CHAPTER TWELVE

~...BUT MIND YOUR NETHER LIMBS~

"Spiders, Gunmar?" Sorine Jurard repeated indignantly. "You've got to be joking."

Gunmar, who in his scaled armour, bristling beard and long russet hair looked as Nordic as a Nord ever came, leaned forward with a gap-toothed grin. "Just consider it! They're silent, they're patient. Have them spin some webs in strategic points of a vampire cave –"

"'Silent'?" Solen repeated indignantly, flinching as Rayya daubed some stinging poultice to the claw wound on his arm. "Those things click and squeal like a pig in dancing shoes!"

"Besides, Fort Dawnguard has enough cobwebs," Rayya added, reaching for the sewing needle. "When Isran told us you were going to be the Fort's resident beast expert, I don't think he had spiders in mind."

"No, he's probably thinking of the trolls," Gunmar allowed. "Well, those won't be hard to find in the Rift. Those aren't hard to find anywhere! But they're hard for vampires to kill. They share a vampire's susceptibility to fire, but they're far thicker-skinned than any shambling corpse."

Solen mused aloud as he stirred the skillet presently frying the party's dinner. "They smell awful, though. Taste even worse."

"Taste!" Gunmar exclaimed, laughing. "Don't tell me you ever tried cooking one of those salty horkers!"

"It wasn't exactly cooked," said Solen delicately. "Anyway, I think the bacon's done. Food's ready, everyone."

They'd made camp at the edge of the White River in Eastmarch; the horses grazing further downstream on a patch of tussock, the humans and elf on a pebbly bank upwind of the region's famous noxious sulphur pools. It'd taken weeks of travel, with helpful pointers from Sorine and many strings pulled with some of Solen's old hunting contacts around Falkreath and Whiterun, before they'd tracked Gunmar down to the den, where for half a month he'd been trailing a man-eating bear. With said bear now assuredly dead, and Gunmar briefed to the mission of the Dawnguard, thoughts turned at last to returning to the Canyon.

But presently they were on dinner. Sliced bread warmed on the fire-heated rocks, sizzling bacon, and fried eggs, courtesy of a cluster of pine thrush nests Solen had happened on during a hunting expedition. They weren't his usual prize, but the game had been thinning of late. Then again, Eastmarch had never been a plentiful hunting ground.

"You know," said Sorine, as she served their helpings, "I'm really curious to see what Isran's done with the place. It was his pet project for years – never let anyone near it."

"That old place by Stendarr's Beacon, was it?" Gunmar chuckled. "Never let anyone in. His own little fortress. But that's changed, if anyone's now walking through those doors. Leader of the Dawnguard – would never have pictured him at the helm."

"I know that feeling," Solen said, and tried not to wince as Rayya pulled the last stitch tightly shut. "All right, that'll do, love. Damned bear." Its claws had been both longer and sharper than expected. Solen showed Gunmar the ripped leather sleeve beneath the layered metal plates. "Don't suppose this could be your first job when we get back?"

"Fix it yourself. You said you're training under Gray-Mane, weren't you? I want to see your handiwork."

"Hmph! You and I are going to get along already, I can tell..." Solen received his plate eagerly, stomach rumbling with appetite. "Mmm. Nothing like a bit of bacon and egg... Rayya, you can pass yours over – Rayya?"

Rayya, who detested egg in any form and only ate it under the direst circumstances, was busily shovelling it into her mouth as if were baked potato. Solen stared in astonishment.

"Wha'?" Rayya cut up a forkful of bacon and stared back. "It's not that bad."

"Rayya," said Solen carefully, "in the early weeks of us travelling together, when I first learned of your distaste for it, I slipped a boiled egg into your sandwich to see what happened if you noticed."

"And what happened, Solen?"

"You pulled a knife on my nethers." Sorine and Gunmar choked noisily on their bacon. "It has been six years since that day, love of my life," Solen continued, "and I have not dared to repeat the experiment. Because I learned my lesson. You hate eggs."

"I know. I mean, I did." Rayya leaned over and filched Solen's fried egg off his plate. "But... I don't know. Lately I've just been..." She chewed and shrugged. "It's not amazing, but I don't see what all the fuss is about."

"I do not either, but eggs are very delicious," said Fiirnaraan, and manifested with his snout right over Rayya's shoulder.

Rayya shrieked and punched Fiirnaraan hard in the nose. The startled Dragon recoiled with a yelp, straight into the river. Solen roared with laughter. "Easy, easy," he gasped, as Sorine and Gunmar bellowed in alarm and scrambled for their weapons. "He's with us."

