Tension hung like a thick cloud in the air as the dragons were brought forth.
Magnificent beasts they were from the days of old; their lizard-like bodies were covered in scales that shone like polished armor and their eyes blazed like embers from a dying fire.
They were bigger than those that generally slept in the caves of the Abyss-- being roughly the size of a large horse.
'Or an elephant.' Archer thought and he and Cogs saddled up the beast with a strange looking contraption that was akin to a saddle. Indeed, this creature was nearly the size of a full grown elephant-- or so Archer supposed, since he had never actually seen an elephant outside of the pages of a book.
"Blimey," Cogs said as he helped Archer adjust the straps on the saddle, "A real dragon. I thought these felllows had died ages ago, back when people used to live in castles and didn't have steam to make anything work. And to think, you'll get to ride one."
Archer sighed, patting the blood red scales of the beast reasurringly before replying to his friend. "I only wish it was under better circumstances."
The dragon hummed in agreement.
"I think it likes you." Coges pointed out, buckling the last strap into place.
"He. The dragon is a he."
"Does he have a name?"
"The dragonmaster told me is was Ardistan."
In response to its' name, the dragon nuzzled Archer's shoulder gently, making him grin, despite his general uneasiness.
In truth, his stomach seemed to buck and roil with every moment that passed; his body was taught as whipcord, his nerves frayed.
Just what, exactly, had he gotten himself into?
It was no secret that Mordren was more experienced in the art of combat than Archer was. If anything, Archer would be lucky if he lived past the first round. And supposing that Galen didn't wake up by then? Would Archer have to fight for him for the entire duel?
What was worse was that Archer did not expect Mordren to fight fair, thus, in case something went wrong, he was planning on wearing his flying machine as well, just in case. Thus, he had Cogs strap it to his back just before he climbed into his dragon's back.
"Pip should have been here," Cogs remarked, giving Archer a hefty boost up onto Ardistan's back, "To this day I don't know why she still stays with Mordren, helping HIM get ready rather than you."
"If anything, she can give us information if he's planning to cheat."
Grabbing Ardistan's bridle, Archer urged the dragon forward, into the amphitheater. And casting a glance behind him, he saw Cogs wave.
Hopefully it would not be the last time he would see him.
Guiding Ardistan to the center of the dueling grounds, Archer waited till Mordren drew up beside him on a dragon the colour of amythesist, its teeth and claws glittering malevolently.
Mordren sort of matched his dragon, Archer thought.
"Strange armor you wear," the dark haired king said briskly, gesturing to Archer's flying machine, "It's rather bulky, do you not think?"
Archer frowned, wanting to tell him that he sounded stupid, but refrained from doing so, since it was Pip's job to be rude anyway. Instead, he simply gave Mordren a charming grin, turning back to face the crowds that lined the edge of the battle grounds.
Soon, an advisor clad in thick dark robes approached them, carrying a leather bound tome in his weathered hands.
In a creaking voice, the old man explained the rules of the race, which were straightforward enough. The goal being to simply cross the finish line first, much like a normal race.
The general objective was to make three laps around the amphitheater, which Archer found easy enough to remember.
Still, once he and Mordren were lined up, he could not help but feel his gut lurch uncomfortably and his palms grew sweaty from nervousness.
And it was only when the horn was blown that he realized he had no idea how to ride a dragon.
Unfortunately, it was too late and in a flash, Mordren's dragon had launched itself off the ground and into the air, beating its wings furiously as it gained height. With frantic motions, Archer kicked his heels into Ardistan's side, begging the dragon to move.
Thankfully, the beast seemed to get the point and with a lurch that nearly sent Archer tumbling out of the saddle, the dragon lunged into the sky, smoothly flapping its wings till it was only several paces behind Mordren's dragon.
"Alright," Archer breathed, his heart in his throat, "At least I'm still alive." he hesitated for a moment, then said to Aristan, "Do you suppose you could go faster?"
He wasn't quite sure if the dragon could understand surface world tounge, but he figured it was worth asking nicely.
And apparently, asking nicely was all he needed, for at that moment Ardistan pumped his blood red wings harder and they glided past Mordren and over the heads of the crowds below.
It was then that Archer took a deep breath, feeling the brush of air against his face as they soared, the beating of wings and the cheering of the crowd the only sound in his ears. A thrill went through him, and he found himself grinning in spite of it all.
Never before had he felt so free, so alive. It was a magical feeling riding upon the back of a dragon; feeling its warmth and power underneath him. He breathed in again, laughing breathlessly, wanting this simple moment to last forever.
But that moment shattered into a thousand pieces when Mordren glided up beside them, beating and shouting at his dragon furiously.
Gripping at the saddle tighter, Archer gave a reasuring pat to Ardistan, gently urging the dragon to fly faster.
But for all his asking nicely did, Mordren's beatings and cursing did justas well and for the first two laps both dragons were neck and neck, flying side by side, evenly matched.
It was only during the second half of the third lap that things went horribly wrong.
Archer was in the midst of urging his dragon to go onward, telling the beast that they only had a bit more to go. By now, his heart threatened to beat out of his chest and his body was nearly shaking. His hands gripped the bridle till his knuckles turned white and all trace of a smile were gone from his face.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mordren bash his dragon over the head with a whip of sorts, then his gaze locked with Archer's own and the king's eyes narrowed. Then before Archer cry out, Mordren yanked his dragon's bridle to the side, crashing his own beast into Ardistan.
Archer clutched to his dragon's neck for dear life, trying not to think of the dizzying drop below. Grabbing the reigns, he tried edging Ardistan away from Mordren's dragon only to have the beast crash into them again. This time, however, the hit drove Ardistan's wing into the wall of the amphiteater, and the dragon roared in pain as bones and tendons snapped.
Gasping, Archer felt the dragon begin to fall not thirty paces from the end of the race.
Time seemed to slow, and Archer felt a moment stretch into eternity as he gazed into the dragon's eyes, dulling, full of pain, and something else....
Understanding.
It was then that Archer made his desision.
Unhitching himself from the saddle, Archer pulled a lever from his flying machine and launched himself off of his dragon's descending form.
Keeping his eyes fixated on the end of the race, Archer saw out of the corner of his eye Mordren and his dragon quickly fall behind as he glided past them. Gritting his teeth, he heard the heavy thud of Ardistan's body crash into the ground behind him and a weak whimper filled the air.
Archer did not, however, see the orb of fire come sailing his way till it hit the wing of his flying machine, sending him spiraling past the finish line and crashing into the ground, his head hitting something solid, the bones in his left leg feeling as though they shattered.
In a blur, the world shifted upside down, noises faded, and pain clouded Archer's mind as he sank into a black oblivion with only the vague thought that he had won.
He had won.
.............................................