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Chapter 7: Shields and Spears

The stench of blood and rotting flesh grew even more palpable after a day, a dead dragon in the middle of the blackened forest floor. Its head was bashed in and his body was damaged beyond recognition. The blood that had flowed like rivers the night before were now dried and dark, forming crusts upon the ground.

Seeing her father in that state filled her with grief again. She was overwhelmed with hundreds of emotions, none of them pleasant. She wanted to kill and burn everything in her path. She wanted to tear the forest and the entire Great Barrier apart.

Most of all, she wanted to cry.

No tears, she reprimanded herself. She shut her eyes tightly, swallowing the burning lump in her throat. A dragon feels no remorse. I will not cry. Vengeance. I will remember my purpose.

Vengeance, her fists clenched tightly. The sadness and grief within her turned into hatred and spite. Remember. Vengeance. Kill him. Kill the murderer.

Shyvana lifted a hand, shielded by her gauntlet. She will never remove her gauntlets, no matter where or when, not until she slew her foe. They will be a reminder to her of her purpose. They will be the weapons she will wield to slay the drake, and she will feed them with her enemy's blood.

She summoned a bright ball of fire, ready to set her father's corpse on fire for cremation. Her father once told her that when a dragon dies, his kin would build the deceased a pyre for cremation as a form of respect. They were creatures born of fire, and to fire they will return.

Her eyes twinkled with melancholy when her gaze remained fixed at her father's broken body, knowing that she can never feel his affection or love for her again. She wanted to build him a pyre, but she could not build it all by herself. And the last thing she wanted was to ask for Jarvan's help.

She drew back her hand to launch the fireball, and stopped when she heard shuffling footsteps behind her. She lowered her hand and looked behind her.

"I went from trees to trees looking for you, turns out you are just clinging to the past," the prince said. He was dressed in a simple, rough-spun tunic and a pair of faded breeches. At his belt was a sheathed hunting dagger, which Shyvana eyed warily.

"I came to pay my respects to my father," she growled. She didn't like his sudden appearance. "My father deserves a funeral, at least,"

"True," he stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the corpse. "But you still miss him,"

Shyvana stared at him blankly, the flames already doused in her palm.

"I know how it's like to miss your family. After all, I'm a prince far away from home," Jarvan sighed. "Don't you want something from him to commemorate him?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"His hide and scales; strong, tough and beautiful. Make it into a cloak, and wear it," Jarvan offered her a kind smile. "He will always be there for you then, even after death. He will be your strength when we fight the drake. And you will always remember him,"

Her lips stretched taut. "My father had suffered enough. He does not deserve this,"

"No," the prince agreed, which Shyvana was puzzled with his response. "No one deserves this. Neither do you. Don't torture yourself with unpleasant memories. I may be wrong but, I suppose your father is the only loved one you have in this world?"

Shyvana said nothing. Jarvan carefully drew his hunting dagger and lay it before her feet.

"The decision is yours," he nodded and started to walk away.

Shyvana stared at the dagger before her. Without looking back, she asked, "Why would you help me?" She could not understand the prince's acts of kindness. She could not fathom the benefits he would gain by helping her. She was just a beast, capable only of destruction and death.

Jarvan stopped in his tracks. "You said you never, ever trusted humans again because they always break their promises. I will prove you wrong, I will show you that not all of us are like that," he stared at her, his eyes reflecting seriousness and sincerity. "I promised you that I will help you slay the drake, and I will keep it,"

He left Shyvana who remained rooted to the ground, not knowing what to say. She looked back at the dagger, and picked it up.

She approached her father. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she lifted the dagger. She reached out to smooth a hand down her father's leathery back, her hand trembling at the coldness of his scales that once radiated warmth.

"Forgive me, father," she whispered sadly, and slowly dug the edge of the blade into his skin.

Shyvana sat upon a branch, trying to sew her father's hide onto her ragged cloak as the men below hustled around busily, preparing for their journey north. She hissed and groaned in frustration every time she tried to pierce the needle into the thick hide, cursing at her own sewing skills.

"Do you need help?" Jarvan called out from below. She could tell from his tone that he was teasing her. "I don't know, maybe I'm better at sewing?"

