Roland of the High Crags - Books 1-3

Chapter 5-1

If Evil has no pity and shows no mercy,

If Evil has no pity and shows no mercy,If Evil has no pity and shows no mercy,Then you, the believer, should be magnanimous as well as merciful.

Then you, the believer, should be magnanimous as well as merciful.Then you, the believer, should be magnanimous as well as merciful.If Evil is cruel and unjust,

If Evil is cruel and unjust,If Evil is cruel and unjust,Then you, child, should be the one to demand justice and exhibit gentleness

Then you, child, should be the one to demand justice and exhibit gentlenessThen you, child, should be the one to demand justice and exhibit gentlenessFROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS

FROM THE BOOK OF ST. ALBANS

As Olaf’s warriors and Great Wings gathered for the assault, I turned and looked at my own magnificent beast. Cedric was a black beauty who hailed from the rugged Huygens Range in the far west of the Kanris. Years ago, I stumbled into the Huygens and found this creature. Often, it is said, a natural bond can exist between a wild Great Wing and a human. Such was the case between me and Cedric. Our first serendipitous meeting forged a lifelong friendship. He was not a bird I rode in servitude. Our relationship was more like a partnership. Bretan monks, as I have said, are taught to sense the emotions of others. Over the years, our relationship had only grown. The beast knows he can come and go as he wishes. He is free to choose. Fortune had smiled down on me in that, in all these years fighting the dragon and evil, the black war bird hads chosen to stand with me in every battle I fought.

.But as I turned and looked at the gathering clouds of war in the distance, I knew this day would have us face almost impossible odds.

“We have been together for years, my friend. Faced many dangers,” I said in a soft voice as I stood scratching the black feathers of Cedric’s hawk-like head. “But today, we must fly as if we were young again. We must fly as swiftly as never before. Only speed will save the young princess this day. What say you, my old friend. Can we do it?”

Cedric’s dark hawk eyes stared at me for a heartbeat or two before softly nudging me with his dark orange-yellow hooked beak. The soft push of the beak against me etched a grin across my lips. My great steed understood exactly what was needed. Around me, the Great Wings of Gawaith and Gawain, smaller birds still young in their maturation, along with a third Great Wing, milled about along with sixty other great war birds which were to rise from the palace battlements at the appropriate time. The third Great Wing was an older bird trained to be a carrier bird. Strapped tightly over her back was a heavy-looking set of leather bags, which were the provisions for our journey.

On the rooftops of every tower in the city, more birds were being prepared as warriors checked their weapons and their leather in preparation the coming flight. Great attention was given to the leather of their birds, along with the bird itself, by the more experienced warriors. There was tense electricity in the air all too familiar to me. There was a dryness of the mouth and a clamminess in one’s hands. The telltale signs that a battle was about to commence.

Looking at Gawaith and Gawain, already strapped tightly in the saddles of their steeds, I could see they were trying desperately to be as brave and confident as those around us. But they were just children. In truth, not that much older than the Pearl Princess. They had no idea what was about to happen.

The child I carefully strapped into the saddle we would share. I decided to have her sit in front of me, where, when the time came, I could further protect her with one of the infamous lozenge-shaped, dragon-scaled shields I had removed from a foe years earlier. I planned not to wield my bow, but to protect the child and rely on Cedric’s great speed. Yet, I had a bad feeling my careful plans were already unraveling. In the east, a gray mist and low dark clouds promised a heavy rain was near at hand. In the grayness were a vast number of brightly colored Winged Beasties. It was a sight not heretofore seen by human eyes. So many fire-breathers with their incredibly large leathery wings and sinuous-necked viper’s heads careening through the sky in a boiling mass of rainbow colors. Each fire-breather’s scaled hide was a unique combination of colors. Winged Beasties came in various shades of blues, greens, yellows, and browns. Whatever their body colors were, their enormous leather-covered wings would be a different color altogether. So one might see a dark blue Beastie with blood-red wings.

The most famous Beastie among dragonkind was an untamed fire-breather they called Uuhirt. . . “Wild Heart” in translation. It was said the male monster was sixteen strides long with a triple horned tail. He was colored a bright orange with brilliant green wings.

UuhirtOn the ground, a Winged Beastie could be ten strides long. A stride was perhaps three feet in length, so a fire-breather could be more than thirty feet in length. When young, Winged Beasties were foul-tempered, vicious animals that required an incredibly resolute mind and nerves of steel to dominate. When they reached maturity, and after working with their dragonmaster after years of warfare and hardships, there was no creature on the planet more cunning. Nor one more fearless and determined in battle. An old dragon rider, with his old Winged Beastie as his partner, made a formidable set of foes. Blend an army of experienced riders and beasts together—no mean feat in itself since fire-breathers were renowned for their desire to be solitary—and an unprepared enemy would find they would be confronting an implacable foe.

