The Dragon Rider Chronicles - ON HOLD

Chapter Two - "Once a Rider, Always a Rider"

                                                                                 Chapter Two

                                                                 “Once a Rider, Always a Rider.

 The cold winds from the west, were harsh on Desmond’s face, as he and Skë made their way to meet with the other Alliance Riders.  The point of rendezvous was the peaks of the Birnium Mountains, about ten miles from the town of Murloch.  The riders had the perfect perspective of the landscape.  Murloch was just a medium spec in the distance, just like a little orb of light from the outcropping ledge of the mountain.  Dunmór scanned the landscape with a crucial eye.  Dwarves had a great sense of smell and sight.  They could smell a pint of Fae’Dagon’s finest beer from at least seven miles away.  Malt Mead was a liquor concoction that only the Dwarves seemed to enjoy.  Mind you Malt Mead is made by dwarves, the taste only acquired by them alone.   The Riders grew anxious a waiting for Desmond’s arrival.  The wind was wild around Dunmór’s long beard; he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose as the wind moved widely around the cliff face. After taking in a deep breath he opened them.

“He isn’t far away.” He said before exhaling.  Isril an Elvin elf stood in the mouth of the cave arms crossed, staring out at Dunmór at his unusual ability.

“I still don’t know how you can do that?” He remarked at Dunmór. He chuckled with a grin and turned and walked into the shelter of the cave. 

“I can even smell what you ate last month.” He said as he chuckled in Isril’s face.  Isril turned up his face as Dunmór’s stale breath wofted up his nostrils.  Isril waved his hand in front of his face to ward off the bad smell. 

“Disgusting…” Isril said.  Liya giggled to herself over the far side of the other wall.   Dunmór leant against the wall of the cavern and took out a medium sized smoking pipe.  He lit a flint match on the side of the cave wall and it lit up brightly then dimmed to a small flame.  He lit the end of his tobacco.  It sparked slowly and gently.  Dunmór breathed and sucked on the end of the pipe. 

“Oh how I was waiting to taste your velvet smoothness.” Dunmór commented.  Isril watched on as Dunmór took another long breath in.

“If that doesn’t kill you, I don’t know what will.” Isril leant off the wall and walked over towards the entrance of the cave, away from Dunmór’s toxic smoking.

“What? You don’t like the sweet aroma of Adorn’s tobacco?”  Isril gave a glare at Dunmór.  Liya shook her head in disbelief as she watched the two fight and argue at one another. 

“You two just don’t stop do you?”  Isril ignored Liya.  She too was a great Elvin elf of Fae’Dagon.  It wasn’t uncommon to see elves ride along with human riders.  Elvin elves seemed to have an aurora, a special bond when it came to train a dragon.  They had the voice of reason and trust.  Then, the wind started to pick up suddenly. Liya, Dunmór and Isril stood at the base of the entrance, the sound of beating wings echoed throughout the air. Skë landed on the ledge protruding from the cave entrance, his large wings uplifting the light snow that had fallen on the ground.  Dunmór’s pipe flew out of his hand from the strong wind, and disappeared as it fell and plummeted down into the dark misty abyss below them.

“Great. That’s my third one this week.” He said grumpily.  Desmond jumped from his saddle and landed on the soft snow.

“I will keep watch with the others. I suggest that you all hurry. I fear that they almost upon Murloch. Skë said. She then flapped her wings and in one giant leap she was airborne. Dunmór fell onto his back, from the force of Skë’s wings. He toppled to the ground before sitting up. He grumbled something to himself before slumbering to his feet.  Isril attempted to help his fellow friend up, but shrugged away his offer.

“I can do it….” He said grumpily.  Skë then disappeared into the white mist below them.

“I’m glad you made it”. Liya said, shaking Desmond’s hand as she approached him. Desmond nodded at his fellow riders. Isril nodded his head towards Desmond, while Dunmór grunted an odd sound.

“Is this all there is?” Desmond said. The sight of only three riders concerned him.

“We will be meeting up with other riders from the other nearby towns at Murloch.” Liya said.

“If you ask me, I think this is suicide. Something does not feel right.” Isril paced around the cavern, his sheath of arrows on his back wobbled from his momentum.

“Is it just me? Or is Isril over here always feeling a little off? Dunmór pointed over to Isril.

“What I am trying to say is that why would a clan of Orc’s pick one town like Murloch. What is so special about it? There has to be a reason. I have never seen so many Orc’s attack a quiet small town of that size before.”

“Isril is right. They must be looking for something of great importance.” Liya said, holding and rubbing her chin. Desmond looked at the three riders that stood before him.  He had ridden with them ever since he could remember.  He trusted his life with them.  He unsheathed his sword and layed it out in front of him.

“I say, we don’t give them the chance. They will not take my home. They will not take Murloch.” Liya, Dunmór and Isril looked at one another. They all in sync unsheathed their weapons. The sound of melted sliding silver ringed in the air. Desmond’s face held determination.

“I am with you all the way.” Said Liya, she held her sword over the top of Desmond’s.

“Aye!” Dunmór held out his short battle axe and joined his with his fellow riders.  Isril looked at them all.  They all did the same. Isril smiled and approached the circle.

“We kill every last one.” He said. He rested his bow on top of the pile.

“For Fae’Dagon and the town of Murloch! May the nine spirits of the dragon always guide us, and make our blades strike true and fear in our enemy’s eyes.” Desmond closed his eyes and held his head low and prayed that his family remained safe. And with that, the riders gathered their supplies and called for their dragons.  The plan was simple; join up with the remaining riders just outside the gates of Murloch. Two teams will guard the gates, while the remaining will wait in hiding. Then, before they break through, they will ambush the scout team from all sides. The Imperial Riders were not alone in this battle.  Forces from the Imperial Kingdom were also joining in on the fight.  Desmond preyed that it was enough to save his town, enough to save his family.