Author's Notes:
The Global Lockdown marches on. It's back to business for me, since the company I work for is involved in the supply chain for "essential businesses". Unfortunately, I still can't meet my waifu until maybe June or so… it sucks, being separated from her.
Anyway, I manage to find time to work on my stories. So… I hope y'all find it to be a good distraction from the worries of the real world just as much as I do whenever I crank out chapters.
As usual, my beta reader, strykeruk, has something to say: Hello everyone, Strykeruk here. Nothing dramatic to say on this one, just hoping you are all staying safe and well. Enjoy the chapter.
Timestamp key: "D" for days, "W" for weeks, "M" for months, "Y" for years, "EM" for early morning, "LM" for late morning, "EA" for early afternoon, "LA" for late afternoon, "EE" for early evening, "LN" for late night, and "AD" for all day. Note that the Realms follows the sexagesimal system for keeping time, just like Earth. (In other words, 60 seconds per minute and 60 minutes per hour.)
Snip category key: There are four categories of snips. "Settling In", "City Life", "Beyond the Wall", and "The Journey Home". All four represent parallel storylines that take place within Aimless, and other than "Settling In", each snip category has at least two subtypes. Those subtypes aren't listed due to potential spoilers.
Enjoy!
Beyond the Wall – Ape Menace
Chapter 44: A Hero's Welcome
"A hero is not defined only in battle. They also inspire. They bring hope to a new horizon. They bring faith to the faithless."
- Stephonika Kaye, novelization of Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
[50D/EE]
Altai was thrilled. Energy ran through her veins. She chirped, ecstatic to return to her homeland with not just elite reinforcements from Warfang but also the Hero of the Dragon Realms himself!
Imagine that! Her! Some bumpkin from the northern reaches of the Allied Territories, meeting Spyro in the flesh. Well, she wasn't exactly a bumpkin—the Ice dragoness had some status in Eyria thanks to her mother—but nothing could stop the pride welling in her breast.
Mother would be so proud of her and the other messengers, and so happy too. No longer would she have to worry about the future of Eyria, of the December Cliffs, of the people living there.
Because Spyro was going to slam his tail on ape butt, just like in the stories!
Truly it was a shame that day would not come for a long time. The path from Warfang to Eyria was long and treacherous. A flight speeding towards one direction or the other took a week at most. But on foot? Two weeks.
Two long weeks.
Being with the Savior himself had lost its hype ages ago. Spyro was reticent. Each day he took position of the rear guard, flying directly above the last wagon in the vintaine. On the first day Altai and the other messengers joined him to keep him company.
Spyro turned out to be a decent conversationalist. There were many things to talk about. He had tips regarding best use of the Ice and Earth elements ("You need to think as you fly."). He had ways for dealing with Apes ("They're simple-minded. Almost all of 'em. The brutes never think more than two steps ahead."). He freely gave firsthand accounts of his battles during the war ("Gaul struck fear in me the first time I laid my eyes on him.").
Spyro also had many things to say about life in the giant and prosperous city of Warfang ("As long as you have coin to spend you'll never run out of things to do.").
So long as they didn't mention Cynder or the furless ape—what was his name again? Altai forgot—Spyro wouldn't shut himself off. The ice dragoness sometimes hung back, let the other messengers talk, and observed the living legend. He seemed happier, Altai felt.
Because when he was alone, when nobody came up to him in midair or on the ground, he always sported a forlorn expression on his muzzle. Sometimes, his eyes would look straight ahead, he would flex his ailerons, and he would fly with his posture matching that of Claytor's. Of a dragon brimming with grim determination.
Altai had seen this side of Spyro once, a couple hours into the evening before Claytor called for setting up camp. It was unnerving. What could possibly be on his mind?
In a group as large and as heavily armed as Claytor's camping out in the wilds wasn't too bad. Altai and her fellow messengers—all offspring of top leadership in their villages and large hamlets—struggled so much to forage for food and set up a warm campfire that the knights of Warfang looked like true experts in comparison.
When it was time to camp for the night, Vinetar Claytor would have every wagon get off the dirt road and form a circle in a relatively clear and flat spot nearby. A bonfire would be started by one of the bipeds in their group. The rest would spread out and forage for food—they ran out of rations halfway through—and a clean source of water to refill their stores. Everybody contributed. Spyro didn't have to, but he also did his share at his own insistence. Altai had a feeling he didn't like the special treatment he received from everyone here. It impressed her. A lot of so-called heroes back in December would've basked horns and tail in the glory instead.
The caravan moved with a simple formation. Supplies and the December messengers in the middle. Vinetar Claytor in flight directly above the center. Four dragons in front: two in the air and two on the ground. Same for the rear. The (poor and flightless) bipeds—Altai pitied the lesser species—either galloping amongst the wagons or pulling them themselves. Spyro and the messengers, being guests, had autonomy to meander around the caravan, but that lost its luster when they'd been traveling for a full, eight-day week.
The scenery was undoubtedly beautiful. Now that Altai and her friends were no longer on the run, she could appreciate the green canopy of Summer Forest, the awe-striking gorges of Dry Canyon, and even the faraway peaks of the Blackstone Mountains. When the vintaine veered north, the scenery became monotonous.
Sure, she caught a glimpse of Concurrent Skies from a distance. Same with the floating lands of Tall Plains. Her eyes also saw the distant ruins of towns long abandoned during the War, as well as inhabited hamlets and small villages. But with the vast majority of her days spent flying, galloping, or simply sitting in her wagon, boredom was quick to set in and sooner or later she slipped into the routine like everybody else.
Altai often thought about home. How was Eyria doing now? She remembered how her mother's snout looked when she flew away with the other chiefs' kids. She appeared as though she was doing everything she could not to break down and cry in public.
She remembered Uncle Gileao telling the council that some scouts found a forward base nestled in a place that once hosted several close-knit hamlets. Was he able to recon the camp? Did he find an opportunity to attack? Were they able to get any knowledge on who—why the Apes ventured so far up north? Was Uncle Jayce of any help at all?
It was depressing to think about home, yet she couldn't help it the closer they got. Distractions were few.
Whenever Altai tried to distract herself from thoughts of home, her curiosity revolved around the furless ape. Claytor and the other Warfang knights didn't talk much about it, and Spyro always ended any attempt to talk about him. Before they came here, they'd already heard of him and his deeds outside Warfang's own gates. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't as terrible as the airstreams said he was. The way the people in their group acted hinted on it being a tad more complex than anyone could expect. Aurona would certainly have been curious...
One late afternoon, the mountain range containing December Cliffs emerged from below the horizon. She recognized it based on what she recalled when they escaped from the dreadwings pursuing them. Home. They were nearly home.
Altai's eyes followed the trail the wagons were on. To her surprise, it led to a fairly large city in the distance. It appeared close to December. What's this? She couldn't recall seeing this city before.
"That's Uzali," Claytor answered Altai when she brought it up with him. "It's named after an ancient dialect meaning 'tundra'. It's the last town before the December mountains ahead, and it's the halfway mark for our trip."
"Vinetar Claytor, how come I don't remember seeing this?" Altai shot back, her mind circulating on the trip she and her friends made to Warfang. "I... I don't remember passing here!" If they had known about this town, all the heartache and struggle they went through wouldn't have happened. The Apes wouldn't have pursued them so far, and they wouldn't have had to be wary of bandits. Some of her friends wouldn't have been as hurt on top of that.
"You were all too busy rushing to Warfang," Claytor offered his thoughts. "I guess the Apes have control of the common routes leading to Eyria and the other villages, so you were forced onto an unconventional path on foot and took flight once you began your descent."
"T-that's, exactly what happened!" Altai exclaimed. "We went at night time to avoid their sentries but we got caught a-a-and"—she twiddled her paws together as she flapped her wings in tune with the Vinetar's—"we had to run for it. None of us had ever been outside December either—and I, I-I guess the adults overlooked that—but we knew which way Warfang was, so we all ran that way.
