Wings Of Death [I]

The sun slowly sank beneath the horizon, and threads of light mingled with the rolling clouds, dyeing the heavens in colours of leaping brilliance of orange, scarlet and gold.

Lindley sat on one of the branches of the large pine tree, smiling mildly while eating a big red apple. He seemed to be having a good time gazing at the beautiful scenery before him.

Far below the sky, a faint unearthly green–gold luminescence shone over the thick canopies of the Bristlecone forest trees. This was his favourite spot on the Goathorn green mountain, and his best time to appreciate nature.

After a hard day of herbs gathering, he would come to this, near-magical, place to relax and enjoy himself.

The only thing he couldn't see from his vantage point was his village of Waterpond, blocked from view by the thick forest trees, covered in mist rumoured to have been conjured by the powerful but proud elven wood mages.

Before the time of the coming, these woods had once belonged to the wood elves. Without the need of any true maps, they knew most of the secrets of the woods, locations of hidden treasures and many others.

Lindley had been hoping to associate and learn from these elven mages who could conjure strong mist of this sort, but first, he had to be a mage. And he had been praying to be a mage, to be able to make fireballs and cast spells.

The gods appeared to be too busy to answer his prayers. Now at the age of sixteen, he realized he would never be a mage. He had to focus on his occupation as a herbs gatherer.

The young boy sighed before shifting into a more comfortable position against a stronger branch. Just as before, Lindley peered north, squinting his eyes. Brushing his white hair aside with one slim hand, he kept his fingers raised to shade his piercing golden eyes.

He saw the usual sight. A faint white-bluish mist that indicated the nearest turn to the plains of Azmar, but no more after. He had never ventured that far before, but someday, he would like to see what was so spectacular about Azmar. Perhaps, he could even see the places he was told the mighty battles had occured.

A breeze passed gently over the meadow, bending the heads of the grass briefly. It was the month of the Lunae, and already the nights were turning very cold.

After five seasons of herbs gathering on the high meadow, Lindley knew it'd not be long before leaves were blowing about, and the vanishing would come into effect. The young gatherer sighed and shrugged his worn, animal cloak closer around him.

The cloak wasn't his initially. Once, it had belonged to a dead gatherer. After receiving a little mending, the cloak looked great but still bore a faint, stained hole where an arrow that killed the owner had passed through.

Some people said it was an elfin arrow, but no matter what had happened, Lindley was grateful for the comfort of the old cloak.

He was lost in thought when a shadow fell over the area, making him to look up. From behind him came a distinct, thunderous roar of the wind. The likes he had never heard before in his short life. He whirled around, his shoulder against the tree branch, and adjusted himself for a better view.

All of a sudden, he felt his body shook feverishly as pure evil ambience and deadly intent radiated from above.

The sky above the meadow was filled with two huge black wings that belonged to a legendary beast larger than a house itself. Giant-taloned claws hung beneath a belly that rose into a long neck.

The head had two deadly eyes and a massive-gaping jaw which was lined with jagged teeth, each as long as a giant's sword. And on its back, Lindley saw a man.

A dragon rider!

Certainly a warlock, a legendary mortal with the might of the gods.

Rooted in fear, Lindley stared at the beast open-mouthed. Mighty and nightmarish, he watched the dragon swept toward him, slowing ponderously with wings spread to catch the air. It terribly loomed against the sky.

"Living gods." He let out a deep breath as he found himself gazing full into the ancient and deadly eyes of the great beast. Dark, evil eyes, as deep as the pit of abyss itself.

Landing with a loud thud, the dragon's claws bit deeply into the grassy ground of the mountain. Lindley could now see the terrifying size of the dragon.

This was an epitome of evil no mortal like himself should encounter. It reared up twice the height of the tallest tower in the village.

When the mighty wings flapped in their thunderous clap, Lindley was flung helplessly back and away, down the slope of the mountain. He landed hard, rolling painfully on his right shoulder.

Without giving it another thought, Lindley stood up and began running down the mountain. He started calling on the names of the gods he knew as he felt his desperate run being dragged to a halt by an overwhelming power.

A trembling, quivering fear arose in his mind when he realized what was happening. He felt himself turning, being forced around to face the mighty dragon.

He had always heard about the incredible power of magic. The wonderful and dreadful things that could be achieved with magical powers, like the mages, sorcerers, even the knights. His father knew magic, but he had only seen him use it on a few occasions before.

All his life, he had hoped to see great magic at work up close. But not this way. Now, instead of the great excitement he had expected, this was the opposite, this was completely dreadful.

This was death.

Face to face with evil, he realized he didn't fancy the feel of magic being used on him. Primal fear and desperation awoke in him as he was forced to raise his head up.

With it's wings folded, the dragon now sat on top of a large boulder like a primeval vulture—a vulture as tall as a fortress, with a powerful long tail that curled half around the eastern side of the meadow.

Lindley gulped as he felt dryness in his mouth. The cloaked rider had dismounted and stood on a smaller boulder beside the giant dragon. Dark energy gathered around his raised hand, pointing at the boy.

Lindley felt his gaze pulled to meet the cloaked man's seemingly sightless eyes. Although looking into the eyes of the ancient beast had been soul-wrenching, it was somehow a spectacular sight.

