She waited, and waited, but he didn't come.
Arya and Fírnen had taken up vigil on the cliffs by the sea, looking out over the crashing waves and to the North. The clouds of ash had not cleared up yet but their march had been impeded by the sea storms. They stuck to their land of origin.
The booming of the waves grew to be her rhythm to life, the slamming of the water against the white cliffs becoming seeming to form a melody of sorts.
The exodus of dragons and Riders had long since ended, they were holed up in Ellesméra, most of them at least. Many of the wild dragons had taken to hunting in and wandering through the forest. Now the serenity and calm that existed in Du Weldenvarden was punctuated by roars of dragons, crashing trees and screaming cries of animals.
Arya shivered slightly as the salt wind blew through her hair and ruffled her robes, huddling closer to Fírnen's warm body, listening to the rustling of thousands of leaves and needles against each other. The last light of the moon was cast in rays upon the tossing waves, reflected into strange and weird shapes dancing upon the water. Soon the Sun would rise, marking another day lost. She wondered how many days had passed since she'd taken up her watch.
No living thing came from Nyr Doru Araeba now, just the cold biting wind and the loss and sadness pervading her soul. No words passed between her and Fírnen, they simply waited and hoped that the truth they both knew, was wrong.
They might have stayed behind, to ensure everyone left, Arya consoled herself, but she knew it wasn't true.
She muttered a short spell and the lethargy that came with the dawn soon faded. Her peoples begged her to return to her throne, to resume control of Ellesméra in this time of chaos and doubt, but the only reply she offered was that she was waiting just in case anymore survivors from the disaster came. They troubled her no more save sending her food to fuel her vigil, or so they said. When she went to retrieve her fruit and vegetables from where they had been offered, she could sense the minds of other Elves hiding in the trees. Guards no doubt, assigned to protect her. But they were so well concealed she could almost imagine they didn't exist. She wondered whether or not one of the governors had taken up temporary stewardship, and she hoped so. She still cared for the welfare of her people after all.
A flutter of wings and she heard a familiar voice cry, "Wyrda!"
She looked up and saw a white raven perched on a branch hanging overhead. She nodded once, regarding Blagden, before her gaze returned to the sea.
Another flutter of feathers and Blagden landed on Fírnen's side, cocking his head at the elf queen. "Wyrda!"
Fírnen spoke, Leave us, Blagden.
The crow gave a simple croak, before he opened his beak and spoke again.
"A struggle you face this day,
A struggle that won't fade away.
You wake this morn and must see,
Certain things can never be."
Arya felt the loss wrench her heart again as Blagden's words brought forth a harsh reality to her. Eragon and Saphira were not coming. Fírnen snarled, You would do well to avoid that subject, little bird.
"I'm only a bird,
Freer than the breeze,
I behold to no one,
And do what I please."
Arya smiled slightly as she heard Blagden risking Fírnen's fury. The Raven croaked something like a cackle at the dragon before flying well out of reach and onto a high branch, his pale feathers stark against the green leaves that rustled in the sea winds.
The Sun began to rise from the East, its crimson rays sent forth like grasping fingers. She rubbed Fírnen's smooth green scales, hoping against hope that there would be a blue dragon and her Rider appearing over the horizon any moment, a star in the clouds of ash, but none came.
Shepherd found Errol on the rooftop, away from the others. He sat hunched over a small pile of tinder and logs, his jaws hanging open and some horrible rasping noise coming out of his throat. Shepherd smiled, asking, And what may my friend and dragon be up to this fine morn?
Errol raised his head from the pile of logs, grumbling, It's not fair. If Dýrgrir can Breathe then I should be able to as well.
He hung his head over the wood again and started those horrible rasping noises again. Shepherd shook his head but said nothing, planting his bottom on the stone floor right next to his dragon and looking out over the city, admiring the sunrise. The shadows of the buildings formed a strange mosaic of dark and light as people weaved in and out of the streets, market stalls were opened and the merchants' bellowing had begun anew.
Shepherd heard another rasping gag from Errol and nearly burst out laughing. "Give it up, Errol, the fire will come to you when it does."
No! I need to show that I'm as good as Dýrgrir, better in fact, I won't stop until I Breathe.