"Thank the Ancestors the twin moons lit the way for us. It would've been so much harder if we couldn't see the slopes ahead. "
Tears welled in her eyes. Thank the Lifebringer nobody in her group had died too. It would've been utterly pointless.
"We'll have to use the main path because of the wagons. We'll also need to be wary of an ambush." He chuckled. "I'm not too worried though. We have the skills and the equipment. We also have the Savior with us."
"Yes," she agreed. "It's, really different knowing I'm coming home with real help." Altai shook off her tears and let the wind scatter them in the air. "So how far are we from Uzali?"
He raised his forepaw to point at the mountain range behind it. "At our speed, it looks like we'll be traveling another three hours away. The mountain behind Uzali, maybe another couple hours from there."
"Three hours?" Altai checked the sky. "It'll be night in just one. Are we still camping out here?"
"No. We'll get there by the time I usually call for camp."
Altai grumbled, "So far! We've only rested a few times today."
"You're a guest as much as Lord Spyro is, Altai. Why not fly back to your wagon and rest, like your friends?"
Her snout dropped. "They appointed me leader," she said. "I have a responsibility..."
"Very well," Claytor replied, his voice containing a tone of understanding. He was a leader himself, after all. "Keep flying with me, Little Wing. Just don't overdo it."
"Thanks, Sir Claytor."
.
.
.
As the Vinetar said, the rest of the trip to Uzali took another two hours. They only rested once: next to a riverbank, where the entire caravan could drink water and quickly chow down all the dried meat left over from last night's hunt.
A quick rest like that wasn't enough to dispel the fatigue and exhaustion in Altai's wings. Her muscles were sore from all the flying, and she was ready to throw herself onto a soft futon by the time the caravan arrived in Uzali.
A smile graced her muzzle when Claytor finally commanded every dragon in the air to put themselves on the ground. Relief spread across her body when the ice dragoness planted her paws in front of the lead wagon and folded her wings. Claytor landed seconds later, the Talonpoint Knight releasing a sigh of his own.
As for Spyro, the Purple Dragon had retired to the rearmost wagon hours ago. Altai knew it wasn't his responsibility to look after the caravan, but someone of his great reputation probably planned to conserve his energy for the event it was needed.
Uzali was a small town with walls of earth and stone surrounding its borders, fortified with dense logs of wood harvested from the nearby forest. Sentries roamed across the battlements. One out of ten were dragons. The rest were bipeds, mainly atlawa, bears, and felines adapted to the cold. All equipped with metal armor that looked as though it'd seen better days.
An atlawa and a bear welcomed the group at the gate. Whatever vigilance they may have had dissipated the second they saw the insignia of the Allied Territories all over their gear. Altai watched Claytor step away from the group and approached the two guards.
She strained her earholes to listen in. "Clear skies, I am Claytor, a knight from Warfang's Talonpoint Keep and the vinetar in charge of this caravan."
With that introduction out of the way, Claytor began his business getting them entry into Uzali and probably more benefits, like a free stay in one of the local inns, subsidized by some high-flyer manning an office in Warfang. Altai easily got bored from simply standing there. She stopped listening to Claytor and the two locals, opting to gaze up at the twin moons above.
It was a pastime of hers, staring at the sky. Altai liked to count the countless stars up there, seeing the occasional streak of light bursting into existence for but a wink in time. With Eyria and the rest of December so far up north that they barely felt the war until four years ago when—as they knew now—the Destroyer spread the roots of its magic across the known world.
During those days, Altai remembered, as a young whelp she would scamper over to the rocky hill overlooking Eyria while dragging Uncle Jayce and Aurona's daughter Selema along for the flight. Uncle Jayce had the worst of it, being one of the few bipeds living in Eyria, while Selema… she wasn't interested, but at least she seemed happy to play along.
The memory brought a smile to Altai's muzzle. The dragoness restrained the urge to sob and returned her gaze upward. There was this constellation Selema liked to look at. Some sort of a flying ship—
"Clear skies, Altai."
Altai snapped her snout down and learned Spyro stood next to her. She flinched and let out a soft hiss. Mother of Knowledge! How long had he been there? "S-ste, s-steady winds, Lord Spyro!"
He laughed. "Surprised you, didn't I? I didn't want to disturb your intense stargazing but"—the Savior turned away and let out a gaping yawn—"I felt the caravan stop and wondered if we already arrived at Uzali."
Altai gestured to the scene by the gate. "We have. Claytor's getting us in. I think he's trying to get a better place for us tonight and"—was it just her? Or were the Uzali guards coming here?—"That's strange. I wonder what—
An excited, high-pitched squeal cracked the calm silence in the air. The atlawa's metal boots audibly hammered the ground until the guard stood right in front of her—in front of Spyro. "Oh heavens above! It's you! It's really, really you!"
He knelt down and deferentially bowed his head. "The world's dear lord and savior! I didn't believe a word Sir Claytor said until I saw you come out with my own eyes!" The guard lowered himself to the ground and dared to kiss Spyro's paw. "Thank you for gracing us with your presence."
The other guard accompanying him caught up. "Oh Lord Spyro! Welcome to Uzali! May Your Grace live a long and happy life. I say, your scales are so much more marvelous in person. Such rich purple!" the bear fawned. "And those beautiful horns!"
"Uhh… thank you?"
Altai turned her head from the scene. Alona, did she act like that too? Was that how she looked like? She felt so embarrassed now.
"Your Grace, you cannot possibly stay at the lodgings our mayor has prepared for you. You saved the continent—the world four years ago!"
"Indeed," added the atlawa, who had risen to his feet. "We weren't there to see the action—even join your absolutely most heroic defense of Warfang's walls but we felt the warped magic of the Destroyer twisting, shaking the very land beneath us." He bowed again. "As the first of Uzali to meet with Your Grace, thank you so much for saving us from war and extinction. Thank you!"
Spyro winced at the action. "I-it's, it's okay," he placated. "No need for all that. I'm not really all that into formalities so you can just bring us to the inn we're staying in for tonight." He raised a paw to touch the atlawa's arm and calm him down.
Spyro was met with the completely opposite reaction. "He touched me!" The atlawa screeched. "He touched me! He touched me! LORD SPYRO TOUCHED ME! I CAN FINALLY DIE—
The bear reached out and pulled him hard enough to shatter his reverie. "Stop fooling around!"
"But the great Savior—
"We have a job to do!"
"Oh. Right."
The bear glanced at Spyro, then at Altai. "With the continent's most esteemed guest here, there is no way you should stay in a pigsty tonight. What will the other cities say about Uzali? They'll laugh at us to death!"
He slapped the atlawa's pauldrons. "You. Fetch the mayor at once! Meet us at Cloud 9!"
"Why do I have to do it?"
"You almost made a damn scene! I can't trust you to keep calm and do your job, so go and pick him up." He snarled. "Now! And have the Captain open the gates for them while you're at it!"
"Yes, sir! Yes sir yes sir yesss sir—
Altai observed the atlawa rushing back into the city. He was practically waddling. She stifled her laughter.
Spyro released a breath neither he nor Altai realized he was holding. "Whew, that was awkward," he uttered.
Claytor arrived before anyone could reply to that. He barely dodged the metal-clad furball sprinting back to the gates. "By Azeroth! You left me behind back there! What's going on? Why'd—oh, hello, Lord Spyro. Clear skies! Good to see you're up."
"Steady winds, Clay—
The bear swiveled and glared at the earth dragon. "I am deeply sorry that we didn't believe you the first time, Sir Claytor." After giving the dragon a deep and low bow, he said, "Follow me. I'll take you to your lodging."
"Wonderful news."
As if on cue, a loud, creaking noise alerted the entire group to the massive wooden gate spreading its doors wide open for their entry into Uzali. The vintaine and the messengers whooped for joy in various tones, happy to finally sleep on a cozy mattress for once.
The bear waited for Claytor to reorganize the vintaine and get the wagons moving before he led them all into Uzali.