"Bloody Dragon!" Rayya cursed. "Don't do that!"

Fiirnaraan rubbed his snout-tip reproachfully with a wing thumb. "Oh, all right. Only because you are no fun."

Rayya rubbed her knuckles and haughtily resumed her seat, muttering about what it was about Dragons that so inclined them to mischief. Solen, still grinning, refreshed her upset plate, including the rest of the fried eggs. "There you are, love. Eat up – eggs and all. Fiirnaraan, if you're hoping for dinner, you'd have better luck at Fort Dawnguard."

Fiirnaraan's enormous eyes pondered the shocked Nord and Breton across from him. "Are these the ones Isran asked you to find, Dovahkiin?"

"Yup. Sorine, Gunmar, meet the Dawnguard's secret weapon."

"A Dragon," Sorine repeated weakly. "Isran recruited an actual, live Dragon."

"What does he need me for, then?" Gunmar grinned.

Fiirnaraan puffed out his frills and drew himself up primly. "We have an arrangement."

"And how's that working out, friend? Good?"

"Oh, yes, Dovahkiin. Sometimes they even give me two sheep."

"Well, how about that. Isran likes you."

"He has asked me to escort you back to the Fort."

"Escort!" Solen echoed, grinning at Rayya. "I knew the old guy would miss me."

"He did not talk about missing," said Fiirnaraan, flicking riverwater off the fin of his tail. "But Isran did seem distressed about the Volkihar and the kel-tafiir, who is not an ordinary sosvulonah but a very rare kind of flying nobleman."

"He's a what now?"

Six days later, beneath a glowing midmorning sun, they entered Dayspring Canyon and stood on the trail facing Fort Dawnguard. "Wow," said Sorine, squinting up at the gargantuan stone keep. "Whatever I expected from Isran's project, it wasn't this."

Nor had Solen. The passing months had transformed the largely empty fort into a thriving garrison, and more. The Canyon ached with life. Dawnguard hailed them at their approach, patrolled the palisades and the beaten dirt road, and watched down from on high. Paddocks bustling with livestock – sheep, goats, chickens and even milk cows – had been erected on the grassy hillsides. Fiirnaraan, who'd flown ahead once they reached the Dayspring Pass, was visible sprawled on one of the higher towers, tail dangling, wings fanned as he basked contentedly in the noon sun.

There were more concerning changes, too. Signs of battle, old and fresh, lay in every scarred tree and disturbed patch of earth where the dead had been burned and their scorched bones buried. Camps of hide and canvas tents full of commoners pocketed the hilly crevasses alongside the path, leading up to the glowering Fort doors. "This is new," Rayya murmured, her eyes lingering on the families of displaced farmers and labourers.

"Refugees," Solen murmured. He'd seen those frightened eyes before.

They passed Ember and Starfire off at the stables and headed indoors. "Isran's done a lot," Gunmar noted, "I'll give him that. Built himself a whole little army to fight the menace with."

"Don't tell him that," Solen advised, ramming himself against the door – still as stiff and stubborn as ever. "He made it very clear – this isn't – the army."

"So we don't have to call him 'sir'?" Sorine sighed in relief. "Thank Mara for that."

They spilled inside the immense Fort antechamber and found it completely empty. "Huh," said Sorine, as the heavy doors banged shut behind them, "so much for a warm welcome. Isran? You there?"

"Sorine. Gunmar." Isran's growl floated down from the floor above. "Glad you two could make it."

"Gee, Isran, we missed you too," said Solen. They stepped into the middle of the circular chamber, brightly lit from the oculus above, to peer up at Isran on the balcony. "What's with the whole staring-down-imposingly thing?"

Bang! Bang! Bang! Heavy iron portcullises suddenly rammed down over every exit, even over the spirited Fort double-doors. Solen instinctively reached for Eldródr. "Isran!" Rayya shouted warningly. "What's the big idea?"

"Hold it right there." Isran raised his clenched fist.

"Paranoid old croaker," Gunmar muttered. He cupped his hands and bellowed, "We're standing in sunlight, you bald nit!"

"Doesn't mean you aren't vampires. You know the Volkihar can move under sunlight."

"They can?" Solen murmured at Rayya, puzzled. "Then what gives with the whole –?"

"Just makes them weak, I think," Rayya murmured back. "We could swim in the Sea of Ghosts, but we wouldn't feel great doing it."

