Of Men And Dragons: Chapter 4
Story by Knight of the Dragon on SoFurry
Well, been a while hasn't it? I have actually had this laying around for a while and just never got around to posting it. I simply skimed over it so there are probably typos here and there.
Without further babble from me, unto chapter 4!
The world erupted in chaos for Cyrvanyx. The outer courtyard had been secured by the attackers quickly and efficiently. On the wall men of the order stood with longbows, peppering the invaders in the courtyard. Already they were carrying in a battering ram and ladders. They were getting full use from their moment of surprise. Luckily he and Ary were already outside when the attack happened. The others inside the keep had joined the fray but of all the other dragons there was no sign. He could see the walls being manned by all the knights and men-at-arms. Among them was likely Henry.
Again Cyr tried to go in for a swooping strike. He wanted to bathe the outer courtyard in flames. In parts he, Ary and Vrul were already on it. However, the enemy archers knew well to focus on them. If the night had been a darker one perhaps their aim wouldn’t be so on point. As it was now though they knew one hit from one of those arrows and they would be unable to fight soon after. They came here to fight dragons. There was no doubt they took all the poisoned arrows with them they could. However, they were wearing their armor.
As he went down further he could feel arrows hitting his steel chestplates, flinging against his arm plates. None found his natural body underneath before he opened his maw and unleashed a mighty roar accompanied by a wave of flame that washed another section of the courtyard clean of invaders. Unfortunately, the muddy ground did not keep burning, so they just stepped over the burned corpses of their fallen comrades and advanced. He heard a ballista bolt fly right past him when he was rising again. That was a close one.
Vrul had already been grazed by one. Fortunately, it had no poison on it, otherwise he would no longer be flying the way he was.
The ground below was a terrible mixture of screams and blood. The scent of burned bodies and steel joined in with all the other horrendous smells. As Cyr went down for another blast of his fire a ballista bolt barely missed him and he was forced to abandon his attack. If only they had a way to get close enough to them to burn them without being shot down. Through the bloody chaos Cyr managed to spy Henry on the wall at last, fighting off men that managed to get up ladders and get up. Some attackers had actually made it on the wall. Soon he would have to give up his flame strikes and join in the melee.
With another mighty roar he went down again, alongside Ary this time, and bathed as many Briinaboriens as he could it hot flame.
Poleaxe in hand Henry had charged out of the keep alongside his brothers. With his visor downed the all too familiar limited vision came as a downside. He knew where he had to go though and limited vision was better than an arrow in your cheek. The walls were being valiantly defended by the few guards that had been on duty that night and in the air he could see Cyr and Ary souring and roaring. Vrulgathnir had already taken to the sky to join them in the fight.
“On the wall, brave men of Albia!” Henry heard Maldwyn’s loud voice bellow over the chaos all around. He was already on it, as well as many of his brothers. The stairs on the wall became crowded quickly. Henry was one of the first to reach the top. He was greeted with a Briinaborien who managed to climb the wall and kill one of the guards that had attempted to push the ladder off. Henry stabbed him in the face with the pointed back of the axe shaft before he could jump over the battlements. There were many more ladders though with many more assailants on the way.
Already he could feel the moistness within his helmet from his rapid breathing, feeling a single droplet from the visor land on his chin. It was a very familiar, uncomfortable feeling, one that was easily ignored in the midst of battle. Another man was right behind the one he had killed and tried to do what his mate could not. Henry managed to stab that one as well, despite his more vigorous resistance. He took the moment then to briefly look left and right.
Some enemies had already made it onto the walls before they arrived. His brothers were facing them on the left section of the wall where they have managed to gain a foothold. They seemed determined to not give them another inch of ground. To his right he could see Gareth, recognizing him clearly by the blue and green feathers that decorated his helmet. He smashed one Briinaborien’s face in with his mace before managing to bring the ladder down with a man-at-arms assistance.
