A Warrant of Wyverns

by Michael Angel

  I remembered being yanked into the darkness. The feel of a steely cable of scale-covered flesh wrapping around me, pinning my arms, lifting me away from my friends. The smell of something cool, vaguely metallic in my nose.

  That made me realize something else.

  Gingerly, I brought a hand up to my face. My goggles and face mask were gone. It wouldn’t have taken much to knock them free, but it was a shock nevertheless. I took a cautious sniff of the air.

  No cayenne pepper scent. No overripe pineapple, either. The most my nose could pick up was the same general ‘moist rock’ smell that seemed to come from all directions.

  Then came the sound and the lights.

  My neck turned into a solid mass of goose pimples as I heard the slithering of scales on rock. And whatever it was wasn’t little—not by a long shot. In fact, there was a lot of slithering. Whatever was coming my way was big, and it wasn’t trying to hide that fact.

  The lights came next. Ten of them, actually. They were tiny blue-green points that glowed up high against the darkness with the same watery bio-luminescence used by deep-water fish. The points swayed and bounced as they slowly moved in my direction. Oddly, the pattern and the distance between the points of light remained constant, as if they’d been strapped to a display frame.

  I got to my feet cautiously, feeling overhead in case the ceiling was within skull-cracking distance. I didn’t encounter anything, so as soon as I was upright I tore off my gloves and went for my firearm.

  The comforting weight of the gun’s handle slipped into my palm. I began to pull the weapon free.

  Wait, my mind implored. Stop! Think!

  My brain usually had something useful to add, so I decided to go along with it. For now.

  The image of a diving griffin with talons and beak gleaming in the sun filled my mind. That was followed by the memory of the wyvern I’d fought at the Spring Tournament. The scaly head lunged at me, razor-sharp teeth snapping.

  A question popped into my head. What is the difference between the two?

  Well, one was reptilian, the other avian. One was green, the other dun and white. But that wasn’t it, not exactly.

  Then the answer slid into place.

  The difference was that while both were scary, only one was dangerous.

  I moved my hand away from the gun as I did my best to exert some real control over my breathing. But my brain was making too much sense for me to ignore it.

  If this creature had wanted to harm me, then it would have done so already. If it had wanted an easy meal, revenge, or just to kill, I’d have been long dead. If it had wanted to stash me away here for its future larder, then it would’ve incapacitated me in some way.

  My time in Andeluvia had changed me, but in one way above all. It had taught me through experience after experience that qualities like intellect, reason and compassion existed in many more species than humans.

  So the fact that this creature had left me unharmed meant only one thing.

  It wanted to talk.

  I waited in the dark as the lights drew closer. As the slithering grew louder. One of my hands twitched as a not-inconsiderable part of me screamed that I should grab my gun and start shooting. The other hand pressed itself flat against the cold, smooth stone wall in fear. Finally, the illumination put out by the ten glowing points was enough for me to make out a face.

  A nightmare wyvern face.

  It was framed by jagged teeth and a crowned skull made up of sharp plates of scale or bone. That was pretty much expected. What made my eyebrows raise in surprise were two other things. First, the ten lights turned out to be luminescent points at the end of the spikes that protruded from around the thing’s head.

  And second, the creature’s eyes were warm amber, more like that of a griffin than a cold, unthinking dinosaur-thing. The head drew a little closer to me, no more than two or three yards away, before coming to a stop.

  The wyvern’s head must have been twice the size of mine, and its mouth proportionately larger. It opened its jaw slightly, allowing me an even better look at the rows of teeth this creature possessed. A flesh-pink forked tongue snaked out of its mouth and flicked the air.

  Once again, I had to clamp down on my emotions. The immediate fear of ‘it’s trying to see if I’m good to eat’ almost overwhelmed me. The wyvern’s tongue retreated and it let out a breath through twin armored nostrils. A warm iron smell surrounded me, leaving a taste like dried blood in my mouth.

  The wyvern continued to look at me curiously a moment longer. Then it rose vertically, casting shadows against the wall as it did so. The spine-lights along the creature’s skull finally illuminated a domed ceiling that loomed at least fifteen yards overhead.

