Chapter Thirty-Nine – Skorcrest
They could see the lights of Regan harbor’s glittering torches several miles ahead of them when Fenryx began to descend. Tara suspected that the reason for this distance was primarily practical. Dragon landings required space apart in order to prevent damage to buildings and other structures. Because of this, as well as due to their often dangerous tempers, dragons were not welcomed in most of the civilized country.
Tara could understand this caution. Although dragons were capable of forming fast friendships, more often interactions with the giant beasts were deadly. Dragons were fiery-tempered and wild, and as many people as they acknowledged their equals there were hundreds more whose farms were destroyed and livestock eaten.
But despite their voracious appetites, few dragons actually sought human flesh, or the flesh of elves or gnomes. Tara remembered from the game that they preferred fish to all other food, and she wondered if this trait held true in the actual, living-and-breathing world of Allerion.
It certainly seemed incredible that any creature as massive as Fenryx would gorge himself on little fish. Tara was conscious of the powerful motion of the dragon’s shoulder muscles as he braced for their landing. She held the sharp spine on the dragon’s back a little tighter, readying herself for the inevitable shock of impact.
Their landing was definite, but less jarring than she expected. As soon as they were down, Acalon rose, readying the knotted rope the dragon’s passengers would use to descend. Dismounting was certainly as awkward as mounting a dragon. Acalon went ahead of them, waiting below to help the others.
The shadows of night were lighter, and Tara suspected it was nearly dawn. Her face felt cold and slightly numb from the lashing winds that followed the dragon’s flight, but she was glad she hadn’t worn the covering that was meant to make breathing easier. Somehow, the flight reminded her of an extreme version of driving down the interstate with the windows down, and she enjoyed it.
Tara gripped the rope tightly, relying on the knots to ease her descent. She had climbed from a dragon’s back in the game before, but then she only had to focus on using her game controller, not the actual, physical requirements of climbing. Tara had to get used to her own weight as well as the feel of the rope, and she took her time, not daring to look down. No one had fallen so far and she didn’t want to be the first.
She was almost there when she felt firm hands steady her. Tara accepted Acalon’s help, landing lightly on her feet.
“I was doing alright,” she said, and instantly regretted the words. The last thing she wanted was to look insecure.
Acalon considered her without humor, one eyebrow slightly flown, before turning back to the others.
“It is here that we part ways,” said the dragon rider. “Regan is not far, following the road west.”
Tara looked down at a gentle tug on her tunic hem. Elita was looking up at her, the gnome’s eyes big behind their goggles.
“I will go with these people, Tara,” she said. “They may be physically better, but they will still need help now that they have escaped the necromancer’s pit.”
“I will join you,” said Horon. Tara wasn’t surprised that the big Fenman was determined to go wherever Elita did. “We may be near Regan, but there could be bandits along the road. The least I can do is make them think twice before attacking.”
“And you?” said Acalon to Wenrik. Tara suspected the dragon rider was eager for the Borzerk warrior to follow his friends, but Wenrik wasn’t going anywhere.
“I know you people of the cliffs would like nothing better than to have the Hero of Allerion to yourselves,” said the Borzerk, “but I am coming with you.”
“And you will be most welcome,” said Acalon dryly. He faced Tara. “Are you ready? The cliffs are not far, but you may need to rest if you are tired from the flight.”
“Thanks,” said Tara. “I’m ready now if you are.” The dragon rider’s slight laugh caught her off guard. “What?”
“Nothing,” said Acalon immediately. “Only, Fenryx appreciates your energy. He says you are like a fledgling that has just learned how to master the wind.”
“Well, at least I’m mastering something,” said Tara wryly.
The truth was, she was a little stiff after that first dragon ride. As thrilling as it was, Tara had been scared too. She had flown in a plane once to go to a Comic-Con convention in California, but airplanes were nothing like dragons. For one thing, you weren’t constantly worried that if you relaxed your arms and legs, you might go flying out into space.
But Tara had already had a few minutes, and she doubted that waiting a little longer would make much difference. And she was looking forward to seeing Skorcrest in person.
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“Take care, Tara,” said Elita before she could start climbing the rope once more. “I believe we’ll see each other again. Bring Wenrik back to me safe.”
Tara hesitated only a moment before she stooped, hugging the gnome tightly. She heard the little gnome’s surprised laugh, Elita’s knobby hand patting her fondly.
“Okay,” said Tara. “You be careful, too. Alright?”
“Have no fear of that,” said Horon gruffly. “We know how to watch out for ourselves. It’s Wenrik who concerns me.”
“Ah, you just wish you were bound for the cliffs beside me,” said Wenrik, grinning.
“One dragon is more than enough for me,” said the Fenman. “Just keep your head, you mad dog, and don’t make enemies of all the flight folk. That’s the last thing Tara needs.”
Tara didn’t expect the next voice that spoke. Kell had been significantly silent during their farewells, the fey listening with his head lowered. Now he stepped forward, his sallow hands clasping and unclasping.
“I—I know after all that has happened, you have no reason to trust me,” he said. “If you will allow it, let me come with you, Tara MacQueen.”
“Of course,” said Tara, and the fey’s thin face relaxed with relief. “Saving our skins back in Narion Nightsong’s cave is enough reason for me to trust you.”
