That One Time I Went on a Quest

Four Days (1/2)

Absolute pandemonium. They come in waves; first the small ones, then the agile ones that easily dodge around Kaishen's fire with graceful mid-air spins, then the small ones again, then the hulking mountains that blot out the sun.

Never knew there were so many dragons in the world. The Endless Ranges must be empty by now, with the parade of thousands churning up the earth and the sky all around our lonely coach. There hadn't been nearly as many to begin with; the Thralls drew them to us, as Kathanhiel knew they would.

On the first day, the Thralls decimate the brood more effectively than any weapon. Unlike those miserly humans who had their brains burnt out, they have quite the different effect on the creatures they imitate. In their presence the dragons turn on each other, with teeth and claw and fire. Mingled in the rain is a red mist that sticks to the skin; vile screeching and the tearing of limbs soak through the clouds, as bolts of lightning cast upon them writhing, snarling shadows.

Hours and hours and hours pass.

No idea why the Thralls work this way and frankly I don't care. Don't care to ask either. Don't care to look up. Don't care to move a toe. Biting on my tongue stops the screaming, and putting hands over ears gets rid of about a third of the noise; these are the things I can do. There's no room for thinking, reacting, or displaying great heroism and courage.

If only the same expectations could be applied to Kathanhiel; for her there is no reprieve.

From morning to sunset she stands on the roof holding Kaishen and the Thralls at the fore. At first she was shaking all over and barely standing, but now...now the redness of Kaishen's fire has crept up to her shoulder, and the rain can no longer linger on her skin for more than a second before turning to vapour.

Shrouded in bellowing steam, she is now statue-still, her crystalline greaves shining like bottled stars; if not for them her feet would undoubtedly be sinking into the roof.

With nightfall comes a violent wind descending from the north, dragging a herd of rainclouds from the mountains, but the deluge that follows can rage on forever – drown the entire world even – and still the cry of the dragons would rise above it.

In the darkness, the light of Kaishen makes the distant shadows impenetrable...which is what catches Kathanhiel off-guard.

Another horn-headed dragon charges out of the gloom – not from the sky but the field in a full sprint – and rams into the coach before either of us could react. Crunch; amidst shattering steel its neck crumples like a stack of paper.

While airborne and comically flailing, I see that its eye sockets are empty and bleeding. Those are claw marks on its face.

Oon'Shang, bless her heart, catches me as one would a falling child. Still unable to stand up straight, she half-crawls into a dark grove on the side of the highway, outside the reach of Kaishen's light.

Here, even though we're not exactly hidden, none of the dragons pay us any mind; they seem to only care about one thing.

As Kathanhiel falls from the broken roof the Thralls disperse into nothing. The moment she lands on her feet, dozens of bull-sized silhouettes materialise from the dark fields, growling like starved hounds and surrounding her on all sides. Their wings are small and sickly yellow like broken cocoons, but the forearms to which they're attached are as thick as their hind legs.

As they close in, prowling like wolves, the one in front begins to seizure: mouth foaming, chest heaving, legs bucking with such force that its spine snaps in two. With its last breath comes the ecstatic laughter of Rutherford, echoing as if across a great chasm.