by LJ Davies
The main section of the healing tent was a large, round chamber covered by a tall, airy roof with multiple rooms surrounding its edges. Several tables formed from the remains of ruined walls guarded a fire in the centre.
Water order healers and griffins moved about with purpose and urgency, tending to the wounded, routing through their healing remedies and performing a whole manner of restoration magic. There were other creatures too. At first, I'd mistook them for griffins, but upon second glance it was clear they were very different.
Most prominent was their rear half, which wasn't that of a feline but of a horse. They had hooves and a flicking tail, the majority of their feathers and coat were white and, unlike their cousins, their ears were more equine than feathery-wolf. The scales about their front talons were jet black, as were their beaks. Most had sharp, clear-blue eyes, while their plumage was longer and more regal.
Their manner of dressing was also more majestic. What little metal they wore was silver and only served to cover their rear halves in small, elegant waves. Most else was covered by finely-crafted cloth and blue robes. Before I could observe any more, Soaren moved toward one of the exits and I followed into the fresh, mountain air.
The camp outside was as grand and bustling as a city market. Just as the noise I'd heard from inside the tent suggested, it looked to have been set up amongst a series of ruins, scattered around a shallow hillside. Beyond the tents, the size of the ruins grew until they formed an almost intact wall topped by a large keep and a tall tower. Even so, the surrounding tents were considerably smaller than the healing tent, with many larger ones sat further up the hill. Intricate decorations adorned some, while others had extensions to their main bodies. Several had flags flapping above their peaks, while others balanced precariously on elevated rocks or crumbling towers, accessible only by flight.
Snow and icicles covered almost everything, while hardy vegetation clung to life at the camp’s edges. Between them, a well-walked path stretched out toward the central keep. Dragons and griffins filled both it and the air, all busy taking weapons and armour for repair at forges or using their claws to train. Others emerged from tents with mouths full of food or sloshing barrels tied about their necks. While the sight of others filled me with horror.
Wounded soldiers weeping blood under battered armour as they slowly limped in from the road, were carted on stretchers or staggered from the sky. Some weren't even warriors, they were barely hatchlings, innocent bystanders caught in a war that I still felt was entirely my fault.
The sound of Mordrakk's voice and grinding stones whispered tales of the dark future. I tried to force him from my mind, using the idea that I'd finally be able to get some answers from the Elders to help put a stop to this.
"You weren't lying about this place," I observed as we moved toward the keep.
While we walked, I could see more of the hillside below as well as the towering mountains encircling the camp. The hill the ruins lingered upon was an island in the midst of a great lake, each shore a steep mountain slope. The only escape appeared to be the sky or one narrow passageway behind us, marked by an old bridge.
"I had no reason to lie; you didn't expect such, did you?" Soaren asked sceptically.
"No, I just… I didn’t expect there to be so many," I replied, peering up at the crowded sky.
My escort glanced skyward with less optimism.
"Still too few to defeat the armies of the Brazen Horde, we're awaiting the arrival of more forces," he stated.
He's right, Valcador's army is huge.
Before either of us could add anything more, we reached the keep’s outermost walls, passing between two towers guarded by griffins perched in wooden nests.
"I just hope that the Elders’ plan can save us," Soaren finally admitted as we approached a second wall, this one much larger and surprisingly intact.
"Wait, you don't know what it is?" I asked, and he looked at me as if I were stupid for thinking he could possibly be in the loop.
"Of course not, only the Elders, the order master and your other friends know of it," he told me.
So Risha's been keeping that secret from everyone else too?
It felt like she was almost manipulating me as much as the Elders and the creators. I swiftly silenced that destructive train of thought, telling myself that the Elders were doing this out of fear, and the creators saw me as nothing more than a tool to be utilised.
Risha’s reasons have to be different, she's not like them.
"Hey, it's good to see you're back on your paws," another voice sounded somewhere in the winged crowd, heralding the approach of another flying figure.
I could see now why Neera had wished for more of her kind to be present. The crimson-feathered faldron looked out of place among the armoured rabble as she hopped down the wall and appeared before us. She ruffled her feathers, her ears standing tall as she grinned.
"Didn't take as long as the last time either," she added, jabbing at my chest with a foreclaw.
Soaren glanced between us, catching Neera's expression and frowning.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped. "Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?"
"Please, I caught five weevils this morning. I'm just seeing how my friend's doing," she rebuffed, waving a dismissive forepaw at him.
His frown deepened, but she didn't show a care in the world.
"You are okay, aren't you?" she asked, her tone reflecting her recollection of the last time I'd been in such a state.
At that time, she'd no confirmation that I'd recover, other than what she believed.
"I'm fine, more or less," I confirmed, shuffling my wings slightly, and she nodded.
"I'll be over by the training field when you are finished with grumpy here, I can think of more than a few faces that want to meet you," she proposed, glancing at Soaren.
"I'll keep that in mind," I offered, before the faldron finally turned, flicked her tail at Soaren, and disappeared.
"By the skies, she would make a good feather cloak," he grumbled, and I felt a spike of anger that he'd even suggest such a thing.
I'd like to see him try.
