The Point of the World
It had been two days since the taking of the Haillek Clan. The two young escapees, the dragonlings, had flown the Eastern Roost, the extension of the dragon community that the Straphetal dragons resided in.
“When can we stop,” Lirria whined. “My muscles hurt and my bones are honestly grinding down to dust. Can we please stop for just a little while and rest?”
“Look Lirria, I know you can go just as far as I can, we are the same age!” Laikirr exclaimed, secretly thinking he was stronger and more masculine than her.
They peaked over the top of a large mountain crest, the dying sun sinking lower and lower behind the crimson horizon. They flew on, day fading into night, and a starry roof soon totalled everything. It was there, on the point of the world, where everything looked the same on the burning plains that Laikirr finally gave into his aching muscles.
He wanted to keep flying, because the creeping and descending inky blackness spelled out total blindness for those on the ground. They settled upon a dark, rocky outcrop, a circlet of jagged edges and ripped peaks.
“Come on Laikirr, light me a fire. It is far too cold up here in the clouds to rely on my fire heart alone to keep me warm. I need heat for my aching limbs.” Lirria yawned, her large snout parting, showing the sharp, clean spikes inside her mouth.
“Look Lirria, I don’t like it any more than you,” Laikirr snapped at her. “But don't even you think that we may be spotted, with a pyre light floating high above everything else. Everyone who is searching for us will see it.”
“I suppose you could be right, but that doesn’t mean I agree!” Lirria spoke, leaping to her feet and sending a burning jet of flame deep from within the bony crest that was her chest. The deep golden flame leapt forth from her maw, and descended upon a pile of large, volcanic rocks. They shown a cherry red almost instantly, sending waves of warmth coursing around the rocky walls, soaking Laikirr's limbs to the very core.
Maybe this was a good idea, he thought to himself, as he settled into an almost trance state. They remained there, Lirria sleeping, her tail curled around her sides, flicking its crescent end in a constant arc. Laikirr rests back against the rocks, thinking.
“There is so much to do. I have to protect Lirria, I swore to mother that I would always love and protect her. First we must find Glyphon, and we must both be taught in the lore of flight. There is so much he must to teach us, the dives, the spins, the plummets.” He lost himself in thought, his mind filled with images of his shining scales, the sheen of the golden sun reflected over a thousand times, as he curved his body gracefully, flipping, gliding and floating through the airs, doing the most complex manoeuvres…
Suddenly his graceful turns were interrupted by a hoarse roar. He scrambled to his taloned feet, opening his slanted eyes to see a group of armour-swathed men on either side of Lirria, throwing rusted iron chains over her, pinning her down with the heavy iron weights on each end of the leaden chains. She roared her defiance, slashing and flailing at the infinitesimal gray clad men. The bandits yelled to each other, and the ones free of bonding duty turned, levelling heavy bolted crossbows, the sinews straining as they were pulled back to their breeching point. All it took was for one curl of a finger and a heavy iron quarrel, bristling with feathers and pure energy would be launched straight into the heart of the young male dragon. Laikirr took to the sky, sending a raging inferno straight into the middle of the group, but his fire was turned aside.
Laikirr was about to turn and free his sister when he saw the leader of the clan, standing with his obsidian blade, Drakesbane, poised ready to flare down through his sisters throat. “Duavrock,” he whispered in a murderous tone.
“Leave, Laikirr! Flee before they capture you too! You have to leave, or all hope is lost for the dragons! I will be fine, just go! Find the masters and learn from them! Then return to save me!” Laikirr bellowed his rage and hatred for the swathed men. He cried a tear for his beloved sister and flew away into the shining daylight, soon a black dot in the sky. The shining dragon's tear, fabled for its mystical and unknown effects, dropped down and landed right between her eyes, and absorbed into her scales, where a large, clear, crystal gem appeared, growing across the bridge.
Duavrock shook his fist at the disappearing dragon, then turned, his sword swirling and flashing in his hands, as it sliced across her face. She reeled back, head flailing and screeching as her eyes bled mercilessly, the flesh jagged and torn. She would never see again. She screamed her pain and fury. Then she blacked out, as a large object flashed through the air struck her on the head.
Laikirr was flying away, floating out into the horizon, anger coursing through him, seething in his hatred for humans. He promises himself then and there that he would kill them all.
“I can’t let this rock my aim. I will return for her. I will save them all. I need my masters. I need to learn, and I need help,” Laikirr muttered to himself, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sunk into the first light of the break of day.
Meanwhile, as Laikirr is fading into the distance, a small group of humans, men and women alike, watched the tugging ensue as the Skexie attempt to pull the slumped body of the young she-dragon down the mountainside. Marked upon their throats were the small tattoos of the entwining golden dragons. They were the Abraxi, the dragon protectors. One wore a golden plume amongst his tattered, scoured vest, signifying a leader. His name was Ladon, and he wore many scars from fighting other men.
"Take them all", he commanded the group. "Slay the despicable Skexie who wish to take the gods from the sky, and protect the she-dragon. Heal her the best you can, bind her face and we shall bring her to Avianses. He shall take her in, as he has many others.”
Following their commands, they slid from their hiding place, into the crack of dawn.