I've hit up against some writer's block, so I'm not sure when the next chapter will be coming, but I'm working on it, I swear! And thank thank thankyou to everyone who has read and commented thus far--your comments mean the world to me. ^___^
Ryuu no Hikou
A GW fic by Sara
Chapter 13
Though it seemed as though they had been fighting for most of the day, barely an hour had passed since the fight had begun. Not a creature on the battlefield had escaped injury, including the monster. While the dragons were nearly exhausted, the monster, despite bleeding from several wounds and blinded in one eye from a well-placed blow by Faohr, appeared not to have tired at all.
"So what now?" muttered Duo. The dragons had fallen back to recoup and recover. The monster seemed content to wait patiently, perhaps secure in the belief that it could not lose. There was a very possible likelihood that it wouldn?t, for no matter what tactics were used, the dragons were repelled time and again, usually sporting more injuries than before. Parth favored an obviously broken foreleg. Faohr was covered in nicks and cuts from his tussle with the monster, though his rider had managed, miraculously, to avoid similar harm. Ryl had a set of bite-marks on her neck where the beast had tried to strangle her. Kyarn looked about to drop from exhaustion. The dragons? only real success in the battle had come in managing to lure the beast away from the city. They had reached a stalemate, and all knew it. The dragons were becoming desperate.
Without warning, Lun charged again, her battle cry mingling with that of Wufei. But with her side injured, her approach was awkward. Lun's head snaked out low, as though she planned to attack the beast's soft underbelly, but the monster was prepared. It reared on its haunches as she drew close, lashing out in attack with one forepaw. The paw swung over the crest of Lun's neck, and caught Wufei firmly on the shoulder.
The startled dragon-rider was thrown violently from his seat. He hit the ground hard, rolling several times before finally slumping to a stop, where he laid unmoving.
"Wufei!!" Quatre shouted, and made as though to go to the prone rider's side, but Trowa stopped him.
"Wait! Do not get any closer!" Trowa commanded. His eyes widened. "Fall back! To the trees! Fall back, now!!" Startled, the dragons did so without protest.
The emerald dragon stood over her rider, caging him protectively with her body, keening loudly. Suddenly, her head whipped around to glare at the monster. The beast, sensing danger, formed a defensive posture...but it was not enough.
Lun's crest rose until her mane stood on end, making her seem much larger than she was...and very, very angry. She roared once, then reared onto her hind legs and began to emit a high, shrieking wail that seemed to go on forever. She took a deep breath, and began wailing again.
The effect was instantaneous. The dragon-riders, though out of the range of the blast, clapped their hands over their ears in agony. Around them, the trees shuddered as though to express their own pain, and the ground trembled and shook, groaning under the force of Lun's onslaught. The monster squealed in pain, clawing at its ears as though to deaden the pain. It suddenly gave a strange, gasping cough, spat up blood, and collapsed to the ground, twitching violently.
As soon as her quarry was down, the keening stopped. Lun seemed to deflate, dropping to all fours and panting heavily. Her eyes never left the monster, even as she nosed her rider.
Ryl was the first to approach. "Is he..." the copper dragon asked with trepidation. Lun shook her head. "Just unconscious," she said shortly, "and his shoulder, it's wounded. We need to get him to a healer, and quickly. We--" She gasped, staring at the monster. "It...it cannot be...!"
Ryl turned to look, and began to growl, backing away slowly. The other dragons were also forming defensive postures, as the beast slowly struggled to its feet. It raised its ponderous head with great effort. Blood streamed from its ears, its nose, and between its teeth. Its remaining eye was murderous and rimmed with red. It snarled, and took one menacing step forward.
The dragons fell back, all except for Lun, who would not leave her rider's side. They were all spent, too wounded to fight any longer. Lun braced herself for attack.
Just as the monster drew within range, the air was split with a dozen bugling war cries. Quatre looked up and shaded his eyes. "The Maguanacs!" he cried. "Fall back!" The dragon-riders retreated as the Maguanacs, lead by Rasid and Forth, rocketed overhead. They flew in an arrowhead formation, each dragon perfectly in sync with one another. Forth shouted battle commands to the other dragons, and each followed with sharp, succinct movements as they ringed the monster. As a unified, winged force, they turned their breath weapons upon the monster. In a shriek reminiscent of the desert wind, the beast collapsed, gasping as its form desiccated under the onslaught.
It was over in a matter of minutes. Forth landed, and strutted stiff-legged around the carcass. "Disgusting," he snorted, shaking his head. "Not natural. Whatever that thing was, it was not born of this plane."
