Of Dragon Riders and Shadows

Chapter Three - Making Acquaintance

For a long moment, which passed in the blink of an eye, Rex was in free-fall.

He tumbled down into the dark void, flailing and terrified but not uttering a sound. Grim determination warred with panic, the latter gaining advantage. After he had fallen a certain way down, bracing for impact against the ground below, torches flared to life. The sudden illumination blinded him, and Rex covered his eyes – not an easy task when tumbling to the ground.

"Think, think, think," he muttered to himself. Falling was not a new occurrence for him, but the stables were dangerous – the roof so high up, and the floors rigged with all sorts of deadly traps. The air buffeting him as he hurtled down woke his common sense a bit, and finally he was able to think.

Blinking, he opened his eyes. Though his stomach lurched at the sight of the walls speeding past him, he was able to determine his next step. He had fallen through the roof at around the middle of the vast building, which meant no walls or protruding statues were anywhere near his grasp.

He needed to get closer to one of the sides.

His flailing became more deliberate, as Rex tried to shift his body away from the middle. The heavy cloak was good for something, for once, as it helped him leverage his body. Slowly, Rex was able to veer to the right, closer and closer to a wall.

The gods be praised that the architect had been of the opinion that the more statues, the better – and that this was a crumbling wreck of a building. Hands grasped the muzzle of a chipped, snarling manticore, and Rex was suddenly no longer falling. Pain burned through his body as his arms and shoulders bore the brunt of the impact.

"Ahh!" he grunted, finally letting out a sound. Too many falls and crashes built up, reaching a breaking point. Rex could not hold on any longer, and his grip weakened despite himself. One finger slipped, then another, until he was hanging on by one hand – all the while moaning in pain. His left hand, though clenched tightly, could not support him any longer.

With a cry he began to fall again – only to thump against solid ground that was most definitely not the floor of the stables.

"What?" he croaked, tongue thick, voice hoarse, and throat as dry as cracked paint. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, and to orient himself, Rex realized he was in an alcove carved into the wall. Judging by the rugged ledge, and the bits of cracked stone surrounding him, it was not a deliberate one. Wear and tear must have caused this alcove, and the others he could see on the wall opposite him, if he squinted.

 Just as he realized that one problem had been solved – that of plummeting to his doom – another loomed. Rex was but a cornered rabbit for the dragon, who at this very moment burst through the roof in a dramatic fashion.

Powerful, membrane wings beat the air, and a great roar echoed in the silence of the night. That sound only intensified the sense of danger Rex was feeling. For once, he tried calling upon his magyk – the Forbidden Magyk – but it had already been used up earlier, instinctively. Purple flickered and died around his fingers.

"No, no, no..." he all but sobbed, knowing this was it. This was the moment he would die. Not of execution, nor the Sickness, but of a frost dragon's wrath.

Just as the realization cemented in Rex's mind, he looked up and saw that the dragon was now directly in front of him! He covered his eyes, as if he could pretend that this wasn't happening, as if he could block the world out. Childish foolishness, of course. Rex lowered his hands.

Up close, the great creature was even more terrifying than it had seemed, when Rex had been fleeing. As with most dragons, described through ancient texts, this one was grandiose – of a size larger than two horses put together! Inadvertently, as the dragon's freezing breath was expelled onto Rex, his eyes closed for a moment. The expectation of death.