Nevertheless, we moved on, passing under the gate of the inner wall to where the muddy path became a set of stone stairs leading up into the main keep. An open area of raised stone lay before it, upon which stood the largest of the tents. The clean-white structures were actually much larger than I'd expected, which I suppose was why we'd been able to see them over the ruins. Many seemed more like the great hall in my old village than any tent, leading me to surmise that they were for far more than just accommodation.
Moreover, the hill’s elevation offered a view over the army of tents below. White smoke rose from most, while the coming and goings of their occupants looked like an orchestrated dance.
"Greetings, Guardian," the Cartographer’s familiar voice sounded, both welcome and irritating at the same time.
The old dragon appeared in the doorway with the phoenix perched atop his staff.
"You are relieved, we will take it from here," he added, glancing at Soaren.
The larger dragon glanced down at him suspiciously.
"And who might you be?" he challenged.
I could tell that the question irritated at least one of the Cartographer's personalities, but I stepped between them before either could reply.
"It's fine, just do as he says," I advised Soaren, who reluctantly nodded and did as requested.
Funny they don't know each other; just how many secrets do the Elders want to keep? I noted, as the Cartographer returned the gesture and turned back toward the entrance.
"Come now, Guardian, we have been waiting for you," the more sensible of his two characters ushered, clearly fighting to stay in control as the second one twitched and mumbled under his breath.
They're not the only ones who've been waiting for answers. My thoughts snapped as I swiftly followed him into the depths of the ruined keep.
"It is good to see yo
u are still alive," he added as I caught up.
"No thanks to you," I grumbled bitterly, and the second of his personalities sniggered.
"You didn't need us; besides, the trees of the Paragon will do anything to defend their heart, they merely needed a little nudge," his former voice resumed, stealing the other’s humour.
"It still didn't stop the orkin from almost killing us," I argued with a degree of frustration.
"And yet here you are," he countered swiftly, and my argument ceased with a growl. "Your loyalty and commitment are admirable. That is, when you care to use them," he added, and my frustration eased slightly.
"I don't even know if I'm supposed to use them anymore," I stated, recalling what Risha had told me.
The old dragon paused and looked at me, his second personality muttering some gibberish.
What does he really mean? I glanced up, but before I could ask, a large set of wooden doors hinged open before us.
"Greetings, Guardian, may I say how happy I am to see you again," Apollo announced excitedly as he hovered from the door.
"You too," I offered.
"Indeed, I assume you are here to meet with the other descendant hierarchs?" he asked, and I nodded.
"Yes, now allow us to proceed," the Cartographer interrupted swiftly, moving into the room and ushering me to follow with a wave of his spiked tail.
He talks like he knows exactly what Apollo is? I glanced at the arcane hawk, but he merely looked like he was awaiting instructions from me.
"I must admit, holding such a prestigious meeting in a place like this is not of the standard I am used to – just another example of cultural changes, I suppose," he announced as we moved after the kooky, old dragon. "I have also taken the liberty of repairing your armour. Many aspects of it were not functioning at full efficiency."
"Good, please take it to Risha's tent when you're done," I requested.
He looked confused for a moment.
"Of course, but do you not wish for me to accompany you?"
The last thing I needed was another patronising voice to tell me what I should do and how all I'd done to this point was wrong.
"No, I’ll be fine on my own," I finished, moving off into the room ahead before he could question me further.
A large fabric wall covered the crumbling holes in the stonework, while wooden beams similar to the tents outside reinforced the partially-renovated interior. More stone furniture nestled up against each wall, boasting arrays of weapons, food and potions, while a wooden platform created an elevated position at the far side of the room. Under-paw, the surrounding floor was a smooth, grey stone, covered by a generous layer of straw. A central brazier illuminated the space, its smoke escaping through a small hole in the canvas roof, while on a wooden stand to the right, sat a familiar set of deep-blue armour.
A large table covered by parchment weighted down by stones, and claw blades, sat in the centre of the raised platform. It wasn't the regally decorated chamber or the rare items that adorned its shelves that caught my attention. The four old dragons standing before me stole my gaze. Vulkaine was the first to lift his head, his faded scales shifting as he moved.
"Hello, old friend," he offered in his always wise, calm tone, bowing to the Cartographer, who returned the gesture.
"We could say the same," he offered, the phoenix jumping from his staff as he bowed and settling on Vulkaine's wing.
"Traitor," the second of the Cartographer's personalities muttered, as if soured by the bird's chosen perch.
Even so, the old dragon stepped aside and once again, I found myself standing before the judgmental eyes of the Elders as Vulkaine began.
"Greetings, Guardian, it is..."
"I know! It is good to see me again. I've heard that before," I snapped before the fire Elder could finish.
Even so, his expression remained unchanged, as always. Nonetheless, I could tell by their silence they were surprised.
"You lied to me!" I accused, glancing between them and the Cartographer. "The day we first met, you told me you knew nothing about who or what I was, you said you knew nothing of the past and you told me to give up on Tarwin!" I exploded in a fit of anger.