The other Maguanac dragons had also landed. Many of them milled around the carcass of the monster, sniffing and muttering amongst themselves. Many of them had ornamental jewelry pierced through their head crests, and the metal jingled in counterpoint to the rumble of their voices. Forth kicked a clod of earth at the carcass in derision and shook his head, causing the loops of delicate silver chains ornamenting his crests to twinkle with sound. ?Not natural,? he repeated
Those who were not conversing over the dead monster had turned to see to the other dragons and their riders. One rider approached Nataku and Wufei. He wore a pair of small, round glasses, the lenses tinted dark, which he pushed up along the bridge of his nose as he drew near. His dragon sported several jeweled charms along her crests, each one accented with beads of various precious gems and minerals that winked in the sunlight.
Nataku arched her neck and hissed in warning at their approach. The brass dragon laughed in return. ?Now now, silly pup; there is no need for such theatrics,? she said in a good-natured voice. ?My name is Breda; my rider is Abdul. We are here to help, and it looks like we could not have timed our arrival better.? Abdul slipped from her back and ran over to the dragon-rider?s side, checking for a pulse and carefully probing practiced hands along Wufei?s shoulder, checking for the swelling that would indicate a badly broken bone. He looked up and yelled to some of his companions, who came running to assist him.
Breda grinned at Nataku. ?There, you see? We are here to help. Now, dear, if you could just step to the side?just a bit?there you go, good girl. It really does you no good to hover all mother-like. We all want to protect our riders, yes, but is it good if you protect him so fiercely that he cannot get medical help? No, that is not good, that is not good at all. So you see, if you just stand over here, like this?? The brass dragon hustled against the startled emerald, pushing her physically out of the way. ??then your rider can be helped. See, that was not so difficult. And look! Your rider does not seem to be so gravely injured. See? See? He is starting to regain consciousness! Why, he will probably be set for flying again in no time. You see, sometimes, a rider has to take a good tumble from dragonback, once or twice. It builds character, you see??
The brass dragon rambled on, and Nataku was too flummoxed by the steady stream of talk to protest. The adrenaline rush of battle was fading, and more mundane sensations were creeping back into her awareness. With a sudden mewl of pain, she found herself swaying in place, and splayed her legs to keep from collapsing.
?What is this? What is this?! Sweet eggshards, pup, you are badly injured!? barked Breda, as though noticing her injury for the first time. ?Sit, sit! I shall call others to help you. Oi, Abdul! The emerald has severe battle wounds. Send for other riders. I do not care whom, just send someone! Oi! I said sit!? She leveled a glare at Nataku, and for once the emerald dragon was too weak to protest.
Around the glade, the other dragons and their riders were also having their injuries attended to by the Maguanacs. Quatre held onto Parth?s head while another Maguanac applied field medicine to the dragon?s broken forelimb. The bronze dragon moaned in pain, but did not jerk away. Quatre scratched the dragon under his chin in the hopes to soothe him. He could feel the dragon?s pain almost as keenly as if it were his own.
?Master Quatre!? boomed an all-too-familiar voice. Quatre gritted his teeth and concentrated on the pattern of scales on Parth?s snout. He looked up and tried to adopt an expression of casual disregard as Rasid approached. His resolve soon faded at the expression on the Maguanac leader?s face.
?Master Quatre, I did expect that you would have difficulty in this battle, but I could not have anticipated that you would face such difficulty as is apparent by the dragons? injuries. Did you use any battle strategy at all? Or did you simply throw yourselves at the beast in the hopes of wearing it down??
Quatre flushed in anger. ?Rasid, I daresay this is not the time to lecture me on battle tactics.? The older man cut him off with a harsh syllable.
?Tch! You had best listen to me, boy, and listen well. If not for us, you would all be dead now, and your carcasses scattered across the glade. ?Not the best time?, indeed. Would you have me wait, until time and self-pity softened the sting of this failure? I think not. One does not become an experienced warrior through self-indulgence and coddling. Nor, might I add, does one become a warrior at all without the diligent study and application of battle strategy.?
?It is not so easy as you say, Rasid,? mumbled Quatre, his pride stinging. ?I have tried to use battle strategy, to suggest it to the others. They will not listen, nor will they cooperate. Do you think I have not tried? They are all too proud.?
?Then you must make them cooperate, or you risk the threat of this very same scenario with each and every battle you fight! Do you think yourselves immortal? Do you believe this to be the greatest threat you will encounter? Do you expect we will be here to rescue you, every time a battle goes poorly??
Quatre opened his mouth to protest, but only ended up scowling and looking away. His eyes narrowed. ?Why did you come to our aid, anyway? I thought you said that you were not here to participate as part of the Pact.?
?We did not join in this battle as part of the Pact,? Rasid replied coolly. ?We joined the battle for the same reason we came to Sanq: to protect you as heir to the duchy of Qa?nirvenye. Our loyalty lies with our duke, and I must say that he shall not be pleased to hear of the threat you faced on this battlefield. Nor, might I add, will he be pleased to hear of your decisive defeat in this, your very first real battle.? He turned on his heel and walked away, the threat hanging implicit in the air between them.
