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They fan out across the sky, close enough that their wings almost touch. Newt is a little higher, flying small circles around them and keeping his eyes on the ground.
Stacker is riding Herc, lying flat down on his neck in full harness. He’s got a spyglass to one eyes, following the roads lining the swollen Totten river.
Hermann is leading them, his shoulder muscles are tight from this long flight, but he hasn’t said a word. Newt hesitates, wondering if he should suggest a break. By the Living and the Unborn, Hermann is beautiful. The armor hides the worst of the scars, and the way he flies- a long, rippling motion like sunlight on water, like a ray in the deep sea.
He looks up, meets Newt’s eyes, and gives a tired smile. Newt smiles back and-
“South-southwest!” Stacker shouts, “Five tails wide, south riverbank!”
Newt sees them. A huddle of Mountlings, two, maybe three Wisichers. They are on what’s left of a bridge, carried away by the floods. they are so far over that their tails are almost hanging into the waters.
Newt is about to dive, but Stacker holds up a hand. “Hold.” He’s scanning the area around with the spyglass. “They aren’t flying over,” He growls, “Why aren’t they-”
As if in answer, one of the Wisicher does exactly that. She spins around and launches herself off the bridge. Her wings flare in a dark, gleaming rainbow of colours, ripple and dance with every desperate beat-
The bolt hits her in mid flight.
A cry splits the air, and Newt only realises after a moment that it came from him. The bolt hits the dragon just under her wing joint, and seems to burst, a mesh of netting wrapping around and snaring the wing. She shrieks, and drops like a stone.
“Alexis- get her!” Stacker shouts, and Herc echoes it. The white furred Polora dives down to the river. “Everyone else-”
He breaks off, because Hermann had swept down into a dive.
“No!” Newt shouts, and drops after him. He can see the soldiers now, the sun glinting off the steel arms of their bolt thrower. He’d only ever heard of these things- had barely believed they existed-
Hermann doesn’t hesitate, he swings over the terrified dragons, and a gout of white flame bursts from his jaws.
The wet tree bursts into clouds of billowing grey smoke, blinding and choking. Newt lands with a bone-jarring bump, the mud sucking and splattering his armor. “Go!” He shouts to the frozen crowd- “Fly, quickly!”
“There are-” One of the Mountlings looks at him, her eyes rolling in panic. “We saw three, mounted- they’re here-”
“Go!” Herc lands hard beside him. Sasha is with Hermann, tearing out the hunting nest. Pieces of metal clatter, smoking, out of the hollow. One of the soldiers tries to climb out and Hermann spins, so fast Newt barely sees him move, and his tail catches the man on the back. He screams, spinning through the air to be sucked down into the dirty brown river. He doesn’t come up.
Horns blare. Hermann rears up, wings flaring, his eyes are wide, white and rolling. Flame is raging around his jaws red on the smoking black blood there. He shrieks, and spins around, stumbling down to the road.
“Prince, stop him!” Stacker shouts. Newt pounces and lands on his back. Hermann howls and his claws lash out- then stop.
Newt looks into his eyes. The fear, the terror. Was that the last thing he heard, before his family was murdered? Those same horns? “It’s okay.”
Another blare, shrill and brassy. Hermann shudders.
“We do this together.” Herc growls. He prowls forward, nudges Newt and Hermann gently behind him. “Sasha?”
“Thirty horse, some of those bolters.” She lands almost on top of Newt, her thick fur damp and spotted red with blood.
Stacker looks at the huddled mass of starving, exhausted dragons. “Go,” He says, more gently. “We’ll take them.”
This seems to work. Maybe it’s finally sank in that the rescue has arrived. They flail over the river in wild, desperate wingbeats, crashing into the far back and crawling away into the thick brush.
Alexis soars over them in return, a fine rain of filthy water dropping down. He’s more grey than white, shaking himself like a wet dog and spraying Herc, who hops and flares his wings in disgust. “She’s on the North bank, safe.”
Stacker nods, “We have a patrol coming.” He looks around, carefully. “Prince Newt, on the right. Charge their flank on my order. Alexis and Sasha- I’m sorry, but there’s a good muddy bank down there, hunker down and wait for them to come abreast. Herc and I will hit them face on and- Prince Hermann?”
Hermann trembles, his wings rise, tail lash.
“Stay at our side.” Herc says softly, “We need your fire.”