The chamber suddenly turned gold, completely gold – a mysterious warm, almost pleasant sensation suffused the four standing within the sealed-off entry hall as they became encased in a pillar of light. It was like sinking into a hot bath, setting their blood tingling through their veins. Beneath them the floor, which Solen had mistaken for dull old cobblestone, had transformed into an enormous white rune, decorated with all sorts of illegible arcane symbology. The event ended after a few seconds, and seemed to satisfy Isran. "Can't be too careful," he said gruffly.

"I'd be more annoyed if I wasn't so impressed," Sorine said, brushing off her arms. "What was that, Stendarr's Aura?"

"Sunpurge Seal. One of Fort Dawnguard's old tricks. Recently I found out how to reactivate it for moments like these."

Solen knocked his heel against the floor, which had resumed its unassuming grey pavestone appearance. "What happens if a vampire steps in this?"

"They explode. Violently."

"Neat."

The portcullises were hauled up, unsealing the rest of the Fort, and Isran soon joined them in the antechamber. "Welcome to Fort Dawnguard," Isran said gruffly to Sorine and Gunmar. "I'm sure you've heard from Solen and Rayya about what we're up against."

"What haven't we heard?" said Sorine, throwing up her hands. "The Volkihar clan with an Elder Scroll, and a prophecy claiming the world's about to end."

"Prophecy?" echoed Isran. "What prophecy?"

"The Day of Black Sun," Solen answered. "That's what the Reachfolk call it. A day when the sun goes... black, or out, or something, and it throws the world into darkness. Good news for vampires and bad for us."

"Reachfolk?"

"Forsworn, sorry. I forget no one names them properly."

Isran arched his brow. "Never thought you could still surprise me, Dragonborn, yet here you are, associating with murderous, Daedra-worshipping barbarians."

"And here you are, associating with an associate of murderous, Daedra-worshipping barbarians." Solen folded his arms. "I don't make it a regular thing, Isran, but they don't call the vampires their friends either. They're certain there's a doomsday coming, and I'm certain the vampires are up to their elbows in making it happen. Who else benefits from a darkened sun? Why else do they want an Elder Scroll? They're the damn instruments of prophecy!"

"What are you, a Moth Priest?" Isran snorted. "Exactly what experience do you have with Elder Scrolls?"

"I found one! I lugged it up a mountain, read it in a Time-Wound, whacked it in Alduin's face. You know, the usual experience of someone who's actually fulfilled a prophecy."

Solen looked among their startled faces, noticing a distinct lack of response, and he turned to Rayya, puzzled. "I mentioned all that before, didn't I?"

"I don't think it ever came up," Rayya shrugged.

"Oh." Solen turned back to Isran. "So, uh, yeah. All that. Except whacking it in Alduin's face. But I was tempted."

"Alduin?" Sorine echoed. "Like that Dragon from the songs?"

"That's the one," Gunmar nodded.

Isran massaged his forehead and sighed, which Solen guessed was about as close as the Redguard would ever come to an apology. "All right," he conceded, "so you have experience with Elder Scrolls. Valuable experience."

"That and prophecy." Solen set his hands on his hips. "Believe me, I'd love it to just be puffed-up nonsense, and I'd love to be proven wrong, but I really don't think a threat against the actual honest-to-gods sun should be ignored. If a Dragon once menaced eating the world as we know it, a clan of crazy-powerful flying vampires going to kill the sun isn't so far-fetched."

"Hrrrm," said Isran. "When you put it like that, I guess not." He huffed a sigh and clapped his hands together. "So. The vampires have an Elder Scroll and we have some idea of what they plan with it. The question is how long we have left to stop them."

"Honestly?" said Solen. "Unless they've got some way to read it, they're holding a bow without arrows; a tool they've got no way of using."

"You read one," Gunmar pointed out, "so why can't they?"

"Good question. One, I didn't really read the Scroll, I just used it to go back in time about five Eras to learn a Shout. Long story. Two, I read – sorry, opened it – in this incredibly specific place, the sort of place I really doubt the vampires have in their castle, or know about, or would even work for their purposes." Solen upturned his palms. "So, again; bow without arrows."

They paused to think. "Your Scroll," Sorine said suddenly, "the one you found – where is it now?"

"In safekeeping at the College of Winterhold. Why?"