Quatre sagged against his dragon?s side. He cast his gaze across the glen, from the forms of his injured companions, to the animated Maguanacs and their dragons, and finally to the desiccated corpse of the monster. Despite his own pride, he knew that Rasid was correct. How would they ever be fit to protect Sanq, when they could not even cooperate with each other?
His eyes narrowed as he watched the other dragon-riders. He had tried to get them to cooperate. He had tried to get them to use battle strategy, to work together. They had refused. They may as well have been five solitary islands on their own, as far as they were all concerned. He could feel anger and resentment welling up in his throat, and he clenched his fists in silent rage.
* * *
Quatre?s foul mood followed the group back to Calon Gaer, and only grew thicker and more sullen as the deliberately slow pace the dragons were forced to take tested it. Despite Wufei and Nataku staying behind in Ri Shin, due to the severity of their injuries, the trip was still drawn out with frequent pauses. On more than one occasion, they were forced to walk when exhaustion threatened to claim the more injured dragons. Even though Parth was one of the dragons whose injuries often forced the entourage to stop and rest, it did little to diminish Quatre?s growing resentment.
By the time the group finally reached the castle, Quatre?s mood had spread to the other dragon-riders. The air surrounding them was tight with tension. No one spoke. The dragons themselves moved with terse, abrupt movements, as though they could read their riders? thoughts, and were disturbed by what they saw. The atmosphere sent Quatre even further into his sulk; he could even feel it in his teeth. By the time Parth landed heavily in the courtyard, whimpering when his foreleg accidentally brushed the ground, Quatre could not stand it any longer.
He all but threw himself from Parth?s back. Ripping the flight goggles from his head, he whipped them across the open courtyard. They hit the wall with a dull thump, then clattered to the cobblestones. Quatre did not care if they were damaged. He did not care about anything. Without a backward glance, he began stalking off in the direction of the cave-catacombs.
?Oi!? called Duo. ?Your dragon is injured, and very badly. Are you not going to bring him to Sally??
Quatre ignored him, and continued to stalk away. Duo growled in anger, jogging after the other dragon-rider. ?Hey!? he shouted. ?I am talking to you!? He drew closer to Quatre, reaching out a hand to grab the other youth?s sleeve. ?Stop, or I shall??
?Or you shall what? Continue to refuse to cooperate with me, or anyone else in battle? Continue to fight as though you were the only dragon-rider on the field? I will stand to lose nothing, if that is your threat!? Quatre jerked his arm out of Duo?s grasp. ?At this rate, we shall not have to worry about a nameless enemy or horrific beast being our downfall. All our enemies will have to do is wait for us to gather on the battlefield, and wait for our squabbling among ourselves to result in our deaths!?
?Wait a minute. What makes you think that you have the right to pass such judgment? Who appointed you our battle strategist?? Duo glared at Quatre. ?I do not recall agreeing to any such arrangement.?
?Do you know what your problem is?? spat Quatre. ?You are a coward. You are all cowards. We could be a formidable fighting force, if we would just cooperate with each other, but you are each too afraid that the rest of us will make a mistake, and you will get injured as a result. Cowards!? He whirled and began stalking away again, but before he could escape, Duo?s fist shot out, grabbing a handful of Quatre?s flight jacket.
?If you are going to call us cowards, then you had best add the title to yourself, as well,? he snarled. ?You were out on that battlefield, the same as the rest of us. Not to mention, unlike the rest of us, you had a nice little group of rescuers to make sure you did not suffer injury!?
The other dragon-riders had dismounted and had formed a semicircle around Duo and Quatre, but did nothing to break apart the fight. The dragons huddled in a cluster a short distance away, uncertain as to what to do. The two youths seethed and glared at each other. ?If you think,? Quatre snarled, his voice dangerously low, ?that I am grateful for the Maguanacs? presence here, or for their assistance in the battle, you are sorely mistaken. If you wish for their protection so badly, then you are more than welcome to have them. Now, if you will excuse me, I must see to the needs of my dragon.? He again jerked his tunic out of Duo?s grasp, and brushed past him brusquely, heading for Parth.
?Quatre,? said Heero in disgust, ?stop acting like a child.?
Quatre did not turn to face Heero, but his hands balled into fists at his sides. ?If you think that I shall take such allegations coming from you for even one second??
?Aahh, but what have we here? Why, if it is not the triumphant return of our victorious heroes!? interjected a sibilant new voice. ?Had I but known, I would have donned my fancy gown. I am sorely underdressed for the occasion, I fear. And just think! I get to welcome you first. I simply must make an offering to the goddess of good fortune for this boon.?
