Jean Rabe - Redemption

The creatures leathery wings beat strong and steady as it climbed into the night sky and cut its course against a violent wind. The full moon illuminated a manticore easily the size of a hatchling dragon. It had the body and coloration of a lion, a disconcertingly human-looking visage, and a long, ropy tail ending in a clump of deadly spikes. Without warning the manticore threw back its head and roared, an eerie sound that sliced through the howling wind and sent shivers down its three passengers spines.

Dhamon Grimwulf sat just behind the head of the manticore, wedged with Fiona between two of the spikes that ran the length of the creatures back. He leaned as far to his right as safe and practical, avoiding the manticores flailing mane, but the wind stung his eyes and caused the ragged garments sleeves to billow and snap like a sail. He thought the wind oddly warm, despite it being early fall and so late at night, and despite their flying at least forty feet above the tallest trees of the black dragons swamp.

Fionas breath was warmer still, and gentler, against his neck. The Solamnic Knights arms were wrapped around his waist, her chest pressed tight against his back. She spoke into his ear.

I must buy a fine gown for my wedding, Dhamon. When we reach a city it wont be long until we reach a city, will it?

Never mind, Fiona, that you havent a single steel piece in your pocket, Dhamon thought, or that there will be no wedding. Your beloved Rig is dead, and you are mad. You and I saw him die an arms length away.

My mother always told me I look best in blue, she added.

Colors dont matter, lady. Only thing that matters right now is that this damnable beast is flying too fast. The grumbling came from Ragh, the sivak draconian who was perched precariously behind the Knight. Much too fast in this strong of a wind.

He repeated his complaint twice more, getting no replyeither because Dhamon or Fiona didnt care or couldnt hear his whispery-hoarse voice above the wind and the beasts noisily flapping wings. The draconian was clearly distraught, and his legs were growing numb because he had them clenched so tight around the manticores haunches. Ragh dug his stubby claws in for good measure, feeling the manticores coarse hide ripple in protest. The creature roared again.

And were too damnably high.

Though most sivaks could flythey were the only draconians who could naturally do soRagh had lost his wings to a cruel punishment and had no desire to see if he could survive a fall from this lofty position.

He kept his eyes trained on the back of Dhamons head, sucked in a deep breath, and tried to calm himselffighting the sensation that his stomach was rising into his throat. After nearly an hour had passed and the air had cooled a little, the draconian indeed managed to relaxif only slightly. He decided to chance a brief look below. Peering at the darkness underneath that marked the weave of cypress branches, Ragh spotted a gap in the foliage and through this caught a glimpse of a silver ribbon, which was the moon reflecting off a river tributary. There wasnt much more of the swamp to clear now.

Training his eyes to the westthe direction in which they were headedRagh spotted what looked like a pane of black glass, which was the New Sea. Beyond it, barely visible, stretched the wrinkled landscape of the Eastwall Mountains of Abanasinia. A bank of pale gray clouds hung above the peaks like a mantle, and yellow threads of lightning flickered inside the clouds.

Far beneath them, Ragh sensed something worse than a storm brewing. Thered been a prickling at the back of his scaly neck ever since they had left the ground, his uneasiness growing worse by the minute. Hed told Dhamon right away, but Dhamon said he didnt detect anything. That was better than an hour ago now. They certainly seemed to be all alone up here, high in the sky. Nothing was around to bother them.

Still, Ragh took another glance down, this time after several minutes spotting something his eyes were far too keen to play tricks on him. There was something there, something definite paralleling their movement, a black shape amidst the darkness of the tree tops. No, two shapes. Maybe three. Definitely three. But everything was too murky, and they were moving too fast to make out details, save that the somethings had wings and were sizeable.

Perhaps he should shout to Dhamon Grimwulf and Fiona that hed seen something. Shout that something definitely didnt look right about the shapes following them. He was certain he could be heard above the wind and the wings if he truly wanted to be heard. Perhaps the manticore should dive and hide in the uppermost canopy of the swamp rather than cut through the open sky where there was no cover.

Fiona, he growled. We might have company. Fiona?

No reply.

Dhamon? Ragh persisted. Perhaps the shapes were nothing more than a few giant owls, coincidentally headed in the same direction. Or perhaps the strong wind might be tossing the branches a certain way to create shadowy illusions. He craned his neck around Fionas slender shoulders. Dhamon had his head thrown back and was letting the wind rush across his face, enjoying the ride in the way Ragh used to enjoy flying when he had wings. If Dhamonwith all of his preternaturally sharp senseswas not at all concerned, the draconian told himself, then he neednt be concerned either. But he did see something.

Or did he? Ragh squinted and blinked away the tears caused by the wind, stared downward, trying to again find the shapes. There was nothing there now. He stared for several minutes. Nothing but treetops.

So no reason to alert Dhamon after all. No reason to be dismissed as a worrier, chided about his nerves.

The sivak sighed and withdrew his claws from the manticores hide, placing them lightly around Fionas waist. Then, like Dhamon, he canted his head back, closed his eyes, and let the wind stream across his angular, silver face.

Dhamon had heard the draconian, had also heard Fiona say something about Rig. He ignored them both. He was trusting that the manticore knew the way to Southern Ergoth, to the Solamnic outpost on its western shore where he wanted to deposit Fiona. The female Knight had slipped into madness following Rigs recent death in the black dragons city, and Dhamon realized she needed someone to tend to her.

He considered himself neither qualified nor obligated to do so. Still, he knew that no matter how insensitive hed been to people lately he couldnt simply abandon her. And so, this aerial voyage.

Rigs dead, Fiona, he said, as much to himself as to her. Dead and likely filling the bellies of the foul creatures on display in the city. He doubted the black dragons lackeys went to the trouble of burying anyone. Dhamon had never truly considered Rig a friend, at least not a close one, but he had respected the mariner and he had, in grudging fashion, admired him, at times envied him. The mariners death sat uneasily on his conscience, as if there was something he could have done to prevent it. One more departed companion to add to Dhamons list. To know me is to risk death, he grimly mused.

Dhamon sighed and breathed deep of the air, which was cooling as they flew farther and rose higher away from the heart of the black dragons realm. He realized some part of him was relishing this crazy ride. It reminded him of the times he was paired with a blue dragon in the Dark Knights army. He rode that swift dragon at every opportunity, reveling in flying high above the world, feeling cocooned by the air, the wind, the clouds, and the sky.

A myriad of smells filled Dhamons keen senses: the muskiness of the manticore that bore them; the fetidness of the damp land below; and now the pleasant and salty scent of the New Sea, signaling they were finally beyond the swamp and over the water. There was also the faint sulfurous smell of a blacksmiths shop, which he attributed to Raghall sivaks seemed to carry that odor like a brand. Too, Dhamon could smell his own rankness, clothes covered with dried blood and sweat, skin and hair coated with days of grime. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.