The Rider's Legacy

Prologue

Prologue | Her Choice.

The morning came.

More deaths.

The bitter night had granted no mercy to the evacuees. Rolling, toiling clouds stretched for an age across the flat plains. Struggling to emerge behind them, the melting orange of dawn. Across the hastily constructed campground, there were water-logged campfires that couldn't be relit even with the great, scorching fire of dragons.

Great dragons guarded the camp. Hundreds of evacuees were clustered together, taking what warmth they could that emanated from the scaled hides. The great lizards, with wicked talons and even wickeder teeth, did not balk as children nestled into them. They were resolute, their attention focused on the wilds beyond. For all their stillness, they could have been mistaken for glorious statues whose scales gleamed in the growing light.

In the saddle of his own fire-bound, with dawn's wind ruffling his dark hair, Demetrious Shaw was thinking. From Astor's saddle, he could get a good look across the camp that spread as far as his eye could see. The wind was good for dragons this morning – strong enough to keep them afloat on a breeze, wings aloft as they glided above the masses.

"The air smells of smoke and sickness," Astor's voice was soothing against his frayed nerves. "Many more will die exposed to the elements."

"Many are just human," Dem could feel the strain of his own tired muscles, of wounds that needed a healer. "They have not been given the advantages that Riders have been given. Nor other races."

Astor circled overhead once more. Guarding dragons raised their heads as he passed overhead, low chuffs of greeting pulsing from their long necks. Dem sat back into the saddle; his hands braced on his thighs. Hunger hollowed his stomach, but he couldn't eat. Not when guilt ate at him.

"Forty-three Astor." He said hollowly. "Another forty-three."

Such a small number compared to the hundreds killed in the wash of fire, cut down by the bloodlust of the invading army. But these forty-three had been under his care. These people had died from wounds treatable at a hospital, but there was no medical aid available. Save for a few doctors and nurses sprinkled amongst the evacuees.

The rest had surely perished when the attackers had gutted the hospital.

A great gust of wind rocked Astor's stream and he veered to the side, his wings working to regain balance as the great Yesan glided beside them. Beau, like Peter, looked unruffled. Though Dem knew that Peter was tired, it amazed him to see how resolute and immoveable he was. It always calmed his racing mind, knowing that if anything, he could rely on Peter.

The wind tossed Peter's hair like strands of moonlight and in the growing light, the silver marks across his skin glimmered. Dem's chest tightened, relief ebbing through him at the mere sight of him. Peter motioned at him for land and the great Yesan pulled away. Not before snapping playfully at Astor with jaws so large that he could shred through Astor's neck and crush his skull without struggle.

Astor angled to follow, and they landed on a swell of earth not far from camp. Every wound, every ache flared as he landed and Astor dipped his head, snuffling at Dem's side as exhaustion heaved at him. "I am fine, my friend."

"You and I share a mind, Dem. I know you are hurting."

"As are you." Dem retorted. No dragon has escaped unscathed from the attack on Ithrall. Astor nipped at him, and Dem cracked a smile before approaching Beau, who presented his jaw for scratching. The great dragon hummed as Dem tickled the scales behind his jaw, his great maced tail thumping heavily against the ground. The blow ricocheted up Dem's knees and only Peter's steading hand kept him standing.