Prologue: Wind Up
Air whooshed past him as his wings moved in a fast manner. He was climbing higher and higher, past the line of white clouds that stood before him.
Rage was inside him, filling his veins with the energy he so desperately needed. There was a dragon following his tail, a big, ugly thing that shouldn't have been allowed to live for this long, yet he had. Red and white scars lined the other dragon's body, a sign that he had been part of many fights. That should have intimidated Vertigo yet it did nothing to him. He brushed that mere fact away as he had done with so many other things. His memories felt distant, his emotions in a turmoil.
What he needed was not to escape. What he needed was to sharpen his claws and his canines with flesh and blood. And he knew exactly where to get it from.
The sun's rays fell on his flesh, momentarily warming him and he closed his eyes in a moment of bliss. It was not long before he opened them again as the image of a boy popped into his mind and he opened his jaws, ready for the attack.
He let out a loud growl as he saw the brown dragon, named Dyohorn, reaching him. Vertigo flew below him and bit a chunk from his lower body, easily. His tongue rolled at the taste of dragon blood. It was not something he could ever get accustomed with, nevertheless it was a pure necessity.
Dyohorn let out a pained cry and attacked him. Vertigo slid to the side, missing the other dragon's canines by inches. He flew higher again and then gently started falling. Dyohorn caught the bait and run after him. His jaws almost closed around Vertigo's tail but the other dragon turned around and sliced Dyohorn's lower belly with his claws. Blood spluttered in the morning sky and fell directly down the sharp rocks of Ramirblaka. Vertigo thought he saw the beginnings of the other dragon's entrails. Once again he flew higher but the other dragon had not given up.
Dyohorn was a wild dragon, the previous leader of Ramirblaka, and he was as ferocious as he was cruel. He would never give up. His jaws opened to reveal the set of sharp canines he bore. As a wild dragon Dyohorn could not speak the human language or communicate with words. Instead he used images but the message was clear.
Time to see if your royal blood is the same colour as mine, Dyohorn seemed to say by showing him an image of himself lying on the ground, his blue blood dripping on the rocks.
Vertigo bled the same colour as all the other dragons in the world yet the blood of royals was often said to be blue because of the stronger energy running inside them.
If you want to see my blood you need to catch me first, Vertigo replied caring not if the other dragon understood his meaning, climbing higher once again.
The other dragon growled.
You are a dragon ridden by humans. You are weak. You do not know how to survive in the wild, Dyohorn replied projecting his thoughts to the rest of the wild dragons watching from further down below.
Vertigo scoffed. The other dragon's thoughts did not touch him.
If you were a better dragon your rider would not have died.
Vertigo turned around and let out a pained growl.
Dyohorn seemed to gloat, happy with this particular thought.
This had reached a weak spot beneath his armour. Something he had tried to hide over the last few months but with small success. Only, Dyohorn did not know. Dyohorn did not know that the only way to forget about Tristan – even thinking his name was hard – was to release all the rage and pain he felt.
Vertigo turned around and started falling towards the other dragon. That seemed to excite Dyohorn. The other dragon rushed to meet him. Vertigo, however, was going faster. He was a bullet, he was weightless and he was the only one who could still manage to be in control in that speed.
When he fell upon Dyohorn the other dragon tried to turn around or stop the descent but he was not made to fly fast. He was larger, bulkier. Dyohorn's strength was fighting at a low altitude and attacking first, using his weight and power to dominate the other dragons.
Now, he was powerless. Vertigo easily manoeuvred around him, biting the other dragon's ribs, slicing him with his claws and waiting. Chunks of flesh flew in the morning sky and when at last, they were close to the ground, Vertigo released him.
Or so he thought. The other dragon had managed to cling on his tail, leaving red raw marks, in a desperate attempt to save his life. Vertigo growled and sliced Dyohorn's nose and eye. This was enough for the other dragon to release him.
Vertigo changed his course just before he reached the ground and flew a few meters higher before he returned to the spot where Dyohorn had fallen. The dragon's body had been impaled on a thin, sharp rock that resembled a giant thorn.
When Vertigo landed, the rest of the wild dragons were there, watching him with cautious expressions. He walked to where Dyohorn was in a slow manner. When the previous leader of the wild dragons opened his eyes in a last attempt to attack him, Vertigo took out his left eye and then stomped upon his head.
His gaze fell on the wild dragons.
I am the leader. I have the royal blood and the power to protect or chastise you if need be. Whoever disagrees can fight me to the death. If you dare, Vertigo said in words and thoughts to the rest of the dragons and growled loudly running his claws along the rocks of Ramirblaka.
His chest felt raw from the few injuries he had acquired but his heart was pumping, his blood running blue. He growled again, louder and louder till the wild dragons flew away from him or around him, but he did not care which of the two. He was the wild dragon leader. He was the strongest of the wild dragons. Whether they hated or loved him, Vertigo was going to protect them. No dragon would die under his rule. He would not make that mistake again even if it meant his own death. Unless, of course, they opposed him.
...
Tareq blinked and held his palms over his temples.
No, not here, not now.
He shouldn't be having these images, he was bonded to no dragon and he was a shade. Yet, there they were these images blocking him, holding him prisoner.
Quiet as a shadow. Smooth as clear water.