  What happened next made me gasp in wonder.

  The wyvern brought up a winged forelimb, held it near the ceiling, and flapped it gently back and forth. The toasted scent of sun-warmed sand filled my nose as it did so. Suddenly, the ceiling began to twinkle like the inside of a planetarium. Hundreds, then thousands of star-points winked into being, doing its tiny part to illuminate the room.

  I found myself inside one of a trio of connected chambers, each with a domed ceiling connected by a series of arched vaults. My face mask and goggles lay where they’d fallen, only a few feet away. The little lights spread out overhead in a range of colors from glacial blue to the red-orange of a desert sunset. Whatever the glowing points were made of, they had been laid out in complex concentric patterns that radiated out like ripples in a still pond.

  It was dazzling, and unexpected, to say the least. In fact, it was the last thing I would’ve expected to find down in this dark place. But then, neither did I expect to find a wyvern. One who still didn’t seem to have crime scene analysts from Los Angeles on the lunch menu.

  I finally got a better look at the creature before me. It clambered down from the ceiling along a set of marks on the wall, obviously set in place for easy access by wyvern claws. Then it sat before me in its horror movie majesty, as if patiently waiting to see what I would do next.

  No, not ‘it’, my mind said urgently. ‘She’. It must be a ‘she’.

  Once more, my time in Andeluvia had trained my brain to make the most of a startled first impression. Just as I’d learned to read emotions through the ever-stern countenance of a griffin’s face, I’d also gotten better at determining gender in an alien species. This creature did have a feminine air to it, no different than the impression I’d gotten when first meeting Hollyhock of the Reykajar Aerie or Jett of the Seraphine.

  The reptile here had a slenderer, more delicate build than the corpses I’d seen outside. It was a strange observation to make, considering how she was almost triple the size of any wyvern I’d ever seen. From nose to tail, she was easily thirty feet of coiled muscle, wing, tooth, scale, and spike.

  Her color was at odds with the others as well. Instead of the usual green or black, her scales were a burnished copper or gold. Her wings, tail, and two rear legs shaded to black only at the very tips, in the same pattern I’d seen in several griffins. But there was something to her look that puzzled me, at least until I thought back to a trip I’d made during my second year in college.

  I’d taken a summer course in Siena, a medieval-era city in northern Italy. I remembered visiting a museum where they were restoring Renaissance-era paintings. Even though the colors were faded, the outlines blurred, one could make out the brilliance and skill of the artist from long-ago. You only had to stretch your imagination to see the real beauty of the past.

  That’s what made me realize that this wyvern must be ancient. Her scales held their color, but the edges were dulled by wear. Her enameled jaws were a lackluster yellow instead of white, and there were small gaps where a triangular saw tooth or two had fallen out. Her bat-like wings had little rips and tears in them, like the screen at a run-down movie theatre. While her form was naturally lithe, she showed signs of gauntness caused by hunger or extreme age.

  Yet for all
that, she was an impressive creature.

  She moved one of her long, skeletal hands towards me. Each finger was tipped with a scalpel-sharp claw the width and length of a Swiss Army pocket knife. Dangling from her ‘index’ finger was a chunky amulet on a golden chain.

  I held out a trembling hand. She tipped her claw and the chain slipped off, dropping the amulet into my shrinking palm. I glanced at it, surprised at the thing’s weight. A thick gold band encircled a hunk of citrine crystal, one that had been cut into an oval. The gem let light pass through it, casting rainbow shapes on the floor below.

  She lowered her hand to a patch of sand near my feet and scratched out a pair of symbols with amazing dexterity. The symbols were complex, a mixture of Arabic text circumscribed by circles made up of Celtic-styled knots and whorls.

  “Um…” I mumbled, my voice echoing with uncertainty in the high-domed chamber. “I don’t read ‘wyvern’, I’m sorry.”

  The wyvern pointed at the amulet, then back at one of its own amber-colored eyes. I nodded, finally understanding. Squinting, I held the amulet to my open eye, like I was looking through a monocle.

  It took me a second or two.

