The Final Storm (Part 3)

The War Begins

Fraylon managed to find an air current just in time, right before he was about crash headlong into a bristle of pikes aimed to catch him when  he fell. With an exultant roar, he zoomed upwards, his tail flipping in a rude gesture. On his back, Daemon did not breathe a sigh of relief yet. His eyes were on where the giant rocks had come hurtling from. “What was that?” he asked himself. Gain altitude to get out of range, Daemon told Fraylon, Then we need to figure out what’s happening.

            Fraylon agreed mentally as he gained height. That had been a close call… too close. He felt a little sick, to be honest. All this blowing up stuff was making him jittery. Where’s Ryan? He thought as he rose above the misty clouds. He was supposed to…

            Drop down, Daemon snapped suddenly. His voice held so much raw anxiety that Fraylon didn’t hesitate.  Pulling his wings in, he dove like a silver comet. Immediately he felt Daemon’s presence in his mind as the Rider looked through his eyes. He raked over the battlefield with a glance before coming to a stop at a flurry of activity directly below. A flash of a conifer green head striking, then throwing a man across the field as if he were a toy. Thistle! Daemon withdrew from Fraylon’s mind with a mixture of emotions. They weren’t supposed to get into close combat! But if Ryan was in trouble, they had to get him out of there.

            As he lowered himself in the saddle to make their unified form more aerodynamic, he couldn’t help but notice another little flurry of motion. What the- he thought. A fat little Pegasus  was careening towards them, her little wings buzzing like a ginormous bumble bee! Even as he grabbed a small bomb from the pack, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. This was the way Lauri told them that reinforcements were coming?

            Be ready, Fraylon warned before he slowed his descent with a deft stroke of his frosty wings. The soldiers attacking Thistle looked up just as Fraylon landed amidst them, ice spikes shooting from his open jaws to crash against their armor or impale their necks. Propelled by the momentum of the landing, Fraylon charged on and Daemon brought out his lance, suddenly glad for the lessons he had with Lauri. He struck three down in quick succession, his other hand with the sword slashing at anyone who was close enough. Fraylon bit the neck of an attacker as the attempted to make a strike on Thistle’s wing. Blood rushed into his mouth and he fought the urge to puke. Quickly snapping the man’s neck, he unlatched his jaws and jumped on the next, his head lowered like a bull’s. There was a sickening bang as his forehead met a man’s armored body and he blinked but didn’t back down.

            Just a few feet away Thistle was spitting acid at everything in sight and Ryan had his dart blower out and he was shooting neurotoxic darts at anyone who dared come close. Immune to all types of poison, it didn’t even bother Thistle if he missed and nailed one of his wings. There was a circle of destruction around them, of men’s armor and skin melting off their flesh and soldiers falling where they fought, impaled upon their own swords with a small dart sticking out of their necks. But as soon as they fell ten men rose up to take their place and Daemon knew for sure if they stayed here, they would be trapped.

            “We got to get out of here!” Daemon yelled as he slit a man’s neck.  “This is the death pit!”

            “Can’t you see we’re trying?” Ryan gasped out before he blew another dart, which hit a burly guy on the shoulder. Suddenly he caught sight of something… a face in the crowd of oncoming soldiers that his mind immediately registered. “Wait!” he screamed. “My dad! My dad’s in there!” his voice was ragged. “Thistle, come on, we have to save him!”

            “Ryan! Ryan!” The man called out when he noticed Ryan had seen him. “Ryan, my boy!”

            “Dad!” Ryan cried, spurring Thistle on. He leaned over his dragon’s side, extending his hand for his father to grab so that he could swing him on. His father smiled and extended his own hand, his sword dropping to the ground.