Inspired by his brother-in-arms, Henry hooked his axe head into the ladder in front of him and pushed as hard as he could. He yelled out with fierce anger as the damn thing would not give no matter how hard he pushed. Too many men on the ladder he surmised. Then someone grabbed the axe head, trying to dislodge it from where he was standing on the ladder. Henry cursed and tore the poleaxe in a quick surge. The power of it seemed to get the man of balance enough for him to not be able to the resist the oncoming push he received from Henry. He fell of the ladder, his screams drowned by the clash of steel and the roaring of dragons.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain along his shoulder. An enemy had managed to break through their defense and get up the ladder to his left. The moment he turned towards the direction the pain came from he saw a dead knight on the ground, his helmet dented heavily. The heavily armored man Henry was now facing had luckily only hit his shoulder. While it hurt greatly the armor did its job. He whirled towards the assailant, not daring to give him another chance to strike. The man skillfully blocked the attack with his shield and responded with a strike of his own. Just in time Henry raised his weapon, parrying his mace to the side with the back of the poleaxe shaft. Henry whirled the weapon around fast, faster than his opponent seemed ready for, ending with the blunt hammer end of the poleaxe head ramming right into his helmet. With a crunch he fell to the ground.
There was no time to celebrate the victory of that duel however as two more followed that one right in tow, jumping him at once. Soon one of them was flung of the wall and the other had an axe blade stuck in his collarbone. In the chaos Henry had swung badly though and the cursed thing was actually stuck. In time he could have wrenched it from the man’s torn body, but not with more men coming onto the wall. They were being pushed back. The foothold they had gained was only growing further and further. Henry let go of his poleaxe and drew his longsword just in time to parry the axe coming for his head.
For every man he killed two more seemed to take his place. Every time he glanced to the left he saw his brothers be pushed back further and further. It was no matter to Henry. In spite of everything he would fight until he could fight no more. A horn was sounded just as Henry had thrust his blade into one man’s neck. It meant retreat. The wall was lost. He grit his teeth and slowly retreated towards the stairs, shoulder to shoulder with his fellow knights. So much for death or glory. He could only guess that their Grandmaster wished the last stand to be in the courtyard. The way down the steps was dangerous with so many men trying to kill them at the same time. Each man he or his brothers managed to end fell right on them. Henry even saw one of his brothers fall of the stairs into the courtyard. The fall was high enough to break something he guessed, while also hoping he was fine.
His breath was already labored and heavy. Fighting in armor for a prolonged period of time does that. Which did not mean he was exhausted yet, far from it. The bottom of the stairs was at last reached at which point Cyrvanyx landed right beside the staircase. The Briinaboriens scrambled quickly, but still too late. They were all tightly packed together as well and burned quite nicely as they were bathed in a large wave of fire. The intense heat made Henry look away and shield his eyes. “Rally to the keep! Form a line of defense!” The grandmaster yelled orders. “Let none of them get in! From here we fight to the last man! For we are the Dragonhearted! Let them feel our fire and our steel!”
Henry saw then what was happening and why the retreat was ordered. They had made it through the damn gate, rammed it down and the men defending it were retreating to the keep as well. The retreat was at least orderly, no men left behind. No one was running in fear. They were only following orders. Henry joined the them in their defense of the keep, where a half circle several rows deep has formed around the keep gate. Many men were retreating inside in neat order as well. Cyr, Ary and Vrul had all landed in the courtyard then, harassing the oncoming assailants to give them as much time as possible to retreat inside. They were fending them off with fang, claw and fire.
With the help of their armor three dragons were nearly unstoppable against most foes. These people weren’t most foes however. Henry then saw the dragon slayers on the wall. He recognized them by the scale armor they wore. Their eyes seemed to be on Vrulgathnir. “We need to bring the dragons inside as well!” Henry yelled to Gareth, pointing towards the men on the wall. “They bear the poison on their weapons, I am certain! One graze and they will die!”
“Fuck!” Gareth cursed out loud and retreated through the rows of men towards his father.
Meanwhile Henry attempted to just yell for Cyr and Ary himself. “Cyr! Get inside dammit!” He shouted as loud as he possibly could. His companion was too busy killing some soldiers, bashing one against the wall with his tail while slashing another dead with his claws. Curses! More and more enemies streamed inside the courtyard. The line that held them at bay at the gatehouse had almost joined the keep defense line. For as long as Henry remained out of combat he tried in vain to make Cyrvanyx or any of the other dragons hear him. He raised his visor to take in deep breaths and looked behind to see Gareth talking to his father. He raised a horn to his lips and blew it, the dragonhorn, the one they used to signal the dragons only. And he blew it in only two shorts bursts, meaning retreat.
