The range officer gave the signal for the horn as he turned the small hourglass; Mkel quickly lifted Markthrea from the low ready position to his shoulder, found the crosshair, put it in the middle of the target as rapidly as possible, and fired. He quickly threw the lever forward and then back, aimed, and fired again. This time, he knew he drifted slightly to the left, but there was no time to ponder, and he again cycled his crossbow and fired onto the head. He managed to hit the face of the target, but just barely in time, as the horn bellowed out to stop. The next three targets, Mkel had mixed luck with a near-miss on one of the face shots. Dekeen and Altmed were neck and neck after that first relay. The second relay was the timed single engagement fire, where one arrow was fired at each of the four targets in sequence and then the first target was fired at twice. The six shots were fired in seven seconds, then again in six seconds. The last relay was the double engagement match, where the last three targets were fired at twice each, with the first run of the relay in five seconds and the second in four seconds. Only the elves and those Alliance soldiers who had dragonstone weapons could perform in this match with that minimum time. Firing arrows at that rapid speed with that many elves and magic weapons on line was often called the whistle battle because of the intensity of the firing and the whistling sound that the hundreds of arrows made being shot at those speeds.
The almost blinding speed that the elves, especially Dekeen, could fire this match was indeed amazing. At the end of the shooting, all the competitors started putting their equipment away and congratulating each other while the scores were being tabulated. Dekeen and Altmed looked very pleased with themselves at the last match, but it was still only one match, and the cumulative score of all the matches counted for the overall placement.
“You shot well, my old friend,” Mkel said to Jodem.
“Not so well on this short-range plinking match, but I managed to have a little more luck at the precision match,” his wizard friend replied. “You did well across the board, Mkel.”
“Probably not enough for anything today with this hard-holding crowd,” Mkel replied.
“You both did very well; I think you will be surprised,” Gallanth told him telepathically from the alcove.
“What did the big gold lizard say?” Jodem asked.
“He said we both shot very well,” Mkel answered as always wondering how Jodem could tell when Gallanth was talking to him telepathically. Just then, Canjon started to announce the place winners of the rapid-fire match.
“To all present, I am pleased to announce the placements for this last fast and intense match. In third place, with a score of one hundred sixty-seven points out of a total of one hundred and eighty, is Kahll from the 36th Legion!” The crowds cheered for the surprised placement winner. “In second place is Eladran Weir’s own rider of Baranth, Altmed!” The crowd went wild as the unexpected second-place winner held his dragonstone crossbow high. “And the fastest and most deadly rapid-fire archer, of the Draden Forest Clan, Dekeen!” he announced as Mkel walked over to give his longtime friend a hug; Dekeen only nodded an acknowledgement of the win. The crowd cheered, especially the ones from Draden, but not as much as Mkel would have liked, likely due to him being an elf and therefore almost expected to do well in contests of accuracy, speed, and precision.
“Now, it is time to announce the overall shooting competition placeholders. All here in front of you have shot extremely well, with incredible feats of accuracy, as you’ve seen in the crystal images, which gave you a shot-by-shot look. This is why the enemies of the Alliance fear us, for who could stand up to this deadly precision? This is why it gives me great pleasure to announce those among them who were both on top of their game and at the same time had the gift of luck with them today. For if you would ask any one of them, they would say that they were all masters of aiming, firing, and hitting their target, so those who shot the best today could be mere points ahead of their fellow brothers of the craft. However, luck shining or just greater consistency; I will now announce those placeholders for today’s amazing event.
“In third place, we have a tie between our brass dragonrider from Talinor Weir Scandalon and the venerable shooter from the Draden Regiment Senior Sergeant Gemorg,” he announced, and all began to cheer. The two archers moved up to the announcer’s stand and received their medals. “In second place, with an outstanding, steady, and consistent performance, Draden Weir’s own leader and gold dragonrider and my friend Captain Mkel!” he almost shouted into the dragonstone on his sword, for he was pleased to see his comrade perform well. Mkel was in shock; he knew he had done well on several events but was not tracking his scores, because he felt he was way out of the running. He walked over to the podium to see his friend Canjon smiling and waiting for him with General Becknor standing beside him holding the silver medallion. He walked up and saluted him, after which the general put the medal over his head. Mkel was trying not to show his pride in himself; he still could not believe he had done this.
“You shot well today, my rider; you are allowed to bask in the glow for a brief moment in time. You deserve this,” Gallanth told him telepathically from his alcove as the cheers erupted from the tens of thousands. They were almost drowned out by Gallanth’s roar and a faint echo from inside the great Capital Weir Mountain.
“It is now my honor to announce the top place for this illustrious event, again from Draden Weir, Master Wizard Jodem!” he announced. Mkel jumped off his podium and ran over to his mentor. He was more excited than Jodem himself, who smiled and returned Mkel’s hug. They walked over together to the platform and went to their places. The polished gold medallion placed around the wizard’s thick neck shone beautifully in the early afternoon sun.
This is a good day, Mkel thought to himself.
“Indeed it is my rider. I think that Lieutenant Willaward and his catapult crews have just fired their second-to-last volley,” Gallanth told him, as they both heard and felt the concussion and tremor from the impacts of the catapult projectiles on the range next to the archers.
