The Wind Riders

by Kris Kramer

  Chapter 1 - The Mission

  Somewhere deep in the majestic Lore Mountains, just south of the fabled Lore Valley, a Wind Rider named Iago lay quiet and still on the hard, rock-strewn ground, appearing to all the world to be restfully sleeping, though that was far from the truth. Jagged sandstone hills surrounded him, casting shadows across the narrow vale he’d chosen to hide in this afternoon. He didn't notice the light breeze blowing through the canyon, or feel the slight kick of dust it carried over his face. In fact, he was unmindful of anything, save the aches in his body, and in his conscience.

  The muscles in his back throbbed, but not from the rocky terrain poking through his shirt. He'd spent the morning leading rigorous weapons training with his Landers, trying to keep himself focused on something of meaning. His men obliged during the training, and he had a number of bruises about his arms and legs because of it, but none of it was enough to make him forget the trouble he’d wrought, or lessen the burden on his conscience. Afterward, he’d spent some time double-checking weapon and armor inventories, but none of it helped clear his mind. So sometime after midday he’d found a spot a good distance away from the camp where he could be alone to think. His thoughts lately were not ones he chose to share, so he stayed away from the others when they became especially upsetting. And though they troubled him greatly, he was not ready to leave those thoughts when Alaan finally got close enough to shout his name.

  "Master Iago!"

  He’d heard the footsteps a hundred paces away. The young boy, Alaan, purposely stomped on every big rock in his path as he walked up the hill. Iago had no doubt the boy was here to summon him to the Pilot's Council to discuss his request to help. That would be welcome. He needed something useful to occupy his tortured mind. He took a deep breath, lifted his head and put away his troubles. He would have the rest of his life to concern himself with those. For now, he forced a calm look on his face and turned to Alaan, who stood a few paces away.

  "Master Iago, the Pilot's Council has called for you, I mean they," Alaan paused, thinking of the word, "summoned you."

  "Thank you, Alaan." Iago dragged himself off the ground with a grunt. His body, while not terribly old, had been through much in his hard life, especially in the last year, and there was never a part of him that wasn't sore or hurting. "Go tell them I’m on my way."

  "Yes sir, Master Iago!" Alaan bounded down the hill the same way he’d come up, determined to put his mark on every large stone in his path. Iago brushed the dirt off his pants and rubbed the back of his bald head, then decided to take a more relaxed route. He followed the gentler slope in front of him, wondering anxiously whether the Council had actually decided to go through with his risky idea. None of the current members of the Pilot's Council knew him very well, so Iago would have to earn their trust, especially for an endeavor such as this. He knew there were still whispers about him in the camp. Whispers that weren’t entirely false.

  The path curved around to his left, following the sloping side of the hill that led straight into the small, rock-strewn valley that the Wind Riders now called home. Tall, gritty hills bordered each side of the narrow valley, providing excellent cover, and the flat valley floor allowed enough room to put up several dozen small green or brown-colored tents. In the center of the camp stood a few larger tents, including the one used by the Pilot’s Council for meetings and discussions as well as an indoor teaching room for the Pilots in camp. Iago headed for that one, knowing the Pilot’s Council had been meeting there for the last several hours.

  The tents, however, were not what drew his attention. His eyes were reluctantly drawn to the three large, wooden ships sitting on the ground. Called Karawan, these were the magical vessels the Wind Riders used to sail through the skies. One, the Goldenbird, lay on its side with a large fire-blackened hole in the hull, damaged beyond repair from the attack two weeks ago. The other two, the Blue Hawk and the Red Lark, sat on either edge of the center of camp, still operational, but with little reason, or motivation, to use them at the moment. Each Karawan was roughly eighty feet long and a quarter of that wide. The deck and hull looked similar to an actual seaworthy sailing ship except for the flat bottom, which allowed the ship to land on the ground. A mast came up from the rear third of each ship, extending about ten feet above the deck, with a flag hanging from the top, in its center the silhouette of a hawk soaring on a solid white background. Wooden crates had been stacked next to the two usable Karawan and two young former slaves from the mining caravans, Davin and Ingran, loaded ropes, wood and weapons from those crates onto the Blue Hawk.

  The mast allowed the ships to fly. Iago didn’t know how or why, but he knew that much. Each mast ran down into the base of the ship and curved forward, extending all the way to the ship’s bow and provided part of the internal structure of the vessel. The mast was enchanted using Air Magic and the Pilots were trained to control their ship using the mast as a magical rudder. The Goldenbird could easily have its hull repaired, but if the mast had been damaged, and he assumed it was, then the ship would not fly again. It would have to be rebuilt from scratch.

  Iago looked away. He hated to see only two working Karawan when two weeks ago there had been seven. The Tyran attack had cost them five of their ships and left over half their number dead or scattered. He heard someone say last week that a hundred and twenty people were left in the camp, and only six of them were Pilots or Pilots-in-training. The Wind Riders used to have over twenty Pilots and over four hundred people.

  As he reached the center of camp he stopped just outside the tent and again brushed the dirt off his clothes. He wore a thin, sleeveless, brown tunic, favored by Anzarins because of the heat of the wastelands surrounding all the Anzarin cities. Scars of various length and size covered his arms and torso, as well as his face. He would never be mistaken as a handsome man, not with all the damage his body had taken over the years. He looked dangerous, like a back-alley thug that many of the slavers they encountered would hire, yet something in his dark brown eyes undermined that tough exterior. Roni and Senak, two men from a Lander squad other than Iago’s, stood outside the tent wearing the customary gear of a Wind Riders Lander - dark blue tunic, brown pants, sturdy leather boots, a sheathed sword on one side of their leather belt and a small hand axe strapped on the other. They nodded at him, standing somewhat at attention, and after Iago straightened his own tunic the two Landers opened the tent flaps for him to enter.