"Shut up!" Shyvana shouted. "What kind of prince sews anyway? I thought they have swimstresses or whatever the fuck that is!"

"Seamstresses," he corrected. "Well basically, sewing a wound is like sewing clothes. So yeah, maybe I'm better,"

"Like hell you are. You suck at first aid!"

"But hey, your wound has sealed, hasn't it?" the mirth in his voice only irked her even further. She was tempted not to climb down the tree and slap the humor out of his face.

She ignored him and returned to her work, sewing the hide to the cloak. Even if the scales and leathery hide were battered and bruised, they still gleamed with power and elegance. She would be proud to don the cloak once it was finished, even though her sewing was atrocious.

Speaking of her sewing, it could probably make a three-year-old cry in laughter.

"By the way," the tone of his voice shifted a little, though she could tell he was still amused. "Don't you want to break your fast with us? You have not eaten since last night,"

"I'm not hungry," Shyvana quickly lied. Unfortunately, her stomach rumbled in protest.

Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. She could tell that Jarvan was trying hard to muffle his laughter, a wide grin upon his princely face. She turned away so that Jarvan could not see her reddened cheeks, working on her sewing furiously.

"Well, if you change your mind, come to the fire pit. Horace makes really good stew," with that, he turned around and left her on the tree, contemplating on whether to join them for breakfast.

I am hungry, she admitted. But joining them meant I have to converse with them. Fuck. What have I gotten myself into?

As though proving a point, her stomach rumbled loudly again.

Fine. She wrapped the undone cloak into a sack and hid it among the canopy of leaves. If they ever ask questions, I'll just give perfunctory answers. Hell, I can just ignore them. She leaned forward, and pushed herself off the branch.

Horace, or whoever the heck that was, made really good stew. There was no denying it.

Shyvana sat at the back of the group, sipping and savoring her bowl of stew. The men were still wary of her, throwing occasional fearful glances at her way. She pretended not to notice, silencing Jarvan with a glare whenever he tried to make a comment about her sewing.

Shyvana couldn't help but scrutinize the youngest and smallest of the group, Alfie. His face still held innocence and naivety, even though earlier when he had faced her, he had tried to put on a courageous face. There were barely scars or scratches on his smooth skin compared to the other men. Alfie was merely a green, summer boy, and she could not understand his use among the prince's company.

Alfie noticed her staring at him. His eyes met hers, shock and fear palpable on his face. He gasped and accidentally choked on a piece of meat, sputtering and coughing violently.

Jarvan looked at Alfie then at Shyvana blankly. "Shyvana, what is it?"

It was nothing, she wanted to say. But curiosity always got the better of her. "What is a green boy like him doing here?"

The prince looked at her dumbly, not understanding her question.

"The Great Barrier is a dangerous place, even veterans think twice before venturing this far south," she laid down her bowl of stew. "It is no place for a boy like him,"

Jarvan offered a humorless smile. "I picked twelve of the best from the military before I leave Demacia. Do you think I would pick a worthless boy not capable of anything to travel with me?"

The men around her murmured in agreement.

"Alfie may look a little weak, there's no denying it," Kyvan, the largest in the company with a scrawly beard who donned an absurdly enormous shield, spoke. His voice rumbled like thunder, his brows forever creased in a frown. "But you've never seen the boy with a bow and arrow. He could shoot a squirrel in the eye five hundred yards away,"

"Aye," Lance nodded, reaching the pot for a second helping. He was the fastest among the men, his weapon of choice a pair of short swords. "How do you think Alfie noticed two dragons fighting from afar? We traveled the entire night from the east of the Barrier to here. This kid's got keen eyes,"

"He's one of a kind, truly," Jarvan whispered, his voice full of awe.

Instead of puffing his cheeks haughtily, Alfie only blushed from the men's praise, saying nothing with his eyes down-cast on his stew. Shyvana's eyes betrayed no emotions, her face hard as stone as she shifted her gaze to Jarvan.

He met her glare with an amused look. "What is it? Admiring my perfect face?" he pointed at his own face, smiling proudly.

