by Bianca D'Arc
Rath peeked backward, craning his long neck to the side so he could take stock of what was going on back there. The sight that met his eye shocked him so deeply, he froze in place for several seconds, astounded.
A single man in battered armor was climbing onto the skith’s back in a maneuver that was completely unheard of. All the while, the skith flipped and tried to roll, a maneuver designed to crush the man beneath the skith’s giant body. The man was either insane or had some kind of death wish.
But as Rath watched in those few seconds that seemed like a lifetime, the warrior wrapped his legs around the skith’s bucking neck and, using both hands in an upraised strike, he plunged the point of his sword downward into the skith’s brain. Acidic black blood oozed out from around the hilt of the sword, which was buried in the top of the skith’s head.
The creature wavered for one long moment, then collapsed to the ground. Dead.
The man slid off the creature’s neck and looked around himself, seeking a new enemy. Rath was amazed at his audacity and completely impressed with his skill and bravery. This man was a warrior worthy of the name…and then some. Never had Rath heard of a single man bringing down a full-grown skith without magic or some sort of aid and walking away unharmed.
“Flightmaster! We flame!” came the warning cry from one of the dragons above.
“To me, soldier!” Rath trumpeted both mentally and with a roar as he turned his head to flame the skiths in front of him once more.
Rath spread his wing to cover the warrior on the ground a split second before fire rained down from the sky above them. Either the man had heard Rath’s silent warning or he’d realized he was about to be toasted and sought the only protection available. Whichever the case, Rath was glad the brave man was protected from his brethren’s fire as the area around them was bathed in a nearly continuous stream of dragon fire.
One after another, the knights and dragons aloft made one long pass that took out the remainder of the skiths beneath them. Rath and his two companions on the ground flamed constantly, creating an impenetrable wall in front, while the main attack force in the air reduced the rest of the skiths to smoldering cinders.
After several minutes of this concentrated attack, the skiths were no more.
And the courageous man who had in all likelihood saved Rath’s skin, remained crouched beneath his wing, protected as best Rath could manage, from the rain of fire all around. He was probably hot, but hopefully not burnt.
Chapter Two
“It is safe to come out now, warrior.” Rath spoke mentally, hoping the man sheltering beneath his wing would understand as he retracted his protection. “The skiths are no more.”
The man stood from the crouching position he’d taken and looked around. Rath noted the dual sword sheaths on his back and realized this two-handed fighter was still armed. He had lost one of his curved blades to the skith’s skull, but he still had another, already gripped in his hand.
The warrior paused to take stock of the situation before turning to look up at Rath. All was quiet for the moment, but they both seemed to realize that would not last. The enemy soldiers were even now regrouping. They might attack, even with the dragons present, or they might retreat. The defenders had to remain vigilant.
“Thank you for protecting my back, warrior. Never before, in all my years, have I witnessed a lone man kill a full-grown skith. I have never seen the like.” Rath wondered if the remarkable man could hear him. It was a rare gift to be able to speak with dragons.
“I have never seen the like of the fire storm you and your fellows just unleashed, Sir Dragon.” The warrior smiled broadly, the exhilaration of battle clear in his every move. “Thank you for shielding me.” The warrior bowed low, a sparkle of adventure in his gray eyes as he moved quickly. “But for now, I have to muster the troops in case the enemy is fool enough to press forward. I bid you good day.”
The man moved nimbly away, already calling battle commands to the soldiers who awaited his orders. This, then, was the keep’s new Master at Arms so many of the knights had been gossiping about. They had said he was a warrior the likes of which they had never seen and judging by what Rath had just witnessed, they were right to talk of him. His courage was either completely foolhardy…or the stuff of which legends were born.
He was not a young man, so perhaps it was the latter. He would not have lived so long if he were truly a fool with more courage than brains.
But had he heard Rath when he spoke into his mind? Rath couldn’t be certain but was intrigued enough to want to know much more about this strange warrior. Rath tried to follow the man, but the stinging burn along his shoulders made him hiss in pain.
Damn. He’d forgotten the venom.
Rath craned his neck around to inspect his shoulder joint. It was angry and red. Already the acid had eaten through the top layer of scale, which was thinnest at the joint. He needed to do something about this before it got any worse.
Water. He needed water—and lots of it—to dilute the acid. Looking around, Rath spotted the old well that was pretty much all that was left of a once-beautiful farm. He began walking slowly and painfully over to the well.
More dragons were arriving. More experienced fighters from another battle wing that had been dispatched from the Border Lair. Rath spotted two knights circling, coming in for a landing near the well.
“Gareth and Lars will help you while we guard, Flightmaster,” a young dragon named Kelvan said in Rath’s mind. He knew both of the knights the youngster named and had been glad when they found their mate, a lovely woman named Belora, who was a lost daughter of the Royal House of Kent. Such a happy mating among the younger generation of dragons and knights boded well for their new Lair.
“I would be glad of any help you can give. I got sprayed from behind.” Rath deliberately included both Gareth and Lars in his communication, along with the lovely young female dragon Rohtina, who was Kelvan’s mate.
