aimed at him with a magical defence of his own, but Art had no such protection. He recoiled back, unable to dodge the attack in time, only to find the fire evaporate into nothing just before it struck him.
“I’ve got it covered, Art!” The call was from Wyldfyre, who now stepped forward to join the battle, his paw glowing slightly from the energy of summoning a barrier to defend the swordsman. Art glanced at his silver friend and nodded appreciatively.
Grimweir reared up and roared in fury as the three warriors gathered in front of Alara’s prone form, protecting her from attack. His body seemed to gain a whole extra foot or two of height, and if it could be imagined, his cloak became an even deeper shade of black, going beyond black to the very colour of void itself. His whole form crackled with black energy and he began to lift off the ground, levitating upwards a short way. With an almighty shrieking roar, which seemed to tear the very air it travelled through, he threw his arms forward, unleashing a rain of black lightning against the three companions.
Larieth and Wyldfyre pushed themselves to their limits, hurriedly constructing magical barriers to block the incoming attack, but all their efforts merely crumpled before the might of Grimweir’s power. They were hit with almost the full force of the blast, as was Art, and all were knocked painfully to the ground in a rain of dust and smoke.
Silence fell upon the scene as the dust and smoke began to clear, save for the rhythmic tapping of boots on flagstones as Grimweir stepped slowly through the destruction, emerging from the dust cloud to look upon the fallen bodies of the four who had dare to defy him. “The Shadow does not play games with your kind. Submit to my will or face your end.”
The companions stayed still for a moment, each one of them conscious and desperately trying to figure out how they could escape this battle. Suddenly, Larieth felt something within him let go and rage boiled within him. He swung one of his wings upwards, following through with the rest of his body as he threw himself to his feet, catching Grimweir square in the chest and knocking him back a few feet.
The elven wizard immediately raised his arms to prepare another strike of black lightning to finish the dragon off, but Larieth had other ideas. He raised his wings high, presenting them to Grimweir as they began to glow with an intense silver light. Unleashing their attacks at the same time, bolts of black and silver energy met between the two, forming into a continuous stream of energy, cancelling each other out in the centre in a great roar of noise and air, blowing like a hurricane from the point of impact and sweeping through the entire courtyard.
“Fool!” Grinweir roared over the swirling winds as he poured energy into his attack. “You truly think you can defeat the might of the Shadow?! The power of an entire world pitted against the frail strength of a single dragon?!”
Larieth groaned with the strain of holding off such a powerful attack. “If you can throw all that power against me, servant of the Shadow, then do so! But I doubt your body could withstand the strain. You have your limits, and I will show you them!” He paused for a moment, forcing more energy into the attack, keeping the ray of silver energy matched with the ray of darkness opposite. “Wyldfyre! Get on your feet and get out of here! Now! I will hold this wingless son of a lizard for as long as you need!”
Wyldfyre scrambled painfully to his feet, his expression suddenly coloured with indecision. “But! ... No! I won’t leave you here alone to face him!” He tried to summon enough energy to strike with his own magical attack, but had been too depleted from his earlier efforts in keeping the barrier against the creatures raised to put up any more of a fight.
The blue dragon moaned as the dark power began to strain him to his very limit. “There is no time to argue, Wyldfyre! I am your father, and I am ordering you to leave this place and take Art and Alara with you!”
Art dragged himself upwards and looked over the dragon and dark elf, locked in their struggle. Seeing an opportunity, he charged around the outside of the battle and brought his blade around to strike at Grimweir, only to be caught by another ray of darkness coming from Grimweir’s free hand. The blast was not as strong as the last attack Art had suffered, the dark elf obviously distracted by the bigger battle, but it was enough to knock the swordsman to the ground with a thumping pain in his chest where the blast had hit, his leather armour smouldering slightly.
“You’ll not destroy me that easily!” Grimweir cried out. “My Hoarde! Come to my aid!”
From just beyond the corner of the palace, the three creatures that had retreated now reappeared, charging towards the battle, their claws raised.
“Wyldfyre! Leave, now!” Larieth cried out, his voice coloured with the agony of holding up his attack, the silver ray of energy he maintained now dimming slightly and showing signs of weakening. “There is no time!”
The silver dragon hesitated just a moment, blinking away the tears that rose to his eyes as he made he fateful decision. “Yes, father.” Unable to stop the tears flowing now, he scooped up Alara in his paws and motioned with his head to Art to climb on his back. The swordsman complied and limped across to Wyldfyre.
“Now, Wyldfyre! I can’t hold him for long! Go to Hyaralene, they will know what to do!” Larieth felt his strength failing as the dark ray of energy slowly overcame his own attack and closed the gap to the blue dragon.