Tara meant it, in spite of a few misgivings. It was true that she had questions about Kell, who had apparently been in service to the necromancer. She was glad that Kell had survived the encounter, but his survival was in and of itself a point of concern. The Shieldmistress Altheria had said that the fey had never been intended as someone Tara could interact with, and that she and her companions were supposed to find his corpse in the woods on their way to Wanderer’s Bane.
But Tara was adjusting to various deviations in the “gameplay” she thought would repeat itself. The longer she was in Allerion, the more she had come to expect the unexpected. And she certainly needed all the friends she could get in a world that was alternately known and unknown to her.
Maybe the Prime Dragon will know what’s going on, thought Tara unhappily. Someone has to have some answer about why I’m here and how all this is happening. The Shieldmistress seems as mystified as I am.
She was roused from her thoughts by a cleared throat. Glancing up, she saw the people she had rescued from Wanderer’s Bane standing in an uneven row before her.
“We want to thank you for what you’ve done for us,” said Millard. “I am eager to see the Old Troll again, and Berga and my daughter. You and your friends saved our lives, Tara MacQueen. And for that, I wish you well. If you’re ever in Regan again, stop in and say hello. There’ll be free drink and food for you, and a hearty welcome.”
“Thank you,” said Tara. “I am glad we were able to help.”
“And you as well, dragon rider,” said the old man, turning to Acalon as the others murmured their gratitude after him. “Berga will never believe that I’ve been on the back of such a beast. May fair winds bring you swiftly home.”
Acalon accepted his thanks with a sharp, direct bow. “And you as well.”
When she was safely mounted, Tara glanced up. She was afraid she would see the red moon, but in the brightening sky the stars were invisible, and the third moon was hidden from view. She braced for Fenryx’s flight, shutting her eyes to protect them from flying leaves and debris stirred up by the dragon’s wings.
***
Tara’s first glimpse of the cliffs was vague. She could barely see the rock bathed red from the rising sun, through the mist that rose from the surface of the nearby sea. But she recognized the mountain of the Grim Syr where the Prime Dragon lived, rising above the jagged, harsh edges of lesser stone.
It was one thing to see the mountain in-game, from a distance. It was another to actually be there, with the fresh salt air filling Tara’s lungs. The mountain certainly deserved to be called a home to dragons, as giant and imposing as a mighty drake itself.
When they landed, Tara was shaky. It wasn’t exhaustion that bothered her. She was overwhelmed by the reality of Skorcrest, the shadows of other dragons passing overhead, disappearing into the clouds and reappearing suddenly, trailing mist behind them. The morning sun was awfully bright, and that brightness coupled with the absolute truth of the life around her made Tara suddenly weak.
She sat down quickly, burying her head between her knees. She just needed a minute to catch her breath.
“Tara?” Wenrik was beside her in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
She forced herself to meet the Borzerk warrior’s gaze. She managed to smile. “Nothing,” she said, breathless. “I just—I can’t believe all this is real. It’s actually real.”
She was about to stand when an enormous, irresistible force pushed her back down. Fenryx’s massive snout was inches from her back.
“He wants you to rest until you are sure on your feet,” said Acalon. “Many people are alarmed by dragons.”
“I’m not scared,” said Tara.
She wasn’t. She was awed, and Acalon must have seen it in the way she rested her hand on Fenryx’s snout, rubbing the giant dragon’s smooth scale. The casual fondness in her attention impressed the dragon rider, who had been alarmed himself in first meeting the deadly black dragon. He had never seen anyone react to a looming dragon like this, not even experienced riders, unless they knew the dragon well.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” Tara whispered, rising carefully. “It’s better than I thought it would be.”
“You’ve—seen this place before in your visions?” asked Kell hesitantly, the fey staying a safe distance from Fenryx no matter how friendly the dragon seemed.
Tara nodded, trying to pull herself together. She shook out her arms and took a deep breath. “It’s beautiful,” she said at last, turning to Acalon. “Visions or no visions, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.”
Wenrik growled under his breath. “I prefer the Grayscape to these endless mountains,” he said. “I’d rather have my feet on the ground than dangling over oblivion.”
Acalon ignored him. “If you are strong enough,” he said, “we should see the Prime Dragon at once.”
“I will go with you,” said Wenrik, standing next to Tara.
“No,” said Acalon. “No one is permitted in the Prime Dragon’s presence unless they are expected. If you go into the Grim Syr, I cannot speak for your safety.”
“And what of Tara’s?” asked the Borzerk, his red eyes gleaming and the wolfish, mirthless grin tugging at his lips. “Can you speak for her safety in the presence of this Prime Dragon?”
“Yes,” said Acalon. When Fenryx’s head swiveled towards him, he ignored his dragon’s apparent interest. “The Prime Dragon has no intention of harming her.”
“So now you speak for this Prime Dragon?” said Wenrik, unconvinced.
“No,” said Acalon. “But it is not her habit to devour those she greets. Tara will return to you safely in time.”
“If she doesn’t,” said the Borzerk in a low voice, “you will answer for any harm that comes to her with your life.”
Acalon’s gaze was bleak. “Very well. Come, Tara. We’ve wasted enough time.”