The Rider's Legacy

Chapter 7 | Storm

Chapter 7 | Storm

A storm came in wild and vicious during the night. The wind howled, carrying a great torrent of rain. Nethore was curled tight against it, a great wing swept over me and pinning me tight to his side. It slowed down our advance, the wind strong ever for a dragon. Only a Yesan or Thundun would find this weather optimal, their very affinities crafted for wild flying.

Nethore didn't sleep often, but when he did, his dreams were slices of his life. He dreamed often of Ashbourne and the way that small pond glittered in the sunlight. The rich autumnal colours that set the forest alight with colours. He was rarely grounded in his dreams and every colour was vivid and bright. Gold streaked his vision as he flew; lightening seared his insides, far hotter than his own fire. The other dragons were gemmed and glorious, sparkling in his dreams. Even I glowed, a halo of sunlight around my head, my smile just a slash of gleaming white. I could never doubt how much he loved me – not after all he had done for me, but his dreams would only confirm it further.

We flew again in the morning, rainwater gleaming on Nethore's scales. The crisp wind was sharp in my lungs and harsh against my cheeks. With the wildness of the weather, my legs were soon sore as I strained against the leg-straps. My gloved hands were tight around the handholds and soon, an ache tightened my scarred hand. A deep throbbing pain that lanced up my arm, a sharp influx of memories. Amon's tight grip, crushing, crushing. The way my bones splintered.

My blade sinking deep into him.

"You killed him human."

"I know." The storm cleared my mind as the wind buffeted us and Nethore dropped several feet, muscles tightening as the wind howled against us.

"He is in your mind, an infection of fear that cannot be helped just because you killed him. He will fester there, rising when you see something or smell something that reminds you of him."

My throat tightened. Nethore was right. Even with Amon gone, his memory would remain. I wondered, if I even survived the coming months and grew older, would I see his face in flashes still.

"He will fade, human. His face will just be fuzzy, leaving a bad taste in your mind. Time."

"Time." Time would scrub some of his impact. The scars on my back would fade to white and even if there were aches and pains, I knew that the darkness of the cells in Naughton would dampen. Even now, the memories hurt but not in the way they had in the weeks following my escape.

"Anyway, human. More bad things are coming. There cannot be room in that tiny skull for all of them."

My lips pressed tight. "Thanks, Nethore."

His hum warmed my rain-cold bones. "Human."

We continued through the storm. It grew worse, with great behemoth clouds coloured an angry, black grey. They loomed over the horizon like a mountain range, broken by vicious slashes of lightening. Nethore, stubborn Nethore, would not be cowed.

"We should rest, Nethore. You will exhaust yourself."

His growl was lost below the shriek of wind. Nethore dipped again, tossed back several feet by a sudden flurry. Exhaustion ached in his muscles, straining across his shoulders where strong muscles and tendons tethered his long wings to his body.

"We are close, human."

"How can you tell?" I couldn't see anything except grey and rain. Even my affinity felt scattered here in the storm, disrupted by the icy cold and wet.