He frowned at his dragon's behaviour, but reasoned it to be nothing but a competitive streak. He laughed, "Imagine if anyone else saw you now, hunched over some dry wood looking and sounding like you were trying to cough up a bone stuck in your throat."
I don't care! I'll show Dýrgrir I can do it, that I'm better than him. Then… maybe…
Shepherd frowned. He recognised that special tone. "Is it Kalla again?"
Yes, he replied. You should see the way she looks at Dýrgrir now, the way she keeps on following him around, talking to him about any possible number of things.
"Errol, calm down, the only thing she's talking to him about is how to breathe fire. Anyway, as you said last time, she's got a taste for Wild ones."
And not for me, Errol replied miserably. Shepherd frowned, one moment he was cursing Dýrgrir and now he was miserable about his status in Kalla's eyes.
"Come on, we've got to get ready to leave."
Frelsa had realised that her title as Rider was quite unwanted, everywhere she went crowds would form to block her off, pleading for blessings or curses on adversaries, anointing children with magic and weaving spells of protection over beloved. She only spent ten minutes out in the city but soon returned to the Keep, exhausted and tired from the sheer number of spells and blessings she'd spoken. When next she left, her fine clothes were exchanged for simple garb, a simple green hooded robe with a white wrapped around her neck. The simplest clothes she could find in her room. She opted to go by herself, partly because Kalla would obviously want to go off pestering Dýrgrir nonstop with questions on how to breathe fire. Frelsa slipped out into the city.
The latest talk in the stalls and on the streets was the great battle, obviously. The collapsed wall facing Leona Lake was a strong reminder, so were the screams of the wounded men coming from the healers building. She wanted to help out with the healing, if she could actually navigate her way through the streets to the Keep.
The street version of the battle was very exaggerated, to say the least. It told a story of how three Riders and their dragons held off an army of Reapers by themselves, protecting the whole collapsed wall until their dragons' fire burnt their enemies to cinders. Another one told of how they were supposedly "pierced with a dozen fold wounds, yet fought still, slaying the enemies where they stood". Another story was of an army that never was the same, a different legion of enemies every time you turned away and looked back. Frelsa knew only the last one was true.
Everywhere she went there was praise for the Riders and their dragons, especially Dýrgrir or the 'Copper Flame' as they called him. There were stories of the flame he breathed, how it was so hot it could melt metal and liquefy stone. Tall tales, but still Frelsa wondered how Drukjl and Dýrgrir were handling their newfound attention.
Frelsa tried to find the stall from day before, but could barely find herself in this tumbling swirl of fine crafts and elegant contraptions. A pity, she really wanted to buy the metal sculpture of Murtagh and the Thorn, she knew it was important, somehow. And Solembum's prophecy never left her as she struggled to guess what it could refer to. The answer from the North, her memories depicted snow and mountains so maybe that could be in the North, but the rest drew up a blank.
She bent down to admire a flask of some strange liquid that fizzled and sparked curiously, wondering what it would taste like. The red fluid gave off a strange spicy vibe to her. Her mind kept wandering, and found it focused on Kalla's and Errol's predicament. Personally, she felt that green dragon was being quite petty, but she grudgingly respected her decisions anyway. Errol was a wreck now, trying to pick a fight with Dýrgrir whenever they were anywhere near with each other and trying desperately to repair his relationship with Kalla. She suspected he might have more than just a friendly liking for Kalla, but didn't tell her dragon.
Frelsa grumbled as someone spilled over the strange red flask, spilling the contents on her clothes and staining her green cloak into some blood like cloth. The stall owner glared at the offender, an elderly woman with a face of wrinkles, but Frelsa smiled at her knowingly, "It's okay."
The man grumbled, "That was my last bottle, I could've made seven Cuprums off that."
Frelsa furrowed her brows and tried to remember what Cuprums were. Coppers? Silvers? She shrugged and reached into her pouch and pulled out a random gold coin, pressing it into the man's hands. His eyes widened but she merely left him to rejoin the crowd.
She wandered for a long time, letting herself be enveloped in the twirling spiral of strange crafts and colourful cloths, her mind spinning at the sight of many of them, her mind feeling as if upon a cloud upon sniffing another. She was happy, until she'd heard the man.
