Blackwings Vs. Lightsworns - (Serious Business, Ch. 9 - Birds Came Flying (At The Speed of Sound))

[Lord Smeagle]

Chapter 9: Birds Came Flying (At The Speed Of Sound)

Smoke. Flame. Blood on the ice. Time seemed to slow around Gale as he took in the grisly scene. The dragon's vengeful anger did not appear to dull his aim; the shots from Gungnir's jaws never failed to strike the head or heart of the Boreas hunters, and they dropped like flies, painting the white snow red. The feeling in his brain, what had returned of it, was roaring at him, nearly drowning out the dragon's cries of rage. Everything about this journey was a mistake. The cold, the aches of his skull, his feathered fellows dying on his account.

The world came into focus again as the dragon reared its ugly head, icy plating gleaming, fire gathering in its throat as it inhaled. A black-masked hunter circled the beasts' head, valiantly firing arrows to no avail until at last he had flown right into one of the dragon's shots. The bird went down in a futile blaze of flame and feathers, having only graced the dragon's icy helm with a crown of arrows. He had died in vain, just flew right into the shot...

[i]Flew right into the shot![/i] he exclaimed in his head, the gears of his addled brain starting into a dervish.

If he was going to do something particularly brave and stupid, now was as good a time as any. Gale pushed off the ground and flapped with all his might, as if to blow away the fog in his brain with his wings alone. He sped past the dragon's face, striking him upon the nose with a claw to catch his attention, before circling around his head again. He kept the dragon's terrible throat in his sights; as he inhaled and spat his fiery bolt, Gale dove straight down at the last second, stalling his forward motion. He felt the heat against his back, but the flaming bullet died in the air. The dragon fired again, once, twice, each searing the air where Gale should have been, but where Gale was not!

Gungnir thrashed about, his bolts fiercer, faster and missing wider still, as his wounded pride dulled his razor-sharp eyes. He screeched in triumph, mocking the suddenly impotent dragon, who in turn sent fissures and cracks through the ice floe with his angry stomping. Gale's antics drew the attention of his fellow hunters, as well. "Hark!" bellowed Chief Strom in triumph, removing his mask. "The young hero dances in the flames! Follow his lead; we'll live to feast another night!" The hunters circled around the dragon's head, copying Gale's strange flight patterns and disrupting the dragon's once flawless aim. He lashed out with claws and fangs instead, roaring in frustration as the barrage of arrows chipped at his armor. He tore one hunter nearly in half and crippled another by smashing him against the ice floe, but he could not dispel the hunters' renewed morale.

"Do not relent!" shouted Strom, as he circled high overhead and dove straight down, landing right under the dragon's gaping maw. What was he doing, thought Gale? He couldn't keep his eyes on Strom, though; he had to keep watching the dragon in case he fired again, while striking where he could. As he sailed overhead, Gale heard the dragon's screams of agony and the cheers of his fellows; the Chief had speared Gungnir through the roof of his mouth with a harpoon! He thrashed about, tossing the Chief like a tetherball on the chain, but Strom held on tightly, grinning like a madman, fighting against wind and the thrashing motions of the dragon to circle his neck and jaws. With a sound like a great stone falling through ice, he snapped the dragon's lethal jaws shut!

The dragon flapped its wings as if to lift off, but the hunters cast aside their weapons to rally around Strom and take hold of the chain from him, forcing the dragon's neck to the ground with their combined might and exposing its glowing throat. Gungnir's throat was virtually the only part of his body not plated in glorious, icy armor - but before a hunter could step forward to deliver a coup de grace, however, an imperious voice called from above…

"Halt! Have you any idea what you are doing?"

Gale and the hunters turned to find the source of the echoing call. At the top of the ice floe, looking over even Gungnir's slumped form, stood a blue-armored figure with flowing robes flapping in the wind. In one hand was a sharp-edged sword of gleaming blue; restrained under the other arm was a squirming, struggling… "Breeze!" called Gale from below, his eyes wide in terror.

"Let her-" "Raiho," growled Strom from below, cutting the young bird off before he said anything rash. "What are you doing beyond the Barrier…and with yon fair maiden?" The general sneered. ""I am performing my duties. It is the imperial drake Gungnir you have under your sword; as such, he is under imperial protection, as I am sure this 'fair maiden' is under yours." Raiho's lips curled into a cruel, thin, miserable excuse for a smile. "I simply offer an exchange of prisoners."