Sorine tapped her chin. "I remembered reading somewhere that the Elder Scrolls are fluid – they simultaneously hold knowledge of the past and the future. If they really are instruments of prophecy, as you say, do you think your Scroll might be able to tell us about the Day of Black Sun?"

Solen shrugged. "Honestly, the whole mythos around the Elder Scrolls goes right over my head. I'm still trying to figure out the whole 'don't exist but have always existed' concept."

"It's worth a try, at least," said Rayya. "Use a Scroll against a Scroll."

"Not sure if it works like that, but... I guess Urag could be persuaded to loan it out for a while." Solen recalled the taciturn Orc librarian of the mages' College and smiled. "But then we'd just be in the same boat as the vampires, wouldn't we? We'd just be flaunting Scrolls at each other."

"Not necessarily," said Isran. "We'd just need a Moth Priest to read it."

"Moth Priest? What's that? Beside some kind of insult at my intellect."

"They're monks who devote their lives to... whatever the Elder Scrolls are. I heard they used to keep a library of Scrolls, do readings for the Cyrodiil Emperors."

"So they serve the Empire?" said Solen, and inspiration struck, as bright and warm as that sunpurge spell had been. "Zeht's tears, I've never been so happy to have served with the Imperial Legion. Give me enough time with General Tullius, and I can probably get a Moth Priest to come to Skyrim."

Isran's dark eyes brightened. "You can?"

"Course I can, Tullius loves me. Meanwhile Rayya, you get a headstart on fetching the Scroll from the College of Winterhold. Swing by Jorrvaskr and grab Aela. The librarian will know her, she was with me during the whole Elder Scroll search. Added bonus that she's a great vampire deterrent in case that relic-pinching paralyzer catches wind."

"And leave you to ride across Skyrim by yourself?" Rayya frowned and folded her arms. "I don't think so, husband."

"I won't be riding, dear wife," said Solen. "Well, not a horse, if all goes well." He glanced at Isran. "That sound suitable to you, big man?"

Isran harrumphed, but nodded. "Sounds sensible." He turned to Sorine and Gunmar. "As for you two, Fort's all yours. Get used to the space. Sorine, you'll find room to start your tinkering. First task is getting our crossbows up to date. Gunmar, you're on the forge. Weapons and armour. You'll have all the supplies and designs you'll need. You've also got a cave to put your trolls. Get them armoured up and ready for use."

"Sounds like a plan." Gunmar grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Just like old days, eh, Sori?"

"So long as they don't end like the old days," Sorine remarked, with a pointed nod at Isran.

"Hmmm." Isran flicked his dark eyes over the both of them – was Solen mistaken, or was there a trace of warmth in them? "We'll see."

A cool indigo dusk was coaxing the constellations into being as Solen arrived at the stables to pet Ember goodbye. "Not this time, bud," Solen smiled, stroking down the warhorse's white-blazed nose. "If all goes well, anyway. I'm sure it'll go well. You be good to the other poor beasts down here, all right? Tell 'em some good stories. Make 'em jealous. We'll be back on track before you know it."

Ember bobbed his head, almost clocking Solen in the chin. He chuckled and scratched behind his ears. "All right. I'll be careful. You look after my big old bow for me, all right? Only so much I can carry on dragonback." He patted the crossbow hitched under Eldródr's sheath. "I'll be careful, don't worry."

"I think he's placated enough," said Rayya, sauntering out beside him. She wasn't travelling until morning, given how dangerous the nights had become, but of course she was going to see Solen off. Side by side they put the stables behind them and strode back through the Canyon. "Feels like a real garrison now," Rayya observed, as the Dawnguard operatives went about their work. "Irileth really got them into shape, didn't she?"

"I'd shake her hand, if I trusted her not to chop it off."

"Or if she was here. Isran said she was out on a mission, investigating some vampire den."

"Huh. Of course she gets all the fun."

At the valley's end, they drew their cloaks tight about them and stepped through the chilly tunnelled passage of Dayspring Pass, which connected the concealed Canyon to the autumnal forests of the Rift. The south Rift road was only a stone's throw from the Pass entrance, marked only with a brazier and a cairnstone wayshrine. Solen stood for a moment just breathing in the sweetly scented night air and listened to the wind soughing through the trees.

The pleasantly tranquil night was briefly disrupted by the Thu'um. "OD AH VIING!"

It bent the trees against the wind and shook a storm of leaves to the peppered forest floor, but soon they settled to their usual breezy rhythm. Solen made himself comfy on the cairnstone pile, anticipating a long wait. "I'll bet he's on the other side of the province. It'll probably take him all night to get here."