"No, no, no, no, wrong, wrong, wrong."
She stiffened and cocked her head to one side. There was a deafening cacophony in her ears, so why'd this one voice catch her attention? Perhaps it was the guilt in it, the drawl under it, something just threw this voice slightly… off.
Frelsa hopped onto a curb and looked over the heads of the crowds, between caps and hoods. But she saw no one that was out of the ordinary, no one that caught her eye. She shrugged and moved to return to the crowd, before she heard it again, closer. "Why? So many, so much, why? Why? Why?"
A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. She came to face an old man, his face a valley of wrinkles. He was like the man she'd seen sitting in the street before, but different, his face was a valley of wrinkles and folds, he was gaunter and cheeks sunken in with hunger. His eyes were drooped and tired but bloodshot, they bore into her skull. He asked her frantically, "Why! Tell me!"
Frelsa recoiled and tried to move away but the man held her still. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, the man smelled like dead things and rotting wood. He asked again, "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me!"
And just like that he let go and curled up against the wall. Frelsa recoiled at his smell and realised his clothes, though tattered and faded, had strange designs on them that might have once been beautiful. He mumbled something soft, then loud, then soft again. Frelsa wrapped one hand around Delswoir and backed off, but the man seemed to sense her action and sprang forward, lunging at her.
She yelped and drew Delswoir and held it out before her, gagging as it impaled the man. Her second real kill, this one a harmless old man. But was he dead? The crazy man's clothes didn't seem to tear, his blood didn't seem to run. The blade seemed to pass through him entirely, like he was made of nothing. He gripped her shoulders with claw-like fingers, warning, "Stay away from the Spine!"
She kept her eyes on her sword, looking down its curved length to where it entered the old man's chest. No skin was broken. The man repeated, louder, "Away from the Spine!"
Frelsa nodded, dazed, but this didn't please him. He said again, now shouting, "AWAY FROM THE SPINE!"
She mumbled, still reeling, "Ok…"
He staggered back, restrained now. Frelsa felt something bitter in her mouth as he backed off unharmed from her blade. Glancing to one side she saw that the crowd paid them little heed, it seemed they didn't see either of them. The man muttered again, "Away from the Spine. Away, before I go to sleep again."
She nodded quickly but this seemed to anger him. He asked, "Leave now. Finish your quest. Do… not…"
The man seemed to stagger and leaned against the wall for support. Amazingly, I saw him yawn as he sank down to the ground. Gazing up at me, he stated, "He's coming for you. Leave, please. I… I see it in your eyes. You think I'm crazy!"
Damn right. But she obviously didn't say that, raising Delswoir so that the tip was directly at the man's chest. She knew it wouldn't hurt him but it gave her some sense of safety. The man pointed at her accusingly. "You don't believe me. Don't worry, no one ever does. They do in the end."
Then came a shift in the wind. The cool gust died down and was replaced by an unnatural stillness. Frelsa felt a shiver creep up her spine in spite of the heat.
A troubled murmuring arose. Frelsa turned and saw the crowd around her still now, no long seething and moving. She wondered what had happened, until she realised that they were all looking at her. Men and women, old and young, they all faced her now, or rather glared at her. She quavered slightly from the sheer anger she felt from them, washing over and crashing against her. Under their hateful glares she stepped back and her back was against the wall of the building. Her hand fell to Delswoir's pommel.
"What's going on?" She asked no one in particular. The raucous of the market had faded away. Glancing back to where the crazy man had been, she saw no one there.
The crowd retained a chilling silence for so long Frelsa felt tempted to just run for the Keep. The quiet was so great that she feared even moving lest she break the silence. Then came the hiss, a cold whisper from all around, slow and drawling and fringed with ice and hate.
"Rider…"
And then the silence broke.
Shepherd smiled and lay his hands on Sildine's. He gave a sly smile. "I'm sorry m'lady, I fear that soon I must leave."
"Oh, must you?" she asked unhappily. She pouted. "It's so boring here in this city, you and your friends are the only thing that's happened in years. It's always some troubles with Feinster, or some ugly acolytes who come from Helgrind to preach to us."