She did not share his humor. "You said you picked twelve men,"

Most of the men tensed, their body going rigid. They all had their eyes fixed on the half-dragon, their glares enough to pierce through her. The playful smile on Jarvan died instantly, replaced by myriads of emotions that Shyvana could not catch. One second it showed sadness and woe, next it was anger and frustration, then suddenly confusion and hopelessness.

Prince Jarvan was not who he seemed to be, that much was pretty clear to her.

"Well?" Shyvana raised an eyebrow, daring him to explain himself. "What happened to the other seven?"

It was the first time she saw him so lost and hurt and in need of guidance. She almost pitied him, but she needed to know what he was keeping from her.

"I…" he stammered, swallowing hard. "Some of them did not survive. There were times when I was too reckless…"

"Reckless?" she snorted. "You, as a leader of your men, could not ensure your comrades' survival? Were you just a blind prince after all? If you can't help your men keep themselves alive, how are you suppose to help me?"

His eyes remained fixed on the ground, looking away from her shamefully.

"Who do you think you are?" August hissed at her. "What do you understand? You're just a half-beast. You will never understand the prince's pain. You only know him for barely a day,"

She whirled towards August, her eyes promising death. "This is between your precious prince and me. Stay out of it, fucked-face,"

August's face contorted with fury, his hand went to the bludgeon near his belt. His lips quivered uglily with immense anger, and he rose to his feet.

"Enough, August," the prince commanded. "She isn't wrong. I was reckless and naïve. I couldn't save them,"

August sat down again, mumbling curses at Shyvana. She kept her gaze on the prince, who let off an exasperated sigh and flashed her a sad smile. Shyvana tried to hide the shock on her face, but it failed.

"But I'm stronger now, and I have yet to prove my strength. Neither have you," the prince stood and stretched. "What do you say? A game of hunt?"

"What?" Shyvana remained surprised.

"Alfie said he saw a Great Murk Wolf somewhere in this region," Jarvan brandished his lance. "The first one to track the beast and kill it proves him or herself as the better hunter,"

"Hmph," Shyvana stood to her full height, though she was a head shorter than Jarvan. "Bring all your men, I will show you the strength of a dragon,"

Jarvan grinned playfully. He raised his hand in a command, "Soldiers, prepare for the hunt!"

Steady, Shyvana remembered her father's advice. Remain calm, and be patient. Your prey will come to you.

Except that this was no mere prey, but a gigantic, ferocious wolf that was twice the size of an adult, capable of ripping a man apart with its fangs and claws. Shyvana hid in the bush, listening for any abnormal footsteps with her heightened senses. She crept from bushes to bushes, at the same time vigilant of the whereabouts of the prince and his company.

Could they have removed their armor? Shyvana frowned. No, Jarvan is too smart for that. The clatter of their armor would easily attract the Murk Wolf, saving them the time and energy to search for it themselves.

Well, at least she would have the element of surprise. It would be better if she tail Jarvan and his men, follow them until they found the Murk Wolf, and pounce for the kill. Shyvana grinned triumphantly at the brilliance of her plan, and wrapped her poorly-sewn cloak around her tightly.

She swiftly climbed to a tree with the highest vantage point, perching on its branches and looking out for them. It was high enough that they wouldn't notice her presence there, nor would they walk past knowing that someone was right above their heads.

Shyvana waited, and waited, and waited. She rapped her fingers impatiently on the bark of the tree, lips curling as her patience ran out.

A sharp cry then rang through the air to her north, followed by a ferocious howl of an agitated wolf.

Shyvana sprung to action, hopping from branch to branch as she followed the source of the noise. She knew she was in the right direction when she heard the clank of metal boots and shields, the grunts of a man struggling with a large beast. Had Jarvan and his men been a step ahead of her?

Impossible, a company that large would have been noticeable by sound if not by sight. Shyvana was sure she could have heard them several hundred yards away.

When she caught sight of the battle, she was right. It wasn't Jarvan or any of his men, and the one that was battling the wolf surprised her.