"Who, Odahviing? The Red Scourge of Skyrim? Fastest pair of wings on a Dragon?" Rayya stood beside him and rested her arm around his shoulders. "A few hours, at most. You haven't called him in almost a year. He'll probably be very curious as to what the Dovahkiin could possibly want with him."

"The last time my Thu'um made him curious, he got his head stuck in a giant yoke and a court wizard tried to stab him with a fork. No, curious is not a word I'd attribute to Odahviing."

Rayya laughed. "Onsi's blade, I wish I'd been there for that. That was Faendal again, wasn't it?"

"Aye, so it was. He dragged himself all the way up the Seven Thousand Steps for me for those peace talks, I felt I owed him a show." Solen tucked Rayya's hand under his own. "I hope Odahviing agrees to take me up again. Honestly I don't know if he will. He's a proud old dovah. Twice might be all he's got in him."

"You could use Fiirnaraan instead."

"Use? Rayya, you don't use Dragons. You ask and hope they agree. Besides, I think I might break Fiirnaraan's neck if I tried to climb on it."

"I suppose you would, you great lump. He is rather small for a Dragon, isn't he?"

"Doesn't stop him. He does things with his Thu'um like no one I've ever seen. Shouting with silence..." Solen looked thoughtfully at the darkening sky. "I ought to take him aside one day, see if he'll teach me the knack. I could be quite good at it, you never know."

Rayya laughed. "My dear, you'd talk an opponent to death, Voice or no Voice."

"Doubt it'll work with vampires, though." Solen narrowed his eyes. "Or with that... catspaw. Hmm. He needs a better name than that, my mysterious tormentor. I think I'll call him... Malooc."

"Solen, you can't just go naming your enemies."

"Why not? It might even be his name. Malooc, king of the goblins. It's a perfect nickname. If he doesn't like it, tough. He hurt you. He killed my shield-brothers. And he kicked me in the nose. All unforgiveable."

Rayya snorted and tilted his head down to kiss the aggrieved nose, which had healed slightly crooked. "Aela and I will get the Scroll," she said, "and you get Tullius to ship a Moth Priest up the south Rift road, and the Dawnguard will keep the Volkihar busy. That's all I want you to concern yourself with. Let's get this mission right, and we'll be back on course to putting down this undead uprising."

Solen sighed and rested his forehead against hers. "Of course."

An hour passed. Then a second, and a third. They took turns napping; Rayya wouldn't hear of going back into the Canyon until she knew Solen was safely away. Midnight came and went. "Maybe he didn't hear you," Rayya yawned, knuckling at her reddening eyes.

"He heard," Solen mumbled, straining to keep his own open. "There's no way in Nirn he wouldn't have heard his own Shout. Whether he'll come, though... He can fly across the whole province in a day if he puts his mind to it."

"Farrus thought he was last posted somewhere round the west end of Skyrim."

"Mmhm. Maybe he's already off doing some bloodletting. I bet the Imperial garrisons are tempting targets for the vampires."

"Probably not ones with a bloody fat Dragon sitting on them."

Solen snorted. "Probably not. And for Ruptga's sake, don't call him fat."

"He's not here, is he? I'll call him whatever I want. Big old scaly Stormcloak-muncher."

"Rayya, that was once, and he agreed he'd never do it again."

"Left a lasting impression, though."

"Yeah... poor guy."

"The definition of brave and stupid. Tu'whacca rest his soul."

The night spiralled on, and on. In fact, the first glow of dawn was on the horizon when Solen's drowsing ears picked up the long-awaited concussive blasts of beating wings. He jerked fully awake and nudged Rayya, just as the treetops began to thrash.

The tremendous scarlet-and-silver form of Odahviing roared over the autumnal forest, sending a shower of golden leaves in all directions. Solen and Rayya rose to meet him as the great red Dragon descended in swooping bobs upon the broad cobbled roadside, flattening several young saplings as he negotiated his bulk out of the sky and to the ground.

"Dovahkiin," Odahviing greeted, and drew a deep breath. "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Just in time, Rayya remembered to dive out of the way. She still wasn't quite used to watching Solen walk willingly into a cone of fire, no matter how benevolently casted it was. Solen had never been gladder of it, however; his night-long vigil had left him very cold and stiff. He returned the greeting, striping a fine plume of shimmering flame up Odahviing's snout and horns.