"It'll be different from what we arranged at the gate." The bear glanced back at Spyro. "In consideration of the esteemed guest in your party."
"I, I-I may not have the coin for it. My spending allowance didn't take this into account."
"I don't have any authority to say this, but I am certain the town will take care of everything."
"What makes you say that?" Claytor asked as the four of them passed beneath the battlement.
The bear smirked at him. No, he smirked at her—at Spyro. "See for yourself."
.
.
.
When they finally entered the town proper, Altai noticed the townsfolk were just as diverse as the guards. The few dragons she saw were mainly of the Earth or Ice element, with the rest of the crowd consisting of atlawas, bears, snow leopards, snow tigers, and the occasional rhynoc.
They were all going about their ordinary lives when Claytor, Altai, and Spyro strolled in ahead of their large party of twenty-seven, obediently following the bear.
It took only seconds for them to notice the insignia of the Allied Territories on their items, the quality armor sported by every knight, and perhaps the strangeness of the gnorcs' green skin. The people of Uzali instantly dropped whatever they were doing and sprinted over to the caravan, all eyes on the three dragons in front.
All eyes on Spyro, actually.
"H-hello, everybody," Spyro stammered out before his own voice drowned in the townsfolk's cheers of jubilation.
"The Savior! The Savior!"
"I can't believe it. The Savior is here!"
"In our tiny little town up north! Gintomyr the Prosperous—"
"It's Lord Spyro! REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—
"Oooohhhhhhhh!" Before he knew it, an atlawa pushed and violently shoved his way to the Purple Dragon and immediately prostrated before his paws. "Great and venerable Spyro! You saved my mother from certain doom when you visited Tall Plains and defeated the stone god!" He proceeded to kiss the dragon's feet. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you…"
Altai could see the awkward expression flicker on Spyro's snout. "N-no, there's, t-t-there's no need for that"—the dragon motioned to lift his paws and step away, but with alacrity, the atlawa reached out and clung to his feet.—"S-sir, please, you, you don't have to do this—
"I am unworthy to receive your presence, Your Grace, but on behalf of my family, I—
A bear genuflected in front of him. "Lord Spyro, I have no words to describe the horror of feeling our very world splinter apart four years ago. My family and I were saved because of you." His muzzle contorted into an expression of misery and gratitude and he started sobbing uncontrollably. "Thank you. Thank you!"
"You saved us!"
"Our families in Warfang are safe."
"Thank you, Lord Spyro!"
Countless citizens overwhelmed the dragon. Some took turns worshipping his paws. Others reached out and ran their hands across his purple scales. The few dragons that were there approached Spyro and, rather than helping him navigate his way past the crowd, joined the worshippers and nuzzled him.
Several people left the crowd with wonder pooling in their eyes and pride carrying their steps. They would look at their paws and mutter to themselves, "I got to touch him. The Purple Dragon. The Savior…"
Altai heard their awestruck murmurings as she watched more townsfolk replace those who left, falling in line to do the same thing.
Spyro was too busy to notice. "You're welcome," he said. "Okay, you're all welcome. You, and you, and you." A frustrated sigh rumbled out his muzzle. Altai pitied him. "Please, move out of the way. I—I mean we"—He squealed. Glancing down, he shook off his paw and stepped back. "No licking! P-please, ground yourse—N-no. NO! Paws off my forelegs!"
A dragoness Altai's age lunged at him, knocking a few townspeople back. "Lord Spyro!" she said, snaking her head along with his. "Let me warm your cushion tonight, as thanks for all the hard work."
"I-I-I'm already mated with—
"Nonsense! She doesn't have to know. You're up here, all alone—
He tried to pry away from her grasp. "It's okay. I appreciate the gesture, but seriously, you don't need to—
Claytor decided enough was enough. He strutted towards Spyro and parted the crowd back. "Enough! Enough! Lord Spyro is exhausted from the trip from Warfang and—
A dragon pushed back. "Lord Spyro has never visited the northern regions of Markazia! We MUST show our thanks for everything he did during the War! If it wasn't for him, my mate wouldn't be with me today!"
"Yes!" cried another atlawa. "We must show the Venerable Savior our gratitude! It is only fair."
More and more townsfolk started pouring out from the streets of Uzali, joining the cloud of people blocking the caravan. Many fell in line and practically harassed Spyro with their unending show of gratitude while others joined the group stopping the Vinetar or the other knights from interfering with their once-in-a-lifetime chance to glorify him.
Altai glanced over at the black bear who'd been leading them to this Cloud 9 place, but a look at the helpless mien on his snout made it clear he was powerless, and a little hesitant, to do his job and stop the populace.
Claytor stomped the ground and, with a thrum of his Element, caused tremors to reverberate across the crowd. Many stumbled in place, the chaotic throng pausing as each person in the mob struggled to remain standing without knocking over somebody else in the process. With the mob rendered silent for a moment, the Talonpoint Knight took this opportunity to yell out, "People of Uzali, I beseech you to ground yourselves and move aside! I know you all want to pay respects to our Savior, but Lord Spyro's accompanying my vintaine for a mission, and he needs his rest as much as we do. If none of you comply, then I will use force to make you!"
A shocked Spyro gaped at him. "Claytor! I, I-I think force might be going a little too far—aargh!" He raised his paws and tried to push away the female bear who threw herself at him, nuzzling his neck while muttering words of gratitude. "Miss, thank you for your words. I, I-I-I'm glad you feel that way and you're very welcome and—GAH!"
Completely ignoring Vinetar Claytor's warning, the crowd resumed its hysteria and swarmed all over Spyro. Altai eyed the great hero and realized that, though irritation and fatigue was pushing him to the edge of his sanity, not once did he give off the feeling that he would use whatever power he had at his disposal to force his way through the people who did nothing but drown him in love and joy.
She looked over at Claytor, whose scowl deepened at the way the people of Uzali dismissed his threat. The ice dragoness leaned over to him. "Sir Claytor," she said, "Maybe we should reconsider—
"Altai, we can't afford to let this continue. The next leg of our journey will bring us through Ape-controlled roads and it will be significantly more dangerous. If Spyro spends every hour sleeping tomorrow we can't use him as a deterrent, much less be ready for a possible ambush." He growled. "That's it. I'm ending this now."
The Talonpoint Knight ambulated aggressively towards Spyro, power accompanying his every step. His wings flared. He took a deep breath. Altai watched as all four of his legs were clad in the green hue of the Earth element.
Spyro noticed at the last minute. "Claytor, wait! Stay aloft! I got this under—
"Don't blame me for being harsh!" he yelled back. Claytor reared up on his hind legs and—
A gust of frigid air struck the crowd. Thick veils of snow blew past them all, causing the warm summer temperatures to suddenly plummet. The entire mob ceased moving and shivered, turning towards the source of this momentary blizzard. Their angry scowls and furious expressions dissipated the second they laid their eyes on an Ice Dragon floating down from above, his white crest and every scar on it visible in plain sight. He was flanked by an entourage of four armored dragons, their gear engraved with the simple symbol Altai had been glimpsing all over the battlements and the banners that ran down the walls. The symbol of Uzali.
"M-Mayor Lumirus!" blurted one of the townsfolk.
"W-what? The Mayor's here?"
"Awww, Vulcan's horns. The party's over now…"
Mayor Lumirus stood at least a head taller than the other dragons crowding around Spyro. Altai fidgeted at his calm, dignified approach. He was a bit taller than Kalen, Eyria's chief gatekeeper. She could see ugly scars lining his breast and flank, suggesting he had seen brutal fighting in years past. Did Uzali suffer during the War? She looked around. While dilapidated and poorly-built, none of the buildings suggested it.
A large crystal of ice appeared before the Mayor. It kept the temperature low. The townsfolk yielded to its frigid chill and vacated the space, making a path for him to reach Spyro. It fell to the ground the second he and his guards ambled past it.
