Author's note: Kept you waiting, uh? See, this is what is commonly referred to as 'writer's block'. It sucks. But hey, at least you all got one big chunk of a chapter this time. Now, checking the reviews:
Author-San 9001: Glad you liked the part about the cheetahs considering that the thought process didn't extend much beyond "let's make it feel like it's an actual village". As for Bianca, like I said, I had my initial reservations about including her; she belong to a different series of games after all. In the end though, I just needed to apply some changes to her backstory (of which there wasn't exactly much) to make her fit right in. Besides, I need some way to showcase the magic system. And yes, we are definitely going somewhere ;)
Chapter 8: Fire
"I never paid much heed to legends. I couldn't comprehend Hunter's fascination with them, amongst other things.
Looking back to it, I think that explains much, and why Hunter saw the signs long before any of us did, me included."
-Chief Prowlus, of the Avalar Tribal Confederacy, regarding the First Battle of Avalar.
Meadow let out a sigh as his tired paws finished their delicate needlework. The procedure was simple, yet there was little he could do to halt his own trembling. Eventually, the cheetah felt confident enough of his work to stand back and admire it.
"There," he finally said, cutting off what remained of the string with a pair of scissors. "Don't scratch it or the unguent won't work."
The badger nodded. The stab wound on his shoulder did in fact looked much better now that it was no longer bleeding everywhere, even though he had not twitched even once during the whole procedure.
He picked up his stained shirt before rummaging through his pockets. He placed a few dry leaves of tobacco by the cheetah's side without a single word.
A token of gratitude. Meadow shook his head.
"I don't need payment. Keep them."
The badger did not. He grunted something under his breath.
"He still wants you to have them," Ollin mentioned. The hare began picking up the scattered medical instruments and placing them back into Meadow's satchel. He placed the leaves inside as well. "I think you should. That's the closest to a genuine 'thank you' I've seen from Kas."
"Just make sure he rests," the cheetah said. Kas mumbled something. From behind came the sound of footsteps, then the sharp crack of a spear's butt driven against the ground. Glancing over his shoulder, Meadow saw the guards, both felines, waiting for him and scowling.
"Healer. Time's up. Come," one said, his tongue struggling with a foreign language.
With a painful hiss, Meadow stood up with the help of a walking stick, the injury he had sustained making itself known once again. Maybe the leaves would make him some good; they did help sometimes calm his nerves.
The guards escorted him upstairs without much delay. They passed by other rooms, where the survivors of the butcher at Greenvale rested, many huddled together for warmth. The tunnels running below the dragon temple were damp and had not been built with the idea of holding prisoners, especially not fifty of them. There were no doors nor cells; there was no need, of course. The exit back to the surface was only one and under heavy surveillance.
"Captain said you go back to work. Tomorrow heal. You heal as said." Once again, the words were hard to comprehend. The accent was of western origin and thick.
'Work.'
The cheetah scoffed at that notion, teeth clenching in rage. And yet there he was, offering his services to the invaders in exchange for the guarantee that none of the other prisoners would be hurt.
Meadow managed to climb up the flight of stairs without too much trouble, even if slowly at that. He decided to try his best to ignore the pain in his leg. The guards behind made their displeasure known in their native language. Meadow was glad he couldn't understand them.
They shuffled past an arched doorway and two spear-wielding guards on either side.
High above his head, the dragon temple's stone ceiling had collapsed centuries prior, and the pitch-black canopy of the night sky loomed overhead, broken by hundreds of glistening dots of pure light. Meadow's sharp eyes caught the unmistakeable silhouettes of archers as they stalked the upper balconies.
Only after a few moments he realized he was alone. The two guards had simply wandered off, their task complete.
The hall was vast, built with dragons in mind, but now the intruders had transformed it into a staging ground. Few paid much attention to him as they went about their tasks. Even if he had tried to escape, he wouldn't have gotten very far. Instead, they rested, cooked, and prepared themselves to the coming fight.
'The coming fight against the Avalar tribes.'
He couldn't say who they were nor where they came from. Their accents were thick, as if they chewed their own words before spitting them out. They loathed Grublins, and that was probably a reciprocal sentiment. His last patient had gotten his injury during a scuffle with a couple of them; the intruders preferred to keep them outside the temple.
Meadow trudged towards the far side of the hall, moving past pedestals and columns weathered by the passage of time, the stone feeling cold against his feet. Incomplete inscriptions dotted the walls together with crumbling and faded mosaics of a time long gone.
The cheetah had found there a little space for himself and away from the ruckus. He sat down with some difficulty on the steps leading to an ancient pedestal and pulled out a waterskin before taking a generous gulp.
He felt tired, yet even more than that, he was afraid. Meadow was no fool; their leader had found some use in the cheetah as a healer, but would not hesitate to run him through with a sword once that very use was exhausted.
Meadow had met him in Greenvale. It was not an experience he was keen on repeating. He shook his head, paws reaching for his smoking pipe.
"I knew I would find you here."
Meadow stopped in his tracks, then glanced up slowly, just in time to see a coyote stepping out from behind a column. He was short and pale-furred, with a pair of round glasses perched on top of his nose. He wore a set of brown breeches and a button-down shirt under a sleeveless coat. Despite his unassuming appearance, Meadow knew better.
Esteban was a murderer.
"I was hoping we could resume our previous conversation," the sorcerer said as he drew closer, tail swishing behind.
Despite his nervousness, Meadow met his gaze. He rose back to his feet thanks to the walking stick. "Me and you have nothing to talk about."
"That's a lie and we both know it. Just as we both know that there is more to this temple than it meets the common eye. Now, why don't you share with me what you know?" The coyote came to a halt a few feet from him, his eyes leaving Meadow only to check that they were indeed alone.
The cheetah gritted his teeth. "I've told you already. I don't know what you are talking ab-"
Esteban's leg lashed out, batting the stick aside. Before he had the time to realize what had just happened, Meadow hit the ground with a painful grunt. He opened his mouth only to stop, eyes wide. Magic danced and flicked across Esteban's fingertips.
"I'm growing tired of asking nicely, tribal," he hissed. "I dislike the very idea of wasting my time amongst your primitive kind, but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. This dragon temple is mentioned in many treaties I've managed to scavenge out of Riràny. The catacombs beneath this place are soaked with ancient magic."
He took a step closer, his glasses glinting in the dark from the flying sparks of magic. "So stop lying to me. You live in this valley. That idiot of Reynald might think you are just a healer, but I can sense otherwise. Speak now, or I'll have to ask those friends of yours we are keeping downstairs."
Meadow's blood run cold at those words.
"We . . . w-we have an agreement . . ."
"Oh please!" Esteban snickered. "Do you think I care of whatever Reynald told you? He's a knight, a mindless brute that sees only what's directly in front of him. He thinks our little excursion in Avalar is a military campaign like any other, but he's too blind to see the true potential of this place."
He raised both paws before him, coils of wild magic whipping and arching between his fingertips.
"But I do. And now, I need you to-"
Meadow never heard the rest.
A metal gauntlet emerged from the darkness and closed around Esteban's right wrist. The coyote let out a yelp, broken by a second gauntlet smashing against his face with enough force to kick him off his feet. His concentration broken, the gathering spell dissipated into the air.
The cheetah blinked as the newcomer came finally into view.
Sir Reynald stood before him; the canine was clad entirely in a suit of heavy plate armour, coupled with a set of vambraces over his arms. His visor was up, revealing green eyes burning with barely contained anger, a growl building in the back of his throat.
A chainmail skirt clinked softly as he stepped over the sorcerer, before seizing him by the throat in one vicious grip and pulling him back on his feet.
"I warned you once already. If it was up to me, I would have strung you up from a tree a long time ago."
Then, he scoffed. "You are very lucky me and our mutual friends need a spellcaster right now. You try to pull this kind of shit on our only healer again and I might forget that. Are we clear?" He leaned in and hissed the last sentence.
Struggling to breath, the sorcerer had only enough strength for a meek nod. The knight let go and Esteban hit the floor again with a gasp. He scrambled back to his feet, painting, stopping only to pick up his broken glasses and staggering away on shaky feet.