There seemed to be thousands of Winged Beasties riding the winds above the valley. They seemed to be drifting back and forth over that portion of the valley they already controlled, as if they were waiting for something. As if they knew what was about to happen. Narrowing my eyes, I wondered if, perhaps, they knew I had the princess with me, and we were about to flee. Seeing them milling about, and strangely—not using their superior numbers to press the attack onto the Vik—I felt uneasy. Something was amiss. The dragons’ actions were out of character.

Instinctively, I turned to gaze at the child and frowned. It was as if she knew I was troubled, for she threw the hood of her cloak from her head and looked at me with eyes filled with pain. It has been said that dragons do not shed tears, for they cannot cry. But I am here as witness to testify that dragons do cry. Ursala’s eyes were filled with tears, and they ran freely down her pearl-white, pebble-skinned cheeks.

“What is wrong, child. You feel ill?”

“Grandfather, I am filled with pain. Many will die today. So many. I hear all their voices in my head, and it hurts so much. And I hear other voices, too. Others sitting near us who want to see us dead.”

I glanced at the many around us. Many were openly staring in wonder at the visage of the young princess. They had never before seen a dragon child, much less a legendary Pearl Princess. Even as they prepared their mounts for the coming flight, they kept glancing at the child with mingled wonder and suspicion in their eyes. Yet, two warriors hurriedly averted their eyes the moment they saw me glance in their direction. They were older warriors, hardened veterans, riding war birds of much skill and experience.

Frowning, I patted the child on her leg and walked over to stand between the birds Gawain and Gawaith controlled. Both blond-maned imps grinned in pleasure as they leaned down to hear my words.

“We have much to concern ourselves with today, lads. But not just from the dragons. There may be an attempt on the princess’s life from our own kind.”

Gawain and Gawaith glanced at each other, smiles no longer on their faces and the color draining from their complexions. Since the time they had taken their first toddler’s steps, they’d had a bow in their hands and were excellent archers. As the nephews of King Olaf, I knew their training in weapons would have been the best. They had been trained to fight the dragon. They were prepared to ride into battle and kill for the first time. But the idea of killing one of their own kind was clearly something they had never considered.

“Master, are you sure?” one said.

“Point them out to us, sire. We will make sure no harm comes to the princess,” the other chimed in.

I smiled. They were indeed the nephews of Olaf. Still smiling, I shook my head and half-turned to look at the others around us.

“I know not who, lads. But when we lift off, I want you to fly your mounts just above and on either side of mine. Keep your head and eyes roving the skies. And be prepared for the attack to come from Great Wings or fire-breathers.”

They both nodded and reached for their bows at the same time. I nodded and moved back to my Great Wing and quickly mount mounted my old friend. Firmly gripping the dragon shield in one hand, I slid it across the body of the child. She was whimpering in her distress, a sound which tore at the strings of my heart, as she leaned her small body back to rest against mine.

At the appointed hour, just as a number of church bells began to ring throughout the city, the birds of Odar’s Lair leapt into the growing dark overcast in one mass of plumage and beating wings. The sight of almost seven hundred Great Wings filling the skies in unison made the town’s citizens lift up a hearty roaring cheer. From rooftops and walls, hundreds of folks within the city cheered and waved us on. The sight of so many trained Great Wings and their riders leaping into the skies brought a desperately needed ray of hope to the city and into the hearts of the many riders and birds as well.

I looked to my right and left and grinned to see the birds of the twins gaining altitude precisely in the formation I asked them to take. Through the first thin layer of the lowering clouds we flew in perfect unison. Great Wings, much like their fire-breathing counterparts, come in a number of different colors. Brown and tan are the predominant colors. But the full range of the rainbow can be found in their plumage. Many birds come splotched and streaked with two or more additional colors. My own bird was as black as ink on most of his body. But here and there were streaks of red. Each bird had their own unique markings. I found myself turning to look at two black beauties with matching yellow markings across the wings, which suggested they might have been hatchlings from the same brood. They belonged to the warriors who aroused my suspicions a few moments earlier. These warriors were riding in the perfect attack position just a few strides above my head. One swift turn, and they could be down upon us in a heartbeat.

Angrily, I tore my eyes from the black steeds and looked down the valley and at the host of Winged Beasties. They rode the winds in perfect contentment, unconcerned by the large host of Great Wings bearing down on them. This was not the typical reaction of dragonkind when Great Wings met fire-breathers. One could not allow the other to fly in the same sky unchallenged. It was as if nature herself took a hand in making both beasts so despise the other. War bird and fire-breather naturally sought each other out to engage in a fight to the death. To do otherwise was unnatural for either beast. I, therefore, found myself astounded to see the great host of Winged Beasties not straining every muscle fiber in their bodies in an effort to rush through the heavens and plunge into the midst of the smaller pack of Great Wings.