Sharp, ringing bells echoed in Altai's sensitive ear holes when the giant crystal shattered into a million pieces. A clear sign that demanded self-restraint and consideration, but without the cloddish vulgarity that Claytor would've gone with. Altai watched Spyro visibly relax, relieved from the stress of dealing with his adoring fans.
"Clear skies, Lord Spyro," greeted Mayor Lumirus. "Please forgive my people for their, hmm, enthusiasm. Other than the Ice Guardian's occasional visit, Uzali has never received a guest of your renown in its entire history."
Spyro responded to the greeting with a shallow bow of respect. "Steady winds, sir. It's alright. No harm done. I understand where they're coming from. I was just… a little overwhelmed back there, so thank you for your help."
"Your gratitude is highly appreciated, Your Grace." He stood before the Savior with a straight, if formal, posture. "I am Lumirus, Mayor of Uzali and"—he eyed Claytor and his armor—"once a knight-captain in Talonpoint Keep."
"Again, thanks for rescuing—I mean, thanks for welcoming us to your town." The comment got a chuckle out of the Mayor. "May I ask why you weren't around to see us at the gate? As much as I like getting a hero's welcome, I'm not exactly here for social matters." Spyro nudged his snout in Claytor's direction. "I heard about the situation up in December and I have this feeling there's something deeper to it, so I'm accompanying Sir Claytor's vintaine to investigate, and maybe help 'em out while I'm at it."
Altai heard a slightly reproachful tone in Spyro's comments. He was implying the commotion just now wouldn't have occurred if they'd been welcomed properly. His body language was yelling "I'm tired and I didn't want to deal with this dragon dung!" so loudly only a stupid ape could miss it.
The Mayor understood immediately. "Ahh, I am deeply sorry for that, Your Grace. Merlveet"—Altai recognized the name of the fastest messenger dragon in all of Markazia—"flew here last week with a message about the vintaine. I wasn't aware you were part of the group."
Spyro grimaced. "Actually, I never—
"I'll take it from here, Lord Spyro." Claytor stepped up to them.
"Thank you."
"Mayor Lumirus," began the Talonpoint Knight. "I am Claytor, the Vinetar appointed for this operation." His cadence shifted to an apologetic tone. "Please forgive my superiors in Warfang for the mistake. Lord Spyro was never part of my vintaine to begin with. He actually insisted on joining us at the last minute, and, well, I had no reason to deny the Purple Dragon."
The Mayor replied dismissively. "Don't worry about it, Sir Claytor. It's been ages, but I suffered under Warfang bureaucracy myself. I know the feeling." He glanced around at their surroundings. The townspeople were still there, watching history unfold before their eyes, while the rest of the caravan idled by the wagons, waiting for them to finish. "Anyway, I think it's about time I lead you to your accommodations for tonight. I've sent the knight who informed me of your arrival to make arrangements at Cloud 9, and they should be finished by now."
"Gladly," answered Claytor. "We're exhausted."
"I'm sure you are." Mayor Lumirus shot a scathing look at the black bear who'd received them. "As for you, you're dismissed."
"Yes, sir!" Altai watched him rush away from the scene. He surprised her with his speed; she had never seen a bear move that fast without dropping down to all fours.
Altai was so distracted by the guard's departure that she didn't realize the Mayor had approached her next. "And you must be Altai."
Altai flinched. He was even larger up close. Thoroughly intimidated, the dragoness bowed out of reflex. "A-a-ah, Mayor Lumirus! Sorry, I was a little distracted and—
"How's Eyria? I haven't heard from Ophelia or Gileao since last year."
"You, know them?"
"We're old friends," he said. "Gileao used to fly here twice a cycle back whenever he wanted to tear someone's horns off over Aurona being mated to a fire dragon in Warfang."
"Ah, so you know about that." Aurona's turbulent relationship with her controlling father was a well-known topic in Eyria's airstreams. Altai being Ophelia's only offspring meant she had access to information not known to many villagers...
"Among other things. Like Selema, and everyone's beloved 'Uncle Jayce'."
...just like that. Mayor's words convinced Altai he personally knew the village chief and her mother. She wasn't quite certain whether he really was an old friend of theirs, but she felt it was okay to answer his question.
"Could be better," Altai said. "Mother and Aurona are managing all our domestic affairs so Chief Gileao can focus on the Apes. But, it's been a full cycle since my friends and I left Eyria so we don't know how things are going right now."
"Good to hear." Mayor Lumirus turned around. He beckoned at Altai with a flick of his tail. "Come, we'll talk more at Cloud 9." He returned to Spyro and Claytor, who'd been waiting by the sidelines.
"Sorry for the wait. I'm friends with Altai's mother and I needed to talk to her for a bit of news."
"Is everything okay, Mayor?" asked Spyro.
"Yes, Your Grace. I didn't ask for much detail, but the news is better than I expected." He locked eyes with him and Claytor. "Let's go."
.
.
.
.
.
.
With Mayor Lumirus leading them, none of the townsfolk dared to approach Spyro and risk embarrassment. Altai was still reeling from the revelation that he had close ties to Eyria. Why didn't her mother tell her about Uzali? Why weren't any of them informed about it? They could've gone here instead of Warfang.
It worried her. Was the situation actually worse than she thought? How was the village doing now?
Unwilling to lose herself in the depressing thoughts, Altai turned her attention to the city itself. The architecture was nothing like Warfang's. The buildings were blocky. Each, a simple construct of earth and stone and topped with litterfall. None rose higher than the height of two and a half adult dragons, the vast majority clearly designed for the bipeds living in Uzali. Other than the open courtyard in front of the gate, the streets were dirty, not to mention claustrophobically narrow for a dragoness.
She avoided eye contact with the numerous townsfolk, all of whom ogled the three reptiles leading the diverse caravan that just entered the city. Altai glanced up at the sky again and found comfort in the way both moons illuminated the firmaments.
Neither Spyro nor Claytor spoke during the walk. Altai could see exhaustion in their steps. They were both ready to lay down and lounge around. Neither dragon bothered looking at the town.
Altai found her eyes meandering. Just like Eyria, Uzali was barely touched by the war. The city guard might have—certainly saw action during those dark times, but no Ape or Grublin managed to breach the walls or its battlements. The only damage borne by the buildings could be attributed to age and maybe social unrest. A terrific job, all in all.
In a way, Uzali's beauty rested in its smallness, its simplicity. It didn't quite carry the charm of Eyria's austerity and self-subsistence, or the grandiosity of Warfang and its sweeping scenes of a bustling harmony between civilization and nature. For a simple dragon like Altai though, it was good enough.
She might have liked living here, she realized.
"Here we are."
Mayor Lumirus stopped in front of an inn. It occupied double the area of other buildings of its size, and was properly sized for adult dragons. Like Uzali, there was nothing special to it. The external architecture felt homely, with wooden panels and vines adding a bit of creative flair to an otherwise drab wall.
Altai saw the sign above the entryway. "CLOUD 9", it read in the common script.
"Finally," groaned Spyro. "I can't wait to jump onto a cushion tonight."
Altai could overhear the other messengers and the rest of the vintaine murmuring sweet relief as well.
"It can't compare to anything you're all used to in Warfang, but this is the best inn Uzali has to offer." Mayor Lumirus eyed the Earth dragon beside them. "Vinetar, your vintaine may leave the wagons here in front of the inn in an orderly fashion. I've given the city guard instructions to dispatch a small team to keep your things secure."
While Claytor went to work, the Mayor's gaze panned across Spyro and Altai. "Lord Spyro, Altai, I'm sure you two are hungry. Let's get you settled in, then we can treat you to a proper feast."
Thank the Lifebringer, that was the best news she had heard this past week. She was getting tired of bland, fire-roasted meat.
.
.
.
Cloud 9 did not disappoint.