It was all Strom could do to keep a level head and a stern voice in the face of this outrageous claim. "Your 'prisoner' is a non-combatant, and but a chick at that," he retorted, "while ours has slain countless hunters in our very own village walls. It is hardly an even trade." The general shrugged casually, as if discussing an errant dog. "He is a dragon. He will hunt where he hunts, such is the natural order. As to why he chose to roam so far from his usual grounds, I can only-" "Sixteen dead," interrupted the Chief sharply. "Sixteen. Burnt or maimed, not eaten. Have you sixteen birds still [i]alive[/i] in that icy cage of yours?" Strom's blood nearly boiled at the thought of his fellows kept as common servants or perhaps mere curiosities, behind the impregnable Barrier.

"I'm sorry," said the General, with no illusion of sincerity. "I did not mean to imply that this was a negotiation. I have but one bird, small, unfit for service. If the dragon's blood is upon your hands, so too is this one's." Strom's blood nearly boiled at this. "Would you put a price on the life of a [i]child[/i]?" added Raiho in mock horror. "Perhaps I have overestimated the compassion of savages."

"If you harm her, your life is forfeit," spat the Chief, "and don't think I won't enjoy it!" "My life for the Emperor," returned Raiho, holding neither emotion nor conviction. This exchange was over. "Make your choice." Gale silently implored the Chief; a lone hunter, now executioner, stood, holding the long knife and awaiting the order; and the narrow strip of cloth around the mouth ensured that Breeze could say nothing in her own defense. At last, his eyes cold, nearly lifeless as the General's own, the Chief raised his hand.
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Sirocco sat with the ancient leaves in his mouth, cross-legged, deep in a meditative trance. There was really only so much training a bird his age could do, after all - he wasn't likely to learn any new tricks, anyhow. A vision of the enemy's defenses would be more useful than his old bones, so he let the quiet village slip away as his mind seemed to traverse the earth itself. In the corners of his mind's eye, it seemed as though the four corners of the earth had come together. And lo, as he opened his eyes, there they stood before him, the winds personified! Shorter than he imagined, but who was he to advise the elements? The one who stood immediately before him was a vision of furious red feathers, wreathed in an impressive crown with a jewel in the center that glowed white hot.

A bow in one hand, of impressive make, and sweeping tail feathers. "O, noble West Wind," intoned Sirocco in reverence. "I come as your humble medium. Impart your wisdom to me that it might aid my people." The West Wind cocked her head to the side, looking into Sirocco's eyes (sitting down, he was the same height as she standing).

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, in a high, regal voice unbefitting the childlike stature. "I…I didn't mean to offend, great Elder Spirit," explained Sirocco hastily. "I would only save my people with your divine wisdom, if you please it-" "Save it, please," said the bird, visibly annoyed. "You'll find no gods or spirits here, m'afraid." The bird to her side stepped forward, this one blue-feathered, robed in green, with an impressive crest of black. He carried a curved blade, like Silverwind's warriors.

"I am called Jin," he said simply. "This is Lady Sarnga," he said with a sweep of the wing, "and her wards, Pinaka and Steam." Sirocco blushed visibly; what a strange old fool he must look! The turbaned archer and the chubby, masked bird approached and bowed, but remained silent. Jin continued. "We are here in the flesh, as it were. Damascus of the Red River has sent us, to aid the one called 'Silverwind'.

You know of him, ah…Elder?" He inquired. Sirocco nodded, and pointed them to the village behind him. "Thank you, sir," said Jin respectfully; the four immediately started into the village. "I had expected giants, not barbarians," remarked the little Lady to the swordsman, when they were out of earshot. "I should hope the rest of our taller cousins [i]stand above[/i] these superstitions, don't you think?" Her two silent wards laughed softly.

"Ha, quite," said Jin flatly.

Sirocco, left alone again, was puzzled. He pulled the ancient leaves out of his mouth and examined them closely. The leaves of the Ancient Forest were thought to be meditation aids, but perhaps they were giving him visions of a different sort. At any rate, they appeared to be bad for the head, so he tossed them over his shoulder and continued his ruminations un-aided.