  Iago stepped inside the tent and waited at the entrance as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and the people inside finished their conversation. Three members of the Pilot's Council, the ruling body of the Wind Riders, waited before him, seated on the far side of a narrow wooden table in the middle of the darkened tent. Each wore the traditional uniform of a Pilot, a light blue robe over sand-colored tunic and pants, and a silver chain around their neck from which hung a small hawk medallion.

  Iago waited only a moment before Avina, the Pilot-Captain of the Wind Riders, looked up and smiled at him.

  "Good morning to you, Iago."

  "Good morning, Pilot," he said.

  "Please, sit." Avina motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the table. Iago nodded politely and sat down, hoping his nervousness wasn't obvious.

  "Thank you, Pilot." Avina may be old in years but she was young at heart, always smiling at her fellow Wind Riders and giving encouraging pats on the back. Her manner and her small stature made her seem grandmotherly to everyone else in the camp, and Iago liked her for that, and he thought she liked him as well, but he didn't know how much Idaris, the former Pilot-Captain, had shared with her about Iago's background. He assumed very little.

  "We have discussed what we think to be the best solution for the future of the Wind Riders," Avina said, "and we feel that your idea has merit. Leirn is the only man in camp who is capable of purifying the Mergoran crystals we have left, but he is injured so badly that, well... unless things look up for him he may not last the week, unfortunately."


  "I have heard the same, Pilot, and I am most sorry to hear that." Iago wasn't normally so deferential in his speech, but the Pilots ran the camp and he always felt the need to stay on their good side.

  "Nonetheless, your idea, while dangerous, is sound and is probably our only chance to keep our ships flying and to let us defend ourselves from this new Tyran airship." Avina leaned in closer. "We have gone from hunter to prey, Iago. These crystals are the lifeblood of our magic, our ships, and our people. Without them, we might as well surrender to the Tyrans now, and save them the trouble of chasing us."

  Arigin, the new Second of the Pilot's Council, sat to her left, a dour man with straight black hair and a tanned face hardened by decades spent in the mountains. He was many years younger than Avina, but nowhere near the comforting soul, do to his lack of a gentle touch with his fellow Wind Riders. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "You will take a group of Riders to Tyr, find your old associates, and get us people who can purify our crystals. I can not stress enough that this must be done with all haste, and also quietly." Iago understood the plan, since he was the one who suggested it, but he still nodded and agreed to help in any way he could. "Galen here will go with you, along with his Second, Margis. Galen will act as the voice of the Wind Riders on this trip. You will set up any meetings that need to be set up. Galen will handle all negotiations.”

  "Of course, Pilot." Iago nodded at the heavily tattooed Junior member of the Pilot’s Council sitting across from him. The Pilot, barely into his twenties, with brown eyes and long, straight blond hair, nodded back. Because of the loss of so many with experience, both those who taught and those who piloted the airships, Galen was now the 3rd most senior Pilot in camp - or as some people put it, the only Pilot left other than Avina and Arigin. He was also Assarin, which explained the intricate tattoos that covered his face and body. Assarins used those marks to document important events in their life, but that’s about all Iago knew of the Assarin people and their rituals. "I would ask that I also be allowed to take one of my Lander crews. The journey won’t be safe and we might need a few extra hands." Iago knew first hand that the trip to Tyr would be littered with all sorts of roving bands of criminals, thieves and slavers. Having armed soldiers travel with them would be the best deterrent, and he already knew who he wanted at his side.

  "Of course, take whoever you need, though not so many as to draw attention,” Avina said. “This mission must succeed so do what you think best to ensure that." Iago felt the confidence in Avina’s voice, which surprisingly propped up his own.

  "This mission must do more than succeed," Arigin chimed in, speaking as he always did in a cadence that most considered lecturing, "it must ensure the future of the Wind Riders. We are crippled and beaten, and it will take a miracle to restore us to our glory." Avina frowned at Arigin's assessment of their situation, but he pressed on, jabbing his finger on the table for emphasis. "You must not return to this camp without crystal purifiers. If you come back here empty handed, you may as well do what Avina suggested and just bring a troop of Tyran soldiers with you to execute us."

  Avina put her hand on Arigin's arm, and he leaned back slightly. "I do not think we will fail that easy. But I agree that this is exceedingly important. The Wind Riders haven’t known this much adversity since the night we fled from Elbasa thirty years ago and found our sanctuary here in the mountains. We should have died then, and some of us did, but out of that struggle the Wind Riders were born. This is but another struggle, one which we will overcome, just as we always do. Just as we must do.”

  “You and Galen carry a large weight on your shoulders now. You carry the weight of our future as well as the hopes of everyone out there who believes in us. But I have faith that between the two of you, you can carry it."

  Iago stiffened up and raised his head. He met Avina's eyes directly, not defiant, just assured. "I will not let you down, Pilot. I was not here when the Tyrans attacked, and for that I am sorry. I have no other wish than to have been with you that day. I let the Wind Riders down, but I will never again see that happen. I promise you that."

  Avina smiled. "I know, my son. You will not fail us."

  Iago wouldn't fail them. Not again.