This is the end of Fain and Nuria's tale, a series of seven Friday Flash stories that began with The Hands of the Healer. Unfortunately, the story is getting close to the events of the book I'm writing, so I can't continue with Fain any further. Instead I'm going to write about what happens to Nuria, who has only a minor role in my first book. After a little break, that is.
The sun’s warmth settled on Fain’s back and shoulders as he nibbled on a piece of cured meat. The flavour and the warmth were lost on him; his mind was elsewhere. Just as he and the other shapeshifters were leaving for the Nesting grounds, Stiv, one of the elders had shoved a bound and gagged shapeshifter in front of them. He’d burst into laughter: the shapeshifter was Jark.
“Jark revealed the Queen your route to the dragon’s nesting grounds. Luckily all virras are greedy little blabbermouths, and the virra he sent betrayed him.” The Elder looked at the now silent Fain. “Seems like he wanted to sell you to the Queen.”
They took an alternative route through a gorge in the Argent Mountains. The terrain was rougher and the going slower, but safer; the only dangers were huge birds that roosted in the mountains and at night lesser demons, remnants of the wars. Neither were a match for a healthy, adult shapeshifter.
The party settled down to rest and to give their prisoner his dose of poison, the only way of keeping him weak enough not change his shape.
Fain finished his meal, took a wooden cup, a waterskin and pouch of crushed leaves out of a bag. Just a pinch of the leaves was enough, too much and Jark would have to be carried or worse, die.
He poured the water on the leaves, mixing the liquid with a twig. Carefully he carried the cup to Jark and removed his gag. Lifting the cup to his mouth Fain whispered: “I am sorry.”
Jark didn’t answer. He drank the liquid slowly, while staring at Fain; hate, colder than the permafrost of the north, glinted in his blue eyes.
“They’re going to give you to the dragons. They’ll likely eat you. I could give you an overdose if you prefer a quick and painless—”
“I would rather be eaten alive by dragons than killed by you.”
Fain opened his mouth to speak, when he heard shouting: a dragon was circling overhead. He looked upwards; the dragon was dark in colour and too bulky to be a female. Jark had noticed as well. “One of yours?”
Fain swallowed, the dragon had stopped circling and dropped downwards, disappearing from view. As the scrape of claws drew closer, the other shapeshifters changed into their battle forms. He followed suit, changing into a fool’s dragon. The dragon was met by a drake, a huge wolf with large teeth protruding from its snout, and other forms too weak to defeat a dragon. They could only hope that the dragon had mistaken them for prey.
A massive head appeared above the gorge, the tips of black wings swaying on each side as the dragon balanced.
“I am Rhorat, son of Garroth,” it bellowed. “The Queen beckons me to bring her the one called Fain.”
Fear washed over Fain, while next to him Jark smiled.
“Go back south, Rhorat!” Ragh shouted upwards; the dragon snorted.
“A drake commanding a dragon?” Rhorat’s nostrils flared as it drew a deep breath. “You cannot hide him. I know Fain is part dragon, I can smell him amidst you.”
The blunt snout came down into the gorge, black forked tongue sliding against white teeth as the nostrils opened and closed in rhythm to the sniffing. Fain shrank against the cliff-face. The dragon scoffed, a belch of sulphurous breath encased the shapeshifters.
“Come with me, Fain, and I will not eat your friends.” The dragon’s voice was quiet and soft. Fain stepped forwards from the cliff face; he wouldn’t surrender but neither would he endanger his friends.
Wings spread he flew past the maw of the dragon and into the sky. Roaring with fury, Rhorat followed, fire erupting from its maw. With ease, the dragon caught him, claws encasing the shapeshifter in fool’s dragon form. He struggled, but the claws held him firm.
An angered cry pierced the sky. The claws retracted, leaving Fain floating for a moment. Wings cast wide, he glided on the ground and looked up to see a big red dragon entangled in battle with Rhorat.
Flames burst from Alhena’s jaws, charring Rhorat’s wing. The black dragon struck its claws into Alhena’s wings and pulled downwards, leaving tears in their wake. Both began to lose altitude as their wounded wings failed to carry them.
Fain watched in horror as the dragons fought, still entwined, scratching and biting as the ground neared.
“Alhena!”
The red dragon spread its wings wide, the air caught in the folds pushed her upwards. Rhorat released his grip, wings expanding from his sides, but the ground hit him before his wings could unfold. Alhena slammed onto the ground. Slowly she rolled onto her feet and ran shakily to the shapeshifter.
“Change into something small!” Fain obeyed, shrinking into a mouse. Alhena’s scaly foot came down, stopping a few inches above him. Beneath him the earth trembled as the black dragon got up.
“Queen Yassa needs the shapeshifter they call Fain. She will find him sooner or later.” Rhorat hissed.
Alhena didn’t answer; she stood still, teeth bared until the dragon slunk away to nurse its wounds. She lifted her foot, allowing Fain to change.
“Scarla is coming, she will take care of your friends. I will take you back to the village—”
“No.” He stood silent for a moment. He couldn’t go back the village, Queen Yassa would send Rhorat and others. He couldn’t risk Nuria getting hurt because of him. Why did she want him bad enough to send a dragon?
He didn’t ask Alhena, but instead said: “Take me to the Weeping Woods, there are shapeshifters there who fight the Queen. Perhaps they can help.”
Alhena nodded slowly. She lay flat as Fain climbed on to her wide back. Alhena stood up and folded her wounded wings. Tired and beaten, they began their journey south.
