FictionPress.com - let the words flow| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
AN: So, I think I’m better at characterization/dialogue than action scenes. I didn’t want to describe every single moment of the battle because I don’t have that much of an attention span and I doubt many other people do either. And thus you get some action and much drama.
Wendrith
The tied horses had broken their reins and begun running amuck through the camp, trampling any who stood in their way. The humans had overcome the surprise factor and already managed to wound several dragons with their javelins spearing between scales. Wendrith stayed overhead, drawing and firing her bow with precision, saving one and drawing her sword. “For our home!” she cried out, her voice barely distinguishable among the din. Those who heard her took up the call, spreading it down the ranks.
Narillay landed and Wendrith slid off easily to meet her sword with another’s. The white dragon took flight again to flame the area. With a deft twist of her wrist the man’s sword was thrown away and the tip of her own was slid through the crack in his armor under his arm. Pulling her sword back she turned and kicked an oncoming man in the chest, her boot sending him backward as she parried another adversary.
The red haired man was skilled and managed to slice her upper arm, just above her armguards. Unfortunately for him, this left an opening in his guard that she took advantage of to cut the arteries and veins on the right side of his neck. The enemies in her vicinity had been taken care of for the moment and she paused the survey the battle.
Several dragons and riders were down, leaving their already low numbers woefully inadequate to deal with the increasingly organized army. The dragons above were maintaining a fire barrier to keep reinforcements from overwhelming them but the fires were being put out too fast. Time was nearly impossible to accurately guess in the flickers of fire that provided the only illumination but she estimated the battle had already lasted an hour.
The escort from Rokke Hold should be there any moment and with this thought she plunged through bodies and the carcasses of horses, trying to ignore the scent of charred flesh. Then she was back in combat, fending off a broadsword with her lighter weapon. A wave of voices went up but she couldn’t spare a glance toward the cause of the commotion due to the man’s prowess and advantage in strength.
Suddenly the man froze and stared over her shoulder in fear. Turning to run, an arrow, which flew close enough to Wendrith’s face that she could feel the air as it passed, took him down. Slowly she turned and saw a black armored figure resting on a matching dragon who threw up a hand in greeting then slid off to draw their sword while their mount went airborne again.
Her spirits buoyed by the arrival of the backup she plunged back into the mass of soldiers that had broken through the fire ring. The new arrivals had hailed a turning in the battle and they began to push into the ranks of the soldiers, coming together to form a line of riders in the shape of a wedge. The black riders formed the point and Wendrith ended up shoulder to shoulder with one, fighting just as hard as anyone else despite her higher rank. Her eyes scanned the line for her husband, but she only spotted Cyan further down. A shot of worry went through her, coupled with a feeling of unease then her attention was drawn back to the moment.
It seemed like minutes but was really hours, as time seemed to speed up. The once green field was covered over in a thick veneer of crimson that, in the early morning cool, put off faint streams of steam. The heat mixed with the fog and smoke that layered the meadow like a blanket. The screaming of dying horses alongside their fallen riders formed a high-pitched chorus.
In the sky above, flashes of light blazed through the fog, temporarily burning it away. It gave glimpses of the dragon’s overhead that were still pouring flame over stragglers and scorching the earth in warning. The battle had begun as the last rays of sunlight disappeared and was over by the time the sun began to stretch over the horizon.
Wendrith tried to gather the wing leaders for a report and everyone had arrived save for one person. “Where’s Rhyan?” she asked the faces looking at her.
They looked around at one another then Amirre, a division leader under Rhyan, stepped forward and laid her hand on Wendrith’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said in a soft voice.
Wide brown eyes stared at her in shock and denial. “What? No. Where is he?” she demanded, grabbing the woman’s forearms. She pointed and Wendrith turned, running toward the lumbering body of a green dragon. She fell to her knees at Locklen’s head and searched, freezing when she found her husband’s body pierced by an arrow. “No,” she whispered, moving his head into her lap.
I am sorry, my lady, Locklen apologized in a faint voice, near the brink of death.
Wendrith jerked her head up and reached a hand to Locklen’s face, trailing her fingertips along the eye crests the framed his barely open eyes. “I know you tried, Locklen. Thank you. Please, watch over him.”
In life and in death, the dragon whispered, his eyes closing fully as his chest rose one last time.
The white haired woman bowed her head, running her fingers through her dead husband’s hair leaning forward to press a kiss against his forehead. A hand fell on her shoulder and she glimpsed back to see Cyan standing there. “We still have a war to fight,” she whispered softly.
Wendrith looked back to Rhyan’s face, his dark green eyes closed. “I know,” she answered with a sigh. “So much death,” she said near inaudibly. Cyan squeezed her shoulder as Wendrith stood, turning to see her riders looking on silently. A deep breath filled her lungs shakily, her eyes shiny with tears that wouldn’t be shed yet. “Let’s form a pyre for our dead, then we’re going home.”