Reynald watched him go silently before turning his attention back to the cheetah, seemingly noticing his presence for the first time.
"Get back to your post and get some rest," he spat. "Tomorrow is gonna be a long day." He did not wait for an answer before turning and leaving, the armour's clinking growing fainter.
Meadow shook his head as he struggled to push himself upright with the help of the walking stick. At his rate, he and Greenvale's survivors would not live past the next few days. He gritted his teeth, feet finding purchase with some difficulty.
He had to find a way to free them, at least them if not himself. But how? With his leg, he would have trouble even descending in the catacombs.
"Hey, you there. You okay?"
The whisper was faint. Meadow turned his head about, eyebrows furrowing. Had he just imagined it?
"Up here, buddy."
The cheetah glanced up, then blinked. A soft glow hung over his head and in the air, accompanied by the buzzing of wings.
"Seems like you need some help, don't you?" Sparx said, a small grin on his face.
The twig snapped under his left paw with a crunch.
Spyro stopped in his tracks, glanced down, and then yelped as a blur slammed into him. The Purple Dragon found his back pressed against the ground as something laid on top of him.
"Cynder, do you mind-"
"Quiet," the dragoness shushed him. She craned her head about, emerald eyes glinting in the moonlight as she examined her surroundings. Her eyebrows knitted together in a frown.
"Can you at least-"
The dragoness shot him one nasty glare. "I said quiet."
Spyro decided to follow her advice and remain very quiet for the time being. The uncomfortable feeling spreading across his wings could wait. Something else altogether was occupying his mind now.
The buzzing of insects and the rustling of leaves under the cool night breeze receded into the background. The only thing Spyro could hear now was her breathing, urgent yet steady. Her lean body felt tense against his, as if the dragoness was ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of trouble. She carried a faint smell of-
Spyro blinked.
'What the hell? Why am I thinking this?'
He wouldn't get the chance for an answer. The moment passed.
Cynder let out a sigh of relief. The dragoness got up from over him, before turning around and helping him stand.
"Watch it," she said, frowning. "We are in enemy territory now, and we must assume that they have sentries along the perimeter. Mistakes like that get you killed."
"R-Right . . . right, it's . . . I, well . . . I just kinda tripped." He fumbled with his words then shook his head. Was it just his imagination or it had gotten suddenly hot in there?
Cynder didn't seem to notice that. She limited her reaction to an arched eyebrow.
"It's alright, just be more careful next time."
Leaves rustled behind. Cynder tensed up and then sighed as Bianca stumbled her way out of the bushes, hissing and scowling as she almost lost her footing. A loaded satchel hung by her side.
"I guess being quiet is a lost art these days," Cynder deadpanned, earning a nervous chuckle from Spyro.
"You alright?" he asked her. The rabbit nodded. She shot a quick glance at her sleeve, only for the stare to morph into a glare.
"Once this is done, I'm throwing this damn robe into a fire." She swiped away a few leaves stuck in her clothes.
"I'm fine," she finally said. "I would have come sooner but I had to rummage around to find all I needed. Still, I think it's all. Some potions, a few old scrolls, and a couple of physical components for the more difficult spells." She shifted the strap on her shoulder, adjusting the weight.
"You know, just a couple of things."
Cynder frowned, unconvinced. "Sounds like a lot of weight. It better not slow us down." Without waiting for an answer, she turned back to Spyro.
"We've waisted enough time already. I'll move ahead, you two follow me. And please, watch where you put your paws this time."
The dragoness set off into the night and through the thicket in silence. Spyro and Bianca exchanged a look before falling in behind. They made sure to follow her instructions though, leaving her some space to scout ahead.
And Spyro had to admit, she was doing a superb job so far. The dragoness hung low as she stalked forward, her dark scales making her effectively invisible in the night. More than a few times, Spyro blinked as they lost sight of her, only for Cynder to reappear some distance away.
"Quite tense, isn't she," Bianca whispered.
"You mean Cynder?" Spyro shook his head. "She's just very focused right now. Can't really blame her for that. A lot of lives depend on us."
Bianca gave him a weak nod.
"You nervous?" Spyro asked. The rabbit's finger had never stopped fiddling with her robes. The satchel bumped against her side.
"Me? Oh no. Everything's fine actually." She sighed. "I'm about to jump headfirst into lethal danger and face the Dark Master's minions with nothing but a spellbook and a shaky grasp on theoretical magic. How about you?"
Spyro opened his muzzle only to stop mid-way, hesitating.
"A little bit," he finally said.
"You? Nervous?" Bianca snorted, though hers was a bitter laugh. "If the Purple Dragon's is nervous then I should be terrified, shouldn't I? I was half-way through my studies when Riràny . . ." A pause. "Never mind. You get what I mean."
"Just because I spit fire doesn't mean I'm not nervous," Spyro pointed out. "Besides, you are the only one of us who has actual magic. That's nothing to scoff at, in my opinion."
The two kept on walking through the woods for what felt like a small eternity, always keeping an eye for Cynder's silhouette just ahead. The only light came from the shining stars above.
"Maybe," Bianca whispered. "I mean, as long as they don't have a spellcaster of their own, I think I should be able to do something."
Spyro grinned, nodding. "That's the spirit."
"Halt," Cynder hissed. She looked over her shoulder, gesturing them to get down and come closer. Spyro followed her instructions easy enough, carefully avoiding the occasional dry twig on his path. By his side, Bianca hissed as more dirt ended up on her clothes.
They were now at the edge of the woods. Before them, the darkness of the night was broken by the glow of burning torches and fireplaces. Faint smoke rose in the air and above the earthwork surrounding the enemy camp and overlooking a ditch. And looming just above the tops of makeshifts tents and huts, Spyro saw it.
His eyes widened as they took in the silhouette of the dragon temple, lights flickering atop its massive bastions. The place might have been abandoned for a long time, yet even from a distance it looked impressive, if strangely out of place amidst the sprawling woods. In fact, the place was a lot like a fortress, even if a derelict one.
'It's very old. Probably older than the temple me and Sparx stayed in for a while with Ignitus and the Guardians. That explains why the Dark Armies want this place, but I wonder what's inside. What's so valuable to make them come all the way here and into Avalar?'
He heard Cynder humming, the dragoness furrowing her eyebrows in deep thought.
"Something on your mind?"
She nodded, gesturing at the encampment ahead.
"They took the time to dig trenches and fortify their position. You said these Grublins are Malefor's new lackeys, right? Either they are smarter than they look, or whoever's commanding them is."
"Is it a problem?"
"Not for us. But the cheetahs will have to bleed to take this place tomorrow morning. Let's just say I don't envy Prowlus."
"Shouldn't we help them then?"
She shook her head. "We came here to rescue some hostages, remember? Let's try to not complicate this any more than it already is. We go in and then out, quickly. Anyway, where's Sparx?"
"He should have been here already," Spyro said with a frown. He glanced around, expecting to catch a glimpse of dragonfly's glow any moment now. Worry began to settle in his stomach.
"I hope he is alright. You don't think they noticed him snooping around, right?"
"He's small enough to not get noticed." Cynder rolled her eyes. "Though I wouldn't put that beyond him."
"I heard that, you know," a voice came from above. Spyro glanced up, all his previous worries evaporating as he spotted a familiar glow amongst the branches above his head. The dragonfly descended, stopping only at his eye-level, wings buzzing behind.
"Good to see you, buddy. Any trouble on your little scouting mission?" Spyro asked, grinning.
"Nope. Smooth sailing, just like I told you. They never even noticed me being there. That big camp just outside the temple is filled with Grublins though. The smell kinda gives it away. Still, you'll need to pass through that if we want to reach the entrance."
Sparx shot a glance towards Bianca. "Meadow is alright, by the way. A bit roughed up, and he's not really enjoying this whole thing, but he's alright. He knows we are coming."
The rabbit nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"He also said something about keeping your paws steady and relaxing when casting."
The corner of Bianca's lips turned upward, and she shook her head. "Not sure how he manages to crack jokes right now."
"What about Hunter and Zara? Are they in position?" Cynder suddenly cut in.
"A 'please' wouldn't hurt, you know," Sparx replied. The only answer he received from the dragoness was one cold stare.