“I hope they are doing well,” Mkel said out loud.
“They have been performing exceptionally, but their competition will be determined by the last volley.”
“Range eighteen hundred yards, three turns on throw cable tension, five clicks direction left for wind for catapult, one and two and seven clicks for catapult three and four, load one hundred pound practice stone, signal when ready!” Willaward shouted out the directions into his seeing crystal. His crews were moving with deliberate purpose in adjusting their catapults for this final volley. The circular targets lay on the ground a mile away with a large silhouette in the center to range on. In spite of them being fifty yards in diameter, it was difficult to hit even for the best crews. He was trying to bracket the target with the tightest group possible to best the other catapult sections. His crews quickly responded.
“Catapult one up!”
“Cat two up!
“Three up!”
“Four up!”
His section chiefs answered him in succession.
“Prepare to fire and ignite!” he shouted his command back to his crews so they could hear him, both with the seeing crystals and without them just in case. “Fire!” he abruptly yelled. All four catapults pulled their lanyards with most of the other competitors right after the Draden Weir crew. Immediately, the open air was filled with dozens of large flaming projectiles streaking toward their targets. They only put a light coating of oil on them, which was ignited so the spectators could see the projectiles on their long arc to the targets. The sight of the flaming stones arcing through the air with their smoke tails, as well as the classic whistling as they streaked overhead was indeed an impressive experience. They were not using dragon’s-fire canisters, for those would make the judging of the strikes almost impossible.
The combined impacts of the one-hundred-pound stones rumb
led the ground and reverberated against the side of the mountain. As soon as all the safety flags were waved on the firing line, the scorers emerged from the protective bunkers and began to mark the strikes for closeness to the scoring rings, which would be meshed in with the times from the crews as collected on the firing line. Mkel and Jodem walked over to Willaward’s crews as they were readying their catapults to be pulled back to the Capital Weir and be staged until the games were completed. They were also to get retrofitted for the new floating wagon base, for Draden Weir, along with several other catapult crews, would be among the first to test this new invention.
“Lieutenant, how are my long-range killers?” Mkel asked as he walked up to his catapult crews smiling.
“Well, sir, the crews worked well today. We were very synchronized, and I think the shots landed well, but we will know shortly,” the catapult platoon leader replied.
“I have faith in you all. Your men looked really good in that last volley,” Mkel said with a smile.
“I heard in between the last two volleys that you and Master Jodem are to be given congratulations for a bunch of good shooting,” the tall lieutenant stated as he shook Mkel’s hand.
“This is a small matter; remember that all of the master shooters could easily outshoot any or all of the others. Competing at that level is ninety-nine percent skill with the winners having that one percent luck,” Jodem stated.
“Either way, I am happy for both of you,” Willaward insisted.
Just then, Canjon started to announce the results of the catapult competition. As he spoke, the crews were still harnessing their draft horses to their siege engines to pull them out, as if the results did not matter much.
“Ladies and Gentleman, I am pleased to be able to announce the results of the catapult competitions. In third place, the fast and accurate crew from Draden Weir, with a combined score of two hundred twenty-nine out of two hundred forty points,” he stated as Mkel grabbed Willaward by the arm and congratulated him and his crews. “In second place, with a combined score of two hundred thirty-one points, the long-arm throwers of Rom Weir!”
That is a surprise, Mkel thought to himself, but it was good to see the small weir take a place in a competition.
“And in first place, with a score of two hundred thirty-six, the catapult crew from the 1st Legion,” he finished, and with that, the spectators broke into a thunderous applause. Canjon then began to announce the winners of the four races that had taken place that day—the hippogriff, giant eagle, and winged horse races. Draden Weir didn’t have any competitors in those events with the current situation in Battle Point and with the fire giants, so he only listened with half an ear. He was very happy with today’s results. He could not have asked for a better outcome. Draden Weir had done admirably, but there were still three more days of games, and he and Gallanth were involved in three of them—the dragon fires competition, the thunder foot game tomorrow, and the dragon race on the last day.
They all adjourned to their alcove as soon as Canjon had finished announcing the race results. There was much celebrating to do, but Mkel knew he had to drink with moderation, for he had to compete the next day with Gallanth and had to shoot again. This was to the dismay of Lawrent, who wanted to see Mkel drink more in celebration of his and Jodem’s accomplishments. Tomorrow’s concerns did not stop Jodem, who kept right up with the raider, nor Toderan, as they were both done with their events. The night went well, but Mkel did have the next day on his mind. Gallanth told him not to worry because the dragon events were more geared toward the spectators than the dragons themselves, for whom it was just another opportunity to practice their deadly skills. Mkel spent more time congratulating his two shooters, catapult crews, and Jodem than focusing on himself.
The next morning, as usual, came too early for Mkel, but with only a couple of ales, he wasn’t haunted. He and Gallanth had to be at the staging area right after breakfast, so both ate lightly with the big gold dragon only taking down a smaller piece of giant grouper fish. They saddled up and flew out of the Capital Weir main entrance for a lazy circle around the mountain. The brilliance of the sunrise over Draconia is breathtaking, Mkel thought, as the mithril monument on top of the central city pyramid almost glowed in the morning light. The light also accented the blue-green water of Sauric Bay and the white, dwarf-made concrete harbor barriers.