He wore very little, trusting the darkness of his skin for camouflage as he crept along the tower's wall guided by the sounds of the city. He had skin the colour of bronze and strange eyes — a clear, pale brown, like amber from the tall forests across the sea.
The words he had mesmorised since he was only a small child came back to him. The voice of his master bellowed into his mind.
"Steal their purses, their secrets and their lives. Then, return them to me. If you get caught you will be killed. If you try to escape your family will die. If you don't succeed you will be tortured and so will your family. Would you like to see the new patterns on your mother's back?" his master's voice said in a chilly tone of voice.
Tareq shook his head.
"No" he whispered and kneeled, his belly almost touching the sharp tiles underneath him.
His brother had told him once, when he was younger, that his colour concealed him in the dark compared to the whiter humans. This was his advantage. Night was his friend, dirty narrow paths and tiles, his lover.
Though this hadn't saved his older brother. If the voices in his head were to be believed, the Queen was still alive and his brother's head lay somewhere above the walls of her castle.
His younger brother. . He did not dare think of what had become of him.
No, he should be with the dwarves. Must be with the dwarves.
"You are a shade now but don't get any ideas about trying to escape. Your family is still with us and the king in you. One word of his and you will die" his grey master had said.
He brushed his thumbs over the edge of the wall and looked below him.
Too high.
He couldn't jump below. But across him there was another building. He slid back and ran, gaining speed and momentum. When he was propelled in the air he looked below him and for a few seconds he was flying.
Maybe the king whispered a quite spell, because despite all odds, he landed on the roof of the building he was aiming for.
And that's when he saw him. There was a rider patrolling the streets of Glieonard and he had spotted him.
Terror seized him and his hands shook momentarily. Upon hearing the wings of a dragon approaching, he started running again, jumping from one roof to another as if they were rocks in the crossing of a river.
Stop, a voice said in his head but remembering the pain he could not.
He had to escape, get away, save whatever remained of his family. But he was surrounded. He gazed around him and saw the riders. They had climbed on the roofs of the grand hall just as he had done and they were looking at him.
You cannot escape. Even if you leave Glieonard we are surrounded by water.
His heart started jumping inside his chest, panic seizing him and he knew he was losing control.
Tareq wanted to cry because he could feel the consciousness of the king demanding entrance and there was but a small wooden door standing in his way.
With a cry he turned the door handle and let the king take over. In such situations it was easier to let someone else take over. At least the King knew secrets he did not. He knew how to use magic and he knew how to fight with swords, how to ride dragons and much more.
From the puppeteer he had become the puppet. He felt his lips twisting into a cruel smile.
"Riders of Dis Atilan… You should be cautious during the night… You never know what lurks in the shadows" the King whispered and then his lips uttered a quiet spell, so quiet, that it may have just been a thought.
The roof of the Grand Hall started shaking and Tareq body was alight with energy. The riders were fighting to stay upright but soon gave up and most jumped atop their dragons. They uttered spells, threw arrows and swords at his direction but all were neutralised.
The King smiled.
"You cannot win against me" he said though they both knew he was wrong.
Tareq's body was weak, weaker than most other humans. He was agile and he could run long distances without water or food, but in battles or magic spells he had always been useless. They grey leader had been baffled that Tareq had been the vessel of choice.
But the riders did not know this.
"We do not plan to win" one of the riders said, a tall elf with dark hair.
His hands moved and vines started sprouting from the roof. Tareq's body moved backwards, trying to escape, trying to run.
Too late, he thought desperately.
The King had run out of energy and he did not know how to be agile. Not in the way Tareq did. The boy demanded to be let out but the King shushed him. One of the vines grabbed his leg and a small shot of energy exploded from his right arm and fell on the elven rider.
The elf had not expected this, yet he managed to avoid the blast. In his attempt though he managed to fall on his side and slide down to where Tareq was. The elf's momentary lapse of concentration was enough for the vines to stop holding the boy so strongly.
He slid from inside them and made one more attempt to run but the elf was there holding a dagger against his throat.
"Do not move, Shade" he whispered in a cold tone of voice.
Yet, the King moved anyways and stabbed the elf in the chest in a quick movement. If the dagger had been a few inches on the left he would have managed to stab the elf's heart but the boy inside him had screamed in protest and that had made the King pause.
Blood poured from the elf's wound and the King went to land another blow but the boy shouted again. The King growled and pressed his lips together. Tareq felt the touch of the cold steel before the rest did. He froze. There was no more energy left inside him for the King to use and no weapons to utilize. In the King's eyes Tareq was of no more use to him until he regained his energy.
Tareq mentally locked the door of the King's room, hoping he would never take control again though he knew better.
"You blood thirsty Shade! Is it not enough that you have killed so many of us? What else do you want? Why are you doing this? Do you not have a consciousness?" an Urgal screamed at him and went to attack him with a sword.
Fear seized Tareq once again and he lost control.
The voice which spoke next was neither his, nor the king's.
"Grohn!"
The Urgal paused and narrowed his eyes.
"How do you know my name?"
"I don't have much time. Please, listen to me. This is not …"
A punch knocked the breath out of him and Tareq fell on the roof's tiles, spitting blood. Next to him was the elf, who was whispering healing spells. Upon seeing him, he grabbed a dagger but Tareq's arms rose in the air.
"Adrian, please. It's me"
The elf's irises dilated and he stared at him for long moments before another punch turned everything around him into darkness.