"Yes, they are there. Just waiting for us to get this party started."
Spyro grinned. "Alright, then. Let's g-"
"Wait. One last thing," Bianca said, moving closer to Spyro. "Please stand still."
"Stand still for wha- Ouch!" he yelped. The rabbit grinned as she stepped back. She held one of Spyro's eyelashes between her fingers.
"Was that really necessary?" the Purple Dragon hissed, rubbing his right eye.
"Sorry, but yes. I was missing one last material component."
Spyro frowned. Glancing Cynder's way, he could have sworn there was a fleeting glint of amusement in her eyes. Soon enough it was gone, the dragoness donning her usual, no-nonsense façade.
"We are close enough. Bianca?" she whispered.
The rabbit nodded, removing her hood. She raised both paws before her, the eyelash pinched between her left index finger and thumb. She turned towards Spyro, eyes closed.
"I'm ready. Don't move."
Spyro restrained himself from commenting about that. Bianca began muttering under her breath, the words too soft and foreign for the young dragon to make out. Her paws moved gently, as if stroking the cords of a harp. The air shimmered. And then it was over.
"Done."
Spyro blinked. He shot a glance around, then down to himself. Was that it? Truth to be told, he wasn't feeling much different from before, aside from a small tingling, that is. Across from him, Cynder reached up with a tentative paw, touching him on the shoulder.
"Cynder?"
"Sorry. Just checking you are still there. It is quite impressive though. They're definitely not going to see you."
"Wait, so I'm actually invisible? Cynder, quick; how many fingers I'm holding up right now?"
The dragoness rolled her eyes much harder that Spyro would have thought possible.
"I feel like that's cheating," Sparx commented. "Still, it looks neat, doesn't it?"
"Of course it does. How do you think I've listened on Prowlus all this time?" Bianca said. "The spell will hold for one hour by the way. Your Elemental magic will interfere with it, so avoid fighting unless absolutely necessary."
Spyro nodded. "Got that. Sparx, you stay in the air. See if you spot any trouble."
"Easy enough. The temple's entrance is on the other side of the camp. Look for the big dragon statues; can't really miss it."
"I'll keep to the shadows. Remember, we are not here to fight Grublins. We just need to cause a distraction, one big enough to catch everybody attention, and then we rush in," Cynder said.
"What about you, Bianca?"
The rabbit breathed out, then nodded. "I can make it. I did pass the Illusion exam by the skin of my teeth, after all. Let's hope these creatures are in fact stupid as they look. Just stay close to me; I need someone to watch my back should things go south."
Spyro flashed her a grin, then remembered she couldn't see him anymore.
"Alright then. Let's go."
Grublins were a raucous bunch. They hissed, clicked, growled, and hollered to each other, together with a whole cacophony of unnatural sounds coming from twisted and deformed mouths.
Back in Jackai-Kul, Spyro had crossed path with them only briefly. Now he had the chance to take a closer look and, truth to be told, it was an experience he would have rather avoided.
A Grublin pair trudged past him; they were close enough that their repugnant odour wafted Spyro's way. He recoiled back and quickened his pace. They didn't saw him; Bianca's spell was still holding for now, but they had to act quickly. The Purple Dragon moved deeper into the encampment, sticking close to one Grublin in particular.
Bianca was hard to miss, the simulacrum she had casted on herself having something wrong about it compared to an actual Grublin. Maybe it was how it moved, or the weird way its knees bent; the fact that it lacked eyes probably had something to do about it too.
Bianca had mentioned that the hardest part about Illusion magic was visualizing correctly what you wanted to project, and was thus aware of the limitations of her disguise. She often craned her head about, glancing nervously at her surroundings.
Though many Grublins were satisfied with just lounging by smouldering fireplaces and makeshift tents, others passed the time sharpening their crude weapons of bone, wood, and stone. Raucous laughter reached Spyro's ears.
A larger group of Grublins stumbled into view, Spyro grinding to a sudden halt as they cut across his path. He managed to catch a glimpse of Bianca's trudging simulacrum on the other side of the passing group. The creatures hollered as they came to a halt. The biggest pair among them had started pushing and growling at each other, the rest forming a circle in anticipation of the coming fight.
The Purple Dragon made sure to stand clear of them as he circled his way to the other side. Only then he realized that he had lost sight of Bianca.
Spyro suppressed a hiss through clenched teeth. Noises would do nothing but give him away. Somewhere behind, a loud cheer went out as one of the two drew first blood.
'What now? I'm never going to find her amidst all these Grublins, and she probably thinks I'm still behind her.'
Asking help to Cynder was too out of the question. The dragoness was busy making her way to the other side of the camp with the aid of Shadow. The two of them could very well have stumbled into each other without realizing it.
Spyro frowned as he pondered his options.
'You know what, this whole invisibility thing kinda has its own downsides.'
He shook his head.
'Well, I might as well go straight to the temple's entrance. If Sparx was right, it shouldn't be difficult to find. Maybe I can meet with the others there.'
Whimpering reached his ears and Spyro stopped dead in his tracks. He turned his head about, the Purple Dragon scanning his surroundings. He had definitely heard that, no doubt about it. He ignored the Grublins; they were too busy spectating two of their kind as they swung spiked clubs at each other.
Then, he heard it again. Faint and distant, as if someone was weeping. Except that this time, Spyro had narrowed down from where it was coming from. Whether or not he should follow the sound and see where it came from, was not a question Spyro's mind entertained for more than an eyeblink. His paws were already moving by then.
The Purple Dragon left behind the duel that had now turned into an all-out brawl and began making his way deeper into the camp, passing by nearly identical rows of tents and huts. He kept his snout up in the air most of the time, straining his ears above the background hustle. Even then, he made sure to remain aware of his surroundings. A careless bump with another Grublin would spell disaster.
The weeping was still there. And then it stopped. He came upon a small clearing before a rather spacious-looking tent. There, the origin of the mysterious sound became evident.
A large and rusty iron cage stood in the clearing. A couple dozen occupants sat inside; Spyro spotted in the dim light of a nearby fireplace a few cheetahs, a mole or two, together with mostly canine and feline inhabitants. They were huddled together, wrapped with torn and dirty blankets that offered little protection to the night's chill.
The weeping had come from the only pup present, now asleep in her mother's arms.
Spyro blinked.
'What the- Didn't Sparx mention that the prisoners were inside? What are they doing here?'
The Purple Dragon shook his head. It was a stupid question; these ones were there, and he had to deal with that. There was only one Grublin guard as far as he could see, sleeping soundly by the cage's entrance. Slowly, Spyro edged closer to the bars. The smell coming from inside was unbearable.
"Hey. You there."
A couple stirred in their sleep. No one else moved.
"Can you hear me?" Spyro tried more forcefully, yet mindful to keep his tone as low as possible.
This time he managed to get a few to look up and glance around. Each sported signs and traces of the abuses received in their captivity.
"I'm here to help. I'll get you out of here."
One of the moles staggered to his feet, eyes blinking as he rubbed away the sleepiness from them.
"Who's there? Who's talking?"
"Shut it, you fool!" one of the canine hissed. "You want the Grublins to hear it? Keep your voice down."
"You all heard that, aye? I'm not imagining things yet," a vixen mumbled.
"Quiet!"
"Is someone outside?"
Spyro held himself just in time from smacking his own forehead. Of course, they couldn't see him. Bianca's spell was still there. For all they knew, his words had come from the air itself.
He reached up with a paw and his claws tapped against the iron bars. The occupants snapped their heads his way as one. Some distance away, the Grublin sentinel grumbled something under his breath and went back to sleep.
"Ancestors, there really is someone there!" a cheetah hissed.
"Sush! They'll hear you. This might very well be a Grublin trick! Do not fall for . . . Ilka, what are you doing?!"
The feline in question had slowly climbed to her feet and was now trudging towards Spyro, the pup still clinging to her neck and asleep. Coming to a stop by the bars, Spyro could finally make up her face as she knelt, and a chill run through his spine. Bloodshot hazelnut eyes; the right cheek swelling and livid; robes now reduced to tattered clothes.
'Ancestors almighty, what have they done to her?'