Inwardly, Quatre groaned. /As though this day could not possibly get any worse--!/ He steeled himself and turned to face the source of the voice. She stood under the archway of one of the paths leading out of the courtyard, her hands clasped primly in front of her, and a predatory smile on her lips.
Dorothy paused, and cocked her head, lifting one hand to her lips. The gesture was ingratiating in its insincerity. ?Why, your dragons are injured,? she said in a lilting, syrupy-sweet voice. ?Does this mean that you are?not victorious heroes? My, my.? She paused to fan herself, as though faint. ?I do fear this is terrible news. Whatever shall we do??
?We have returned. None of our numbers has died. We would not have returned had we not defeated the monster. Does this satisfy your curiosity?? Quatre replied through clenched teeth.
?There is no need to be rude about it,? she answered, feigning ignorance. ?But I can?t help but recall that I could have sworn I saw the Maguanacs leaving the castle, not that long ago. But certainly they did not rush to your aid, yes? Such big and strong and obviously talented dragon-riders would have no need for backup.? She batted her eyelashes coyly at Quatre.
Quatre flushed and gritted his teeth. ?Now is not the time, Lady Dorothy,? he spat. ?I suggest you find some other source of entertainment.?
?My, my, my, but we are touchy today.? Dorothy studied her fingernails with an air of casual disregard. ?Although I suppose were it me who suffered a miserable defeat in battle, and only escaped serious injury and possible death because a prince?s babysitters came at the right moment to save me, then I would be in a sour mood, too.?
?Back off, will you?? Duo interjected. ?No one asked you for your assessment of the situation.?
Rather than look affronted at his rebuff, Dorothy smirked. ?Which makes it all the more appropriate for me to be here, Prince Duo,? she replied. ?After all, someone must greet you, yes? It simply will not do to allow your return to go unheralded, whether you return as victorious heroes?? Dorothy pursed her lips in a tight, sardonic smile. ??or not.?
Duo clenched his fists, muttering under his breath, but Trowa stepped forward to defuse the situation. ?What right do you have to pass judgment on our abilities? We may not be trained in the art of battle, but I find it highly unlikely that a lady of your rank and stature would have been given any more opportunity to learn the games of war than we as duke?s sons would have been given. I somehow doubt you are qualified to criticize our failure.?
?Perhaps I am, dragon-rider,? replied Dorothy coolly. ?Perhaps I am not. I might know a few tricks, and would be willing to teach them to you, but it is obvious that your pride would never let you take lessons from a mere woman. I do know one thing, however: as inexperienced as I may or may not be, on the battlefield, I obviously have more battle experience than you.? She gathered her skirts, dipping her head in a curtsey that was more sarcastic than ladylike, and turned to exit the courtyard. She paused before she was out of earshot, but did not turn to face the dragon-riders.
?Oh, and one more thing,? she said, nearly purring. ?If I were you, which you have so judiciously established that I am not, but nevertheless, if I were you, I would seek out assistance, and attempt to learn strategy and how to use it. Pride may be a powerful weapon, but it can also be a great hindrance, and it is of no use to you whatsoever if you are dead.? She flipped a lock of glossy blonde hair over one shoulder, and disappeared in the shadows of the corridor.
* * *
Cathrine rubbed her aching neck with her writing hand, wincing at the twinges of pain that shot along the edges of her fingers. /I must have spent too much time gripping the quill too tightly,/ she thought. She wiggled her fingers experimentally, then picked up the quill. She eyed the notes jotted on the page in front of her, and her eyes flickered to the side where the scrap of parchment holding the untranslated prophecy lay partially hidden. Cathrine paused, then scrutinized the pen?s nib. She pursed her lips in slight irritation, then reached for her penknife. She whittled at the nib with a cautious, practiced hand, until it was sharp enough to meet with her approval. She held the pen at eye-height, holding it so that she could check the alignment of the pen for any cracks or bends in the shaft. Satisfied, she turned back to her work.
She tapped the sharpened nib against the parchment in front of her, a frown creasing her brow. ?Just this one word?just one word?? she muttered under her breath. ?But what is it? What does it mean?? She shuffled through the piles of parchments and scrolls scattered across the desk, pushing at them with growing impatience. ?As?khalar?as?khar? I cannot even read my own handwriting! As?kahasi?oh, hellfires!? Her agitated movements had caused one of the scrolls to bump against the inkwell, upsetting it and spilling its contents across a stack of parchments and books. Cathrine made a small noise of dismay and rushed to find a cloth to blot the mess. She moaned as she surveyed the damage, and prayed that it didn?t include her hard-earned translations.
Muttering obscenities under her breath, Cathrine poked gingerly at the now-inkstained texts and scrolls. Most were salvageable, but some?how could she have gotten so careless? Was she really that tired? Had she been working so long that she had grown inattentive to her surroundings, despite all of the teaching that Noventa had given to her? Shame welled up with a sour taste at the back of Cathrine?s throat.