With a stroke of his silver wings, Wyldfyre lifted himself off the ground, wincing as he tried to ignore the pain sweeping through his injured body. He forced himself not to look back as he climbed towards the clouds, carrying his two passengers.
After a few moments, there was a great explosion from somewhere behind Wyldfyre, and he heard Larieth scream in agony before all fell silent. Unable to hold back any more tears, the silver dragon screamed in sorrow, the sound echoing outwards as he struggled to keep his balance. Regaining his senses, he felt his wings begin to fail under the strain of his injuries and his passengers.
“Too heavy,” Wyldfyre forced through the tears. “I can’t keep going!”
“Wait,” Art shouted from the dragon’s back. There was the sound of shuffling and straps being undone, and then the silver dragon felt his load become lighter. Panicking slightly at what Art had done, Wyldfyre was glad to hear his voice shout from behind him again. “Is that better?”
Wyldfyre stretched his wings and found himself able to stay level and support the new lighter weight. He nodded and turned his neck to look back beneath him, seeing Art’s broadsword and leather armour tumbling earthwards. Trying to keep his mind on his flying, though it was impossible to forget what they were flying from, Wyldfyre steered his course westwards, towards the dragon lands.
**********
Grimweir emerged from the cloud of stone dust thrown up by the explosion and looked down at Larieth’s unmoving body. “Foolish dragon,” he smiled. “Let your friends run. Very soon there will be no place for them to escape the Shadow, and they will pay for their insolence!”
Alara
I don’t remember a lot of what happened, but I do remember him. Through all the years of wandering, struggling to survive, and trying to forget the past and find a new life, his was the one face I could not erase from my memory, no matter how much I wanted to forget. Only now, though, do I know his name - Grimweir.
He was the one who had kidnapped my sister and I while we were in the forest gathering nuts and berries all those years ago, the one who held us prisoner to perform his wicked experiments on us.
He was the one who killed my sister.
That was what rose in me when he turned to face us, I heard the screams of my sister, ringing out in my ears as if she was there right at that moment, suffering her fate all over again. My anger and sorrow boiled over within me, and that is what made me attack. It is also what made me so careless.
If I had been thinking about it, I would have expected no less of a defence from such a powerful wizard. It was not as before, when I had almost had my claws in him, this time he was not weakened from a great exertion as he had been at our last encounter. But even when I was young, my mother had said I was impulsive, and I guess that is something that I never really grew out of. So that was it, I was struck down before the battle had barely begun, and I cannot help but wonder if it would have gone any differently had I been able to help.
Wyldfyre tells me not, but then he’s not the most stable of people right now. Who would be, though, after they have lost the most important person in their life? The father and teacher who was always by his side, gone in an instant as he protected us just long enough to escape. It is a difficult thing to come to terms with, even for someone who had known him as short a time as I had.
Larieth, I did not know you long, but I mourn for you. Find your way to the next world safely, dear dragon.
Art
That broadsword was a gift from King Turell, one of the rulers of the eastern kingdoms. I earned it for my brave actions during a particularly nasty part of my travels involving an unholy beast and the city of Shakkarim. It was my most treasured possession, and yet I cast it away into the sky without a moment’s thought to aid in our escape. But that loss could not compare to the one we now face.
I saved the city of Shakkarim, but I could not save Larieth.
It all seemed so obvious to me. This was it, this was the culmination of a lifetime of experience, travelling, training and living. Together, the four of us would strike down Grimweir and free the elven kingdom from his dark power, the Shadow, as he called it. But it was not to be, and the price we paid for our failure was heavy.
Larieth and I had become fast friends during our week long journey northwards. We had shared a lot of stories, a lot of laughter, and a lot of sorrow. Some of the people back home would tell you that dragons spend their lives sat in dank caves guarding treasure and brooding over their solitary lives. I can tell you now, that is as far from the truth as it could be.
To prepare me for the journey into Athyria itself, Larieth had told me some of what we would face. The black door and the Dark Hoarde, their secrets were revealed to me as Larieth cast away the false history that had been learned by my people of a great war between the elves and the darkness. As I discovered, the truth was far more sinister.
It seems so hard to believe that just a single day ago, Larieth was walking through the Market in Gateway with me as we prepared ourselves for the journey onwards to Korylth. We both knew the dangers such an expedition posed, but neither of us suspected the fate that would befall us.
Know this, Grimweir. Even if it takes me an eternity and brings me to my own end, I will see your blood wash the ground for what you have done here today.
Wyldfyre
How could I have left him behind?! For twenty years Larieth cared for me, as my father, my friend and my mentor, and this is how I repay him. By leaving him to die at the hands of that damned soulless wizard! I should have stood by him, I could have helped, I could have added my strength to his attack, I could have done something...