Their whole group occupied its dining hall in its entirety. While three-fifths of the hall were originally arranged for bipeds, the staff quickly swapped out several chairs for cushions and put quite a few tables together. Having rearranged the furniture properly, every person in the caravan had a place to sit no matter what their species was. Naturally Altai, Claytor, Spyro, and Mayor Lumirus were all seated together, separated from the rest of the caravan by a wide berth.
Their meals were served within half an hour. Grilled meat and cheese placed on top of stale bread. Properly cooked, seasoned, and garnished, Cloud 9 exerted every effort to give them their finest dishes.
Altai almost sobbed from delight when she clutched a piece of meat by the bone and brought it to her maw. The bone fractured into pieces as the juices gushed out and made a mess on her blue scales. The marinade was excellent. A sweet and savory taste on her tongue, with a little kick from the peppers used to spice the flavor.
She lapped up the vegetable soup with gusto, her tongue licking the ceramic bowl clean. "Delicious! Ancestors, this is sooooo good. I could die tonight!"
Altai heard Spyro laugh. "You're telling me! This beats bushmeat any day." He was laying down on a cushion opposite her side of the table. The trencher rested in front of him, topped with picked bones.
"Madam Ophelia will rip my horns out if you actually died," the Mayor chuckled beside her before ripping into his own stick of grilled meat.
"How are you related to her anyway?" Altai asked. "I never heard them talk about you before."
"We're childhood friends," explained Mayor Lumirus. "Fancied your mother as my mate. Sadly, Ophelia preferred your father more. It didn't help that Chief Gileao didn't think much of me. Your father was a much better warrior than I."
"Oh… why are you here then?" Altai felt a little sad to hear it. She and Lumirus could have been friends. "You could've just stayed in Eyria with us!"
"I simply couldn't stay in December after Ophelia turned me away. I realized Eyria and the other villages up there are focused too much on survival. I needed to go somewhere where people valued my diplomatic qualities more, but not so far that I couldn't come home every ten years or so."
"But, but you were friends." Altai's voice trailed as she lowered her snout. She couldn't comprehend his decision to leave. Surely the bonds of friendship were stronger than that.
"Ahhh, Altai, perhaps you're a little too young to understand matters of the heart. Life is a lot more complicated than you think." The Mayor stretched out his left wing and rubbed its tip along Altai's head, getting a relaxed purr from her. "Enjoy your youth while it lasts, Little Wing. Perhaps that's a lesson you can learn from Lord Spyro."
Spyro, having heard his words, agreed with him. "I was thrust into war at twelve years old." He stared at his plate. "A whelp, expected to end a bitter, centuries-long war, save our species—save the entire world." He breathed. "I won't lie. There are things I'd rather not remember, and I, I think I might be... acting on habits that helped me stay alive back then, but have no place in a moderately peaceful age."
The three stared at him, Altai and Claytor in particular. While his words were valid, Altai thought it was too personal. She wondered what Spyro was thinking right now. Just what made him say this?
Mayor Lumirus' response was neutral, befitting of his position. "Your words ring true, Lord Spyro, but in my opinion, you shouldn't relinquish those habits. Indeed, we live in relatively peaceful times now, but how long do you think it'll be before another war takes place?" He glimpsed at the two Skylanders in the vintaine. "They might be your friends now, but unseen storms may someday turn them into enemies out for your blood.
"Though I'm not saying that you should expect that to happen. I'm merely pointing out that maintaining certain habits may prove useful later on."
Spyro took a few seconds to ask, "What if it's at the expense of your relationships?"
"Hmmm… Lord Spyro, if there's one thing I learned from all the years I've been managing Uzali, it's that every flight can be optimized to satisfy the people who matter most to you. You might have to compromise a little, but that's fine as long as you don't go below the lowest altitude you're willing to fly."
"I understand."
Altai was the first to ask. "Lord Spyro, is everything okay?" She couldn't help but think this was related to the reason why he decided to join their group in the first place. "How are, things back home?"
"...It's fine."
Claytor grimaced. "Lifebringer's tail, is this related to Lady Cynder and—
"Ancestors! I said I'm fine!" Spyro shot back at him. "Leave my private life alone, please."
Mayor Lumirus set down the bowl of water he was drinking from. "In that case, we can do away with the small talk and focus on something more important. Your mission."
All were attentive now. Even Spyro, who refused to look at the three of them in the eye.
"The situation in December isn't good. Any messengers we send that way aren't getting through. In fact, not a single one ever returned to us. To be honest"—the Mayor ogled Altai, his gaze lingering to the extent she felt a bit uncomfortable—"Altai's news was the first I've heard from Eyria in the entire cycle."
"You're saying December's gone dark," Claytor replied. He grunted. "That doesn't sound like the work of bandits…"
A female voice replied, "That's because a new 'Ape King' has laid claim to the region."
Altai didn't recognize that voice. None of them did. All four dragons turned and looked in the speaker's direction. They watched a biped ambulating towards them. Her boots slipped in and out of view, hidden constantly behind her dark, overflowing robes.
Mayor Lumirus' escorts tensed at the stranger's approach. They gripped their weapons in anticipation. Altai noticed some members of Claytor's vintaine stiffening as well, all eyes on this hooded biped. A hood covered her face, and somehow an opaque shadow completely obscured it. The young dragoness was flummoxed; the candle lamps weren't that dim.
The stranger paused and glanced around. "Really?" she scoffed. "I come here just to see what's going on downstairs and this is how people react?"
Claytor coughed. "Miss, perhaps you don't realize this, but you are presently with... unusual company." He deliberately avoided mentioning they were all high-flyers. It would've been a good decision, had it not been for the fact Spyro was the one and only Purple Dragon these days.
"I don't know you, but it doesn't take much to know who they are," said the stranger, raising an arm to gesture at Mayor Lumirus and Spyro. "I overheard that last bit about the Cliffs and I—
"Bianca, is that you?" Spyro called out to her, intensely gazing at the biped.
Altai looked over at him. His body language made it clear he didn't see a threat at all. He was not alarmed so much as he was slightly wary. Curious, even.
The question got a chuckle out of the stranger. "Impressive, Spyro. It's been a little over two years and you still remember my voice." She brought her hood down. To Altai's surprise, it revealed a rabbit with cream fur and a pair of cute, oversized ears.
Spyro smiled. "Why wouldn't I? You left an impression the first time we met in Warfang."
Bianca raised her arm. A little bit of her paw peeked out of the sleeve. It twitched. An empty chair by the wall floated in the air of its own accord and soared noiselessly into her grasp. "You mind if I sit at your table?"
The Mayor's guards hesitated and glanced at each other before looking to their boss for guidance. "Aww, don't worry," Bianca comforted them. "I won't bite." Her words did nothing to dispel their anxiety, for a witch was a rare and unfathomable existence in this world.
Mayor Lumirus followed Spyro's lead on this one. "It's fine, Miss… Bianca, was it? You may sit with us."
Altai hoped Bianca would sit next to her. There were very few spellcasters in Markazia, and even fewer with the skill she just displayed in public. Altai could only imagine how difficult it was to take all the shaping exercises required to smoothly pull off the maneuver and use them all together. Was she from the castle that was said to be in Aorathan Desert? Did they have any apprentices there, like in Warfang? How many archmages resided there anyway?
The dragoness was practically frothing at the mouth with these questions on her tongue. It disappointed her immensely to see Bianca choose to sit between Spyro and Claytor instead.
"What brings you here?" Spyro asked Bianca. "I thought you witches liked to stay in your lairs studying magic or something."
"My mistress, Sorceress Cauldra, had me fetch some rare ingredients for her. I was actually returning to Castle Shadowstone when I found out that Apes took over the roads. I had to retreat and wait for the best time to sneak past them. Also learned they were serving some high-flyer calling themselves an 'Ape King' from their prattle."
Spyro found it strange. "You retreated? I'm surprised. What happened to all that power you demonstrated for us two years ago?"
"And draw unnecessary attention to myself?" Bianca smirked—no, sneered at him. "That's the last thing I want."