They were currently sitting within Sildine's chambers, one of the most luxurious and exquisite in the whole Keep obviously, she being the Lord's daughter. An ornate pearl ringed mirror sat in one corner and the windows were shrouded in pale silk curtains that did little to shield out the strong sun. Shepherd sat presently upon the edge of SIldine's bed next to the girl herself. He comforted, "Don't worry, I'll return as soon as I can, couldn't keep away from you if I tried."
She scoffed and looked down shyly. "You charming devil."
He laughed, pleased at himself, and she chuckled with him. The girl folded her hands upon her palms, and said, "Rider, this little time I've been able to spend with you has been, to say the least, the-"
Shepherd hushed her. "Silence now. Let's just enjoy each other's company for a few moments longer till I must leave. Perhaps, in private?"
She smiled coyly back, getting up and crossing the room to the door and locking it with a key she wore on a thin necklace. When she returned to her seat at his side she tapped the key on her chest and whispered, "No one's barging in anytime soon."
Sildine paused suddenly, her back straightening and her features erased and written over with blankness. Shepherd looked at her concerned. "Is something wrong?"
A cloud must've moved over the Sun at that moment for the light streaming through the silk curtains faded. The room was cast into an unearthly dark. Shepherd got up, his hand straying to Shorren. He glanced down at Sildine, still seated, and offered his hand. "Something's happened. Come, we'll go and find out."
She didn't speak nor open her mouth but still Shepherd heard the whisper. Like some sort of half dead ghoul hissing in his ear.
"Rider…"
Shepherd drew Shorren out and pointed it at the four corners of the room in turn, looking for the source of the growl. He felt fear in his heart and called to Sildine, "Come! We have to go!"
Her neck cracked and her head turned to him so suddenly it seemed to leave a smoking shadow behind. Her soft eyes were now hard and cold, filled with an unnatural hate and anger. Shepherd should have heeded this but didn't, reaching for the door, "Come on, SIldine! We can't stay-"
"We?"
He paused at the cold sound. Pivoting slowly to face her, he tightened his grip on Shorren till his knuckles were white as bones. The girl's face wasn't shy and timid anymore, now stark and harsh. She stood up slowly, advancing to the Rider.
Shepherd gulped and raised Shorren so its tip was level with her eyes. But she continued undaunted. Her hand disappeared into the folds of her dress and he heard a soft hiss as a dagger was drawn. The sound made him shiver.
"Rider…"
She advanced till her nose grazed Shorren's blade, then raised a hand and pushed it away. She had become infinitely stronger than before, Shepherd was barely able to resist as his weapon was pushed to his side and then pulled away. She threw it to a corner.
Sildine smiled a sharp grin and raised her other hand, revealing a sharp dagger in her grip.
"Rider…"
She levelled the blade with his eyes and pushed him back against the wall. Shepherd muttered a plethora of magic spells and struck with his mind but her mental defences were strong as iron and he was loathe to use killing spells against her, but still whatever he said didn't affect her. He felt the spells sliding off a sort of invisible shield, as if she had a ward or some sort upon her. It didn't really surprise him, she was daughter of the Lord after all.
"…Kill…"
She thrust her dagger forward and aimed it straight for the space between his eyes. Shepherd yelped and craned his neck away, but still the blade sliced across the side of his skull. He gritted his teeth in pain.
Sildine snarled and struck again, this time to Shepherd's stomach, but he twisted his body to one side and the blade missed a vital organ. Instead, it sank hilt deep into his thigh and scraped against bone, and that was so much better.
The girl stepped back to draw her arms back for another strike, relinquishing her hold on Shepherd. He yelped again as her dagger shot forth, the metal scraping noisily against the wall. He limped to one side as she lunged again, then again. She swung her dagger lengthwise and it carved an arc through the air, slicing through Shepherd's tunic.
Blood began to stain the tear and he clutched his chest, limping away. The girl growled like some kind of animal and attacked again. He bent to one side and grabbed her shoulders, using her momentum to send the girl sprawling to the far side of the room.
A drop of his blood dripped to the marble floor and stained the stone. He fell to one knee and began crawling to the door. He reached up wearily and tried to push the door out but there was a rattling. He cursed, remembering Sildine locking it. He needed to leave this crazy girl.
