1.3.1 Discovery of the Horde
Astrid pushed her empty plate from her. She had come home
for a late dinner after a day of exploring the Spine and began another argument
with her mother.
“Please, mother.”
“Not alone.”
“But hunting is poor. Only for one night.”
“You’re fifteen, hon, and it’s too dangerous outside the
valley to be by yourself.”
“I’ve been over every inch of the mountains, mom. It’ll give
me a better start tomorrow morning. Please, mom. Little Wing will be there to
protect me.”
“No. Not unless you bring Selina or another female Rider.”
“But they’re on duty. Mom, please.”
“No.”
Astrid pursed her lips and turned. “We’ll see,” she mumbled
and slammed the door of their little cottage. Just outside waited her dragon and
without so much as a hello, she mounted and took off.
Little Wing carried her along the volcanic core of the
Spine, the impassable mountain range which divided North from South. The late
spring meant poor hunting: the deer stayed under shelter and the smaller game
like rabbit and fox remained too exhausting to track. The clouds to the west
warned that a hard rain would come tomorrow, so she planned to use the window
of good weather to explore. But her mother would not let her venture so far
alone. Instead, they joined the dragons on the highest peaks to watch the
sunset and make their plans.
The clans called them Swallowtail when Astrid and her dragon
flew together; partners but not Riders. Every Rider had a part to play in village
life as hunters or couriers to neighboring valleys. But they did not invite her
and she did not expect them to: Riders thought her too independent, and she
thought them too arrogant and condescending to the dragons. Except for her
oldest friends, Selina and Finn, she rarely crossed paths with Riders.
She was happy as long as she remained free and not constrained
within the high cliffs surrounding Inverness, and each day found her further
from home. But now a day’s ride presented the same barrier to her explorations
as the valley walls once did. The constraint produced another fight with her mother
and another reason to run away.
To give herself time to think, Swallowtail joined the
dragons to enjoy the dramatic sunset signaled by the oncoming storm clouds. Two
gentle kicks from her heel told Little Wing to roll over and dive a thousand
feet to a high ridge with a clear view west. They landed and jostled the others
for position.
As the sun approached the horizon, an older dragon flew
erratically before the group, and then dashed away to the northeast. Astrid and
the dragons watched but did not follow. The old dragon came back and squawked for
attention, and this time all but Little Wing took off and pursued him. When the
old one came back a third time, it was clear what he wanted, and Swallowtail
followed.
The old one sped to the northeast, high above the Blois
River. This is where she wanted to go but was told not to, and never overnight.
Even if she turned back now she would still be late and needed an explanation
for her mother. But I had to, mother, she thought. The old one
clearly wanted us to follow him. Someone may have been injured or required help.
Mother will understand. She pursed her lips. And if she doesn’t, well...
One-by-one the other dragons returned home or landed to enjoy
the setting sun until Swallowtail followed alone. At sunset they neared the
northern edge of the mountain range where the Blois spilled over the falls into
the foothills of Cherryth. There were no true borders here, only ragged lines
on the maps indicating where passage south was dangerous for all but trained
climbers.
Little Wing carried Astrid past the hills and over regular
rows of conical tents and flickering orange campfires. Beyond the fires, they glided
over a plain where men slept in the open. In the dim light of Fures, the
smallest moon, they glided toward a dark funnel that meandered across the field.
But her dragon pulled up short when they hit a wall of flies which choked them
both and left them unable to see. Her dragon fluttered to a landing and snorted
to clear his nose.
Astrid dismounted and recognized the funnel as a tornado of
crows with vultures circling higher overhead. She walked toward it and stepped
on something soft. A gust of wind swept past and the stench of rotting meat
struck her like a blow, and she realized where she stood. This was a field of
battle where the fallen men and horses lay unburied. Unable to control her
revulsion, she retched.
A few meters away red eyes lifted from their work tearing at
the bodies below them and moved slowly toward her with low growls. Wild dogs,
she thought and remembered the warnings that dogs were not shy of humans like
wolves. Terrified, she ran to Little Wing and mounted. As he took off, his
claws raked the wild beasts that jumped to bite his legs.
Little Wing settled on a hillock near the old dragon. After
retching what little remained in her stomach, she crawled to the edge of the
cliff to observe. She could not discern the dark shapes moving in the gloom she
sat and waited for another moon to rise.
When moonlight from Lon flooded the scene below, Astrid gasped.
Thousands of armed men wove their way through the foothills and up the Blois River
Valley, the same river which passed through Inverness many miles to the south.
Huge machines crowded the narrow mountain trails: engines of war known only
from stories, projectile weapons that could loft stones the length of three
hundred men.
Astrid turned to the old dragon. Why the urgency? she
wondered. She would certainly tell the Inverness Council of the battlefield and
the invaders, but they were still many leagues from home. Why would the old
one bring me here? She had no answer for him and prepared to mount Little
Wing and return home when a piercing shriek sent chills up her spine—the cry of
a dragon. Immediately she put her hand on Little Wing’s muzzle to stop him from
crying out in response.
After Elen, the third and brightest moon, rose above the
horizon Astrid recognized a frail and sickly dragon struggling against the
heavy chains which bound him. The old one that had brought them looked at her
and cocked his head as if expecting her to explain this horror or stop it.
Astrid shook her head. “There’s nothing I can do.”
The old dragon took off, and she mounted Little Wing to
follow.
A single wingbeat aloft the chained beast wail again, and her
dragon replied before she could stop him. Soon after she felt something hit her
saddle and her dragon screeched. She reached back to find a crossbow bolt
embedded in the thick leather behind her leg, pulled it out, and stuck it in
her boot.