“We saw,” Rohtina answered. She was somewhat soft-spoken for a dragoness, but that was probably because she tempered her words around Rath. Oddly enough, she seemed in awe of her own grandsire. Rath could only imagine the tales his daughter Rohna had told her daughter about him while Rath had been in the seclusion of mourning for Faedric. “That man killed the skith,” she went on haltingly. “All by himself.”
Her tone captured perfectly the amazement they all felt at such a feat. The dragons landed and Gareth and Lars jumped down from their backs, but there was someone at the well already. A small figure in battered armor was already pulling buckets of water up from the deep well and positioning them at the ready, Rath saw as he stumbled the last few feet. One of the locals must have realized he needed help, thank the Mother of All. The sooner they diluted the acid, the better.
The two knights thanked the busily working local fighter and grabbed the buckets, running to Rath’s side and delivering the blessedly cool water just where he needed it most. Both knights had seen such burns before. They had learned dragon anatomy from their partners and knew how best to apply the small buckets of water to the greatest effect. They ran back and forth many times, while the small figure at the well kept them supplied with bucket after bucket of much-needed water.
When it became clear the enemy was in full retreat, others came over to help. The Master at Arms sent them to Rath’s side and the knights and the figure at the well organized them into a line that passed the buckets even faster between the dragon and the well. It didn’t take long after that for the burning pain to ease. The venom was diluted enough to be harmless on the ground and on the dragon’s scaled back.
“I don’t think you can fly on this for a few days, Flightmaster,” Lars said aloud, inspecting the wound. Rath had suspected as much, judging by the pain he still felt when he tried to move the joint. The acid had burned deep.
“We will care for him,” a feminine voice called from in front of him.
Rath moved his head to regard the slight figure that had labore
d so tirelessly at the well. It was not a small man or boy, as he had thought. As she walked toward him, she took off her helm and a tumble of golden-red curls fell around her shoulders. It was a woman. A swordswoman who had fought alongside the men, then come to his aid when she had seen Rath walking painfully toward the well.
He looked at her anew. This was a woman not only of courage and strength, but of intelligence as well.
“Lady Cara,” Gareth said with some surprise, moving forward to meet her, his hand extended in welcome. “I did not realize you led the keep’s forces now.”
“Lead?” She laughed as she took his hand in a friendly clasp usually reserved for warriors. “I do not presume to lead. I leave that to our new Master at Arms. But we have so few able-bodied fighters left, it is important for all who can heft a sword with any skill to answer the call when Skithdron renews its attack. I thank you on behalf of my brother for coming to our aid this day. Especially you, Sir,” she addressed Rath directly. That was something most humans who did not often mingle with dragons seldom did, especially females.
Gareth escorted her closer to Rath. “Flightmaster Golgorath, this is Lady Cara Fadoral, sister to the new Lord of House Fadoral, daughter of old Lord Harald, who fell in the first waves of fighting along this border.” Gareth’s tone was suitably solemn as he made the introductions.
“In fact, he fell defending this very farm,” Cara added with a heartfelt glimmer of tears in her pretty blue eyes. “My brother Envard and I used to play in this orchard when we were little. It used to be a place of great joy but has been turned by our enemies into a land of sorrow.”
Rath bowed his head to the young lady. “I am sorry for your loss, Lady Cara.” He spoke the words, though it was doubtful any but the nearby knights and dragons would hear.
She returned his bow, greeting him as if they were not on a battlefield, but in a receiving room. She had grace, this lady did, and a courage he had seldom seen in the few human females he had known.
“Thank you for helping us, Flightmaster. My brother lies abed under the healer’s care for grievous wounds suffered in battle, but I extend the hospitality of our keep to you. For without you, there surely would not be a keep left by now. Never before have such numbers of skiths been shepherded to our doorstep. I can’t imagine what we would have done without your timely intervention.”
“He won’t be able to fly without danger of making the wound much worse until the burns have a chance to heal a bit,” Lars said, walking forward and greeting the lady. “We can arrange for medicine and a healer to come to him, but he will need a place to rest for a few days while he recovers. If you won’t mind having him in the keep courtyard, we can rig up a shelter for him.”
“I would invite him into the main hall!” Lady Cara said with a smile. “But I fear he would not fit through the door. The place was not built with dragons in mind and for that, I am sorry. Whatever I can do to make your stay with us more comfortable, I will do with gladness. Can you get him there on your own or should I arrange for a cart or something?” She looked at Rath with a measuring eye and a bit of humor that appealed to him. “Though I don’t think we have anything big enough to carry him, much less enough horses to pull it.”
Rath appreciated her humor in the face of the horrors of the day. She had come perilously close to facing skiths one on one. He liked the way she bounced back from such a grave threat. He chuckled along with her, sending smoky ringlets into the sky with his laughter. She caught his eye and winked at him, clearly realizing they shared their amusement. It was a rare moment of bonding with a human he had only just met. So few non-Lair people were comfortable around dragons. Certainly few newcomers dared to tease them. He enjoyed the moment even more for its novelty.