The feline slipped an arm through the bars, her trembling paw touching the tip of Spyro's snout, before moving up and giving a tentative touch at his horns as well. Her eyes widened as she flinched.
"Merciful gods, he's a dragon!"
There was surprise and, Spyro noticed, some cautious hope in her tone. The rest of the prisoners had gotten up and were now crowding around Ilka, trying and failing to get a glance at him.
"Yeah, I am," he finally said. "Name's Spyro, by the way. I know you can't really see me right now, but that's a long story. What matters is that I'm here and I'm gonna get you out. Now, does any of you know where this cage's keys are?"
He was met by a few headshakes.
"One of the westerners at the temple has them, I think," a canine interjected. "It was them that locked us here, but they didn't give the keys to the Grublins. They don't trust them I think."
"Why do that?"
"We are their prize," Ilka said between clenched teeth. The pup stirred and she paused, rocking him in her lap until he had fallen asleep again.
"I heard them talk," she continued, her eyes hard. "The Grublins will get a bite of us if they fight well tomorrow against the tribes."
Spyro's stomach churned. The discomfort was temporary though; soon enough, burning anger had settled in.
"Well, that's not happening," he growled. He shot a glance at the cage's door, the lock caked by rust. Spyro moved quickly; he seized in with his jaws, called upon his Earth element, and then pulled hard. It snapped as a twig. Spyro cleared his throat and spat the metal aftertaste out of his mouth.
"Let's get you out of there for a start," he began, then paused. They were staring at him now, eyes wide in bewilderment. A few stifled a gasp.
"I . . . I'm not imagining this, r-right? He . . . he is purple," the only deer said.
Realization dawned on Spyro.
'I used Elemental magic. Bianca said the spell couldn't handle it. I really should have thought about this.'
He opened his mouth, then stopped. Footsteps rustled behind. He caught something with his eye's corner and moved, the machete clipping his left golden horn. The Grublin guard was up now.
There was no hesitation. Spyro swung around, his tail-blade lashing out and catching the Grublin in the side. The Earth-enhanced blow flung the creature into the cage's door, bursting it open. It landed on the dirt, the prisoners scrambling back and out of its way.
Spyro lowered itself into a fighting stance. The Grublin climbed back to its feet, hissing and spitting all the while. He made to charge, but then a cloak was flung over his head.
It happened fast. The prisoners were upon it in mere moments with rocks, sticks and bare paws, punching and kicking it while it was down. The creature's squeals were cut short when someone finally grabbed the discarded machete and started hacking into it.
The struggle ceased. The former prisoners started getting back up, some panting and hissing under labouring breaths. The deer spat on the dead Grublin, then gave it a kick for good measure.
"That one's for Artys, you freak."
Spyro blinked, his gaze moving from the Grublin that had been beaten to a pulp to the rest. Despine his unease, the young dragon shook his head. His mind went back to Greenvale.
"So, what now?"
It took Spyro a few moments to realize that the question had been directed at him. About twenty-five pairs of eyes stared at the young dragon, as if waiting for his command.
'Right. Purple Dragon and all that. Of course they want me to take charge.'
"Well, first of all," Spyro began, banishing away his nervousness, "you should all get out of here. Prowlus is coming here with the rest of the tribes, and you don't want to get caught in the midst of the coming battle."
"We can't," a vixen said. "This whole place is crawling with Grublins. We'd never make more than a dozen feet before they spot us."
Spyro opened his mouth only to close it. He bit his lower lip, thinking hard. She had a point; the whole reason he had gotten there to begin with was thanks to Bianca's spell. That was gone now though, and he had no way to find her again. His eyes glanced at the cage, then moved towards the large tent standing behind. If the occupants inside had heard the commotion, not one had come out.
'Guess the silent approach ends here.'
"What's inside?" Spyro asked.
The deer looked back, then frowned. "That's where the Grublin chief resides. I'm not surprised they didn't hear any of this." He tapped the dead guard with the crude machete.
"That thing and its goons must have downed a few barrels of beer. My beer, to be exact," he pointed out. Only then Spyro noticed the stained and crumpled working apron he was wearing. Gears began turning in his mind.
"You," Spyro's head swivelled to the few cheetahs present. He wasn't sure from which tribe they were from, but that mattered little now. "Can you lead the rest out of there and to safety?" They nodded without hesitation.
"Good. Wait here until I get the Grublins' attention, then get ready to run like hell."
"What are you planning to do?" a cheetah asked, her hazelnut eyes blinking.
"Something extremely stupid," Spyro replied. "Just stay in the cage for now. The Grublins will be too busy to notice that the lock is missing."
Much to Spyro's surprise, they agreed. Maybe they believed he had an actual plan, and to be fair, he did have a very general outline of one. He suppressed the scowl taking form on his face.
'Oh, who am I kidding, I'm definitely winging this.'
The original plan he had fleshed out with the others did involve a distraction after all, though the situation had changed. He could only hope Cynder would hear the confusion, figure out what was happening, and then come there to assist.
'Otherwise this whole thing won't last very long. She's smart though. She'll figure it out.'
"One last thing," the deer said. "Before they shut the door, the Grublins managed to snatch a few of us and drag them in the tents. We haven't heard of them ever since. I know it's probably too late, but if you are going there, well . . ." He pursued his lips, hesitating.
"Can you do this for me, sir dragon?"
Spyro hesitated, then gave him a firm nod. "I'll see what I can do. And please, don't sir me. Spyro will do."
The deer nodded in return, a weak grin crossing his features. He began making his way back to the others.
Without any more hesitation, Spyro exhaled before heading into the tent, batting the flap aside.
He stumbled into the remains of a feast. Tankards and barrels were scattered around, chairs laid overturned amidst cots and the Grublin warriors snoring away. The chief, a big and ugly lump of a creature, sat by a fireplace, chewing on what little meat remained stuck to a skewer.
The Grublin chief stopped, saliva dripping down from a wide maw as its primitive mind tried to comprehend why there was a dragon in the tent. It blinked slowly, its mouth moving but making no sound.
Bones laid scattered by the fireplace, together with a pile of discarded clothes. A bunch of smaller Grubling were gnawing and fighting over something that looked like a canine pelvis bone.
Time slowed down to a crawl.
Spyro felt . . . a lot of things, actually. He hadn't thought it was possible to feel so many emotions in so little time, yet here he was. Horror; disgust; fear; guilt. he could have gone on and name each one of them if he wanted to.
He decided to focus his entire mind on one in particular; on the cold edge of anger creeping in and pushing the rest aside, the burning fury building up steadily inside him. It promised him that none of those repugnant creatures would step out of that place but in carbonized pieces.
A butchering table occupied the far side of the tent. The wood had gone from a natural brown to a deep, dark crimson.
'The silent approach definitely ends here.' The thought was distant, calculating, and freezing cold. A statement of fact.
Time resumed.
The creature blinked one final time. Its maw twisted into a furious snarl, chest swelling and ready to let out an earth-shattering roar.
Spyro's fireball was faster.
Hunter pushed himself up and over the wall. He landed on the other side in a crouch, rose up, and then sprinted ahead. His ears caught the sound of Zara's feet hitting the ground a moment later. The fennec wasted no time, quickly falling in behind him as they pushed deeper into the vegetation.
The old dragon temple overlooking the northwestern pass used to have a garden; used to being the key word.
Hunter didn't know why there was a dragon temple in the valley in the first place; as far as the tribes could remember, the place had always been there, abandoned. And so, while time eroded and gnawed at stone and marble, nature had marched inside to reclaim the place.
The pair pushed past thick flora in complete silence, occasionally coming across remnants of the once plush gardens. Hunter shot up clenched fist, and they stopped. A faint glow came from ahead, chatter following soon after.
The cheetah gestured again, and the two continued their advance, slower this time. They made sure to keep themselves low, taking full advantage of the overgrown vegetation to mask their approach.
Hunter raised a paw one last time and the two came to a stop behind a decrepit marble fountain. An oak tree had burst through the pavement in its centre and now towered proudly over the dry basin.
"That was one big jump back there," Zara whispered as she crouched by his side. "You shouldn't push yourself that hard."
"I am not. Besides, the injury no longer hurts."
"It is still there."