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Gale was not the only one to notice the fire dimming from Gungnir's belly; the dragon’s attempts to free himself grew more frantic but weaker still while Strom steeled himself for the sentence. "I hope you do not intend to suffocate my dragon while you forestall your judgement," said Raiho impatiently. "Headsman or hangman, the bird still dies!" A brief silence followed.

The silence was broken not by the general's next snide remark, but by his girlish scream as he toppled from the peak, losing his grip on weapon and hostage alike. While Breeze hovered in the air off the side of the mountain, Kalut stood triumphantly at the peak, shouting at the proud general below. "Now [i]that[/i] was sloppy!"

Vigor restored, Strom looked to the "executioner," only to find him already standing in a bubbling pool of dragon's blood, grinning slyly as Gungnir's fire went out at last. "Better to ask forgiveness, eh?" said the hunter. Strom clapped his hand on the hunter's shoulder, his stern face failing to mask his relief. "Don't make a habit of it or you might enjoy it," he added before striding past and breaking into a sprint.

The hunters released their grip on the chain at last, but they knew better than to join this hunt; Strom had claimed his prey a long, long time ago. Gale wondered why Strom had charged in without a weapon, but he saw it now; he snatched up Raiho's sword where it had fallen in the snow without missing a beat. The general, though bereft of his crown and sword, had at last struggled to his feet, and proceeded to even the odds; he extended his arm, and lo! with a flick of the wrist, a small chunk of ice became a spike of ice became a vicious, gleaming fan of war.

The magic show didn't seem to faze Strom; a blade was a blade, after all, and his was the swifter hand. Raiho thought he made the first strike, but Strom feinted out of it, leaning backwards only to bring the blade down harder. Raiho's ice proved hard as steel as he locked with the fan and shuffled back. The chief's weapon, though unfamiliar, was like an extension of his arm, as natural as breathing; still, the general's arrogance was not without cause, as his elegant strikes and parries kept Strom from gaining much ground. The general would tire first, thought Gale; he was winded from the fall - and sure enough, he staggered first, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow to the neck as he shuffled away from the opponent. The chief went in for the kill, but the general made a narrow save.

Every blow now sent the general a bit further into the corner; it was all he could do to stay alive, let alone counter. A brutal parry sent Raiho's arm swinging wide, exposing enough of his chest for Strom to drive a sword through. As the chief closed in for the kill, only Gale's sharp eyes saw the fan extend its reach. Even as he was impaled upon his own sword, his lethal blades of ice cut deep into flesh, and the foes fell together, each spattered in the other's blood.

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Flames roared to life, and the Colosseum was illuminated yet again. The prodigious gladiator, the famed “Hurricane, The Tornado," stared down his latest foe from under his proud crest, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. Part flora, part fauna, all ferocious, its feline muscles flexed under verdant green fur and barklike skin.

The tiny, orange-crested bird at the top of the pit wasted no time on announcements or formalities, for Abroholos was growing impatient. His shriek echoed on the cave walls: “Fight! Fight!” The Tornado shifted into a combat pose, flexing his great, thick arms. Nevertheless, the great tree-cat was unfazed by its opponent (or perhaps simply unaware of him), instead pacing the arena with noble bearing as if casually looking for the exit.

The Tornado shouted at the creature, to no avail; the beast just continued to paw at the walls and circle the room. He looked up at his patron, His Majesty Abroholos, who continued to drum his fingers upon the arm of his makeshift throne, impatiently. He tried screeching at the beast, but it only shook its head as if to relieve the noise in his ears. What manner of beast was this? He needed a fight and needed it quickly; it wouldn’t do to be boring in the arena, lest Abroholos...[i]spice it up.[/i] Frustrated, the gladiator scooped up a rock from the ground and hurled it with great force at the beast’s head, shouting as he did so.

It was a direct hit, and it recoiled, but still did not recognize the threat. He hurled another, and another, until at last, blood streaming through it’s fur, it turned and answered Hurricane’s shouts with a great roar. He steeled himself for a charge, but it didn’t come; he only felt a strange tickle on his leg. Puzzled, he looked down to see vines cracking the floor of the pit to restrain his legs.

