A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 26: Battle over the Black Fields

Astride his trusty hippogriff, Meneldir ascended into the darkness that spanned over his head, the heat of battle replaced by the cold embrace of winter, dark clouds and smoke blotting away his already poor vision. And the worst: he was not alone in those sullen clouds.

Even though it was dark, he could see the shadow of great black wings above him. At first it was fearful, but then he noticed feathers, much to his relief. "How does it feel up here?" asked Vil, lowering down to his level of flight.

"You scared me," Mey yelled back, trying to convince his hippogriff to not fear the colossal raptor which soared beside them, "I hate flying through thunderstorms."

"Well, then you're out of luck. This is where the battle shall commence."

"I know, you need not remind me of my horrible situation," Mey replied, struggling to hold onto his mount as the smoky vapours of water brushed against his body, the cold embrace trailing along his cheeks with skeletal fingers.

"I thought as one of the woodland folk, you'd be more used to flights than I would be."

"I am, but not like this," he replied, "your domain is vast and open, any incoming army can be spotted from miles afar. Ours is a dark carpet of greens, riddled with undergrowth where anyone can hide with much effect, hippogriffs have no use other than for foraging or scouting."

"Not your fault," Vil replied, "air reconnaissance is difficult, you'll need keen eyes and good understanding to figure out your enemy's plans, even I can't bring myself to do it."

Mey looked down from his mount and through the bulwark that surrounded him, and indeed Vil was right: from above the turbulent lines, which from land appeared a sea of smoke and spear, was but a motionless field from above.

In the darkness it looked no different from the glistening treetops which surrounded the clearing. The only things that dotted out to him were the pale green fires in a distance, from where the daemons entered the field.

I wonder how long we can stand it, Mey thought to himself, is this aerial battle all that matters?

"Mey! Watch out!" shouted Vil.

...

All of a sudden, Mey was taken by surprise. A green blast of fire hit him like a lance, narrowly missing thanks to the action of his hippogriff, catching him off guard. His heart throbbed, wreathed in fright.

"Mey, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I am. Where did that come from?"

"The magic of Morthaur works its way in these dark halls," Vil replied, "be wary, and do not stray off without prior notice."

"I won't," Mey replied.

And longer he flew, crossing through the shadows with haste and caution, Vil alongside him, until at last he happened upon two dragons: Muldred, Lord of Star-Wyrms, his brown wings laced with creamy rims fluttering in the quick wind, a blue tempest of lightning and fire surrounding him. And there was Caravir: Lord of Forest Dragons, his broken antler restored, but his wings still colourless, a tranquil rain of healing around him.

"Fire and glory!" wished Mey, flying in between the two.

"Fire and glory, prince," the dragons wished back, "be careful, let us absorb his blows as much as you can, for his sheer might alone will devastate you."

"Don't worry about that," Vil interrupted, "we'll stay out of combat, aiding you three with spells as much as we can."

"Three?" asked Mey.