Mayor Lumirus probed, "Since you're waiting for the best time to make another return attempt, now's your chance. Once Lord Spyro and Sir Claytor enter December, I believe those stupid monkeys will have all eyes on them, and only them."
"That's exactly what I was thinking."
Altai couldn't help but try and win over another ally into their party. "Miss Bianca, we can use your help too! If we have a powerful spellcaster like you join our group, we'll definitely have no problem clearing out all the Apes. We might even wipe them out in just a few—
"I refuse."
"H-huh?"
"I see no benefits in joining you."
"W-well, uhm, uhhhh…" Altai was flustered. She didn't expect the witch's reply to be negative. She fidgeted on her haunches. "W-w-well, I, i-if you're talking benefits"—she had to think fast. There had to be… aha!—"I can always talk to Chief Gileao about giving you plenty of coin."
"Not interested," Bianca shut her down. "I don't need money either."
Altai wilted. The dragoness couldn't think of any reward that would move the rabbit. She had believed the gratitude of the entire region would've been enough, as they were neighbors of a sort.
"Perhaps you'd be interested in what Warfang can offer," Spyro intervened, and without any prompting from Altai or Claytor. The dragoness felt like throwing herself at his paws. She would've rolled on the floor crying if she could. The Purple Dragon was the highest high-flyer in the entire continent. He had unparalleled influence over Warfang's leadership. "You know my status over there, Bianca. It's only gotten better in the past two years. Tell me what you want and chances are I can get it for you."
The witch snorted. "I don't think you can." She got up from her chair and walked over to Spyro. "Because there's only one thing I want from you, Purple Boy." She leaned close, cupped the side of his head, and whispered words meant only for him.
"...What? No! Not after what happened the last time you were in Warfang."
"I know. I'm just proving my point."
Even though Altai hadn't the faintest clue what in Egeria's horns they were talking about, she knew a rejection when she heard it. She breathed out her frustration in a loud, angry snort. "Can't you be a bit more charitable? You're already being offered decent rewards to start. You might receive more than that too, out of gratitude!"
Bianca glared at her. The sparkling, clear blue of her irises and the lack of emotion in her furry muzzle made Altai flinch. "Goodwill is unreliable," she dismissed. Her words were colder than the mountain air. It turned her heart into ice, and Altai couldn't help curling in a little on her biting tone. "It's impossible to predict with certainty. I won't deny that helping someone out of a sincere desire to help can reap excellent rewards, however sometimes you'll end up feeling claws cut into your back when you're done. The exact opposite can happen, too. Someone you're in a skyclash with can suddenly join your flight instead. There are also plenty of times nobody will take a risk to properly repay an act of goodwill.
"Four outcomes, all but one negative, and all beyond any control. Why would I rely on something no less capricious than luck?" Bianca raised her paw. There was a ring on one of her fingers. It shone briefly, and without any sign or pomp, conjured stone flagons plugged with corks. One for each of them.
An image had been engraved on their surface. It looked like a gemstone.
"It's Glimmer!" Claytor instantly recognized what it was. "Gemcutters' finest ale."
"Good eye. Feel free to take it if you want. I have plenty more." She took one of the bottles and popped it open when she returned to her chair.
"Don't mind if I do," Claytor said and snatched one flagon for himself. Mayor Lumirus did the same, albeit with more grace.
"Young dragon," Bianca resumed talking, her tone becoming sardonic. Altai glowered, but it failed in intimidating her. "I am no mere witch or sorceress. I am a Magus. Magi like myself care about only two things."
The rabbit took a huge gulp from her flagon of ale. She reclined on her chair, crossed her legs in a way Altai believed was snobbish, and raised two fingers. "Benefits and knowledge. We have very little interest in everything else. They are but distractions in our path of truth."
Spyro countered immediately, "Bianca, don't you think money is a benefit in itself?"
"Only if it's in the proper currency, Spyro. I don't need useless metal coins I can transmute from the earth. I would have accepted magical artifacts; unfortunately, Markazia lost the art of refining these things millennia ago. Skylands is the only continent where artificing still lives, but you do not speak for the Sky Empress."
Bianca emptied her flagon and set it down on the table with an audible clack. "To conclude, you can't give me benefits and you can't give me knowledge. Therefore, we have no business together."
Altai struggled to think of some way she could get Bianca to reconsider. She couldn't stop thinking about the way the chair effortlessly glided to her hand. She could do the same thing to a block of her own ice, so she understood the effort and skill needed to pull it off.
"You said there's a new ape calling himself the new Ape King," Spyro said. "Don't you think that's a good enough reason to help us anyway? Look what happened with Gaul."
"Who you defeated all by yourself," Bianca retorted. "Besides, whoever he is, you can't compare him to Gaul. He's nothing more than a loser dissatisfied with Lord Caesar's rule."
Claytor shifted in his cushion. "You talk like you've met him."
"It doesn't take much to infer the details. Regardless, my position stands." She crossed her arms. "Benefits and knowledge. If you can't provide either one to my satisfaction, then we've got nothing else to discuss."
"Wait!" Altai blurted. The idea just came to her. Wasn't there something—someone in Warfang right now who had mysterious powers of his own? Someone who massacred a group of people last cycle? Someone who displayed an element like no other before it? "Warfang does have something that might interest you! The furless ape! Maybe Lord Spyro can—
"NO!" Spyro's tail thumped the floor behind him. The sound silenced everybody in the dining hall. He bared his fangs and glowered at her. "I refuse to bring Joshua into this!" The Savior hissed and lowered his head. He mumbled, "Damn it. I shouldn't be saying his name…"
Altai didn't hear anything. Spyro's sudden and aggressive reaction paralyzed her. She shuddered. He had been avoiding Cynder and the furless ape in every single conversation people have had with him during the trip. It worried Altai. What was going on back in Warfang? Why was he so angry?
Altai whimpered pitifully. "I'm, I—Your Grace, I-I-I'm sorry…"
Mayor Lumirus stood up to calm the crowd. "It's okay, everybody! Nothing to worry about here. Lord Spyro was just taken by surprise."
In the meantime, Spyro raised his gaze to look at Altai. He couldn't lock eyes with her. "No—I'm—it's my fault. Sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you." His lips and wings sagged down. A sad expression. "Those two are giving me a headache back home. It's not something I like to talk about. I accompanied your group to December to take an extended break from it. I need the space. The time to think things through..."
Altai completely empathized with Spyro. Hearing his explanation made Altai look at the Purple Dragon anew. He wasn't simply the great Hero of the Dragon Realms. He wasn't just the Savior, flying higher than every other dragon in the world. He wasn't some unreachable entity. He's not some higher being beyond mortal understanding.
He was a dragon too. A regular dragon, just like her, except he was hatched from his egg with immense power and a colossal responsibility to match.
"It's alright, Lord Spyro," Altai consoled him. Shivering from the shock, she raised her forepaw and dared to press her paw pads into his flank. She caressed his purple scales. She couldn't help but marvel how the bright and vibrant purple contrasted against the light blue of her own scales. "I know where you're coming from. There were times when I had to take a break from other people too."
"Thank you."
"But please don't get angry again. It's scary…"
Spyro let out an awkward chuckle. "Sorry."
Claytor grumbled wordlessly. "I am never having kids," he muttered before emptying his flagon of ale. The Talonpoint Knight motioned to get another one from the table. Bianca had somehow placed a few more on top without anyone realizing it.
The self-proclaimed "magus" showed no reaction to Spyro's emotional outburst. In fact, she hadn't moved at all. She was still lounging on her chair. She scratched the underside of her jaw, pinched the fur on her chin. "I admit, any bit of knowledge I can get from analyzing the furless ape is worth pursuing. But would that be worth the cost of my assistance? Hmm..."
Spyro opened his mouth to reply. Claytor preempted him. He hushed the dragon and quietly conferred with him. Altai, sensing the tension, couldn't resist taking a flagon of Warfang ale herself and had a sip of "Gemcutters' finest".