A muffled cough from the other side of the room broke Cathrine out of her self-pity. She looked across the room, to where Watcher Noventa was seated. If he had noticed her accident, he gave no indication; he was so absorbed into his work that he seemed oblivious to all that was happening around him. He held his quill clutched in his teeth as he rifled through scrolls and texts, eyebrows pinched together in a frown of deep concentration.
Cathrine took a closer look at Noventa, becoming alarmed by his appearance. Dark circles smudged across the lines of aging under his eyes; those lines seemed to have cut deeper than she had ever noticed before, even during the harshest days on the trail. His grey hair was feathered along his left temple, where his left hand would worry it in nervous habit. He seemed to have lost weight, and was hunched over the desk, in a position that would guarantee a stiff spine in the morning?assuming he chose to sleep in a bed, instead of at his desk, as Cathrine knew he had done for the past several days.
With a start, she realized how deep his intent to translate the Prophecy had run. He had grown nearly fanatical about it. She tried for a moment to envision how he must feel; he was the first Watcher in many generations to fulfill the role he had assumed upon initiation, and must be under tremendous pressure with little support and many expectations. But still, for him to grow so determined that he neglected to take care of himself?!
He coughed again, and Cathrine was galvanized into action. She crossed the room on silent feet, coming to stand behind him. So intent was he in his work that he did not notice her approach, and started when she placed her hands on his shoulders. ?Master Noventa?? she began, her voice hesitant.
The look in his eye almost made Cathrine regret interrupting him, but the irritation soon passed and gave way to a look of weary welcome. ?Do you have a question, Cathrine?? he asked, then gestured at his parchment. ?I believe I have nearly translated this line; I can pause for a moment and help you with your translating, if you need it.? He looked at her, his expression eager. ?Unless you have already translated it? I would like to see your work, if you have.?
Cathrine shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. ?I?have not yet finished the line, Master,? she said with reluctance. ?I actually wanted to suggest that you take a break. Just for a little while. You look so weary, Master Noventa. I fear you are pushing yourself too hard. Please rest, just for a little while.?
Noventa?s expression fell, and his eyes flickered to the parchment in front of him. ?Perhaps I have been working too hard lately,? he murmured, ?but I am so close?so close?no. No, Cathrine, I do not believe I can afford to take a break, at least not just yet. We must know what the Oracle was trying to warn us about; it is imperative that we know, and we cannot afford the luxury of relaxation until we do.?
She sighed. ?As you wish, Master, but may I at least contact the kitchens and have them bring you a cup of tea? You have hardly eaten all day. Surely you will feel better and more energized if you eat something.? Noventa had all but completely immersed himself in his work again, and all she got was a grunted response, which she interpreted to be affirmative. As she strode across the room to the bell-pull which would summon a servant, Cathrine reached a determination of her own. After she had dispatched the servant with orders, she would return to her own work, with as much fervor as Noventa himself had shown. Perhaps she had not yet reached the level of Watcher, and perhaps she lacked the mental serenity necessary to ever reach that point?but she was determined that Noventa would not shoulder this burden alone.
* * *
?M-master--! P-p-please!!! I beg of you! I?I could not have anticipated--! I-I-I-I d-did not have the r-r-r-resources necessary! I-aaiieee!!?
Tsubarov?s spine arched as his body convulsed again under the onslaught of his Master?s attack. His jaw clenched and relaxed in spastic convulsions, the clicking of his teeth echoing loudly in the empty void of the Great Evil?s lair. The beastmaster howled wordlessly as the attack continued, his hands clawing at the air.
?I told you, Beastmaster, that you had best not disappoint me,? It growled in anger. ?You told me that your little constructs could defeat a dragon. But did they? No. Instead, your monster was defeated, and the whereabouts of the second monster are unknown. A monster of that size and aggressiveness does not simply disappear, Beastmaster. Might I remind you of how you assured me that these beasts would attack anything remotely human? Does it not strike you as odd, therefore, that there have been no reports of sightings of any creatures similar to that which attacked Ri Shin? Which does remind me that you were quite proud of the voracity of your little creations. Might I be out of line in suggesting that your little pets attacked each other, and that is the answer to the riddle of the monster that disappeared? Could that possibly be correct, Beastmaster?!?