It felt worse than when I'd confronted the creators for their manipulation. Maybe it was because these dragons couldn't smite me or hide behind projections if I offended them. Either way, the dark fiend in my mind revelled in my anger, as if it were a luxurious bath of hot water.
The Elders exchanged glances, and all the while the Cartographer's stranger half muttered uncontrollably. I looked to each face, awaiting an answer that was taking a considerable time to present itself. Once again, it felt as if they were waiting, judging and assessing me.
"Well, I'm here now, so just tell me what you want me to know so I can go," I demanded.
Vulkaine scratched the set of small, fire-like scales hanging under his chin.
"You seem rather eager to be free of those who would withhold secrets from you," he stated.
"Everyone I know keeps secrets from me, it's nothing new," I snapped, "but when those secrets hide the reason I was created, I tend to resent those who knew but didn't tell me!" I added, the memory of Nakir flashing through my mind.
The teeth of my angry thoughts snapped at the mental portrait like rabid wolves. Meanwhile, each Elder pondered my outburst, and once again, Vulkaine was the only one to speak.
"So it is true, you found what it is you sought at Goldfire Ridge?" he asked, and my frustration boiled to the brim.
"If you mean the fact that I'm no more than a weapon? Yes, I suppose I did," I confirmed, the truth Mordrakk had revealed to me coming dangerously close to surfacing.
That's if they don't already know about that too!
My revelation didn't seem to surprise them; instead, they conversed with each other again. Their apparent disregard causing my scowl to deepen.
"It would seem congratulations are in order," Vulkaine announced, drawing himself away from the huddle and looking to the Cartographer.
The old dragon stopped his rambling and stood up straight.
"Wait, what!? What in the creators' name is there to congratulate anyone for? I want to know what you’ve all been doing!" I finally screamed.
The room fell silent, and all eyes focused on me.
"You are aware of the legend set down at the end of the last age, that which regards one of unnatural blood among the nine great races of our legacy?" Vulkaine asked, and for what it was worth, I nodded my acknowledgment.
"Such a thing was only a vague prediction to feed the hope of a hopeless world, one that became nothing but folklore after the tragedy of the Guardian War," he added with a hint of sorrow.
"There has been little hope since the day the war finally ended – almost seven hundred years of nothing but hapless legends, all slowly building to a new cataclysm. That is, until you appeared."
Their expressions changed to a vague hope. Unsurprisingly, it was the first time I'd seen anything other than empty glares upon their faces.
"I already know all of that, and it doesn't make any difference, because even with my help you cannot defeat the orkin. I've seen their army, their numbers exceed what you have here tenfold," I stated solemnly, and once again, they quickly assessed my response.
"You did not give up so easily the last two times the world asked more of you," the blue dragoness beside Vulkaine reminded me.
"You told me to abandon my friend the first time – and what choice did I have the second? Aries was going to imprison us all," I challenged.
"Upon both occasions there was none other than yourself to take the lead, and both times you were an inspiration to those about you, no matter how small you thought you were," Vulkaine added, glancing at the Elder dragoness to his left.
I opened my muzzle to respond, but the words died in my throat. I recalled my journey to Ilivar, the friends I hardly knew following me across the world. I thought of Goldfire Ridge, knowing that even after the loss of Pyro t
hey had been with me, trusted me to lead even if I'd no idea how.
Would they follow me now, if I told them what really happened?
The thought of Pyro's apparent death filled my memories with an unwelcome darkness, bolstered by images of Boltock’s limp body hanging from the wyvern's jaws and the memory of Risha bleeding on my back. I couldn't change the fact that they saw me as a sign of hope, even if they were all gravely mistaken.
"Hope can come in many forms, one only has to see it. Then it can become more powerful than any army the orkin can amass," Vulkaine announced, and the Cartographer's crazier side nodded in frantic agreement.
I looked down at my paws, feeling the dull pain of my scars as I thought about that.
It's still unrealistic; hope won't save us from their savage blades or Mordrakk's ungodly wrath. Despite my hopeless look, the Elders exchanged glances once more.
"Though, only a fool would leave victory to sentiment." Vulkaine began with what I swore was a slight smirk.
"Courage, hope and loyalty are potent weapons in their own right. For us, however, there is knowledge – knowledge of an ancient world that, we have to confess, we've long tried to hide from those who live today," the ancient dragon explained, and my anger boiled over with the blatant confession that they'd always known.
I tried not to focus on why they had lied, and yet, as his words tumbled about my mind, I became all too aware why it was so hard to find out anything about the ages before the Guardian War.
After all, the victors write history, no matter how desperate those victories might have been.
"Seraphine," I muttered under my breath, and Vulkaine's eyes fell upon the Cartographer.
"Do you still possess the records?" he asked, and without another word, the kooky dragon pulled back his hood and moved over to the table.
With a dusty thud, he produced a large and very old book from his cloak.
‘The Fallen Star.’
"Wait, I left this in... Hey!" I cried in recognition, looking at the cloaked dragon.
"Yes, it was not the only part of our archive we found in that place, either," he retorted, and at that, my words stammered to a halt.
With a flick of his forepaws, Vulkaine opened the book, turning swiftly through the tattered pages with a precision that suggested he'd read the text a thousand times before.