I could have done nothing.
That is the truth that my heart refuses to accept. That I had no strength left, and that to even fly away from that place in one piece was something of a miracle. Now Art, Alara, and I fly in slience, the sadness of the day stealing our voices from us.
Art and Alara... they too are both victims of my folly. Why did I ever need to come here? Larieth told me time and again that there was nothing here for me, that the city of Korylth, and the whole land of Athyria, was no more than a dead ruin, a shadow of a once beautiful land. But still I came, dragging the three of them behind me, whether it had been my intention or not, and we have all paid the price, Larieth most of all.
My tears rain into the sky, and I almost throw myself to the ground there and then, to give Grimweir his wish and end the elven race by dashing myself against the rocks below. The only things that stop me are the need to see Art and Alara to safety, and the sure knowledge that to do such a thing would have caused Larieth all the sorrow that I feel now.
So for now, I fly on. For a moment I think I hear Larieth’s voice in my mind, repeating his last words, telling me to go to Hyaralene and seek the aid of the dragons there, which only makes me cry more, tears showering to the earth below. I don’t know if they will believe me, but it was Larieth’s final wish, for me to seek their aid and put a stop to whatever plans the Shadow may have, and I will see that wish carried out.
But it will not bring him back.
Larieth
In that moment as I lay on the ground, stunned by Grimweir’s attack of black lightning, something inside me snapped. I don’t know what it was, but there were a number of things that could have triggered it. Grimweir was the one who had opened the black door and unleashed the Shadow beyond. He was the one responsible for the death of my friends, King Torvus and Queen Railea, and he was the one who had destroyed Wyldfyre’s race and caused him so much grief throughout his entire life. I think that realisation would be enough to drive anyone to the limits of their fury.
And what fury it was. My blood felt as though it was boiling, and in a wave of adrenaline the pain of my fall from the last attack was forgotten. Angry lightning flashed through my soul and I struck out with more strength than I thought I could muster, my wing arching out and catching Grimweir full on as he came to gloat over his supposed victory, the rest of my body following and knocking him away.
What came next happened in a blur. Without thinking, I raised my wings and focussed the energy in my entire body, draining everything I could find in me to create one massively powerful strike. This time there would be no trick, no tactic, just pure brute force fuelled by my anger for this wretched, soulless disgrace to the elven race.
I cannot remember clearly if I ever expected to succeed in my attack. But when Grimweir matched my furious magical attack with one of his own, what glimmer of hope there was in me faded. Only one thing remained clear in my mind - my child must survive. Call it parental instinct, if you will. Memories of Wyldfyre flood my mind, of all the time we spent together as he grew, learned and became the grown elf he is today. In those moments I feel proud, and I am satisfied with the life I have been able to give him.
I see Art try to attack the elven wizard, but I know it will not work. Grimweir is beyond any of us on an open battlefield. He does not lie when he says he has the power of a whole world behind him, and even though his current shell of a body does not have the strength to wield it all at once, that power makes him tireless and able to sustain such an attack far longer than any dragon ever could. My situation is hopeless, but it is not my situation that I care about.
I call out for Wyldfyre to leave, and to take Art and Alara with him. We should never have involved either of them in our journey, even though they both seemed to think that they had much to gain by accompanying us. He hesitates, and my heart screams out desperately for him to leave. He must not die here - he must go on living! I call out again, and I despair at the tone of his voice as he finally concedes and lifts himself into the air. I can only hope and pray to the sky that the healing I tried to perform on him has given him the strength to make it away from here.
The stroke of his wings fades into the distance and Grimweir and I are left alone, locked in the struggle that could only ever have one outcome. My strength fades and the bolt of silver energy I have poured my power into slowly crumbles in front of me, allowing Grimweir to gradually force his prolonged attack into me. With one final surge, the dark energy is upon me, and I am wrapped in agony and thrown backwards as I finally sense the true depth of power the Shadow commands.
I fall to the ground and, as the light fades, I remember the first time I set foot in Illashara, mere days after escaping Athyria with the young Wyldfyre in my arms. One night, as Wyldfyre slept, I looked to the clear night sky and made a formal vow to the memory of Queen Railea that I would protect Prince Ithera with my life. And finally, I have fulfilled that promise. Darkness falls upon me, and in the distance I hear laughter, but not that of Grimweir gloating over my broken body. I see Wyldfyre, my own son, laughing gleefully as a child as he watched the colourful balls of light I would conjure for him when he was young, dancing and floating through the air around him. Back then he was happy, and so was I.
Farewell, Wyldfyre.