They rounded the mountain and descended onto the eastern side of the parade field where all the other dozens of dragons from all the weirs began to land and line up. This was a fast and spectacular competition that demonstrated the awesome power of the metallic dragons and their riders. The premise was simple: each dragon got three runs or diving attacks against a set of targets on the ground in the middle of the parade field at which he or she was to fire his or her breath weapon and/or spells as close to the center of the painted rings as possible, but far enough away so as not to risk injury among the spectators. The breath weapon strike was measured in accuracy and control of whatever spell that particular dragon chose to complement his main attack. This was coupled with whatever his or her rider could muster for a spectacular show.
Mkel noticed that on the far side of the stadium seating, surrounded by Draconian constables, was a somewhat sizable crowd of protestors. He scoped them through Markthrea’s sight to see their signs were of a dragon- and Alliance-hating nature. This was the first actual event with the metallic dragons, so that was why the Enlightened protestors likely chose this day to come out in force. There were also Nature Purists among them as well. Usually, the average Alliance citizen ignored them, but they did have substantial influence in the Truth Saying guilds, which did sway some opinions. This time, they were protesting the cost of this exhibition in the amount of gems that the dragons consumed to power their breath weapons and spells and how that could be used better for more peaceful purposes.
Mkel also saw a small band of the dragon gypsy cult close to them in a counter protest. These groups are almost the opposite side of the same convoluted coin, Mkel thought to himself, as they were fanatical supporters, almost worshipers, of the metallic or any dragons, including chromatics. The cult leaders of the dragon gypsies within the Alliance borders denied it. However, that did not stop others from the middle kingdoms and the unsettled lands from following any chromatic that wanted to be adored that day and was not hungry enough to eat its followers. Mkel did take advantage of this following in his early youth, for the young lady gypsies were always well adorned.
The constables and the Draco Guards with the mithril knights were keeping them well under control, but Mkel could tell they wanted to make trouble. Their banners with sayings that read, “Down with Dragons and Wizards,” “No More Weirs,” “Dragon Crystals for the Poor,” “Rule by the Enlightened,” represented a unique look at their mentality, which was purely emotional, for they wanted no more metallic dragons, but they did want the comfort crystals for free. Can’t have one without the other, fools, Mkel said to himself.
“Ignore the ignorant, my friend; we have to be coordinated this morning,” Gallanth caught his attention.
“Yes, my big friend, where are we in the match order?” he asked his dragon.
“We are third in the order, after High Mountain Weir and the Capital Weir, of course,” Gallanth answered. Mkel grinned at his dragon’s slight dig at his Capital Weir brethren.
Mkel called over to Slidess, who was mounted on Trikenth, “Slidess, best of luck to you, my friend.”
“Thanks, Mkel, you as well, as long as one of us beats the Capital Weir!” the High Mountain Weirleader and wizard replied. Canjon began to announce the beginning of the dragon’s fire competition, and after the spectators’ cheers died down, Trikenth took to the air. The silver dragon quickly gained altitude to get to attack height and then began to perform his dive. The large silver gave his challenge roar and then angled in on the circular target below, as Slidess prepared one o
f his more powerful spells. Trikenth carefully fired his icy beam toward the target as his rider sent a torrent of fiery meteor spell spheres hurtling toward the ground.
Nice touch, Mkel thought, as the fire-and-ice combination struck the ground just off center of the targets with the extreme opposite energies resulting in brilliant explosions. Slidess was pretty much on target, not bad for him.
“Yes, they had a very good run with a brilliant effect, but nothing will compare to what we will do,” Gallanth added, as they moved into position behind several of the Capital Weir dragons. Valianth was next. The large gold dragon took to the sky, but Gallanth’s brother Falcanth was not there.
“Where is your brother with Lloydell?” Mkel asked.
“He and his rider chose to not compete this year with all that is going on. I believe there are other reasons as well,” Gallanth answered as Valianth let out his challenge roar and began to dive. The plasma fireball he breathed out streaked toward the target, and Therosvet lobbed a deadly energy bolt of light toward the same destination. The combined strikes were well synchronized but just missed the center of the targets. They rose and turned toward the stadium seating, veering off and up at the last minute, rushing the spectators with air.
Next was Eagrenth of the Capital Weir. He was getting into attack position high above the parade field. His rider, Willjon, was a tough, grizzled veteran of the last Great Dragon War and while tall and imposing, had a heart of gold. He wielded a mighty two-handed dragonstone sword that could deliver a powerful cleaving blow as well as strike with an enhanced energy that fused into its target. He was the bane of chromatic dragons who managed to get within his sword’s swinging distance. This skill, however, did not help his dragon in this competition. Eagrenth fired the powerful plasma fireball that only gold dragons were capable of producing. It exploded with a brilliant and deafening display just right and low of the center of the target circle. He pulled up as the crowds cheered him wildly.
Dragon Alliance Dark Storm : Dark Storm Page 15