It relaxed the hold on the Beastmaster?s mind. Immediately the convulsions stopped, though Tsubarov was only able to lie on the cold stone floor, whimpering and shivering like a small child trapped in a nightmare. ?I should destroy you where you lie, you miserable excuse for sentient life. How your body manages the intelligence necessary to breathe is beyond me. I do not believe you possess such intelligence at all,? It snarled. ?Yesss?? There was no visible change in the room, but the beastmaster suddenly began convulsing anew, this time due to lack of oxygen as he stopped breathing. His back arched off of the floor, limbs jerking in mad spasms as he was asphyxiated.
d?Urmeil stood back and watched the display, his expression dispassionate. He held no love for the beastmaster; in fact, it would serve d?Urmeil well, were Tsubarov to die. He would also gain no favors for intervening on Tsubarov?s behalf, unless he himself wanted to risk The Great Evil?s wrath. /Although?/ d?Urmeil pondered. Having the beastmaster alive was a loathsome thought; having the beastmaster alive and in his debt for saving his life, however, was not nearly so odious.
?Master?? d?Urmeil intoned. He could feel Its attention jerked over to him like a physical blow, and found it almost distracting. d?Urmeil focused himself by watching the beastmaster?s eyes roll to the back of his head, showing only the whites. He would not last much longer under the onslaught.
?What is it, slave?? It snarled, displeased at having been interrupted from his quarry, though It never released Its grip on the beastmaster.
?Begging Your pardon, My Lord,? said d?Urmeil humbly, ?but I must interject on behalf of my colleague.?
The scuffing sounds made as Tsubarov?s limbs buffeted the floor in his convulsions continued. ?I listen. Make it worth my while,? It growled in response.
d?Urmeil bowed. ?While killing the Beastmaster would bring temporary satisfaction,? The Great Evil snorted in derision at this comment. ?I must interject that it may not be in our best interests to kill him just yet. Despite our loss, we have gathered valuable data from the battle?data which we may use in future offensive maneuvers. The Beastmaster can use this information to better his creatures, and make them more dangerous.?
?He could have done that before, which is what I expected of him.?
?This is true,? d?Urmeil continued, his tone placating, ?however, this time, we have the added bonus of the data collected being directly taken from combat with our targets. We would not be operating on mere assumption. We would have information gathered from precisely that entity which we wish to destroy. The process would go much more quickly, given this knowledge.?
The darkness seemed to ponder this concept. It ceased Its attack on Tsubarov suddenly. The beastmaster gasped, choking and taking in lungsful of air in great, gasping rales, and collapsed to the floor in a limp, unconscious heap. ?You had best be right, slave,? It snarled at d?Urmeil, ?but I will give you the benefit of the doubt, seeing as how it pleases me to see the two of you getting along so well.? d?Urmeil did not miss the note of malicious sarcasm in Its voice.
d?Urmeil heard It snarl in disgust. Without a word, two servants entered the room, their eyes studiously avoiding the concentrated darkness. ?Take this thing out of my sight,? It snapped, indicating the beastmaster, who had not regained consciousness. ?If he dies, let him exist as a warning to all of what may happen if you displease me.? The servants conducted their business silently and quickly, not wanting to spend any more time than need be in the presence of the Great Evil.
?Master, I do have a report for you,? murmured d?Urmeil after the servants had left the room. He waited for Its lazy affirmation, then continued. ?It seems that despite their defeat of the monster, the dragon-riders had great difficulty in doing so, and were not able to defeat the monster without outside aid. Had the battle continued as it was, they would have undoubtedly suffered casualties on their side. As it stands, some of their number are grievously injured, and should take some time to recover.?
The darkness considered this. ?It is not perfect,? It conceded, ?but I am pleased with the way things have progressed. Quite pleased.? d?Urmeil could have sworn he saw the darkness grinning.
?Shall we attack again, My Lord? We still have many of Tsubarov?s creatures ready to dispatch, if need be.?
?No,? It murmured. ?They now know how to destroy the creatures. Sending more in attack would be a waste of resources, and they would be expecting another attack. However, if we allow them to wait and wonder, then doubt will eat away at them. They will relive the battle, focus on their failings to the point of obsession. They will culture fears and self-doubts, and that will cause much greater damage in the long run than even Tsubarov?s creatures could inflict. When the time comes for attack, they will be weakened, and will quickly fall.?
?What if they are able to find help? Begging your pardon, My Lord, it is not realistic to assume that they shall not seek out help or try to learn strategy. What if they are able to find someone who can train them in the art of combat??
Now d?Urmeil knew the darkness was smiling. ?They shall not,? It said, sounding intensely smug. ?No such resources exist for the dragon-riders. They are truly alone in this battle.?
* * *
"If any of you dare to make a comment about the weather and our moods," groused Duo, his expression sullen, "I will feed you to my dragon." None of the others responded, and Duo turned back to gazing out the rain-streaked window, mumbling under his breath.
No one spoke for the span of several minutes. The silence was broken by Wufei, who stood up angrily and began pacing, gesturing angrily with choppy, vicious movements of his arms, his movements only slightly hampered by the bandages wrapped around his torso.
"We should not have been defeated so easily!" he snarled. "How was it that we underestimated our enemy so badly?! We should have been able to easily dispatch that...thing!"
