Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Brazen Bull, Chapter 3 - Renard

The door to Daronis Setti's tower was ajar. It was adorned with a revolting wreath of severed eyes which would have once terrified Renard. But death had changed him. He felt empty and disaffected. He sensed that the wreath was once a magical object, but now it was inert and attracting insects.

The ground floor was ransacked. Whoever had come was looking for something particular. It was quiet, barring the whistling of wind through the windows. Renard proceeded to the second floor. The Magelord's quarters were empty and untouched.

He climbed to the top floor where he and Annette had been held. But Annette was no longer there. The floor was littered with the corpses of overgrown bestial monstrosities. The broken animal cages told tale of their innocence corrupted by magic. They were used as expendable tools for the slaughter.

He stepped over them and continued to investigate a severed human hand on the balcony. Peering over the parapet, he found the body it belonged to. Daronis Setti was motionless on the earth. Black birds picked at his pale flesh.

Another curious creature knelt behind a well several strides away. Renard recognized her as the little girl who had gleefully watched him burn. He looked into her black eyes. He felt no anger towards her; Her misplaced sadism was no fault of her own. She was broken, just like him.

"Hello," she said.

Renard did not reply. The last time he used his voice was to scream in agony. He wasn't sure if he remembered how to speak. He pulled himself onto the parapet so that his toes were suspended over open air. He imagined what it would be like to fall from such a height. He somehow felt he would survive.

"Are you going to fly?" the little girl asked him.

No, thought Renard, he had not wings to fly. He would float. He had never done anything like it before, but he was confident he could. He stepped off the balcony and drifted, like his body was light and airy. He heard the ancient whispers of Arcaén. It was a beautiful language, calming and powerful. The wind rippled against his limbs like water. The birds fluttered away as he landed beside The Magelord's corpse.

"Why are you naked?"

The girl was standing. She took a few steps away from the well, but dared not draw closer to the body.

Renard shuddered, suddenly aware of his nudity. He remembered his clothes burned away. No, first they melted and became a part of his skin, then they burned away with the rest of him. He knelt and reached for the Magelord's white cloak. The body flopped stiffly as it unfurled. Renard draped it over himself. The dark spots of blood were wet and sticky. The black birds had gathered in the trees awaiting their chance to return and feed.

"You're the boy who burned," said the girl. "You made the cow moo. Can you speak?"

"Yes," said Renard. He surprised himself. His voice was like gravel

"That's good," said the girl. She pointed to Daronis Setti. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Renard shrugged. "He was killed. And I am glad."

She wrinkled up her face, but didn't cry. Renard was doubtful she had emotional attachment to anyone.

"Were you killed?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And now you're alive?"

"Maybe."

"How?"

The question was so simple. How was he alive? His body was cooked and burned into ash. The Arcaén saw fit to bring him back.

"I'm The Red Falcon," Renard said to her. "I'm what Daronis Setti was looking for. My body is a host for the Dread Wyvern that will rise again and ruler over this land."