Just then Henry heard a loud pained roar. He looked back to the dragons to see Vrulgathnir thrash about valiantly. “NOOO!” He heard the grandmaster yell, louder than ever before. Amidst the trashing Henry could glimpse what happened. A crossbow bolt had struck Vrul right in the eye. Judging by his trashing it suggested it was angled in such a way that it missed his brain. The poison however would kill him soon. “Retreat damn you! In the keep!” Maldwyn yelled at Ary and Cyr. They must have heard the horn, but were nailed down by the accursed spearmen. They were getting swarmed.
Henry cursed under his breath. If they retreated in the keep now they would leave the dragons to die, he knew. Around him he saw all his brothers look onwards the same way as him. He could not see their faces behind their visors, their eyes, from what he could see of them, said enough. They wished to help them, to save them. Henry looked back to the grandmaster. For the first time ever he saw uncertainty on the old man’s face as he stared out with his visor raised.
The enemy was rapidly advancing, more and more of his brothers retreated into the keep every second. The front that had held the gate had almost reached their protective circle. The dragons were both in enemy lines. All Henry could do was wait in that moment. Although it was but seconds until the enemy at long last broke apart the orderly retreat of the gate guards and came for them. “Brace!” Gareth yelled out, reading an axe he picked up at some point during the chaos of battle. Henry lowered his visor and did just that, sword at the ready.
A man charged right into him with his shield. The impact shook him to his core. Still, they were tightly packed, and the charge did not earn them even an inch of ground. Henry felt his every breath within his closed helmet as he hacked and slashed away at his foe. He was plated and thus he grabbed his sword by the blade and hit him in the head with the crossguard, hard. He may not have died but was definitely out of combat. No matter how many he managed to fell however, more would come.
Slowly their whole mass retreated inside, one step at a time. The enemies were forced to step over their own dead to advance on them. In their blood filled battle frenzy none of them seemed to mind. Over and over Henry glanced to Cyr to see him still fighting there in their midst. It felt like an unending battle against wave after wave of men. Still, in his head, he had the thought that maybe if they just held long enough they could yet win.
That thought stopped the moment he felt a heavy impact on the side of his helmet. It was with tremendous strength, he felt that. What he no longer felt was when he fell to the ground.
The last thing he saw was Cyr take to the sky. “Please” Henry thought as his eyes closed, “save my family.”
Henry had fallen. Cyr knew.
He didn’t see it with his own eyes, but he knew. He was there at the front, that much he had seen. Many were falling. In his heart, he knew, while also hoping that live may still yet reside within his wounded form. He cried out in anguish into the skies above as he flew over the castle alongside Ary. He was never so uncertain on what to do at this moment. They were given order to retreat into the keep and yet no way remained for them. Cyr then heard a roar from Ary who, as he then saw, had landed on the keep while all the chaos still resumed down below. Reluctantly he joined her.
“What are you doing, Ary?” He asked her with an irritated tone he was far too tired to hide. “We should be-“
“Retreating! Yes, I know!” She turned around abruptly. “The window! In the main hall, come on!” Her tone was urgent but her way of conveying this plan of hers left him blinking in confusion for a second before he ran after her.
The window, of course! They could smash through that, minding their eyes of course. A shame for the beautiful mural, but there was no other way. Besides, if the invaders took the castle they didn’t deserve such beauty anyway.
Once the running space of the keep was gone Ary had taken to her wings, Cyr following her example. He turned in the sky and looked for the back windows. The largest was in the central back, made from colored glass displaying the legendary king Rhodri the Dragonhearted on dragon back. It was a true beauty, but sadly the biggest window and easiest to get through. Ary was first to enact her plan, smashing her body through the window, folding her wings as she did and drawing back her neck. Cyr admired her courage and swift thinking, smiling for just a moment in spite of everything else.