  My breath whistled out as I realized what I was looking at.

  Chapter Eleven

  The complex calligraphy of the wyvern’s handwriting shifted through the amulet’s makeshift lens. Before my eye, the dark outlines in the sand shifted and squirmed, reforming into a newer, simpler pattern. It wasn’t English, but it was a form of writing that I did recognize after hours of weary study.

  These were the runes I’d first come across in the Codex of the Bellum Draconus.

  I walked closer and then carefully knelt on the sand next to the first symbol. Finally, I could focus the image in my medallion ‘viewfinder’. I recognized it as one of the dozen or so that I’d successfully translated using one of Master Seer Zenos’ books.

  The Great Mother.

  My mind went back to the last conversation I’d had with Master Seer Zenos. I’d told him about the phrase I’d finally figured out.

  Next to some of those signs was a repeated phrase. ‘The great mother shall return to us’.

  My hand shook a little as I traced the outlines of the second rune in the air. This one came more quickly to me.

  Change.

  At least, it might have been ‘change’. Based on the context, the Codex could have meant ‘change’. It could also have meant ‘enlightenment’. But most chilling was the last possible translation, ‘reckoning’.

  Silent as death, the wyvern lowered her spiked head so that it rested at my level. Her mouth opened and she spoke for the first time. Her voice sounded like breaking rock, an angry snake, and a boiling pot of oil, all at the same time.

  Still, I made out the words.

  “Cho-ha,” she said, her claw extending to the first symbol.

  “Na-gu-rah,” she said next, as her claw moved to the second symbol.

  Fixing me firmly with her eyes, she finally moved her appendage to indicate herself.

  I looked back at the giant reptile, pointed at her, and repeated her words back.

  “Cho-ha. Na-gur-rah.”

  Reaching back to the sand, the wyvern drew a third symbol. A quick glance through the amulet and I immediately recognized the rune. I’d never translated it before, but I would know it anywhere.

  It was the very first rune listed in the Codex under the Creatures of the Light. The one that also mentioned the fayleene and griffins. Slowly, the wyvern moved her claw back up towards her face. My gaze followed, rapt.

  She pointed at herself again.

  “Hak-seek-kah.”

  “Right,” I said, feeling a little more confident. “You’re Mother Nagura of the Hakseeka’.”

  Then for the third time today, my mind did its clicking thing. I glanced at her again, startled.

  “You’re the one,” I murmured, astonished. “You’re the one mentioned in the Codex prophecy. The Great Mother of the Wyverns. The Great Mother that was foretold. The one to bring Change. Or the one to bring Enlightenment. Or…”

  My voice failed me as I thought of all the dead wyverns lying outside.

  Or the one to bring the Reckoning.

  Suddenly, Nagura let out a chuffing sound. Her wings drooped, and she lay stretched out across the floor, panting like a diesel engine. I couldn’t imagine that it was a healthy sound for a wyvern of any age.

  I steeled myself and moved to her side. I tried to lay my hand on the side of her head, but I couldn’t find any non-pointy surfaces. Instead, I stroked the scales on the side of her neck. They felt cool and dry, like a run-of-the-mill snake from my world.

  “What’s the matter, Nagura?” I asked. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  I seriously doubted that the mother of the wyverns understood my words, but the intent must have been clear. She raised a clawed hand and moved it out ahead of her. The hand’s attached wing rasped as it dragged on the ground. Her index finger extended ahead towards a small side passage, barely a crack in the wall of the room.

  Curious, I walked over to the passage. I’d have to contort myself to fit through it, while Nagura herself would have found it difficult to even stick a hand in. Peering inside, I dimly saw a shimmer from deep within. Then something tickled my ear, and I listened intently.

  The burbling sound of flowing water came from within.

  I glanced back at Nagura’s weakened form. She still looked like something right out of a pooka-sent nightmare. But she’d already shown intelligence and a willingness to communicate, which counted for a lot. I wasn’t going to let her suffer for no reason.

  Though I didn’t have a cup or bowl with me, I improvised by grabbing the face mask I’d brought along. Unlike most dust masks, this one had a rigid concave shape molded from pre-formed neoprene. Not the best, but at least it wouldn’t soak through.