Shepherd looked back and saw the girl on all fours, trying to rise to her feet. He saw her necklace dangling from her neck, a thin chain with a key on the end.
He hobbled over to Shorren and scooped it up, bringing it up just in time to block a blow from behind. He grunted as he was pushed down onto his haunches. Gods this girl was stronger than he remembered. Her petite features were distorted by a scowl and they pushed back and forth.
Her necklace had fallen out of her dress and dangled in front of his eyes, twinkling teasingly. He mumbled an apology for what he was about to do and kicked one of her legs out from under her, sending the girl off balance. The weight on her weapon relinquished and she fell to one knee. Shepherd reached forth and snatched the key from her neck, snapping the whole chain in two.
He kicked her back, sending her crashing into her pearl mirror where she did not rise. Shepherd glanced back worriedly before unlocking the door.
Opening it, he called back, "Sorry about this, girl."
He carefully locked the door and raced to the roof. He said a healing spell and sighed with relief as the wounds healed and the blood stilled, but still deep inside was an uneasy rolling. Something was going to happen.
Rounding a corner he ran into two guards standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking the hallway. Shepherd let out a sigh of relief, pointing back to Sildine's quarters. "Guards, the Lord's daughter, she's… there's something wrong with her. She… she…"
"Rider…"
Shepherd's jaw dropped as the guards drew their swords with the rasping of metal.
They lowered their blades and advanced menacingly, their eyes glowing with hate behind their helmets.
The first guard growled and stabbed. Shepherd raised his blade and parried, then pushed the blade back before raising Shorren again and letting the other soldier's sword slide off cleanly with a sharp grating.
One of the guards lunged forward, snarling, but Shepherd managed to step aside and allow the armoured man to barrel away and backwards. The remaining soldier brought his sword down in an overhand blow but Shepherd managed to parry it, thrusting his knee into the man's um, jewels. The soldier doubled over in pain and the Rider took the advantage, kneeing the bent over man repeatedly in the face.
Turning, the other soldier was already on his feet and swinging his blade wildly. Shepherd grimaced as the tip of the metal weapon tore into his cheek. He staggered back and the man struck again. Shepherd parried and wrenched the blade out of his enemy's hand and threw the blade a good distance away.
Still the man didn't let up, he didn't even hesitate as he charged. He didn't have a weapon but that didn't give him pause. The soldier recklessly swung his fists in wild arcs. One of his right hooks caught Shepherd in the jaw, on the side where he got cut. Shepherd scowled as he felt more pain from the wound, before slicing with Shorren. The straight steel blade scraped against the man's armour and tore a rent in it. The soldier spun meekly and fell in a heap, immobile.
Shepherd pressed a hand to his cheek to staunch the blood flow, muttering a healing spell. He cast his mind out as he scaled the stairs, seeking for Errol. He found him alright, all three of the dragons on the roof along with Drukjl. Along with about a dozen other presences, all repeating the same mantra. One word, Rider…
Frelsa threw open the door and was greeted with a scowling woman. She raised her hand to slap the Rider but she grabbed the woman's collar and threw her backwards into the screaming crowds. She slipped inside the house and slammed the door close.
She leaned against the door in an effort to keep it shut and looked around the house for something to barricade the door. Three flimsy chairs, a three-legged table and a carpet. Frelsa cursed and pushed back against the door as someone forced it open for an instant. For that second she heard shouts, screams, cries for her blood.
Straining against the door, she was glad that this building had no windows. She felt something crash against the door and the frame shook, opening the thing a crack.
She jammed Delswoir through the handle and dug the sword tip into the wooden frame. The blade was nigh on indestructible, but the door handle was. Nothing here was permanent.
Her precious green blade rattled suspiciously as the crowd slammed against the door again and again. As she stepped away Frelsa wondered what kind of punishment Hrothgar would bestow upon her for disrespecting a weapon he'd crafted.
Frelsa heard the lock crack and the wood splintering as it was pushed out of position by the efforts of the bloodthirsty citizens outside. She reached out with her mind, desperately screaming for Kalla.
Drukjl growled as the closet guard struck. He raised Zhâda and the metal blade struck his copper coloured axe. He grunted and grabbed the man's cuirass, throwing him back and headfirst into a wall.