"It is fine," Hunter said. "Let us focus on our mission now. Sparx said that Meadow is in the main hall and that he knows we are coming. This place here-" he gestured at the fountain, "-shall be our gathering point. We free the hostages, gather them here, and then leave through the way we came."
He exhaled. "Now, we wait for their distraction. Hopefully young Spyro follows the plan we outlined without any problem."
"You doubt him?"
"On the contrary. Though I firmly believe he shouldn't have been here in the first place. The two of us could have handled this. There was no need for him to come and put himself needlessly into danger."
The fennec raised an eyebrow. Her long ears flicked.
"Maybe he just wants to help. There's nothing wrong with that."
"He can help by not getting hurt. Or worse," Hunter said. "Something happens to him here and what remains of the Alliance's spirit will shatter like glass."
Zara didn't reply, and Hunter didn't press further. He craned up his neck and over their cover.
The temple's back entrance laid some distance away, illuminated by the glare of nearby torches and wide enough to admit an adult dragon inside. There were a few sentinels there, some sitting, other standing; all keeping watch. As far as guard posts went, in Hunter's opinion, that was a poor one.
The enemy had their full attention focused on the gathered tribes; they didn't expect someone to try and sneak in.
Just like Prowlus had mentioned, they were not Grublins. Hunter's eyes blinked a couple of times, trying to get a better look at them under the little light available. He sucked breath through clenched teeth.
Each displayed the same symbol across their breastplate. The Black Phoenix stood out against a burning orange background, wings wide as it rose from the ashes.
Slowly, Hunter lowered himself back behind the cover. Only then he let out a soft curse.
"Bautarii legionnaires. Prowlus said we were dealing with Grublins and some mercenaries. Those are not mercenaries."
The fennec shot a glance past their cover and toward the entrance. "I'm guessing they are bad news then."
"Those who follow the Dark Master out of sheer religious fervour usually are." Hunter shook his head. He felt cold sweat on his forehead, tail twitching behind.
"I was at the Trident. I saw Bautarii phalanxes cut down the finest knights Augusta had to offer. Even if tomorrow the tribes win, the body count will be atrocious."
The blaring of trumpets rented through the air. The chatting by the entrance stopped; legionnaires paused in their meals, looking up in alarm. Swords and spear were taken up.
"I guess that's our signal," Zara said.
Hunter said nothing. The cheetah bit his lips, eyebrows furrowing in thought.
A war-horn roared. An officer rushed out the entrance and began barking orders in a foreign language. Something was happening at the entrance. The Bautari began gathering gear in a hurry, readying themselves to march back inside.
"Hunter? Should we go now?"
Hunter did not respond. Memories buried deep resurfaced: rows of pikes glistening in the sun; the Trident's ford choked with bodies, bobbing in the crimson waters. His paws squeezed into tight balls of fury when images of the butcher at Greenvale flashed before his eyes.
The Avalar tribes would not survive the coming confrontation.
"Hunter!" Zara hissed. The cheetah shook his head.
"Change of plan," he said. "Zara, you take care of the prisoners. Free Meadow and the others and lead them out of here. Don't wait for me."
She grimaced, shaking her head. "First you make a plan and then you throw it aside. What's the matter with you, Hunter?"
"As I said, the plan has changed. Now, can you do what I've just asked you or no?"
Zara reached back, adjusting her bag, before glancing ahead. As expected, the legionnaires had abandoned the back entrance.
"I can. Do you mind telling me what you plan to do in the meantime?"
Hunter removed the bow from over his shoulder in silence. He tested the bowstring a couple of times, letting out a satisfied grunt once he was done.
"Pluck the Phoenix's eyes out."
". . . Ultimately, our position is strong, and the supplies will help us stave off attempts of siege by the tribals until reinforcements arrive. Keeping the Grublins in line will be a problem of course, but I'm confident they'll find ways to forage for themselves for the time being."
Sir Reynald only paid some attention to what was being said. He leaned back against a stone pillar, arms crossed over his armoured chest.
His presence there was nothing more than an exceptional, if ironic, courtesy. Three years ago, they would have probably stared down each other from opposite sides of a battlefield. A small eternity had passed since. The Bautarii officers were running the whole show now; he and his retinue were there only to offer some brute force when the time came.
'Yeah, and it seems like the time is coming soon.'
His eyes moved to the side. The Fist, the Bautarii commander, went by the name of Colledan. The lion stroked his chin as he listened to the report, his left paw resting on the helm laying on the stone slab turned into a table. His mane was gathered in braids, with a couple resting along his shoulders.
"Make sure the Grublins stand their ground," he said. "We made them dig those earthworks at spearpoint for a reason, after all. The tribals' assault must be utterly spent by the time they reach the temple proper. Have Second Company move in to reinforce them if necessary."
"What if they break? The Grublins don't look as the most reliable bunch, and the cheetahs will outnumber us three to one if they flee."
"As I said, move Second Company in if necessary. Employ every method at your disposal to make sure they don't, even decimation. Keep our troops fresh and ready for the real fight." The subordinates around the table nodded.
Reynald's eyes moved away. Esteban was there too, the mage skulking into a corner. He ignored everyone and was promptly ignored in return. Sometimes, Reynald wondered why he was there to begin with and, more surprisingly, why did the Bautarii tolerate his presence. The knight had fully expected them to give him the full Riràny treatment.
"Sir Reynald?" the Fist's voice broke his line of thoughts. "Your retinue will join Third Company in reserve. Once the signal is given, you'll move with them and counterattack the tribals once their assault is broken. I expect you to rout them quickly."
The knight nodded. It could have gone worse. He was half-expecting to be used as meat-shield with the Grublins. He knew many of his retinue that refused to even stand close to those things.
"What about the Purple Dragon?" he eventually asked. "What do you plan on doing if he shows up?"
They all looked his way, some not even bothering to hide their irritation. The Fist however, simply glanced at him with an expression of infinite patience. His small eyes felt hard as stone.
"I have little interest in these heretical matters. As far as I am concerned, there is only one Purple Dragon, and He is not here. The Alliance can spread all the rumours they want."
"I thought our scouts had spotted him in the village."
"Magical charms!" one of the lieutenants spat, her eyes narrowed. "They want to trick us. Even if they have a dragon, there's no chance in hell they're purple."
Colledan nodded slowly. "You can rest easy, sir knight. Even if the tribes received reinforcements from Warfang, I assure you our legionnaires are drilled for the occasion."
Reynald simply nodded, apparently conceding the argument. He caught a glimpse of Esteban barring his teeth in the corner, though nobody else seemed to take notice of that. The meeting continued, the subject moving to logistics.
The sound of war horns came muffled through the ancient stone walls. The discussion died down immediately. A few of the legionnaires instinctively glanced upward, as if expecting something to burst through the ceiling. Nothing did.
More tense seconds passed, then came the sound of rushing footsteps. There was a commotion near the entrance, and a messenger burst into the room. Still panting, the panther saluted, her armour clinking as she did so.
"Sir! Dragon in the outer encampment!"
The reaction was immediate.
"They are finally coming," Colledan muttered. He picked up his helmet and put it on, eyes narrowing. "All companies to their posts. I want longbows ready and raining down enchanted arrows on that beast in five minutes. Sir Reynald?"
"Aye?"
"The tribals have decided to ignore our warnings, and now they will paid the price. The prisoners are being held in the catacombs. Make an example out of them."
Reynald nodded. Of course, knife-work; he was familiar with that well enough. He ignored the flurry of sharp and precise orders being issued. Without a word, the knight flipped down his visor. The longsword by his side gave him all the comfort he needed.
'Time to get to work.'
The night was gone, broken by the glare coming from tongues of searing fire. They reached upward as they lifted heavy clouds of smoke, rising off the ground like ominous pitch-black pillars.
Spyro felt the heat from below sticking to his face like a hot and humid cloth. He silently thanked the Ancestors for his dragon scales; they would protect him from the worst effects. His wings caught a climbing current as he banked rightward, then retracted as the Purple Dragon went for a nosedive. Coils of smoke poured out of his nostrils, leaving a faint trail. His jaws parted and Elemental fire surged out.
The fireball cut through the air, a flying lance of pure white-hot heat heading for the ground. It detonated with a flash, Elemental flames enveloping tents and their occupants without distinction. The roar drowned out the screams.