"Your Thu'um is strong as ever," Odahviing said, rocking back onto his talons. Frost from his long flight still clung to his scales, adding a glittering lustre to his body. He was the definition of a Dragon at his prime power, thrice as big as Fiirnaraan, his scarlet hide rippled proudly with scars of conquest, his glittering eyes as sharp and bold as jade, permanently radiant with a warrior's battlefire.

"As is yours, my friend," Solen returned. "I'm sorry to call you away to such a repulsively peaceful corner of the world, but I need your swift wings again."

Odahviing's huge scaled face matted in a scowl. "Thuri, I have warned you, zu'u kendov – I am a warrior, not a..." He considered an appropriate comparison. "...carriage."

"Believe me, you're the last thing in Nirn I'd ever call a carriage," Solen assured him, "but I wouldn't be asking this great favour of you if it wasn't of the most vital importance. I need to speak with Tullius, yesterday."

"Hmph! I cannot fly back through time, Dovahkiin."

"You're the closest thing there is."

Odahviing narrowed his eyes. "If I refuse?"

It was a test. Odahviing knew that Solen had learned even more forbidden, corrupting Thu'um than Dragonrend – his adventures in Solstheim against Miraak had granted him the horrific knowledge of bending a Dragon's will to his own. In truth, there was nothing stopping Solen from using the wings of any Dragon in the world. Nothing but a sense of honour.

"My vow still stands," Solen assured him. "I will not force you, or any Dragon who does not challenge me first. Refuse if the request is too much. I'll find another way to Tullius." A month away on horseback, in Solitude. Gods know what state Skyrim will be in by then.

Odahviing considered him. "You have always been fair with the Thu'um," he allowed. "Fairer than Alduin, and many joorre who have a shadow of your suleyk – your power," he added, recalling Solen's infantile grasp of Dovahzul. "Very well, Dovahkiin. We will fly together once more."

Solen deflated in relief. "You're an absolute champion, Odahviing." He turned and smiled at Rayya. "Well, there we are. We're off."

Rayya strode forward, took Solen by the ears, pulled him down and kissed him firmly. "Travel safe," she murmured. "Don't make me come after you."

Solen winked. "Race you to the College."

"Dovahkiin," Odahviing prompted.

Solen turned away and hauled himself carefully behind the red dragon's crest of horns. "Just like old times, eh?" he murmured, gripping the horns tightly, as Odahviing leaned hard on his rear talons and shook out his great spread of white and violet wings –

Then paused, his breath held, his jaws agape, poised to spring and frozen in the stance. "Uh, Odahviing?" Solen prompted. He clung against the steeply sloped neck, trying not to take too much notice of the very long, sharp black spines that arched along the Dragon's back below.

Odahviing rumbled like a drum. "They have sounded the horn."

"What – the Imperials?" Stupid question. As if any other kind of horn would get Odahviing's attention. They'd been designed much like the Thu'um, to summon the Dragon from anywhere in Skyrim. "Fishbait," Solen cursed. "Well – we can't ignore that."

"We?"

"I'm sure as Oblivion not waiting here until you're done with it." Solen patted his swordhilt. "I'm a kendov too."

Odahviing rumbled with a low, malicious laugh. "Pruzah, Dovahkiin. Then it will indeed be like old times."

The immense red Dragon leapt from the road, trees thrashing under the hurricane force of his wings, with Solen clinging hard against his neck. The ascent was always the worst part, and he tried not to watch Rayya and the rest of Skyrim shrinking dizzyingly out of sight below. Then Odahviing was above the trees, and his wings boomed loud and deep. He swung his nose to the northwest and buckled his body into the sinuous motions of flight, an eerie dirge-like cry rumbling up from the pit of his chest. Solen glanced back, but Dayspring Canyon was already lost to sight.

He looked forward between the great curved horns and distracted himself with the general wonder of flight. He might be physically terrified, but his Dragon soul certainly wasn't. Thrill licked through his bones like a kindling inferno. Solen grinned and hunched low against Odahviing's neck, out of the worst of the wind. Old times indeed. The Imperials are going to be surprised.

[A/N]: And with that, dear readers, we officially conclude Act 1! Congratulations for making it this far! And having well and truly leapt over the 1000 view milestone before this update, you've made this humble author very happy :)

How do you find the narrative and the world woven into it? Any favourite characters at this stage in the tale? Suspicion for events to come? Theories for the storm that's coming? Stick around, tell your friends, because the race to unravel - and thwart - the mysterious prophecy is on...