It was difficult to incapacitate these humans without killing them, and the reckless soldiers didn't even stop when they were bleeding profusely. They kept going until they fell unconscious on account of their injuries.
Another guard stabbed and Drukjl slammed Zhâda down, wrenching the blade from the human's grasp. As the guard scrambled to retrieve his weapon the Urgal slammed his axe handle into the human's helmet. There was a satisfactory clang and the human sprawled away.
Drukjl was surrounded by maybe three guards, the rest were focused on his companions. The three dragons were gathered on the rooftop, pressed close together and snarling at the ring of soldiers around them. The humans held out long lances and halberds, jabbing at the dragons' unprotected wings and noses.
Dýrgrir snarled as a lanced jabbed into a spot at the side of his nose, snarling and batting away the lance and stretching forward to bite before another lance stabbed him in his wing. He grumbled to Drukjl, Can't we just kill a few of these humans?
No! No killing, these humans aren't in their right mind! Drukjl reminded. A sword nicked him on the thigh and he snarled back, kicking the human in the thigh and sending him staggering away. We can't harm the innocent.
Dýrgrir complained, But their petty weapons sting. Can't we just kill them a little bit?
No.
A little, little bit?
No. Drukjl parried another blow and slammed the blunt top of his axe head into the human's face, leaving a parting gift of a broken nose.
Dýrgrir seemed nothing but a bit angry at the treatment and Errol was slightly more so, but Kalla was outraged at the actions, roaring, You puny two-legs dare stand against- ow! You little- ah! That hurts!
He saw the door leading to the balcony open and Shepherd rush out. He sighed in relief as he saw his fellow Rider. Shepherd drew his stone grey sword and rushed forward, grabbing a soldier from behind and slamming his sword pommel again and again into the back of the man's helmet. The others were caught off guard and this allowed Drukjl the opportunity to spring forth and send them flying onto their feet.
He turned to Shepherd and whacked him on the shoulder, asking, "Took your own sweet time getting here didn't you?"
The human merely smirked and ran to aid the dragons. Seeing Shepherd heartened them, especially Errol who roared elatedly and tried to join his Rider but he was blocked by a jabbing lance. But Kalla took one look at Shepherd and her emerald eyes widened. She stammered, I-I… How did I forget! Frelsa, she-she.
Drukjl suddenly remembered that Frelsa was still in the market. She was caught in a sea of Rider hating citizens if the enchantment here extended to them, and was presently somewhere within the city's giant market. The thing literally spanned the length and breadth of Belatona.
Kalla left without another word, spreading her wings and leaping off the balcony and soaring off and over the city. Errol started after her, Kalla! Wait!
A lance stuck through his wing and he roared, batting away the spear. Drukjl slammed his axe butt into the back of the man's knee then into his head. Trust in Kalla! She'll get Frelsa out!
Frelsa wondered where Kalla was. Surely she must know how much shit her Rider was in.
The crowd had begun to tear holes in the door, throwing strange articles at her. Clothing, trash, fruit, stones, a dead cat and a living cat, which she managed to catch and laid down gently on the room's table.
Some stuck their hands through the gaps in the door and tried to pull Delswoir out of its locking positions, not even faltering as the brightsteel cut through their fingers and their blood painted the green blade red. Frelsa wanted to gag at the sight of the bloodied and torn fingers clawing still at her weapon.
She mumbled an apology in the ancient language to the cat and picked him up and deposited him on one of the chairs, pushing the flimsy table up against the door. The crowd outside actually reached in and pulled the table into pieces and drew them through the door holes and into the throng, before flinging them back at the Rider.
"Rider…"
Frelsa wanted to scream, to cry. The fear in her heart was so great she just wanted to curl up and wish it away. There was another option, spells.
She grasped her magical mental kite and laid her palm on the doorframe, mumbling a locking spell, then felt her strength drain away frighteningly quickly. Cutting off the magic supply to the enchantment immediately she tried to retreat as a hand craned around and grabbed her collar. Yelping, she screamed a sleep charm and the man's arm went limp and she managed to withdraw.
Frelsa directed her magic towards those whose hands were bloody and ruined and whispered sleeping spells, giving them respite from their morbid struggle. But more came to replace them. She wished them asleep, then wished those asleep, then these, then those over there. Her energy wasn't infinite, but the crowd seemed to be.