Spyro flared his wings once more, the sudden burst of hot air launching him back up. He craned his head about, having finally the time to observe his handiwork. He bit his lower lip at the raging inferno below him.
He had not realized just how close the huts and tents had been packed together; them and the Grublins had provided the fuel, a few fireballs the ignition, and now the conflagration swelled with intensity, expanding ever outward.
'The Grublin definitely know I am here.'
He swung his whole body back; powerful wing strokes propelled him toward the temple's main entrance. If he had to lead the Grublin somewhere, at least he would draw them away from the prisoners back in the camp.
'I just hope they are gone by now.'
He angled his trajectory downward and launched himself towards the ground, gathering speed. His claws sunk into soil moments later as he landed, wings folding on his back. The fire had yet to touch that edge of the camp.
Ahead, the glare from the flames reflected against bastions of stone and masonry. Statues gnawed and mutilated by time stood by the temple's arched entryway and on either side, looming in the darkness and a few hundred yards away. Tall grass and shrubbery weaved under a faint breeze.
Spyro broke into a run. If the entrance was there, it meant that the others had to be nearby too. He grinded his teeth together. They would probably demand an explanation on what he had just done; especially Cynder.
He forced the thought away. There was no time; soon enough, the Grublins would realize where he was and come for him, fire be damned. He had to find them.
Shadows shifted amongst the tents on either side, just outside his eye's corner. Spyro slowed down. Something blurred before him as the first arrow overshot. The second smacked loudly against his side, staggering him as it shattered against his scales.
Screeching Grublins emerged all around him. The whistling of arrows, javelins, and even stones filled the night air, the creatures hollering as they pelted the Purple Dragon from every direction. Spyro raised a wing to protect himself, hissing in pain as projectiles slammed against delicate wing membranes. He flared his nostrils, smoke pouring out, and launched a fireball through the darkness.
The flash illuminated the night for a moment, allowing him to catch a glimpse of his assailants. The creatures scrambled away from the light, gathering back into the darkness from where they continued their assault.
'Oh brilliant. They can see in the dark.'
Hissing under his breath, Spyro readied another burst. A gurgling roar broke through the darkness as more Grublins charged into view. Spyro counted three big ones with mighty axes and large shields, surrounded by smaller underlings.
When he had faced them in Jackai-Kul, Spyro had just awoken from a three-year-long slumber; his mind was foggy, his muscles numb, and his Elemental reserves low. That was no longer the case now.
Spyro moved with purpose. He shifted aim and spat the fireball towards the new threat before leaping after it. As expected, the Grublins scattered out of the blast zone, buying Spyro a few seconds.
Lighting arched out and into the air, before snapping towards the closest Grublin champion and punching a hole right through its guts. The thing dropped without a sound, and Spyro leaped past it. White vapour gathered around his nuzzle.
The second big Grublin bellowed as the ice shard lodged itself in an arm joint. Spyro was ready for a follow up attack when staggering pain stopped him in his tracks.
A lucky arrow found its mark on his vulnerable underbelly, opening a bleeding gash. He staggered, teeth grinding in pain. An axe whistled past his head. He spun around and sprayed Ice on the attacker's face, blinding it. Some distance away, the Grublin champion finally ripped away the ice shards with a pain-filled roar. Hateful eyes swung Spyro's way. The thing took a step forward, lifting the axe.
And it faceplanted on the ground without a sound.
Spyro arched an eyebrow. Only then he realized that the rain of projectiles had abruptly stopped. The only light came from the burning remains of his fireball still burning a couple of tents away, casting long ominous shadows that stretched across the ground and all the way to-
Spyro frowned. And then a grin spread across his muzzle.
"Alright, bud, try and dodge this one!"
Coils of vapour swirled around his snout, and he unleashed a sphere of freezing cold. As expected, the Grublin raised its shield. The Elemental projectile sailed over its head, leaving a faint white trail behind. The detonation enveloped the fire, smothering it in a white mist and plunging their surroundings back into the darkness.
The Grublin howled. Its head hit the ground a few moments before the rest of the body. Somewhere behind, the other Grublins screeched and screamed as they run back towards the camp in a panic. From the fallen body, another shadow rose.
Cynder wasted no time to flick her tail-blade to the side, wiping the dense ichor off the scythe-like blade, before finally making a beeline for Spyro. The Purple Dragon's grin died down as the expression on the dragoness's face came into focus. He swallowed, visibly at that.
"Okay, look, I know you're angry . . ."
"That's an understatement."
". . . but I had a very good reason."
"I really hope you do."
"They had prisoners with them in the camp and . . ."
"So you decided to set it on fire."
"I needed a distraction!" Spyro replied. "We got separated and I didn't know where you were. And with the spell Bianca had put on me, there wasn't much of chance of any of you finding me either, so I had to improvise."
"Or," Cynder said at length, "you could have gone to the temple's entrance first, as we had decided, and explain the situation once we were all there. We would have formulated a plan that accounted for them as well."
Spyro blinked. In hindsight, he had not thought of that.
"Oh," was all he could manage. The dragoness narrowed her eyes.
"Yes. Oh."
Cynder opened her mouth again, ready to unleash a thorough tirade. And yet not a single word came out. She simply shook her head and took a deep breath. A claw came up, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes and exhaled.
"You know what, that's . . . that's alright. That's fine, actually. We wanted a distraction, didn't we? And now we have one. If Hunter has anything to say about it, he can do it himself next time."
Spyro cleared his throat, tentatively. "Sooo . . . uh, you are not mad?"
Cynder glanced up. "Oh, I'm positively furious, believe me. But no plan has ever survived first contact, so I don't see why we should be an exception."
"If it makes you feel better," Sparx cut in, as if he had just appeared from nowhere, "I think I spotted a group heading towards the woods while you were busy making a flambe out of Grublins' hopes and dreams." He shrugged. "So hey, at least you didn't set fire to the wrong guys by mistake."
Spyro shot his brother a grin.
"They'll head for the tribes' warcamp probably. Prowlus will know that we are behind this in no time. He will demand an explanation." Cynder shook her head. "We really should have thought about this one through."
"Oh look, now she doesn't like idea of saving people. I would say I'm surprised but, you know . . ." Sparx trailed off. Cynder snapped her head his way, eyes narrowing. Spyro could have sworn he'd heard her teeth grinding against each other. Footsteps came from behind.
"Alright, good news. The Grublins fell for the Illussion charm, so I'll have them run around and get chased by their own shadows for a while. I guess this is a very good moment to . . ." Bianca stopped, trailing off. "Uh . . . am I interrupting something?"
Her robes sported a faint yet visible singe around the edges. The rabbit wiped off the ashes off her fur.
"No," Cynder said, her voice even. "We were just about to move. I guess we should head inside now." She turned around and began making her way towards the temple's complex.
Spyro made to follow when he noticed Bianca. The rabbit froze on the spot, blinking as her pupils darted around and at her surroundings. They finally focused on Cynder, widening.
Spyro shifted closer to her. "Everything's alr-"
"Stop!"
Cynder took one last step. A soft ringing pierced the air. Somewhere ahead, a metal ball burst from amidst the tall grass and flew up, then stopped. It glowed, washing its surroundings with bright morning light that swept away the darkness in a vast area around it.
Spyro shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness, eyes struggling to adjust.
"Magical wards." Bianca went pale. "A mage. They have a mage."
"Any chance they didn't notice that?" Sparx said.
Horns and trumpets blared. Along the walls, similar orbs of light rose into the sky. Frenetic shouting came from the other side. Spyro caught sight of figures moving along the bastions.
"I think that answers your question, buddy," the Purple Dragon growled.
Armoured forms streamed out from the arched entryway, mostly felines though with some canines as well; feet thundered against dirt and trampled dried grass. Pikes and halberds glinted as the newcomers began to assemble beneath the light cast by revolving and glowing orbs, under the watchful gaze of furious officers.
They were not Grublins, that much was clear; too coordinated and precise in their movements as they formed ranks. Tower shield-carrying troopers shifted to the front as to present a unified barrier. Some sort of black bird was etched across the shield's surface, just like the standards flying in the formation's back.