He quickly tore them from the ground and closed the distance between him and the great cat. As he neared the great cat, at last, it lunged at his throat; he grasped the creature’s great wooden foreleg, squeezed tightly, and pulled it over his shoulder, using its own strength to hurl it into the ground. It thrashed about as Hurricane pinned it to the ground and pounded away at it’s face with an enormous fist, while it thrashed about with its own limbs and with the thorny vines springing from the floor. Hurricane could only swat them away, though the wounds they left were largely inconsequential.

At last, content his performance had been sufficient, Hurricane seized a thick vine from the ground and wrapped it around the beast’s neck until the great cat fell limp. He dropped it to the floor at last. He looked triumphantly up at His Majesty Abroholos to receive his approval - but saw only an empty chair. He hadn’t even been watching! His blood boiled at the thought; what was so damned important?

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"A healer! Quick, a healer!" a hunter shouted, holding the Chief's head, his face now streaming with blood. Gale's world blurred yet again as hunters rushed to Strom's aid. He was so tired he could sleep forever, like a rock, in a tree is worth...two in the bush...er, shrub, was it? Everything lurched

then came into focus again, he was propped up against something stony but not stone. A house? Back in the village? What was left of it, more like. The floe was split and ruined, the houses gone, countless birds charred to cinders. He wanted to shut his eyes again, but... “Gale! You’re up!” exclaimed Kalut, right in his face, sending another echoing ring through his ears. Sensing his brother’s annoyance, Kalut stepped back. “Uh, sorry.”

Gale could see that he was holding a number of medicines and supplies. “Salve,” said a familiar voice next to him, and Kalut passed one of the bottles to the left. He looked to the left and saw Breeze tending to the Chief’s wounds. After treating his face with the salve, she replaced a bright red cloth over his eyes and turned to Gale, her face stern. Gale forced a weak smile.

“So how was I?” Breeze did not reply, simply placing a finger to his beak and pushing it open to pour a few drops of bitter medicine down his throat. He immediately felt clearer in the head...but no ‘better’ overall. She replaced the bottle into Gale’s arms. “Come,” she said, and walked off to the next patient. Kalut frowned. “I, uh...thought you did alright, brother.” He rushed off to follow Breeze with the supplies, leaving Gale and the barely-conscious Chief alone. After a long silence, Strom turned to Gale at last.

“You’re a damned mystery, lad, d’you know that?” Strom breathed. Gale shuddered; even the sound of the chief’s voice was laced with jagged edges. It hurt just thinking about what the General’s war fan must have done to his face. “Should I praise you to the heavens or throw you to the sharks?” he continued. Gale didn’t know how to respond to that. Hell, he didn’t even know the [i]answer[/i] to that.

“There...” continued Strom, his voice rasping painfully. “There was a time when I would have traded anything for what you’ve given us. Two of the Three Spears lie dead now. They’ve terrorized our village for years. And Raiho...” “The human?” asked Gale. The Chief nodded. “An old wound, he is. The most hateful face I have seen in all my years. I was grateful for the chance to cut him down. I regret only that his face is the last thing I could see...” Gale cast his eyes at the ground. There was nothing he could have done, no way to warn him of Raiho’s ploy, but it was small comfort.

“I could forgive the dragon, nearly,” the Chief mused. “They are not dumb beasts, yet neither are they thinking beings. They are...creatures of [i]action[/i]. Dominance. Revenge. But the General was a thinker. Like me or you, yet so...bitter cold.” Strom shook his head; his crest of dark green feathers nearly fell over the top of the cloth. “He delights in sacrifice. We...Boreas...we have sacrificed so much to the humans who live beyond The Barrier.” He turned his head; he’d have been looking Gale straight in the eyes, only...

“I do not want you to think me cold, Gale Wyrmslayer, but your brother saved an innocent girl today...from me, not Raiho. These humans, pain is an art to them. They care nothing for their own losses, if only yours are greater still. When you have fought them for as long as I have, you may find you are more like them than you would like to admit.” He was silent. At long last, Gale had to ask, “So...what now?” “Now?” repeated the Chief. “We go south. [i]Far[/i] south.” “What...?!” exclaimed Gale, comprehension dawning. “Y-you can’t be-“ “I am, and don’t shout,” said the Chief with a groan as he forced himself upright. “There’s no point in stayin’ to rebuild. They’ll come with a small army, throw us in cages...we’re in no fit state to stop them. This Raven tribe seems to be gathering allies all over, though,” he said with a grin. “But...none of this would have happened if not for us,” said Gale sullenly. “Kalut and me, I mean.”