A sword wielded by one of the citizens hacked through the wood and clanged on Delswoir. Frelsa pointed at the man and whispered something, wincing as she heard a crack and the man fell to the ground grasping his broken knees. She wondered how many times she could do that before her body was too weak to stand.
There was a thud from the roof and Frelsa looked up fearfully, before a presence touched her mind. She wept for joy as he mind was rejoined with Kalla's. Gods Kalla! Help me get out!
Her dragon seemed to pause for awhile, as if surveying the situation. I am never letting you out of my sight again. Two-legs are magnets for troubles.
Frelsa heard the sound of snapping and the flapping of huge sheets and imagined Kalla on the roof biting at the crowd and beating her wings, trying to intimidate them and push them back. The crowd didn't relent and she heard her dragon growl and snarl as no doubt she was pelted with other strange objects.
She realised that in the market there was a plethora of strange vials and balms, any of which could be deadly to dragons. Now she began to fear for Kalla more than herself.
Frelsa tried to reach out with her mind to the rioting crowd to try and make them see reason but the moment her mind touched theirs she withdrew, their calm and rational brains had been transformed into raging torrents of nightmares and a single overriding command. Kill the Riders.
There was more flapping and she reached out with her mind, sensing Drukjl, Shepherd, Dýrgrir and Errol. There was more thudding as the dragons landed on the roof.
Hey, girl, we late?
She didn't know whether to curse Shepherd or bless him. She asked, Get these people away from the entrance! I'll be torn to shreds if I go anywhere near them!
And we won't?
Just-
Ah, don't worry. We got this.
The three dragons roared together and Drukjl bellowed something deep and guttural in his native language. But the crowd didn't falter, and through the holes in the door she saw some of them jumping up and climbing onto the building roof.
There was a crack and one of them fell off the roof and to the ground painfully. Frelsa pointed at one of the citizens outside she spied raising a beaker of strange yellow liquid to throw and murmured, "Slytha."
The man's eyes rolled back and his knees crumpled. The beaker fell and shattered against the ground, coating the shins of half a dozen with the fluid which smoked and hissed strangely.
Dýrgrir roared and the crowd seemed to silence itself for a moment. Frelsa realised what was going to happen and stepped away from the door and leaned against the far door.
The brown dragon on the roof roared and there was a copper and orange light that glowed through the gaps in the door, tongues of hot fire that threatened to incinerate the door altogether. The flames were beautiful in a sort of deadly fashion, a perfect gradient of orange to copper to black tips which smoked and flickered. It was so hot she felt the burning palm of the flames on her cheek though they were many metres away.
But when the flames cleared the crowd still roared back and pressed on, their hair burnt and clothes scorched. Their skin was red and crossed with welts but that troubled them as much as their bleeding fingers as they grappled with Delswoir, which is to say it didn't.
Dýrgrir was obviously disappointed with the lack of effect and resorted to roaring with the other two dragons. Frelsa tried to think of a way out, then realised that though the roof was small it should be able to fit all three dragons and a bit more. And that 'bit more' was what mattered.
Frelsa apologised to the cat again and lifted his purring body off the chair and onto the stool, taking the flimsy seat and placing it under the back section of the ceiling where the stone was cracked and old. She got up on the seat and placed her palms flat against the stone overhead, mumbling, "Jierda."
There was a crackling and a rain of dust showered upon her. She looked up and wanted to cry in joy when she saw the new web of cracks across the stone. Drukjl asked, Girl, what is your plan?
The roof here is weak, she explained. I should be able to break through it with magic and go onto the roof.
She increased her pressure on the ceiling and pushed whatever was left of her magic into the spell. That was when she realised that if she went straight onto the roof after the ceiling broke then Delswoir would be left in the doorframe. She'd have to rectify that.
The ceiling actually crumbled apart so as to let a tiny pinpoint of light through. Frelsa began to pant in anticipation as more dust showered upon her. Glancing to one side she saw that the door was nearly gone, the crowd held back only by Delswoir barring them and a few stray planks.
The stone crumbled a bit more to allow her to squirm through, but she decided to widen it a bit more. A big mistake, as she soon learnt.