No more time was wasted as he swiftly followed suit, his slightly larger body breaking off some more of the glass from the edges. Before just crashing into the ground of the hall he opened his wings again and beat them against the wind. Dust blew up all over the hall, which seemed to be filling with more retreat forces, all looking at them both with shock and joy both. The moment of triumph was short lived for Cyr as he then spotted the charred remains of the dragons. That explained the awful stench of burning flesh in the air, overpowering all else. By setting alight the dead dragons, as honorable as the intent was, they almost created a smoking chamber. The whole hall was difficult to breathe in. At least the window was now open.
Cyr did not really know how to react to the sight before him. He never really was that close with any of them, but he was fought with them, ate with them and lived with them. No tears were shed, only pure shock at the sight. Perhaps they would come later, he did not know. In that moment however, all he did was stare.
“Cyrvanyx! Arylaryl! You are here?” The grandmaster’s voice called him back into the moment. He blinked and looked to his side where he stood, greatsword and armor stained with blood. He was breathing heavily. “How’d you… the window?” He asked, perplexed but also impressed, it seemed.
“Yes, grandmaster. It seemed the swiftest way to retreat into the keep. Also, in here there is plenty room for us to still fight well.” Ary answered his confusion. The tone of her voice suggested that she was holding back tears. Perhaps one of them was a friend to her. He was ashamed to not really know. Whatever the case, she knew now was not the time to mourn just as Cyr did. That brought up his own concern in that moment.
“Grandmaster? Is Henry… is he?” He asked with some hesitation. He saw him nowhere around, but perhaps he was still outside helping the rest get in. In his heart he knew even before the grandmaster answered.
“I am sorry, Cyrvanyx. I saw him fall. As valiantly as he fought they overcame him in the end.” No more words were given. The old grandmaster was never one for comforting words. Instead he turned towards all the others as Cyr sat down on his haunches, biting back tears of his own. Mourn later, he told himself, fight now. “Men of the order!” Grandmaster Maldwyn yelled out, his strong voice barely weakened by his exhaustion. “Here is our last stand! This hall, this very hall is where all shall be decided! Either we all die here today, with honor! Or we expel these dogs from our hall, our keep and our castle and send them back to whatever hole they crawled out of! Now, gather all the strength yet within you! Victory or death!”
A mighty war cry followed his speech which Cyr did not partake in as he spotted Elise and William within the crowd. Gareth was with them. Elise seemed to be crying while William’s face was buried in his mother’s dress.
“I beg you, please, when the time comes, take them both and bring them somewhere safe.”
Henry’s words were clear and Cyr swore he would abide them, and yet he did not know how. Just fly away and leave Ary behind? He could not do so. Perhaps they really could still win and fleeing was not even necessary. Really he knew that was a comfortable lie, one the grandmaster himself most likely didn’t believe.
With his promise still ringing through his head he approached them. Gareth was the first to look up at him. “Cyrvanyx.” He said in acknowledgement. “I already stated to the lady Elise that I am sure Henry is fine. He is though, that one.” Cyr smiled at his well-meant words. The tone in his voice betrayed his true belief to the matter. Cyr did not comment on that though and instead turned his head to Elise and William. Both were already watching him.
He saw the tears in her eyes. William’s own showed tears as well, but there was defiance in his eyes. Before Cyr could get a single word out. “Gareth is right! Father cannot be dead! He is too strong for them to defeat!”
Cyr had to look away from the child. Least he, a dragon, started crying in front of them all right then. “Whether he is indeed yet alive or not…” He started while looking at Gareth, swallowing once. “He made me promise to take his family away from here should the battle turn sour. I swore to him that I would-“
“You what?” He heard Ary’s voice to his side. Of course she would approach just as he was saying that. “You want to just fly away and leave our home behind for their taking?” She hissed at him bitterly.
“No I do not, Ary!” He almost roared back at her. There was a voice in the back of his mind that bid him caution when talking to Ary. His usual shyness when it came to her was entirely overwhelmed by his grief and determination to fulfil his oath to Henry. “I do not want to flee. I want to fulfil my oath to Henry.”
“What of your oath to the order?”