Spyro shot Cynder a sidelong glance. "Any chance of you pulling out one of those Shadow tricks again?"
She shook her head, beckoning at one flying orb. "Not with those things." Then she hummed. "A simple trick to deter night raids. Very smart. Though not smart enough to avoid facing dragons in a tight formation, it seems."
"You're up for another fireball?" she asked him. Spyro could feel a grin growing on him muzzle.
"You can bet on it."
Elemental fire swirled and coiled. Spyro's jaws parted, and another incandescent ball surged out. It spun as it cut a path through the air, heading straight for the formation's centre.
There was no flash. Arcane glyphs etched on the tower-shields' surface cast an eerie and cold blue glow. The fireball struck and fizzled out. The shield wall staggered back, yet held firm.
"Well? Where's the big boom? Isn't this where the big boom usually happens?" The faint note of uncertainty in Sparx's voice was not lost on Spyro.
The tower-shields were lowered, and a line of raised crossbows appeared. The command was sharp, spoken in a language foreign to Spyro's ears.
"Iztha!"
Sixty strings snapped forward as one.
Spyro's body acted long before his mind had come to terms with what was happening. He dashed to the side, tackling Cynder out of the way and onto the ground. Instinctively, he raised his wings to shield her. And then he howled in pain.
A steel-tipped bolt found its mark. Spyro staggered; he tried to scream again but he couldn't breathe any more. Someone shouted, but he couldn't register the words. His mind was simply overwhelmed by sheer searing pain, overriding all other sensation until there was nothing.
Spyro blinked.
'Nothing.'
Something snapped.
He registered the dart still in his side, but it was unimportant now. A distraction, a tiny element amidst thousands that his mind was suddenly aware of.
'It feels . . . familiar? I have done this before. When have I done this before?'
His own mind refused to answer, as if the answer itself was unimportant now. The whole world stood still, and he could feel everything.
The darts hanging mid-air as they slammed rhythmically against the magical shield Bianca had raised, ripples moving across its surface like a disturbed pond; the heat from the raging fires; thundering footsteps echoing from behind in a building crescendo; the dry grass under his paws, shifting and waving under the night's breeze.
Cynder stood over him; when that had happened, he wasn't sure. Her lips moved, yet he could hear nothing. The only sound present was quick, pressing, like stick on a taunt drum.
Thump-bump.
Thump-bump.
Thump-bump.
'Her heartbeat.'
Why could he hear it? Why had his mind decided to focus on that in particular?
There was no answer. He opened his mouth. Time resumed.
'Time.'
Standing over him, Cynder blinked. "What?"
"Wind," Spyro croaked, throat dry. "I need Wind."
The dragoness furrowed her eyebrows. "You need a Spirit Gem, that's what you need. Or even better, a good surgeon."
Spyro said nothing as he climbed back up on his feet. The pain was there, yet distant, as if his whole body had decided to deal with it later. Some distance away, Bianca fell to her knees with a gasp, hands trembling as she struggled to maintain the protective spell. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Cracks run across the magical shield.
Once again, Spyro called upon his Elemental fire, but not as a fireball. Fiery heat built up inside him, and he released the searing torrent of fire. The tower-shields went up once more, but Spyro aimed just short.
Shrubbery; tall grass; weeds. The field outside the temple had been overrun by them over the centuries. Now they would provide the fuel as Elemental fire enveloped them.
"Cynder!"
The single word was all it took for the black dragoness to spring into action. There was no hesitation, as if she instinctively knew what he had been trying to do. Cynder flared her wings and launched herself into the air. With each beat of her leathery wings, she called upon her Wind element; air currents coiled and swirled around her before being forced downward and towards the ground.
The night breeze grew in intensity, until it was a raging wind. Crackling embers flared; flames billowed like bright orange sails up into the air. Smoke rose from the ground in thick columns, until the entire temple's entrance was enveloped.
"Behind us! Grublins!" Sparx shouted.
Spyro didn't look behind, choosing instead to rush to the side of a still-heaving Bianca. He knew the Grublins were coming; he could hear them. The fires he had unleashed before had been raging out of control for a while now. The Grublins would look for safety behind the temple's stone walls, no matter who they had to get through.
"Hold on," Spyro said, wrapping his arms under the rabbit's armpit.
"What do y- wait, what are you doing?! Let me go!"
The rest turned into a panicked yelp as Spyro took to the air with her. The soft buzzing nearby assured him that Sparx had followed his lead without hesitation. A shadow fell over them as Cynder silhouette appeared to Spyro's side.
"Stop squirming and close your eyes!" Spyro warned Bianca. The group flew through the acrid smoke acting as an impromptu cover. Spyro's ears caught the whistling of darts coming from somewhere, but not once they were hit. Below, the formation unravelled as choking clouds washed over the ranks.
Spyro angled his body down, powerful wings slashing a path through the air as the temple's outer bastion came into view in the haze. They touched down soon after, claws clicking against hard stone. Bianca fell back to her knees the moment Spyro let go of her, coughing and sputtering. Her once cream-coloured fur was marred with streaks of grey soot.
"We are never doing this again," she hissed at him, wiping her eyes. The soft rustling of wings announced Cynder's presence by his side.
"Come on. There's no time to waste," Spyro said. A glowing blur shifted in front of his muzzle.
"How about you slow down instead?" Sparx shook his head. "Maybe you haven't noticed it, but you are injured!"
Spyro reached for his side with a claw, checking where the projectile had struck him. It came back with blood. The pain had dulled though.
'The bolt must have come lose,' he noted with surprising detachment.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but he is right," Cynder interjected. That earned her a curious glance from the dragonfly which she promptly ignored. "You should at least rest for a moment."
Spyro shrugged. "I'm fine."
"You are literally bleeding right now," Cynder hissed.
"There are people that need our help. We can rest later."
The dragoness furrowed her eyebrows. She was about to speak when from below came the crash of steel against steel. There was hollering and screaming, then the frenetic cacophony of a desperate battle.
"Are they . . . are they fighting? Amongst themselves?" Bianca muttered in astonishment, peeking carefully over the bastion's parapet.
"The Dark Master's creations are enemies of all natural life," Cynder stated, her voice cold. "Only a fool would think they can be bent to a will other than Malefor's. Admittedly, they make for good distraction though."
A shout caught their attention. Whipping his head around, Spyro spotted more assailants appearing along the temple's walls, longbows at the ready. He grinded his teeth together, muscles taunt in preparation.
It wasn't over yet. They would have to fight their way into the temple proper.
Chief Prowlus rolled his shoulders, grimacing in discomfort under the armour's weight as he shifted under it. It was nothing more than a modest chainmail worn over a heavier wool robe, coupled with additional protections around the arms and lower legs. All in all, it wasn't very heavy, especially when compared to the suits of armour donned by Augustian knights from the west.
The cheetah frowned as he adjusted the belt's buckle. The set had once belonged to his father, until age had finally caught up with him and he decided to pass it down to Prowlus, just in time for his election as chief of the Twisted Branches. A moment he still remembered with pride.
The weight he now felt pressing against his shoulder clearly did not belong to the armour alone, Prowlus decided. The events of the last few days had been a blur, and only now the cheetah could finally address them.
Soon, Prowlus would lead the united tribes of Avalar against a foreign enemy that had invaded their valley. Unease settled in his stomach.
Leading his warriors from the front was nothing new to him, yet Prowlus knew this time would be different. These were not common robbers, wild beasts, or ravaging bands of Grublins. For the first time in years, the followers of the Dark Master had set foot in Avalar, and now the responsibility to correct that affront fell squarely on Prowlus's shoulders.
He sighed. His mind wandered for a moment to that morning's events and to his heated exchange with Hunter. Had he been too harsh with him? Their relationship had never been easy, yet Hunter remained a member of the tribe, despite his long absence. A warrior like him could surely help in the fight ahead, if Prowlus were to ask him.
If.
Eventually, his thoughts went to the Purple Dragon. The Saviour of the World, or so the legends went, arrived just as the conflict had turned against the Alliance. A coincidence perhaps? Chief Prowlus may have believed in coincidences, but he did not trust coincidences.