  A quick inhale, and I squeezed my way into the crack, scraping my elbows and knees as I did so. I sort of crab-walked my way along for a couple feet until I came out into a little grotto the size of a broom closet. Droplets of water tinged with that same low-level glow streamed from a stalactite above into a little pool.

  Praying there weren’t any contaminants in this strange liquid, I scooped up a couple gulp’s worth with the mask and balanced it in my hands. Then I inhaled and scraped my way back down the length of the crack. By the time I emerged, my Andeluvian cloak was in sore need of a good dry-cleaning, but I hadn’t spilled any of the water.

  Moving close to the wyvern, I knelt by her mouth. She extended her tongue, which was flexible and muscular enough to form an indentation right behind where it forked. I carefully poured the contents of my makeshift neoprene container into that fleshy dimple, which Nagura then slurped down.

  She shuddered, making the pebbles on the floor around us jump and rattle. Then she sat up, a fresh gleam in her bright amber eyes. I got to my feet, more than a little amazed at her recovery.

  “Whatever that stuff is,” I remarked, “it must have a kick.”

  The wyvern pointed to herself and repeated her name. Next, she extended that same sharp claw towards me, almost touching my chest before turning her hand to the side and spreading her fingers, as if to say, ‘what about you’?

  “Dayna,” I said slowly. I tapped my fingers against my chest for emphasis. “Dayna Chrissie.”

  Nagura tried saying my name a couple of times. The best that she could do was “Nay-na. Kris-shi.”

  It only took me a moment to figure it out. The problem was physiological – specifically, the strange makeup of the wyvern’s mouth. It didn’t seem that Nagura had the right ‘soft’ structures like a fleshy palate or lips to make certain sounds easily.

  I had no idea how a deer-like creature like Liam – let alone a beaked one like Shaw! – could form human words so well. Yet somehow, they made it work. Ethereals like the pooka or fiery spirits such as the phoenix had gone straight to direct mind-magic to communicate. But th
is wyvern’s problem was one I simply hadn’t encountered before.

  Nagura looked behind me, and then reared her head back. She made a rasping sound like a badly oiled power sander. I whirled, but saw nothing but a darkened passageway at the far end of the room.

  Straining, I listened more closely. Faint sounds tickled my ear. Something was approaching, and fast. Whatever it was, made even the majestic wyvern pause and take stock of its defenses. I could only pray that the sounds were from my friends and not some even scarier form of subterranean beast.

  Turning, I faced the dark passage, my hand ready to go for my weapon.

  Chapter Twelve

  With an amazing level of dexterity for something so large, Nagura clambered up the claw-holds on the wall with her hind legs and winged foreclaws. Once at the top she flipped upside down, clinging to the ceiling like a gigantic scaly bat. The wyvern hung there, her long black tail thrashing the still air as if it were a stiletto made of black steel.

  Nagura opened her mouth and let out a hiss, sounding like a pissed off truck radiator. I’d never seen a creature simultaneously project fear and nightmarish aggression at the same time.

  Shaw’s voice echoed from the passage. “Aye, over there! ‘Tis a light up ahead!”

  A ball of jouncing weirlight appeared, telling me that Galen was with Shaw. The first one through the door, with a clatter of cloven hooves, was the Fayleene Protector’s sleek form. I’d barely taken a breath before the Wizard followed on his tail. Then Shaw burst from the passageway, letting out a leonine roar as he spotted Nagura’s reptile form.

  The wyvern thrust her head out at my side. The sound of a boiling cauldron of pitch came from her mouth. I held my arms out, the magical amulet dangling awkwardly from one hand, and shouted to be heard over the quartet of angry creatures.

  “Everybody, STOP!” I cried.

  Amazingly, they did so. Liam skidded to a halt, though his antlers were held low and ready to attack. Galen braked to a stop behind him, his sphere of magical light spinning in his palm. Shaw hovered above the two, his talons pistoning in and out as he flexed his forepaws. A feline growl came from his stout black beak.