"But we did defeat it," said Trowa in a calm voice. "Once the Maguanacs made an appearance."
"The Maguanacs!" scowled Wufei. "We should have been able to handle the matter ourselves. They refuse to follow the Pact; why should we give them any leeway?!"
"If they had not come, we would have been killed, and you know it," said Heero in a low voice. "Whether or not we should have been able to defeat the enemy or not, the truth is that we were in over our heads. We underestimated the situation, and paid dearly for it. We should be grateful that we were given any assistance at all. It means we live to fight again, and can still defend the kingdom."
"Not against those things, we cannot!" Wufei looked as though he might explode from anger.
"We need training, tutelage. We are still green. We should have expected that this would happen!" Quatre was now pacing the room restlessly. "There must be some way that we can train. We were not ready to fight such a battle yet. How could we have expected to defeat those monsters without any knowledge of how to really fight?"
Wufei scowled darkly at Quatre. "Training? Why do you think we need training? Your Maguanacs seemed to have plenty of training. Did you not grow up under their wings?"
Quatre flushed deeply at the accusation. "Well..." he started, then abruptly clenched his fists and faced Wufei squarely. "You know how it is! We are princes, duke's sons. We are not supposed to fight; we are expected to grow up and marry and rule in our father's places! My father humored me when I was given the dragon?s egg. He assumed that I would not be called to Calon Gaer as part of the Pact, and that my being a dragon-rider was a harmless indulgence. He did not anticipate this! What reason did he have to teach me battle strategy? I would imagine that it was the same for all of you."
Wufei scowled at this but did not disagree. Trowa regarded Quatre with interest. "Do you think the Maguanacs would consent to teach us how to fight?"
"I do not know," Quatre confessed, his face falling. "I do not think that Rasid would agree to it. He does not like that...I mean, he is not too keen on being here in the first place," he covered hastily.
Trowa tapped his chin thoughtfully. ?Although I am loath to suggest it, we do have the option of asking Lady Dorothy for advice.?
Four heads turned in unison to glare at Trowa. ?You must be jesting,? growled Duo. ?Us? Ask her? After she went out of her way to humiliate us?!? He kicked at the floor in anger, fighting the urge to begin pacing.?
?We will not ask Dorothy for help,? said Heero, his voice flat. ?Not even as a last-ditch emergency. There is nothing she knows that could be of assistance to us. We will not use this option.? The other dragon-riders did not disagree with his assessment.
"There must be another option available to us," said Duo thoughtfully. "What did the dragon-riders do in the past? They could not have possibly known how to do this by instinct, up until now. Someone must have taught them what to do."
"I was told that there used to be halls of learning; places where dragons and their riders gathered to learn as much as they could, before they were called into action," said Trowa, tapping his chin in contemplation. "But there was much controversy over how they were run, and what was taught. Eventually, the number of attendees began to dwindle, until the halls fell out of favor entirely. By this time the number of dragon-riders had begun to diminish, as well, so no one really missed them. The last hall of learning was closed by edict of the king well over 40 years ago, if my parents? books contain reliable information."
"We could sure use one of those now," mumbled Duo, more to himself than anyone else. ?I wonder if any of the old scholars are around? Even if the halls are no longer in use, certainly someone must be alive who still remembers the old ways.?
Quatre, who had taken a seat, his head propped against one hand, suddenly jumped up. "Wait. I know! I know who we can talk to about training! Varya!"
All heads turned to regard him curiously. "Who?" asked Wufei.
Quatre shook his head in exasperation. "Varya. The eternal dragon-rider! Aratar's rider!"
One by one, recognition bloomed across the faces of the dragon-riders. "Of course. Why did I not think of it sooner?" Wufei exclaimed, as though it were his idea. "Varya would know intimately what to teach a dragon-rider. She would be the perfect choice!" Then he drew up short, pondering. "But why does she not fight as a part of the Pact?"
"Varya's role is guardian of the Oracle," said Quatre. "Her duty is to stay by the Oracle with Aratar, and make sure that no harm befalls it. I do not even think they leave the Hall any more. Her Pact is different from the one which we follow."
Wufei nodded. "I see." He turned sharply on his heel, regarding the others. "There is no time to waste. Our enemy could be massing for another attack as we speak. We must begin our training immediately!"
The others, though not as fervently excited about the concept of asking the eternal dragon-rider for assistance, also knew that there were precious few options available to them. One by one, they filed out of the room, and headed toward the Scholars' Hall.
* * *
The halls leading down to Aratar's pit were dark and twisting, and quite obviously rarely traversed. Even the servantry did not pay much attention to keeping it clean; there was a thick layer of dust coating every surface. Their boots left heavy footprints as testimony to their passage.