He shook his head. There was no time to delve on that now, and any further discussion would have to wait until the matter at hand was settled.
Shouting came from outside his tent. Moments later, one of his own tribe-kin stepped inside in a hurry.
"Forgive me, War Chief, but there is an ongoing commotion near the camp's edge. Some of the hostages have escaped."
Prowlus suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow.
'Don't act surprise. You are a chief. Maintain your calm.'
"Are the other chiefs aware of this?"
She nodded. "They are being informed as of now."
"Very good. Please take me there if it isn't too much trouble."
Donning his red cloak and adjusting the sheath by his side, Prowlus followed his warrior outside. He was greeted by the sound of crackling fireplaces and the murmur of ongoing chatter. Above, stars shone in the night sky, stretching over the valley like a pitch-black veil.
For a while, they walked purposedly through the sprawling war camp, moving past tents and groups of warriors resting and eating together. Many conducted last-minute maintenance on their weapons and armours.
'The news hasn't reached them yet, but it soon will.'
They were all there; between three and four thousand cheetah warriors, the entire strength of the five tribes combined. One would have to dig thoroughly in the annals of Avalar to know the last time it had happened.
He kept on walking, his eyes darting to the side and looking upon the faces of those he occasionally came across. Young, nervous, yet eager to prove themselves.
Many would die tomorrow, Prowlus knew that. Despite their precautions, the enemy would know of the coming attack, just not when. That would be their only advantage, and a fleeting one at that.
"War Chief Prowlus."
Glancing to the side, he noticed another group of cheetahs falling into steps with him. Chief Oganos of the Blue Claws was an imposing figure, especially for a cheetah. Small and hard hazelnut eyes stared at him. Despite the streaks of grey fur making their presence known on his pelt, Oganos could still vaunt lean and powerful muscles, made all the more evident by the fact he was shirtless right now.
"My apologies, Chief Oganos," Prowlus was quick to say. "I didn't see you there."
He grinned. "Oh, it's alright. I was merely enjoying a good night walk. The stars are brighter than usual tonight." Prowlus suppressed the smile forming on his lips.
"You have been informed of what is happening, I take it."
Oganos nodded. "The news is spreading quickly that some of the prisoners managed to escape. A good omen for tomorrow, if you were to listen to one my shamans."
They quickly reached the war camp's limit. A crowd of cheetahs had gathered, mostly healers and camp followers. They surrounded a group of twenty newcomers wrapped in worn and tattered clothes. Healers and shamans offered what medical assistance they could; hot soup and thick blankets were gathered and shared around. Prowlus was confident he could hear a pup waling somewhere.
His attention quickly focused on another familiar face.
"Chief Kina?"
"Uh? Oh, just a moment. Make sure they share these for now, we will scrounge up a few more in a bit." She handed a pile of blankets to one of her tribe-kin, then she glanced up, greeting him with a polite smile.
"Good evening to you too, warchief. You look surprised."
"I was merely not expecting to see you here, on the eve of battle. Do you not plan on, well . . ." he trailed off. Kina chuckled.
"Of course not. My husband is not here though, so Stella shall lead my warriors this time, as the most experienced. I'm just here see my tribe-kin off."
"I'm sure they appreciate your presence," Prowlus said. He motioned to the newcomers. "Did you manage to piece together what has happened to them?"
Kina nodded smartly. "Partially. I was waiting for you to arrive." Then she added, "War Chief? There are cheetahs with them, and at least one belongs to the Twisted Branches. I thought you should now."
Prowlus's body went rigid. It became hard to suppress his trembling lips, yet he managed.
"Would you mind bringing me to them?"
Kina nodded, gesturing him to follow her. She didn't walk very far, leading him and his escort to a smouldering fireplace. Some of the Owl Eyes shared their food with a few of the survivors. The only cheetah amongst them stopped eating the moment his eyes fell onto Prowlus and he shot up to his feet.
"You can remain seated. All of you, I mean," Prowlus said. "I'm just here to exchange a few words." The cheetah sat down.
"First and foremost, I want to know if you are alright."
The cheetah looked up and locked gaze with him. "As fine as it can be expected, Chief. Don't worry about me. There are many more that needs our help now."
"How many prisoners?"
He hesitated. "I think forty. Maybe fifty, it was hard to count. They're held in the catacombs below the temple. I fear only a handful of cheetahs in Greenvale survived the fight." He sighed. "Have the bodies been recovered yet? Each one of them deserves a burial worthy of a warrior."
Prowlus said nothing, limiting his reaction to a simple nod. He bit the inside of his cheek and felt blood in his mouth. His anger was not directed solely on the Dark Armies though.
'Fool! You were ready to sacrifice your own kin, and for what, victory? The life of each member of the tribles is infinitely more valuable than that. You are lucky your father cannot see this.'
"How did you manage to escape? Can you tell me that?"
"The Purple Dragon," someone replied. Glancing to the side, Prowlus noticed the deer. He wore a dirty apron on ragged clothes, and someone had taken care to apply bandages at the base of his horns.
"He came out of nowhere, broke us out of the cage, killed the Grublin chief, and set fire to the whole camp. And all of that just to cover our escape!" He shook his head, as if he could scarcely believe it himself. "I'm telling you, if that's not a miracle then I don't know what it is."
Prowlus blinked, slowly. A suspicion began to worm its way into his mind, but he pushed it aside for now. Questioning Hunter on what he was up to would have to wait for a later date.
He snorted. 'I won't find him here nor back in the village. Knowing him, he's probably over there, in the thick of it. That's just how he is. Ancestors, in another time he would have been a perfect right hand.'
"War Chief! Come take a look at this," Oganos called up to him.
Prowlus spared one last glance to the survivors before him, gave them a few words of encouragement he could not recall later, and moved to join the chief with deliberate calmness despite his curiosity.
"Over there," Oganos said, gesturing to something beyond the camp and towards the woods. Prowlus followed the cheetah's gaze, squinting to see. It didn't take him long to realize what the chief was looking at.
In the distance, a black cloud of billowing smoke rose heavy from the ground and into the air, illuminated occasionally by the fierce glare of wild flames coming from the enemy camp. Straining his ears, Prowlus got the impression he could almost hear panicked cries and shouting.
By his side, Oganos chuckled. "Seems like someone there forgot to properly arrange a fireplace. That ought to keep them awake for the night at least, maybe even do some damage."
Prowlus said nothing for a while. The deer had not been exaggerating. He simply watched as the cloud of smoke grew in intensity, the fire spreading and growing fiercer in front of his very eyes.
He guessed scouts would return eventually and inform him of what was really happening, even if Prowlus could make a few educated guesses, especially if a dragon was involved.
'Ancestors, he looked like a child. A child! What will he do once he reaches full adulthood?'
Gears turned in his mind, eyes narrowing.
"A fire of that size requires much effort to be put out," Prowlus finally said at length. "They would need to call upon every soldier and creature they have there. Perhaps even their sentries."
"Possibly," Oganos mused, then blinked as realization struck him. "Wait, are you suggesting-"
"If the Ancestors decide to present us with an opportunity, who are we to let it go to waste?"
The older chief stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Our warriors are not ready. Most of them are asleep or resting, and marshalling them for battle would take time. A lot of time."
Prowlus shook his head. "A raid them. We hit them quick and hard while they are distracted, kill and maim before tomorrow morning. It will demoralize them and allow our warriors to cut their teeth. If the worst happens and there are too many of them, we can always withdraw in the confusion."
It was Chief Oganos turn to remain silent for a few moments. A glance over his shoulder revealed many cheetahs starting to take notice of what was happening, a few emerging from their tents with sleepy eyes to watch the unfolding chaos.
"A good plan," Kina's voice came from behind. The chief had followed them there. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. "I'll have a word with Stella. Knowing her, she's itching for the chance to wet her blades."
"Very well then," Chief Oganos said, a savage smile stretching across his muzzle, teeth glinting in the little light available. His hook-shaped, serrated sword appeared out of nowhere, coming to rest on his shoulder.
"I can gather a hundred of my finest warriors on a short notice. If you can do the same, we can get on the move under the hour, and there will be still some time before sunrise. Let's make them regret ever coming to Avalar, War Chief."