The Chief snorted. “Lad, we’ve been wasting away for years. If we’d stayed here, the dragons and the patrols would’ve taken us all one by one. As it is, we could all go down in a blaze of glory here, make one great big final stand. But then...” Strom stroked his chin thoughtfully, and then grinned darkly. “If one fight’s all you’ve got left in you, I say it ought to be one you can win.”

Gale blinked. “You mean...you can fight without your eyes?”

The Chief pounded his fist hard on the ice and leaned over at Gale, imposingly. “What are you daft, boy? Strom Boreas can fight with two talons, no wings, no legs and a hole in his head, thank you kindly!" Gale shuddered, having momentarily forgotten that Strom was an infirm at all! The Chief then reminded him by coughing violently, clearing his throat and sitting back down.

“This is nothing. Now,” he said, somber once more, “go make peace with yon fair-feathered lass, Wyrmslayer - and don’t let the title go to your head. ‘Hero’ only goes so far.” With that, the Chief laid his head back and drifted off to sleep.

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“Bahahaha! What IS that delightful scent?!” boomed a great voice through the cave. And indeed, what HAD pulled The “Lord Megaquake” away from his favorite blood sport? Why, it was...

“...a Great Angus, My Lord,” said the two guards in unison as they laid the great roast beast at the feet of their leader. Elphin walked behind them, and beheld the “Lord” upon his throne. His wide owl’s eyes looked strangely out of place on such a hulking frame, but Elphin could understand why he commanded such fearful respect from the weak. Coiled around the throne (and the Lord himself) with a serpentine tail was a strange bird, a hen from the looks of it, glowering at the newcomer. She was vibrant, though not beautiful, as a ruff of golden feathers wreathed her neck and fell like a scarf; her weathered face seemed a cruel joke on her other...endowments.

“And who brings this gift before me? Is it...” his eyes scanned the room before falling on the Raven. “You?” Elphin gave a respectful bow.

“That it is,” replied Elphin in turn. “After all, one does not ask entry into the greatest clan of the East without a suitable gift.” Abroholos roared with laughter, a strange hooting noise surprising for his impressive size but nevertheless unnerving. The bird coiled ‘round the throne leaned forward to scrutinize the Raven, making her shapely form the more obvious for it.

“He’d do well here...” she began huskily. “Only...” “Only?” repeated the Lord, raising an eyebrow. “His skills as a hunter are still in question,” she explained, concerned. “Are we to believe he slew the Angus himself?” Abroholos frowned. “Brisote...you don’t mean to say he [i]stole[/i] the Angus...” Brisote’s voice dropped to a whisper; Lord Abroholos’s eyes, if that were possible, grew even wider. “I see,” he said slowly, with his voice rising as he did so.

“Newcomer,” proclaimed Abroholos, “your trials will be held in the Kaiser Colosseum. Prove yourself, and you will be Megaquake.” Elphin nodded. “I welcome the challenge.” “Guards,” said the Lord, “bind his wings. No flying allowed in the Colosseum.”

Elphin didn’t panic, but neither did he like the direction this was taking; the guards pressed his wings to his back and secured them with tattered ropes, before jostling him along and all but throwing him into the pit. He stood to find himself facing down a huge, battle-scarred warrior, but his face and crest were all too familiar...

“Chief, is that you?!”

[Mugendramon]

I'm aware that there's still the thing between Fane and Ehren, but I feel that Lightsworns are being left out.

You've got too many stories going on at once.

Nonetheless, I really enjoy reading this.

[Lord Smeagle]

As I said from the start (although I think it got erased w/ the original prologue), this fic is more practice than anything (and I'm sure it's showing my lack of discipline as a writer, hence the need for practice). It never really had a concrete plan and I think that's why the birdies are spread a bit thin. They'll wrap themselves up soon enough, never fear.

[Alice Moonflowyr]

Well, read chapters 1-5. Seems pretty darn cool man!