“You know how high I think of it.” He hissed back at her. They were almost nose to nose at that point. The last time they argued like this was as hatchling if he could recall correctly. So long ago that was already. “But, by the gods, I could never forgive myself for letting them die when I could have otherwise saved them.”
“Then don’t leave.” She persisted.
“Would you not want to safe Gareth, now that you still have the chance?“
His question visibly stunned her. It seemed like she hadn’t even asked herself that question yet. Her head slowly retreated and came to rest upon Gareth. “I… one life is nothing compared to-“
“We can go to the highlands and tell the clans of what happened here! This doesn’t have to be just about a few lives. We can still make a difference out there! We can’t if we die here!” The words simply poured out of him at that point. He himself hadn’t fully thought of it that way before until he said it. “With the order gone no dragons yet fight for the kingdom.” He continued, looking at Ary with an unshaken confidence. “Then we live to fight another day.”
Ary still was staring at Gareth who in turn was looking on the ground in deep thought. A brief glance towards Elise revealed that William had stopped crying for the most part and was staring at him alongside his mother.
“Cyr I… I didn’t think of it that way before. I… you…” For him to actually make her struggle for words for once would have been an occasion for teasing celebration under different circumstances. “Ok… I agree. Only When the grandmaster gives his agreement do… do we leave.” Ary stated at last, eyes still locked onto Gareth. “You think we can convince your father to send us away when things go bad? So we could report to the rest of Albia what happened here. Plus, our kingdom would still have fighting dragons on their side.”
Cyr’s heart soared when she said at last saw reason. He felt himself relax and almost slump to the floor.
Gareth still stroked his red beard in thought but before long his head slowly began nodding. “Aye.” He said in agreement. “Aye, I think so. He may be stickler to tradition but I may be able to make him see reason.” He smiled, albeit briefly as he looked at each of their faces. “To Dranyc with ‘victory or death’. ‘Live to fight another day’ I say.” With those words he went to talk to his father, who was very easy to make out as he was barking orders louder than any human Cyr had thought possible.
With a sigh of relief, he took a look at the entrance to the hall. The door to the hall had been shut and reinforced, men bracing against it as well. A bang resonated through the hall as the door rocked. The invaders would soon get through that door, their last line of defense. Then the last stand would be all those who remained in that hall against all those men outside. By Cyr’s headcount there were a few hundred men who yet remained in fighting shape. A bad chance against thousands. At least they had to force their way through one opening where 10 men at best could get through at once. They might hold for quite a while, even valiantly, but the chances of them actually repelling the invaders at that point where nigh impossible.
He sat down on his haunches, sighed, and watched. While his focus was so fixed on the door he barely noticed when someone gently touched his side. Only when he heard Elise speak did he evade his gaze from the blockaded doorway. “Cyrvanyx.” She started, William still clinging tight to her. “Tell me plainly and truly, do you think he is still alive?” He looked deep into her eyes and saw only grief and fear. He so wished to tell her something comforting that moment, as Gareth had done. What she asked for was the truth though, not some pretty lie.
The truth was quite simple, he knew. Even if he had somehow survived out there he was sure to be trampled to death while injured. The chances of his survival were very slim. She wanted the truth and so he would tell it to her. He started with a sigh and had to avert his eyes from her. He couldn’t bear it. “I...” He began, but immediately swallowed his words again. Another loud BANG echoed through the hall as he gathered his thoughts. “The chances of him still being alive are very slim.”
He turned his gaze upon her form again, his eyes meeting hers. No more tears would come but her emotions were clear. She nodded while stroking her son’s head with care. “I know.” She said, wiping at her eyes. “I just needed to hear it from someone. I- I know that he…” She looked away and Cyr focused back on the door, hearing her hushed voice behind him as she talked to William.
BANG… BANG. The whole hall seemed to be almost silent except for the banging on the door. No more words were exchanged between soldiers as all waited for the inevitable. Cyr felt himself tense up more with every bang the door received. Now and then he would glance over to Ary and Gareth were, where he could see them talking with the grandmaster. It must have been one of the rare occasions in his life where Maldwyn was actually whispering. He thought about going over to hear how it was going. There was the chance of them not getting through to him. Then what? Would Ary stay behind and fight to the death?