There was a sharp cracking noise and she saw one crack, larger than the rest, stretching across the fracture in the ceiling. The crack widened and spread to the back wall, then down and around and to the ground. The wall began to fall apart.
Frelsa pointed at Delswoir and hurriedly said, "Eom eka!"
To me. Delswoir quavered and shivered in its spot dug into the frame for awhile, a shimmer passing along its length, before it broke through the timber and rushed to Frelsa. The handle immediately found its place in her hand but the blood slick weapon nearly slipped from her grasp.
The crowd burst through the door as the back wall collapsed, revealing the crowd on that side pressing in. Frelsa placed her arms on the roof and tried to pull herself up, frightened at how weakened she was from her magic.
Someone grabbed her leg and tried to pull her down. Her left hand lost its grip and she was yanked down. Frelsa was only attached to the roof by the tips of her right fingers. She mumbled, Kalla!
On it!
Kalla didn't really seem very on it. Frelsa was yanked down again and her grip slipped a bit more. Her fingers stung from clutching the rough rock edge and she felt warm blood run down her wrist and her arm. Another yank.
Her hands were pulled from their hold and she was yanked down, falling down into the crowd. Kalla!
A shadow passed over the Sun at that moment, a green blur that reached down and wrapped strong claws around Frelsa's torso and pulling her from the grasp of the crowd.
The wind blew through her hair as Kalla carried her into the air and away from the city. She craned her neck and saw a brown dragon and a grey dragon following, Riders on their back.
They flew up and away, Frelsa let her head fall back against Kalla's strong claws and sheathed Delswoir.
So, where to, High Chief Navigator?
The woman came back that day, in a somewhat better mood.
She sat happily on one of his stools and he looked at her wearily, pulling on his long beard. The woman asked, "You saw the girl didn't you?"
He nodded slowly.
"You could see that she is not weak."
He gave his long white beard another luxurious pull. "Perhaps. Lesser beings are… difficult. Hard to predict, except for you of course."
She smiled regardless and as she drummed her fingers on her lap, the old man asked, "You heard what happened in Belatona?"
Her mood soured now. "I heard."
"Gaotr's condition has been getting worse."
The woman scoffed, "Now that is obvious."
The shaggy black cat sauntered in and lay on the floor besides the woman. The old man regarded to the cat and it licked one of its paws. The woman said, "I went to Feinster. The Keep's destroyed and Áqirni's gone. Spirited away by Him most likely."
She lapsed into silence and their situation became distressingly hopeless.
The woman counted off on her fingers. "So, we've lost the twins, Gaotr, Áqirni, and we can't count on Moarn. Besides us and Him, that leaves only Alhteff. And I don't think he'll be on anyone's side."
The old man's expression didn't change. The woman said, "The Riders, they are our only hope now."
He pulled on his long beard and after a pause, shook his head. "No, we may be the last ones who have the right to wear out titles, and we cannot abandon the old ways, now of all times."
She stood up angrily, knocking her stool over. "Listen to yourself! You would let all living in this world be enslaved or killed?"
He shrugged. "Perhaps. Nothing lasts forever, and perhaps He is just a catalyst to put into effect the plans Fate has laid out for us. Perhaps this is all part of the great design."
She trembled with rage and stared down the old man. "You were once Wisdom, now you're blinded. You do not deserve that title."
If that hurt him he did not show it. He pointed calmly at her. "And you were once Foresight. You know what's coming."
She spun on the balls of her feet and turned to the door. "Perhaps I do, but I shall never let Him kill and wreak havoc in this world as he pleases, slaying the guilty and innocent alike."
"Compassion is your weakness."
"And Sloth is your's!"
The old man smiled at her as if he knew something she didn't. "Sloth? That virtue belongs not to me, soon enough you will see the true meaning of it. Look to the East, to the Spine."
18-2-14
I don't know what's up with my life. I've been swamped with so much work I can barely touch my computer to write anymore, hopefully it'll clear up somewhat soon. Hopefully. Well, that's chapter 13, woo unlucky number.
Anyway, I'm amazed I've even made it this far and just have to say I owe it all to you guys, the readers, for viewing, favouriting and reviewing. These may seem like simple acts but to writers they mean the world.