It was only a young boy, donning a helmet with a T-shaped visor and a plume of feathers, his billowing red cape fluttering about as he stepped out of the wolf's strikes. He wore no breastplate nor tasset, only vambraces and greaves. In his right hand he held a long, menacing spear, in his left a brass shield that he was having trouble holding up. The boy was a lot smaller than the wolf, but Shyvana could see the fierce determination in his eyes that he meant to fight to his last breath.

The problem, however, was that he could never win.

The wolf had one blind eye, its dark grey fur matted and full of white scars. One claw was broken, but its fangs were enough to crush the boy's neck. Judging by its size and strength, this was a lone wolf, capable of survival and slaughter on its own.

Be wary of scarred warriors, her father once told her. Scarred warriors are survivors.

The Murk Wolf lunged again, its maw wide opened and aiming for the boy's neck. The boy thrust his spear forward, but it was poorly aimed, only grazing the wolf's jaw, drawing blood.

This only infuriated the beast, shaking its head vehemently and then swiped its claws. The boy held his shield up, the claws colliding with the brass shield and bouncing away. He countered again with a wide sweep of his spear, trying to catch the wolf off guard.

The wolf reacted quickly, locking its jaw around the shaft of his spear before snapping it into half. Beneath the helmet, she could tell that the boy's eyes were widened with shock and fear, staring longingly at his broken weapon.

It was a huge mistake that he would regret forever, as the Murk Wolf launched itself into him, its claws seeking for his blood and flesh. The boy stumbled and held his shield up for dear life, slamming it into the beast's jaw. The wolf was unfazed, pinning him to the ground and baring its fangs right before his face.

The boy knew he was done for, but he still held his shield up, resisting the wolf's advance and refusing to give in. Shyvana couldn't help but admire his perseverance.

Should I help? Shyvana conjured a ball of fire as she contemplated her options. She shrugged. Well, I have to hunt it down anyway.

With the speed and strength of a dragon, Shyvana jumped towards the pair. She allowed the heat of her flames flow into her gauntlets as she lifted both gauntlets above her head, ready to bring them down onto the wolf's back.

The wolf's ear twitched, sensing a threat behind it. Shyvana reared back in surprise, holding both her gauntlets forward for defense.

The wolf launched itself into her, slamming into her gauntlets as they both barreled into the dirt, the boy forgotten. Shyvana summoned fire around her, throwing punches towards the wolf as the air was filled with the smell of singed fur. The wolf took a couple of hits, swiping its claws furiously as it tried to bite her head off.

Shyvana felt threatened, and she gave in to her inner strength. Fire surrounded them both once again, as Shyvana felt her limbs and body stretch and shift, transforming into a full-grown dragon. She flipped over, changing the tide of the battle with her on top and the wolf beneath, quickly seizing the beast by its paws. Shyvana was now larger and more intimidating than the wolf, but the beast beneath had seen enough battles that it showed no signs of fear.

Its fur, however, caught fire and it spread. The Murk Wolf headbutted into her, freeing itself from her grasp. Shyvana stepped back, watching as the wolf began rolling on the ground, trying to put out the fire.

Shyvana prepared herself to execute a fatal blow, when Jarvan and his men rushed out of nowhere with weapons drawn. Jarvan gave off a ferocious battle cry, his lance poised and ready to impale his foe. All the while, Shyvana was too stunned to move.

In her dragon form, she rushed towards the wolf, hissing at the men menacingly. "Back off!" she growled, throwing a fist forward.

"First one to land the last hit wins!" Jarvan thrust his lance, and it extended thrice its length. Shyvana pounced onto the wolf and pushed it away roughly, with Jarvan missing his mark.

"Hey!" Jarvan stomped his foot angrily. He retracted his lance and dashed forward again, trying to outmaneuver Shyvana's range.

Shyvana only grinned and inhaled deeply, her maw of sharp fangs glowing a fiery orange. Before she could expel her flame breath at the wolf, Jarvan shoved his shoulder into the dragon's belly, knocking the breath out of her. A jet of flames exploded and brightened up the forest for an instant. Jarvan scrambled roughly to his feet, drawing his lance backwards and turning around to throw it at the wolf.