His heart ached at the mere thought and his claws unsheathed, teeth clenching as the mental image of a dragon slayer wearing her scales as armor shot through his mind. A growl crawled up his throat as the picture of Henry lying dead in the mud joined in. His anger was rising, his claws digging small furrows into the stone. The wood cracked at last. The door would not hold much longer.
“Everyone away from the door!” Maldwyn’s voice rang out loud. His order was obeyed right away without question. Before Cyr could even ask himself any such questions he saw that his view to the door was now wide open. Shortly after everyone had made way the door flung open. It took only a small glance to the grandmaster to confirm Cyr’s thoughts. He stood on a table when he looked with a raised fist, yelling out an order just as the invaders pushed the door open. “FIRE!”
Cyr had already drawn in a breath before the grandmaster gave the order. His chest expanded and he felt the heat built up within him. His anger, his hatred was all focused on this one fire blast. He smelt the heat emanating from him, smelt the all too familiar smell of liquid fire as his body was ready to release its angry hot flame. He held his body no longer as it already felt like he held it far too long while it really could have only been around 2 seconds. Judging by the looks on their faces it certainly seemed to happen fast. Especially as the wave of fire erupted from his maw with a mighty roar. His ears picked up many tiny roars from his allies, all their voices forming a shout loud enough to rival his own.
Those Briinaboriens foolish enough to barge in upon opening the door were reduced to a burning pile on the floor, the flame too hot for them to even scream before their vocal cords had been reduced to nothing. Many rows behind them, however far his fire had reached, had burned. They seemed to have not anticipated the sudden lack of resistance and were ready to fight the last men of the order. Instead all they got was fire.
Right after the first wave he gave them a second one, stepping just a little closer to the door, just in case his fire did not go far enough to get the ones further behind. “Now line up! Keep fire for now!”
The order was clear and so Cyr kept his flame at bay while the order Soldiers lined up at the entrance again. It was not long until the invaders smashed against the shield wall and the clashing of steel rang throughout the hall in which not too long ago laughter was heard. Cyr heard the grandmaster call to the archers while his own gaze was still transfixed on the fighting. Archers got up on tables for elevation, some loosening arrows above the heads of their brothers-in-arms.
He looked to the side where he saw Gareth shooting at the foes with a heavy crossbow once before joining the fray. He saw Ary call out in complaint as she too waited for an opportunity to fight without killing any of their own men. A whizzing sound drew Cyr’s attention back to the front. An arrow almost got him. He was confident in his armor, but that was no excuse for standing still. Vrul’s fate is testament for that.
Time passed among blood and the stench of seared steel and flesh as more and more of their men fell. Cyr paced back and forth, looking for a place to strike, to put aflame without harming his allies. Now and then he looked to the grandmaster for new orders. Perhaps he was only hoping for him to give the sign for him and Ary to retreat to the highlands. If he were admitting that it would make him feel like a craven though, and thus he simply looked for any kind of motion in his face that may suggest a change of plan. However, none seemed to come.
As more and more of their men fell his face did begin to show something new though. His anger faded with each man that fell. When the first men managed to get through the then very thin shield wall, only to be killed by Gareth, Maldwyn’s face seemed to say one word loud and clear. Acceptance. Acceptance of death. He knew they were going to lose.
Cyr looked towards a thrown over table behind which William and Elise were hiding, with their few remaining house guards, then back at Maldwyn. Give the order, thought Cyr, as he grit his teeth within his muzzle while he kept looking back and forth. The line was failing and most of the men who were left were too wounded to fight or archers. In the corner of his eye he saw someone fall again and then he heard Ary roar in anguish. His pacing stopped his eyes fell upon the fallen Gareth. A clear dent showed in his helmet and he was being dragged away by a brave man-at-arms. His bravery was rewarded by a spear in the back as more Briinaboriens broke through the ranks. Gareth’s body did not among the enemy for long though. While Cyr was only getting ready to help the now failed frontline Ary had already launched herself with impressive speed, not at all hindered by the weight of the armor, onto the foes that downed him. Over him she stood with great care as to not step upon him. It looked almost like a dance as she clawed through the enemy lines with all her wrath unveiled.