Finally, after what seemed to have been an almost endless trek, they emerged into Aratar's pit. Light filtered down, creating odd shadows, and glanced sullenly off of the shining coils of Aratar's body. Her sides heaved peacefully with each breath, and it appeared as though she were sleeping. Not wishing to disturb her, the riders carefully made their way around the perimeter of the pit, until they came upon a small, ornately carved archway, which was next to a massive, gaping egress. The riders could see glints of gold where scales had scraped against the stone walls of the egress. Apparently, Aratar did leave the pit, though none of the riders had ever seen her do so.
They passed through the smaller archway, and into a spacious series of interconnected rooms. They all seemed to be connected to one another in some way, like a honeycomb. Each doorway was carved into the same style of archway; the apex met in a point that was crowned with a seven-pointed star.
The riders began to glance about, to see if they could spot the eternal dragon-rider. From somewhere within a deeper chamber, an ethereal voice floated out toward them. "Through the first archway," it intoned, "then turn right. Through that archway. I am in here."
They found Varya in one of the innermost chambers, seated on a low stool in front of a dressing table with a large, oval-shaped mirror. Though the story of how Varya and Aratar had been granted immortality and were charged with guarding the Oracle for as long as it remained in existence was a story that had been told for countless ages, the riders were still astounded by her appearance. Varya looked young, barely past girlhood, even though she was well over 7,000 years old. Her hair, which was as black as a raven's wing, glinting with hints of blue in places, hung well past her waist. As she was seated, it pooled on the floor around her feet. She was slowly running a brush through her hair, as though lost in contemplation.
She looked up at the riders as they entered, and it was then that the riders were given the first indication of her age. Though her face was that of a young woman, her eyes held the memories of one who has lived for countless years. She regarded the riders dispassionately, her hands idly running the brush through her locks. "I knew that you would come," she said, her voice quiet, and almost detached. She spoke with a strange accent, and her speech was oddly formal and stilted, as though she were unaccustomed to speaking.
Quatre stepped forward and bowed deeply. "Lady Varya," he intoned, bringing to the forefront his many years of training in decorum, "we bring to you a most impassioned plea. We have strength, but not experience. Please, we beseech you, help us. Please teach us the skills that we need to defend Sanq!" He stood up, and stepped back to rejoin the other riders.
For a moment, the only sound in the chamber was the soft hissing of the brush as it passed through Varya's hair. The dragon-riders shifted from foot to foot with anxious impatience, not daring to speak a word. Finally, Varya set the brush on the table, and clasped her hands in her lap.
She drew a breath to speak. "The moon glows red these past few waxings," she said the same, breathless voice. She turned to look at the riders. "There is change in the air. Great changes. I cannot stop the tide of change."
The riders were dumbstruck. Duo was the first to speak. "You...you mean to tell us...that you...will not help us?"
Varya inclined her head, fixing her eyes at a point on the ceiling. "The earth cries," she responded. "Too much blood shed. The spirits are unhappy."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Duo was losing his tact along with his patience.
"I see dragons laying eggs with no pups inside," she said, her voice mournful. "No children born to the great houses. Only silence, sterility. Mountains of silence."
The dragon-riders glanced at one another, uncertain. "Then...does that mean you...will not help us?" Duo finished quietly.
"I see the moon crashing into the earth," she said, her voice hushed. "It cracks in two. There are two dragons inside. They rise and wrestle with one another, to fight to the death. Tides rise. Earthquakes fall. The end is nigh." She had picked up the brush again, once again brushing her hair with unerring, even strokes. "Even now, the end is nigh. You, too, must bow to time. But not I. Time bows to me. I am immortal. I am Varya." She then turned to face the mirror, and it was as though she were alone in the room.
The dragon-riders turned, one by one, and exited the room. No one spoke until they had exited Varya's chambers. Trowa was the first to speak.
"I cannot be surprised," he said quietly. "She has been alive for centuries, and has talked to no one in all this time."
Wufei punched the wall in anger. "She will not help us!? he seethed, rubbing his smarting knuckles. ?I cannot understand it. She was our most perfect option. Why will she not help us?!"
"Perhaps you sought to ask the wrong half of the Immortal Pair for assistance?"
The dragon-riders froze as this new voice intruded upon their thoughts. They had forgotten where they were, and who was listening. They flattened themselves along the wall at the scraping sound of dragon scales against stone. Slowly, the golden coils surrounding the large stone pillar supporting the Oracle's pedestal uncoiled, until a great, wedge-shaped head turned to regard the dragon-riders, and they found themselves staring into the time-wise eyes of Aratar.
~*~
TBC (eventually ^^)
As always, C&C is greatly loved and appreciated. ^_^
--Sara
Hrynne & Frys [HxFr], 
Just a thought that might intrest you (Cross Breading Dragons. HOLLY SHIT, WHAT am I thinking!) 