That was a legendary beast that many could only dream of encountering, and only a few could ever dream of riding. The grandiose of a powerful creature as such, was a wonder to behold.

But this man was frightfully worse. His deadly black eyes were like obsidian glass with no white parts. There were glints in those obsidian eyes that sent chills down Lindley's spine. There was nothing in them except anguish and death, even more.

With all his might, Lindley glanced away from the eyes, and saw the bleak skin around those archaic eyes.

A large amber pendant rested on the warlock's chest, the rest was covered by his black robe. On his fingers were rings of gold and some shining metals of different colours.

The faint purple glow of magical essence, something his father had said only people like him could see, and must be careful to speak of, clung to the man's body. The pendant, the rings, the robes, and the man's skin, all radiating power.

The magical glow on the dragonrider's outstretched arm flared more brightly as energy gathered around it. Lindley didn't need any other evidence to confirm the nature of the man.

A true warlock.

With his gaze fixed dangerously on Lindley, the warlock began probing Lindley's mind with the Memoire.

"Aaargh." Lindley sensed his mind being invaded and knew he was in grave danger. But he couldn't do anything but scream in pain. He was under the compulsion and grip of magic. He felt heaviness in his mouth, coupled with a hint of blood. This was utterly dreadful.

The memory scryer scoured Lindley's mind for information about the village and his chieftain.

"Arundel Stormfire." The dragonrider furrowed his brows in contemplation. Then, he raised his hand, and the purple glow flared brighter. The ambience radiating from him had become extremely overwhelming. "Waterpond."

At this moment, Lindley realized he was in mortal danger, same for his village. Under the compulsion magic, the figure now knew everything about him and his village, everything.

Fear gripped his soul and his body trembled. Was the dragonrider going to kill him slowly or end his life at once?

The warlock glanced at the nearby cliff-edge and made a hand gesture. Lindley's body was projected forward despite his resistance. He tried to fight against the force, whimpering, but already he was wheeling about and running.

He pounded hard through the grass, helpless against the driving magic, charging down the grassy slope to where the meadow ended.

As he churned along through the weeds and tall grasses, Lindley realized that the warlock wanted him to jump to his own death over the cliff-edge.

Under the power of the warlock, Lindley found himself rushing over the cliff-edge. After jumping, the terrible compulsion left him.

As he fell, he struggled against his fear and anger, trying to save his life. As his life flashed before his eyes, Lindley had a recall.

He never knew how it worked, but one time in the past, he had moved a small object with his mind. Or was it a dream? He had told his father who then went on to inform him he had the traits of the magus way.

Now, he hoped he could do something now to prevent his death if his father's words were true. He reached into his mind and tried to conjur anything useful, anything.

The gully below him was narrow and the rocks were very near. There was no way of escaping the looming death.

Suddenly, the purple glow he was hoping for rose and took over his sight. He no longer saw the rushing rocks but something else. He clawed at the air desperately, twisting sideways as if he'd grown wings for a moment.

Then he was crashing through a small spiny tree. His skin burned from the dozen cuts it received from the sharp thorns of the tree. He struck earth and stone, then something springy.

Is it a vine? Did I managed to conjur a vine? For a brief second, he was lost in euphoric thoughts. He regained himself after he was flung away, hitting the rocks hard. He screamed in pain and gasped for breath.

White haze rose around his eyes as the world spun around him. He held his head while waiting for the haze to recede.

After a while, he shook his head to clear the dizziness and peered around. Again, the dragon roared like a thunderous storm. Gripped in complete fear, Lindley froze, and pretended to be dead. His arms, ribs and hips throbbed and ached badly, but he maintained his stillness. Would the dragon come down to make sure he was dead?

True to Lindley's thoughts, the dragon wheeled over the meadow, its nose flaring smoke in great anger. Lindley shuddered, feeling sick and empty. He clung to the small boulder as if his life depended on it.

Then the air-rippling roar of the dragon's wings rose again. He knew there was no way the dragon rider wouldn't see him when passing. He quickly let go of the boulder and twisted his head in an awkward way.

Lindley let his mouth fall open and stuck out his tongue while staring steadily off into the cloudless sky. He feigned his death hoping to deceive the dragon and its rider.

The rider in his high saddle gave Lindley a keen look as the dragon rushed past. He leaned forward and shouted something Lindley couldn't catch but knew was word of power. It echoed in the mouth of the ravine. The dragon responded as its powerful shoulders surged forward, and it rose slightly.

A few yards forward, it dropped down out of sight in a swift but concerning dive towards the village of Waterpond.

Grimacing, Lindley found his feet, and stumbled along the gully. Each step made him howled in pain.

Forcing his way forward, a terrible fear arose in him, a horrible feeling of an impending calamity on his village, on his parents. His father could probably hold his own against the dragonrider, very doubtful though. But his mother, she was all alone at home after developing a mild sickness.

"Mother! father!" Lindley shouted as he ran towards the village, determined to warn them of the dangling calamity on their heads.

At last he reached the smoother edge of the grassy mountain, gasping, and looked down on the village of Waterpond below.