They fan out across the sky, close enough that their wings almost touch. Newt is a little higher, flying small circles around them and keeping his eyes on the ground.
Stacker is riding Herc, lying flat down on his neck in full harness. He’s got a spyglass to one eyes, following the roads lining the swollen Totten river.
Hermann is leading them, his shoulder muscles are tight from this long flight, but he hasn’t said a word. Newt hesitates, wondering if he should suggest a break. By the Living and the Unborn, Hermann is beautiful. The armor hides the worst of the scars, and the way he flies- a long, rippling motion like sunlight on water, like a ray in the deep sea.
He looks up, meets Newt’s eyes, and gives a tired smile. Newt smiles back and-
“South-southwest!” Stacker shouts, “Five tails wide, south riverbank!”
Newt sees them. A huddle of Mountlings, two, maybe three Wisichers. They are on what’s left of a bridge, carried away by the floods. they are so far over that their tails are almost hanging into the waters.
Newt is about to dive, but Stacker holds up a hand. “Hold.” He’s scanning the area around with the spyglass. “They aren’t flying over,” He growls, “Why aren’t they-”
As if in answer, one of the Wisicher does exactly that. She spins around and launches herself off the bridge. Her wings flare in a dark, gleaming rainbow of colours, ripple and dance with every desperate beat-
The bolt hits her in mid flight.
A cry splits the air, and Newt only realises after a moment that it came from him. The bolt hits the dragon just under her wing joint, and seems to burst, a mesh of netting wrapping around and snaring the wing. She shrieks, and drops like a stone.
“Alexis- get her!” Stacker shouts, and Herc echoes it. The white furred Polora dives down to the river. “Everyone else-”
He breaks off, because Hermann had swept down into a dive.
“No!” Newt shouts, and drops after him. He can see the soldiers now, the sun glinting off the steel arms of their bolt thrower. He’d only ever heard of these things- had barely believed they existed-
Hermann doesn’t hesitate, he swings over the terrified dragons, and a gout of white flame bursts from his jaws.
The wet tree bursts into clouds of billowing grey smoke, blinding and choking. Newt lands with a bone-jarring bump, the mud sucking and splattering his armor. “Go!” He shouts to the frozen crowd- “Fly, quickly!”
“There are-” One of the Mountlings looks at him, her eyes rolling in panic. “We saw three, mounted- they’re here-”
“Go!” Herc lands hard beside him. Sasha is with Hermann, tearing out the hunting nest. Pieces of metal clatter, smoking, out of the hollow. One of the soldiers tries to climb out and Hermann spins, so fast Newt barely sees him move, and his tail catches the man on the back. He screams, spinning through the air to be sucked down into the dirty brown river. He doesn’t come up.
Horns blare. Hermann rears up, wings flaring, his eyes are wide, white and rolling. Flame is raging around his jaws red on the smoking black blood there. He shrieks, and spins around, stumbling down to the road.
“Prince, stop him!” Stacker shouts. Newt pounces and lands on his back. Hermann howls and his claws lash out- then stop.
Newt looks into his eyes. The fear, the terror. Was that the last thing he heard, before his family was murdered? Those same horns? “It’s okay.”
Another blare, shrill and brassy. Hermann shudders.
“We do this together.” Herc growls. He prowls forward, nudges Newt and Hermann gently behind him. “Sasha?”
“Thirty horse, some of those bolters.” She lands almost on top of Newt, her thick fur damp and spotted red with blood.
Stacker looks at the huddled mass of starving, exhausted dragons. “Go,” He says, more gently. “We’ll take them.”
This seems to work. Maybe it’s finally sank in that the rescue has arrived. They flail over the river in wild, desperate wingbeats, crashing into the far back and crawling away into the thick brush.
Alexis soars over them in return, a fine rain of filthy water dropping down. He’s more grey than white, shaking himself like a wet dog and spraying Herc, who hops and flares his wings in disgust. “She’s on the North bank, safe.”
Stacker nods, “We have a patrol coming.” He looks around, carefully. “Prince Newt, on the right. Charge their flank on my order. Alexis and Sasha- I’m sorry, but there’s a good muddy bank down there, hunker down and wait for them to come abreast. Herc and I will hit them face on and- Prince Hermann?”
Hermann trembles, his wings rise, tail lash.
“Stay at our side.” Herc says softly, “We need your fire.”