When he turned around, the wolf pounced onto him, slamming him to the ground. Jarvan grunted painfully as he could feel claws digging into his arms. And he mustered all his strength to push the wolf away.

Shyvana suddenly appeared behind the wolf, in her human form. The wolf was oblivious to the danger behind him, as it kept growling and baring its fangs at Jarvan. Shyvana simply grabbed it by its head, before twisting it around with all her strength. The sound of a sickening crunch was heard, and the wolf fell limp onto the prince as Shyvana released it.

"I win," Shyvana smirked triumphantly, one hand planted on her hip.

"Prince!" his men rushed to him, and that was when Shyvana noticed a pool of blood flowing on the ground beneath Jarvan. Kyvan and Horace lifted the gigantic wolf's carcass, revealing Jarvan's lance which was buried deep in the Murk Wolf's chest, bathing both the prince and his lance in crimson blood.

"Heh," Jarvan grinned. The smirk on Shyvana's face twisted into irritation. "Looks like it's a tie,"

"I'm pretty sure I snapped its neck first," Shyvana retorted.

"Oh really?" Jarvan said mockingly. "Want another hunt?"

Shyvana crossed her arms and stared at Jarvan haughtily. "Why not?"

"Well-"

"You shouldn't have saved me,"

Surprised, they all turned their heads towards the one who was speaking. It was the boy who was fighting the wolf all by himself. He had taken off his helmet, his broken spear and brass shield on the ground. Without the helmet he looked even younger, as though he was just a child.

Jarvan frowned. "Who are you?"

"He was fighting the wolf earlier," Shyvana answered before the boy replied. "He was obviously no match against it, so I interfered,"

The boy's eyes were filled with despair and anguish. "You shouldn't have saved me, you should have let me die,"

"Excuse me?" Shyvana strode forward, her face twisted with anger. "I saved your life-"

"We saved your life," Jarvan corrected.

Shyvana ignored him. "- A thank you would suffice, really. You ungrateful brat,"

The boy was not disturbed by the sight of the half-dragon, as though he was subject to such horror everyday. He did not flinch when Shyvana glared down at him furiously. "You do not understand, it was a test. I was supposed to fight the wolf to prove my worth, and now you ruined it,"

Shyvana opened her mouth to yell at him, before Jarvan pulled her back. He stood forward and looked at the boy curiously.

"What kind of test?" he asked the boy.

"I suggest you run as far away as possible. I'm already dead the moment she jumped into the battle," the boy said with a stoned expression. Jarvan was shocked at how a boy his age could embrace death that easily. "They are coming, no doubt. And you will wish you have taken my advice,"

Shyvana furrowed her brows in confusion. "What do you-"

"Shyvana! Look out!"

It was too late. A large net sprouted overhead and enveloped the half-dragon in it. Shyvana hissed and flailed her arms frantically to fight the weight of the net. It only tangled with her limbs and the heavy weight pinned her to the ground. She looked around and saw that Jarvan and his men had had their weapons drawn, forming a circle around her.

She heard shouts, and saw that a few hundred men had surrounded them. The boy stood away from them, his knees on the ground as his head hung lowly, as if he was ashamed of his failure. The men surrounding them all had similar helmets with protruding red feathers, holding spears before them and brass shields. This men, however, were muscular and battle-hardened, unlike the boy. They looked like they could take on an army even if they were outnumbered ten to one.

Their spears were all pointed at Jarvan and his men. Shyvana laid on the ground helplessly, the weight of the net bearing down on her.

Among the army of stalwart warriors, one of them stood out. His cape was a dark shade of blue, and his spear was golden-tipped. The way he walked and presented himself suggested that he was the leader. He walked slowly towards the boy.

"Phillip," he said, his spear pointed at the boy's neck. "You have failed your task, and no Rakkor returns alive after losing a battle. Yet now you kneel in shame, incapable of slaying your foe. I give you one last chance to retake your honor and pride, do you yield?"

"I yield," the boy said, his voice filled with fierce honor and loyalty.

"Will you give your life to the Rakkor tribe in return to redeem your glory?"

The boy nodded.