Cyrvanyx then joiner her with a great roar, launching himself into the fray as only a few scattered men-at-arms remained to hold the lines. Some knights fought here and there as well but there was no longer a line. It was just pure chaos in the hall now as more and more of them got in.
Archers were retreating from their position or got into melee fights themselves. Grandmaster Maldwyn himself brandished his Flamberge Greatsword and roaring with a last war cry joined the fight. Cyr saw him cleave a man almost in two with one swing as he came charging in. Cyr stared at him for but a moment, yet hoping that the order would come soon. As he slew invaders left and right he only thought of Henry and his family. His promise. One came for his eye with a spear. He just twisted out of the way and snapped his spear in half with his teeth before slamming him into the ground with his armored tail. Another tried to get to his weak spots, at his hindleg, where it connected to his body. He was simply kicked away with said leg.
Countless foes fell to his claws, his teeth and when there were no more allies around, to his fire as well. He was careful not to get surrounded this time while he kept a lookout for dragon slayers in the book with one eye as best he could.
“Cyrvanyx! Arylaryl!” He heard the voice of the grandmaster. Cyr glanced towards him, standing on a table as a couple order knights stood below fending off foes. “TAKE MY SON AND RETREAT! TO THE BLOODY HIGHLANDS WITH YOU!” In his voice he could hear how the old man was putting his anger, frustration and grief into those last words. “SEE THAT THE DRAGON CLANS SEE REASON AND JOIN TH WAR!” With that he raised his greatsword high in air. “FOR WE ARE THE DRAGONHEARTED!” He jumped from the table, into the enemies, and fought with all his might.
He then spotted Ary who had already retreated from the invaders, Gareth held in one paw while still standing on three legs. They exchanged knowing glances for a moment. Whether it was Gareth’s fall that brought the old man to reason or his words before the chaos did not matter. What mattered now was getting Elise and William to safety. In the chaos he could see them in the far end of the hall. The few house guards that remained with them after the attack at the village were still defending them in that very moment. It did not seem like they would hold out much longer. As fast as he could Cyr made his way towards them. Half surrounded as he was it took merely some wing beating and a quick pace in his legs to be free of them.
What came next must have been mere seconds, for it could not have taken him longer to cross the hall, but it did seem far longer to him. Especially as he saw the horrible scene before him unfold. The last guard had fallen and Elise had stumbled back, shoving William behind herself. Ever the protective mother, she was. Even when that sword was driven deep into her gut. It was only then that Cyr reached them. He bit down deep into the man. He did not even scream anymore as he tore him away. The next one did, but he could nothing to help himself all the same as his broken body was flung against the stone wall with a roar.
Cyr looked down at her dying form, eyes wide in disbelief. He had failed Henry. He failed his promise. William went to his mother right away, shaking her and telling her to get up. She was bleeding heavily. She couldn’t quite seem to get words out. That stab must have penetrated or grazed a lung. She didn’t seem to be able to breathe. He then saw the medallion around her neck. It was Henry’s dragon medallion, the one he gave to William. Will must have given it to her, for protection. Tears welled in his eyes, which he blinked away quickly. A glance behind himself told him clearly that the time for tears was not now. More men were on the way and he could still save William. So he did.
As William was still clinging to his mother he grasped him with a paw, trying his best to be careful. “NO! Let me GO!” He boy screamed. “Mother! We have to save mother!” He did not stop screaming as he spread his wings and began to beat them. He fought, he cursed and he wiggled. Cyr did all he could to keep his grip firm.
Ary led the way as she flew out of the hall the same way they had come in. He followed shortly behind. The boy would not seize his screaming all the while, a horrible mix of anger, sorrow and confusion. Such a young mind was not made for such tragedies.
As Cyr joined Ary in the skies he could not help himself. One more time he looked behind even though he knew it would be him nothing but pain. There he saw Grandmaster Maldwyn stand to fight his last stand. At his side were the last remaining men of the order. They fought to the last man. No one surrendered. For the Dragonhearted do not surrender.
He looked forward and adjusted his course to follow Ary north-west, towards the highlands.
Tears could no longer be stopped as he roared his anguish to the skies.