Cyan nodded and headed back to relay the orders, which kick started everyone’s movements. One of the black clad riders stepped forward and met her as she walked behind Cyan. They clasped forearms in greeting and the rider removed their helmet to reveal a man with pitch-black hair and eyes. “I am sorry for your losses,” he said sincerely in a deep voice.
“Thank you. And thank you for coming to our aid. Our losses would have been much greater otherwise.”
He nodded. “We will return to Rokke now. We’ll escort your people back at your word.” He bowed his head and went to replace his helmet.
“Wait. What’s your name?”
He paused and looked back toward her. “Galen, my lady.” With that he headed back to the riders from his hold to return home. Wendrith watched as the dragons took off, which seemed to be the signal for the dragons of Jaden Hold to land. The field became shadowed as the creatures landed with thuds that shook the earth. Wendrith was happy to see Narillay land first and ran to her, throwing her arms around the white dragon’s neck.
I’m happy you are uninjured Wendrith, Narillay said, nuzzling into her bond-mate.
“As am I for you,” Wendrith answered into her scales. “Rhyan and Locklen did not make it.”
Narillay paused in her movements. I am sorry.
Wendrith pulled back, nodding her head as she regained control over the tears that still threatened to drop. “We’re building a pyre now.”
With that said the pair separated, Narillay to supervise the other dragons as they gathered the bodies of their fallen comrades near the growing pile of wood. Finally all the bodies had been placed among the stack and Narillay stood beside Wendrith. “Today we suffered many losses. Friends, family, lover, rivals have all been lost but we have gained ground. We have shown that we will not stand idle while our homes and our lives are destroyed. We will not give in and surrender meekly to our deaths, but we will meet death head on and defend our way of life.”
The riders listened silently at this makeshift eulogy, then watched as Narillay lit the pyre aflame with a breath. Wendrith stared at Rhyan’s body even after the flames hid him from view, the flickers of light reflecting in her eyes. Smoke rose over the woods and far away the hostile cities grew alarmed at the sight where their armies once lay.
“I want everyone to head back to the hold. I am staying until the fire is out,” Wendrith ordered to her captains. Cyan opened her mouth to speak but was cut off. “I will be fine with Narillay. I ask this out of respect for my husband. I will return as soon as the flame die.”
And with this Wendrith was left alone, leaning against her mounts side as crystal tears trailed down her cheekbones and fell from her jaw to the ground. She was silent the rest of the day and at dusk when the flames had died to less than embers she scooped up some of the ashes into a leather bag, tying it with a thong to the belt around her waist that held her sword.
“Now you’ll always be with me, my love,” she whispered, her voice dry and husky from disuse. A sudden pain and the breath was knocked from her lungs. Looking down she saw the shaft of an arrow piercing her shoulder. “Narillay,” she gasped out, seeing the blood rush forth.
The white dragon roared loudly and flamed in the direction of the archer, the barrier of light obscuring his view of them. Wendrith used her good arm to climb onto Narillay and hold on, hunkering down against the dragon’s scales. They lifted into the sky as Wendrith lost consciousness, though her grip never lessened.
The wind whipped along their forms as Narillay raced to catch up to the ranks, where a rider could give emergency medicine until they reached the hold. The other riders were slowed by injuries and she easily caught up with her hectic pace. Stop, Wendrith is injured! Narillay cried out.
She looked back to see that Wendrith’s breathing was getting shallower and the bloodstain still growing. Up ahead the last wing in line, the Black Flight, landed save for one who headed up the line to spread the word. Narillay landed as well, helping Galen slide Wendrith to the ground.
He grabbed bandages and wrapped the wound tightly then grabbed a cloak that he wrapped around her body. “She’s getting cooler, we need a healer now,” he said. Turning to his second in command her ordered, “Fly to Jaden Hold alone, get a healer and bring them here. We can’t risk moving her further right now.”
They set up a mini-camp, Cyan, Galen, and Wendrith staying behind while the others went on. While Cyan scouted the area for any useful herbs Wendrith woke with a gasp, feeling like her should was on fire.
Wendrith, please hold on, Narillay said, shifting nervously. Galen pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, having tied a bandage around her shoulder and the still protruding arrow to keep pressure on the wound.
Cyan returned with an herb to help prevent infection and another to provide moderate pain relief. It was night fall before the healer arrived, tsking as she took a knife and, after having Galen hold the arrow steady, cut the arrow shaft near the skin on each side. With less potential of jostling the arrow into anything vital Wendrith could be moved. They quickly packed up and headed to the hold for more advanced care, though the healer was cautiously optimistic.