She licked her chops. The herbal taste would need some acclimation, but she found the bitter yet delectable flavor mixed with it to be an attractive draw. Altai also felt a faint burning sensation on her tongue. Overall, it was a good drink. It went well with their supper.
Mayor Lumirus had returned to the table. A second flagon rested beside his cushion. "You like it?" he asked Altai.
"Yeah! It's, uh, better than I expected."
He smiled at her. "Good. We get shipments of Glimmer from Warfang from time to time. I'll ask my people to load a few barrels in one of your wagons. Tell Ophelia and Aurona it's a gift from an old friend."
"I will. Can I mention it's from you?"
"Sure." The Mayor gazed at her wistfully. It made her slightly uncomfortable. "It would be nice, seeing your mother again. Alona, I haven't seen her in years. How's your father by the way?"
Altai never had a chance to respond. Bianca finally came to a decision and announced her terms to their table. "All right, I'll accompany you to Eyria. In exchange I want an opportunity to meet the furless ape in the next cycle. It will just be a quick chat. I won't cast any spells on him. Everybody knows what happened last time."
"Before Lord Spyro or I accept, I'd like to confirm if you can handle close quarters," Claytor responded.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Magic is rare, but not scarce. We have a few gnorc sorcerers in Talonpoint Keep so I have some ideas of how magic works. Unlike us dragons and our innate elemental magic, mages generally take time to cast spells so they're usually in the back under heavy protection.
"Which means mages are priority targets. We're expecting to get ambushed sometime during our hike. I need to know if you can stomach the possibility of a gigantic ape my size rushing directly at you with an axe."
Incensed, Bianca rose to her feet. "You dare compare me to a second-rate magician? I told you, I am a Magus. I am multiple cuts above whatever you think spellcasters are!"
She flicked her robed arm once. In a stunning defiance of physical laws, a black sword three-fourths the length of her arm slid out from inside her sleeves. Bianca grasped the hilt without looking. Then, in one fluid motion, she lifted it and thrust its tip down onto the wooden table. The sound had Mayor Lumirus' guards wincing.
Scowling at Claytor, she coldly averred, "Trust me, I can handle myself in a fight."
Altai was transfixed by the weapon. Its blade was perfectly straight, not to mention black like shadow. It seemed to absorb all the light in its vicinity. Whoever crafted the sword had fashioned its guard in the image and likeness of a dragon.
Yet it was not for show. Altai could practically sense a terrible and ominous power sleeping within the weapon. She felt an urge to flee from it; an urge to which she succumbed completely. The dragoness reared back and stepped away from the table, whimpering.
As she did so, her scales prickled with the sensation that something unnatural was ogling her, and the feeling worsened when her eyes gazed upon the hilt and saw the bat wing attached to its pommel.
Altai gasped. No. That was a dragon wing! An actual dragon wing, severed from some poor reptile and turned into a tassel for Bianca's sword. She gave it further scrutiny and noted its peculiar pink shade. It seemed familiar for some reason. But why?
"W-w-w-wh-what is that thing?" Claytor exclaimed, inching away from the table.
Mayor Lumirus and Spyro were the only ones still sitting on their cushions. Yet both appeared uncomfortable, even nervous. Spyro actually fidgeted in his place, his tail swishing back and forth.
Bianca answered, "Indibog, my personal weapon. One cut will go through your poorly-enchanted armor, knight of Talonpoint Keep, and I promise you it can do much more than that."
"This is strange," Mayor Lumirus said. "My instincts are telling me to fly away from that sword as fast as possible. I don't understand. It's like there's something wrong with it." He looked around. "Clearly I'm not the only one feeling this way."
The comment had Bianca sneering. "I'm not obligated to share any of my secrets. Anyway, since you're all reeling from its aura, I'll retrieve it before I'm accused of bullying." She raised her right arm and pointed at the weapon. It flew off the table and sank back into her sleeve hilt first. It showed no signs of being there at all. Another physical impossibility.
The oppressive sensation hovering over her shoulders vanished. Spyro, Claytor, Mayor Lumirus, and Altai herself collectively breathed a sigh of relief.
"What was that?" a bewildered Spyro asked her.
"Sorry for the discomfort," Bianca apologized, her tone insincere. Altai thought she was still mad at being compared to other spellcasters. "Indibog is a cursed blade that's been spellbound to me. It's powerful, but using it comes at great personal cost."
Altai asked, "Doesn't that mean you're still staying in the rear?"
"Obviously!" Bianca huffed. Claytor openly snorted at her response. "I'm still a witch. I prefer distance like any other."
Spyro snickered. "Heh, so after all that display—
"He asked if I can handle close quarters. I can, but I hope it won't come to that."
Altai studied the three other dragons in her table. Spyro, Claytor, and Mayor Lumirus all took her words at face value. The Mayor had gone so far as to drink in celebration of Bianca's "presentation".
Only Altai felt different. Something about Indibog terrified her. She couldn't forget the dragon wing attached to its hilt. She turned her muzzle and stared at her own wings. They looked so much like the one on the tassel.
The thought that Bianca was lying to them all came to Altai's mind, but she couldn't possibly voice it out right now. It seemed disrespectful, as well as paranoid. She'd given them a reasonable explanation just now and practically admitted she wanted to be in the back of the formation as Claytor initially said.
So why did she still feel worried?
"—convinced." Claytor's words shook Altai back to reality. "In that case, welcome to my vintaine, Sorceress Bianca."
Bianca brought a paw to her chest. She made a foreign hand sign and bowed her head, an alien movement which Altai took for a gesture of respect. "A pleasure," she grinned. "I am in your paws, Vinetar Claytor. Please take care of me."
"I have your neck."
"It's a shame we won't have you around for the entire operation in December," Spyro said. "It would've been a great help."
Bianca smiled at the Savior. "I'm sure it would, Spyro, but Mistress Cauldra requires her ingredients as soon as possible and traveling through Devil's Reach and the Aorathan Desert takes a while because of all the natural hazards."
In hopes she was merely overthinking things, Altai made one more attempt at befriending the witch. "What sort of ingredients are those, Miss Bianca?"
"Herbal extracts, rare metals, and mana cores from magical beasts," Bianca said. She had another flagon of ale in her hands. She took another sip before continuing, "Just some raw materials for an alchemical potion she needs."
Altai picked up her flagon of Glimmer and gulped down the remainder of its content. "What sort of potion is it?" she asked. "Is it something you can share?"
"I don't see any harm with it, but it's too technical for a simple girl like you," Bianca said. Altai tried not to grimace. Here she goes with her condescending tone again. "Unfortunately, as we're leaving after lunch tomorrow, it's best if I retire for the rest of the night. I have a few things to attend to anyway."
"Oh." Altai dipped her snout down. This witch didn't enjoy socializing, she thought.
The rabbit rose to her feet, her boots once again slipping behind her dark robes. She drank all the Glimmer she could from her flagon and slammed the stoneware down on the table, to the drakes' satisfaction. "Good night, all of you. See you in the morning."
"Ancestors watch over you, Sorceress," the Mayor bid farewell.
"Remember!" reminded Claytor. "We're leaving right after lunch."
Spyro and Altai simultaneously chimed, "Good night!"
Bianca smiled at them. She paused for a second, then waved her arm at the table. Somehow, another eight flagons of Glimmer materialized from the air and set themselves down on their table. "Here, two more rounds of ale for tonight."
Altai was staring. She swore the stone jars came from the ring on her paw. It didn't make sense. How could such a thing be possible?
Only then did Altai realize that Bianca had been ogling her too. The Magus smirked at her, a predatory gleam in her beautiful, ocean-blue eyes. She flinched.
"Farewell, Lady Altai. We can continue our conversation tomorrow."
"S-sure," she stammered.
Altai resolved to stay as far away from the rabbit as reasonably possible. For some reason, Bianca spooked her. No matter what she did, she couldn't keep her mind off of the dragon wing ornamenting the hilt of her blade.