"May the Sun God have you in His ranks," with that, he shoved the tip of his spear into the boy's neck, deep enough to give him a quick death. The boy did not gurgle or choke on his own blood, instead he closed his eyes and died gallantly.

The man pulled his spear from the corpse, and some of the men came forth to carry the corpse away, taking his brass shield and broken spear as well. Jarvan was horrified, his lance still held in front of him as the man strode fearlessly towards him. He stopped in front of the prince as they stared at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

"Who are you?" Jarvan asked, his lance near enough to pierce the man before him.

"Jagen," he simply answered, his eyes beneath the helmet glowed with enthusiasm. "The current Kor leader of the Rakkor tribe, Wielder of Sunspear," he spun the golden-tipped spear as though it weighed nothing. "You?"

Jarvan did not lower his lance. "Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, Crown Prince and Exemplar of Demacia," he gestured to the Demacian jewel encrusted on his helmet, shining brilliantly. "I have heard of the rites of the Rakkor since young, yet I do not expect it to be so brutal,"

"Brutal," Jagen nodded. "But necessary. The Rakkor crave for the one and only thing in their lives - battle. Our tribe has no place for the weak, and despise those who fight our battles,"

"You send children out into the jungle to see if they survive, and you call it a test?" Jarvan spat. "Do you expect me to stand and watch him getting ripped apart?"

"The Great Barrier is a harsh place, more so on Mount Targon. We live by the rule of 'survival of the fittest'. We battle harsh climates and fearsome creatures to survive," all the Rakkor slammed their spears against their shields in agreement. "I do not blame you, prince. From where you come from, I bet you are showered in riches and comforts,"

It was obvious that Jagen was mocking him, but Jarvan took no notice of it.

"It matters not where I come from," he said. "Let us go, and we'll forget this slight. We never knew about your violent trainings and rites, and I apologize if we unintentionally insulted your traditions,"

"Then you must forgive me, I can't let you leave," Jagen shook his head. He looked over Jarvan's shoulder, at the half-dragon that laid seething and trapped beneath the net. "A creature like her… A half-dragon, yes, it will be quite a battle,"

"She's under my charge-"

"Take this fucking net off me!" Shyvana screamed, struggling against the net. "I'll tear you from limb to limb!"

"Shyvana-"

"Don't be stupid," she glared at Jarvan. "You obviously want to shove that spear up his pompous arse,"

Well, she wasn't wrong. Jarvan cleared his throat noisily. "If she wins the duel, so what?"

"You and your company will be free to go, and today's incident will be forgotten," Jagen held his spear aloft. "On my honor as a Rakkor,"

"Get this net off me then!" Shyvana yelled. The net was already steaming, yet it did not burn. She only grunted in frustration and threw her hands up in surrender. "I'll fight you here and then!"

"Not here," Jagen said curtly. "Back on Mount Targon. We have an arena there, the Rakkor would love to see a good fight. I will not be fighting you either," he turned towards his formidable army of warriors. "Who will dare stand up against the Half-Dragon?"

Their faces remained stoic, and none of them moved a muscle. Until one of them moved forward and slammed the butt of his spear against the hard earth. "I will, sire," his voice was full of spirit and strength, strong and unbreakable.

"Right," Jagen chuckled. "Of course you will,"

"Who?" Shyvana stretched her neck to get a good look at her opponent.

"Pantheon, the Artisan of War," Jagen said proudly. "The paragon of the Rakkor tribe, Protector of the Sun Warrior. It will be a great fight worth watching,"

Jarvan threw a glance over his shoulder, glaring at Shyvana. "I hope you win this duel. We had enough trouble for the day,"

"Hah," Shyvana snorted. "Whatever they throw at me, it can't be worse than what I have faced," she glared at Pantheon, whose strong build and unshaken will did not frighten her. Her amber eyes burnt. "Let me show you the power of a dragon,"

It's pretty obvious that the Rakkor is based on Spartan warriors, and they are a fearless bunch. They live for battle, and they'd rather die in battle, hence the brutal portrayal of the Rakkor tribe.

If you have any questions you can always leave them in the reviews. I will gladly answer them. As always, reviews are very much appreciated and please leave one, if you don't mind. Have a nice day. Thank you!