“I can walk,” he grumbled, already beginning to move. “I’m not the most elegant on land, but I can still get where I’m going.”
With that, he turned and began to make his way toward the keep he could see in the distance. It might take a while, but he’d get there eventually. Hopefully with his dignity intact.
“Flightmaster, I will go ahead to make a place ready for your arrival,” the lady said, jogging up beside him. A servant approached with a lovely little mare that was well trained and did not shy away from him.
He watched with some surprise as she vaulted into the saddle and rode off at great speed, stopping only a few times to consult with some of the fighters that had remained to guard and clear the area of debris or anything that could be used against them the next time the skirmishes started. Rath noted the Master at Arms organizing his troops and the way his eyes followed the lovely lady as she rode across the fields toward her home.
If Rath wasn’t much mistaken, the Master at Arms had more than the normal admiration for his employer’s sister. Rath liked the man even more. He had appreciation for a fine woman who was not quite the norm. That showed good judgment, in Rath’s opinion.
He was looking forward to staying at the keep for a few days. He needed to know more about these people. They were by far some of the most interesting humans he had come across in all his years.
Rohtina walked at Golgorath’s side, her knight off talking with some of the soldiers from the keep. She was hesitant to talk to her grandsire, but she wanted to get to know him better and this seemed like a good opportunity.
“Flightmaster, are you in much pain?” She made the first foray into conversation.
“Sweetheart, I am your grandsire. Can you not call me such?” His head swiveled to look at her even as he continued to move slowly forward.
She ducked her head. “I did not want to presume.”
“We are family, Rohtina.” The great Flightmaster sighed, sending a small stream of smoke toward the heavens. “I regret that my mourning period coincided with your fledging. I would have liked to have known you as a youngster. But it could not be helped. I had no idea Rohna had mated, much less had a daughter, until I returned to duty.”
“That’s all right, grandsire. Mama told me all about you. So much so that I felt as if I always knew you.”
“Then why are you so shy around me now, child? I will not bite you. I promise,” he teased her. She liked the warm tone of his voice, something she had not heard from the fearsome Flightmaster before.
“You are the Flightmaster,” she replied, hoping he would understand.
“And my Rohna probably filled you with all kinds of stories about my legendary flying ability.” He seemed to understand what she was getting at. “I suppose being your teacher doesn’t help either. Being a figure of authority before being your grandsire has caused an awkwardness between us. I begin to see your dilemma.” He moved quickly to twine his neck partially with hers. “But you are family, little girl. My granddaughter. Do not let the title of Flightmaster scare you away from me. One day, if you continue as you are, you could very well be Flightmaster in your own right, Rohtina. You have the wings for it. Now all you need is time and practice to perfect your aerial skills.”
“Really? You truly think so?” She hadn’t dared hope he thought so highly of her, even if he was her grandsire.
“I know so. Your mother and father are excellent fliers and you already have all the basics down pat. As the years progress you and Kelvan—who has very good wings as well—will turn into a great team. You’re good now, but in time, you will be great. Mark my words.”
His words gave her such hope, she felt a little bounce in her step as she walked with him. “Do you mind if I walk with you to the keep, grandsire?” she asked shyly. “And while you’re here, can I come visit you?”
“I would be most disappointed if you did not, young lady.”
She liked the teasing tone and twinkle in his sparkling eyes. He was much less scary now that she’d taken the initiative and talked to him, as Kelvan had suggested. She was glad now that she’d taken the chance.
Chapter Three
Cara raced ahead to the keep, astounded at the day’s turn of events. Not only had the
most magnificent dragons arrived in the nick of time to save the day, but one would be staying with them for a few days at the keep. Cara had always wanted to spend time among dragons but had never had the opportunity. Her father had kept her close to home and never included her in his few travels to the capital and court. Until today, she’d only ever seen dragons at rare times when Sir Gareth or Sir Lars and their dragon partners paused briefly at the keep to impart messages or exchange greetings.
Sir Thorn had dined with them on several memorable occasions, but his dragoness, Sharlis, usually spent the evening hunting among the flock kept for dragon consumption and Cara didn’t get to see much of her. Thorn had never even bothered to formally introduce them, which counted against him in her books, though she was undeniably attracted to the handsome knight.
Her brother, Envard, didn’t like the attention Thorn had paid to her. No, Lord Envard wanted her safely married off to a faraway nobleman and out of his hair. Younger by five years and born of her father’s second wife, Envard had always had a chip on his shoulder where Cara was concerned. He’d tried to get rid of her as soon as father had died, but then his own injury had prevented him from putting his plans into motion. Instead, she’d been left to run the keep without his interference, which was good for the time being. What would happen when he recovered was anyone’s guess, but for now, she was able to do as she pleased.
And right now, preparing for a dragon guest was on her agenda. She was intrigued beyond measure by the dragons that kept their country safe. This would be her first real interaction with one and she hoped she could make a good impression for both herself and the keep that had come to depend so greatly on the protection of the new Lair.