Something about it bothered her more than anyone else, and she was afraid to find out why.
Author's Notes:
Aaaaaand my take on Bianca finally makes her debut. As with all characters imported from other Spyro continuities, do NOT expect them to be the exact same as their original counterparts.
Replies to reviews:
DiabloPProcento. Hey Diablo! Thanks for reviewing both chapters 42 and 43. Muuuuch appreciated.
BTW I've uploaded to Jelly to my DA for everyone's enjoyment. I don't know when I'll upload Sharing Warmth, but maybe I'll post it once certain content gets released.
As for your feedback on CH43, yes Terrador's like the voice of rationality for the group. Cyril is the guy who's risk-averse, and Volteer the complete opposite, who lets intellectualism lead his actions. Ignitus would've been the "father figure" who compiles all together and goes for the balance of reasonable and moral, but alas... he's dead. :P
I can't wait 'til I get Joshua settled in. I have so much slice-of-life content waiting for me to write it since I first conceived this story, and I'm excited to start popping 'em out. I started Aimless mainly for the slice-of-life content so I'm happy with my progress.
Glad you're still enjoying my fic! Thanks so much. I hope you enjoyed this one too.
Djax80. It's pretty obvious his life's gonna get better after the events of "Teacher's Pet #2", and I can't wait to start going into it. :P
I've never tried "potato vodka", though I've had the experience of having warm and flat beer at least twice, and it isn't really nice.
As for the length of my chapters, I usually try to keep it around 10K. Unfortunately long chapters happen when I show too much. I try to keep it under control, but it's one of my flaws as a writer. Some people enjoy the detail though.
Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! I went with a continuation of the December Cliffs arc as suggested. Hehe.
Bolt Thrower (guest). Kilat hates Cynder; she did kill her entire family in front of her and she's never forgiven her for it, and I wouldn't expect her to. There's a bunch of Kilat-only content in the outline. Too bad I haven't pulled those out yet. XD
Chapters involving Joshua's daily life will become more varied as time passes. Not sure when we'll see him drunk though. Medieval beer for peasants are weak as shit.
Cynder woke up first, actually. You should watch the scene again.
I swear, I really don't recall having him actually land a hit on Spyro.
I know the recent Star Wars trilogy is a terrible example, but it doesn't change my point: life does not end just because the writers or the corporate execs decided it should end there. The endpoint is chosen to properly conclude the story they want to tell. I understand that the hero's actions are significant and world-changing, full of meaning and all that, but things can still happen after that particular story is finished. Even if those things diminish the value of what the hero's done. It happens in real life too, if you think about it. Just consider long-lived countries now, how they started, how people bled and fought for it, and look at where their people are now.
So you don't think Cynder played an equal role in beating Malefor in DotD?
I'm thinking Spyro's like that because he's still a naive kid at heart. The guy's still mentally a 12 year old by the end of DOTD. I would think that, four years later, he'd still be nice, but more roughened after dealing with refugees, Warfang's internal politics, and geopolitical matters with other world powers in the Realms.
Piston24. Hello again, Piston! Good to see you.
Yes, it's really satisfying to see his progression. From the readers' viewpoints, a very long time has happened since he was first brought into Warfang (in-universe, 3 Earth-months is a pretty long time too), so every major milestone feels meaningful. Of course, now that he's starting to gain acceptance, it's time for the plot to start moving along...
You should try alcohol, by the way. It's a good thing to drink every now and then, especially while you're still young and able to. Don't overdo it, of course. It's bad for your liver, all the sugar in beer gets turned into fat, and there's always the effects of excessive intoxication, but there's nothing wrong with drinking moderately. What's funny is that the conditions you describe are perfect for a quick, supervised exposure to alcoholic drinks. Anyway, if you're willing to wait, then there's no problem with that either. People live a very long time, and the things that you look forward to when reaching a certain age become trivial and lose their allure once you are at that age.
Thanks for the review! Hope you like my new chapter too :)
Derick Lindsey (guest). Hey Derick, thanks for your review.
I have no comment on who Joshua's little stalker is. I've given enough hints in previous chapters and it's up to you to figure that out until I spell it out later on.
Maybe you're just a really big fan of Cynder? That's why you like her so much.
Someone figuring out what his curse words mean? Oooh, that's a fun idea.
Bizzleb. Hello Biz!
Hehe slice-of-life is always great :D Well, this chapter's a continuation of the December Cliffs arc. We're getting closer to seeing my version of Eyria, and look, there have been more mentions of Ophelia, Gileao, and Aurona hehe. I might have to talk to you about them soon... maybe after I reread your stories again. :P
Re: medieval beer, I did include a link pointing to the study where the taste was described too. FFN probably ruined it though. Joshua didn't have a strong/bitter beer. He had a bland, weak, and tasteless beer instead.
Re: Kilat. I keep saying she's such a nice sister to him. More than he deserves, if you think about it.
And yes! Another ally confirmed. So now we have Vara and Blink. There are a few more in the sidelines, but I'll introduce them organically over time. It means more slice-of-life stuff, but who doesn't like it? They're wholesome. Hehe
BTW, good idea on that commission idea of Cynder drinking a bowl of coffee. I'll have it done eventually. XD
Somas35. Oh yeah, time sure flies. Aimless was started at the end of the 1st quarter of 2015. Started as a joke story too. Never took it seriously until maybe Chapter 12 or so.
There's a lot more road to go, honestly. There's enough slice-of-life content for a minimum of 30 more chapters. I'm not even looking at the main story here, but for sure the BW and TJH categories have a very, very long way to go before we reach the conclusion.
Hope you'll continue reading as time marches on. I'll be maintaining my interest in Aimless since it's a very flexible story.
Thanks for your review!
Guest #1 (guest). Thanks for the review! Unfortunately, I will not be answering that. Just so you know though, Joshua is capable of sensing how someone else (not necessarily Spyro) feels. It's an aspect of his element. He can't actually identify the emotion, but he can make inferences based on what he's feeling.
BronzeHeart92. March 2015 is a really, REALLY long time, yeah. *whistles* Man, I was still a single professional living in Dallas, TX back then.
Hell, I'm married now and this story continues to chug along.
Zembillas sounds like an exotic name. What species do you think that name will fit best? Aside from dragons, you've got the bipeds: moles, felines, bears, gnorcs, rhynocs, mabu, foxes, mongeese, and rabbits.
LoNeWoLf (guest) – both your reviews.
Re: CH42. Conillion Hollow is basically a coffeehouse for the aristocrats. It is located in one of the most affluent districts of Warfang. If you've ever gone to a steakhouse where they charge like $100 or $120 for a three or five course meal, the space and ambiance will match the vibe I was trying to go for when describing Gavin's place.
Re: CH43. Drinking has been a social pastime for millennia. In real life, the practice of drinking beer has been traced as far back as -5000 BC in Iran, recorded in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. There is also a genetic model on digestive enzymes that suggests that the primates predating modern humanity have been eating rotten, fermenting fruit rich in ethanol as far back as 80 million years ago.
So yes, people HAVE been drinking beer in the middle ages, and they've been drinking for far, far longer than that. It goes without saying that the Dragon Realms shouldn't be different from that point.
Guest #2 (guest). Hello!
Sorry, you got it wrong. Emotions actually kill his ability to use his element, by the way.
ThatBombsMine. Glad you're loving the story! :D Thanks for giving it a review.
And as for Joshua... he IS supposed to represent your typical, trash-talking gamer.
Guest #3 (guest). Thanks for the review! And I will not comment on that.
Arks (guest). Hey Arks. Thanks for the review and I'm glad you're loving it.
You aren't the only one who dislikes my decision to stop following linear progression. However, given Aimless' leaning towards slice-of-life, I'd say this non-linear storytelling fits.
Guest #4 (guest). Hello! Thanks for the review.
Hmm... well, it's a good guess. Perhaps you should expound some more? ^^;