Viator crested the top of the hill and took a moment to steady his breathing. Once, long ago, a journey like this would hardly have troubled him. His stride would have been swift and silent, and the long miles would have vanished beneath his feet like morning mist before a stout gale. Now, though, his footsteps were heavy, and he felt the weight of each mile bear down on him. This was the cost of failure, of being an elf who had lost his dryad. Behind him were dozens of others. Although their exact circumstances differed, they all shared his plight.
There had been more of them before, but elves were not made to live without dryads. Away from a dryad, an elf would slowly but surely weaken. Normally, that was not an issue. An elf could simply return to the forest of the dryad they had bound themselves to. Once they were safely within those welcoming woods, their strength would soon return. Indeed, it was common for elves to wander for months or even years at a time before returning. But for those without a dryad, things were different. There was no arresting that slow, relentless decline, no replenishing that wellspring of power. Sooner or later, their strength would dwindle, and their vitality would fade.
So why not simply pledge themselves to another dryad?
Well, that was easier said than done. Dryads were not common creatures to be found with little effort. An elf in the wrong place might find themselves travelling for years without ever encountering another dryad. And even if an elf knew where another dryad could be found, there was no guarantee that they would be able to complete the journey safely. A lone elf was formidable but far from invincible, and most elves were not used to travelling far from their homes.
Then there was the question of acceptance. How many elves a dryad could support depended on their power, which was why elves worked so hard to help a dryad grow. A young dryad could easily support a village or two, but what would happen if large number of additional elves arrived? The dryad might find themselves unable to support everyone, which would surely lead to conflict with the elves who were already there - elves that the dryad would undoubtedly care for more than some random strangers she had never met before.
Elves could also be insular. Even if a dryad approved of an elf and allowed them to stay, that new elf might find themselves ostracised as an outsider. Yes, they would be able to live, but it would be a miserable existence without warmth or comfort. A compassionate dryad might seek to mediate such problems, but a more detached dryad would turn a blind eye, leaving elven matters to elves.
And so elves without dryads often found themselves wandering, unable to put down roots but unwilling to give up hope entirely. Some spent their whole lives alone, and they almost always died alone too. Viator’s group, however, was made up of elves who had banded together. Even if they could not find a dryad, it seemed better to wander together than alone. At the very least, if they perished, they could expect to be buried properly and to have the old rites and ancient rituals performed to send their spirits to rest. And for those with children, being part of a group offered much-needed security.
“How much further?” Pluvia asked.
Viator shook himself from his musings and turned to the female elf. He pointed at the lake before them. They had passed quite a few of them on the way here, but the one before them was special. “If we can trust the map the merfolk gave us, then that lake marks the border of great Doomwing’s territory.”
“Then we are not far,” Pluvia said. She glanced back at the elves struggling up the hill. “Perhaps this time…”
Viator could not quite bring himself to speak of his hopes. He had known the bitter sting of disappointment too many times. But this… this might truly be his last chance. He could feel it. He had wandered for too long to keep going. Either he would find acceptance in these lands or he would find death. If the latter occurred, then he could only hope for a decent burial.
When he remained silent, Pluvia continued speaking. “The eagle spoke of a young but powerful dryad with no elves pledged to her. Moreover, the eagle claimed that she served great Doomwing. This… this may be the chance we have all been waiting for.”
Viator nodded silently. Part of him wished to rush ahead, to find out what his fate would be, for better or for worse, but the other elves looked to him for leadership. Instead, he waited, his gaze sweeping critically over the others. The journey had not been easy, and though some had been tempted to seek refuge with the dryad who ruled over the merfolk, the thought of living amidst the mangroves, marshes, and swamps had not sat well with most of them. It was… simply how elves were. Open plains could be tolerated, but forest and woods were what they loved most. Mangroves and the like, however, were places to be endured, not lived in. In the end, only a few of their number had chosen to seek out that dryad. The rest had pressed on, hoping to find acceptance with the dryad in Doomwing’s lands.
The eagle they had spoken to was not one of the great eagles that could command the winds and rain, but it was still a bird of considerable wisdom who might one day set foot upon that path. Viator had always gotten along well with animals, and so the eagle had shared news of what it had seen as it flew over the lands that Viator and the others had been exploring. They would not have journeyed so far on the eagle’s word alone, but stories of the dryad in Doomwing’s lands had come from other birds and from the merfolk they encountered.
“Perhaps it is,” Viator said at last. “I hope it is. But before we can plead our case, we must first reach our destination.” He sighed. “And not all of us are in good condition for further travel.”
The old amongst them, as well as those more badly weakened from their separation from a dryad, were riding on donkeys or in carts. It was… unusual for elves to travel in such a manner, but they would have been unable to make the journey otherwise. There were children too, although only a few, and they too could not have kept pace if they had been forced to travel entirely on foot. They walked until they tired, and then they rode alongside the old and sickly.
“Come on,” Viator said, raising his voice, so all could hear. “According to the map, the ground from here on should be flatter, and further on, we might encounter some roads or paths used by the humans who dwell in Doomwing’s domain.”
“Good,” someone shouted. “If I have to climb too many more hills, I doubt I will make it to the dryad!”
They travelled onward, passing the lake and then setting foot in Doomwing’s realm. Viator could not be sure if it was real or simply paranoia, but something about the place felt different. He raised one hand and clenched it into a fist. Those amongst them skilled in combat readied their weapons and magic.
“What’s wrong?” Pluvia asked. She had been a ranger before being exiled from her forest. Her father had tried to overthrow the rightful chieftain of the elves there, and their family had been banished. Her mother had died shortly after from shame and grief, and her father had died scheming against the dwarves who had allowed them to settle in one of their villages in the foothills before their mountains. Yet in the fifty years they had wandered together, Pluvia had never given Viator reason to doubt her. She had even saved his life twice when it would have been easier to let him die. “Do you sense something?”
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“No,” Viator said quietly. “Just… I cannot be certain, but I feel as though we are being watched.”
“Perhaps we are,” Pluvia replied. “They say Doomwing’s magic is mighty, and that nothing takes place within his lands without his knowledge.”
They continued, making their way past the lake and following a stream. However, it was not long before Pluvia signalled for them to stop.
“What is it?” Viator tensed.
“Look,” Pluvia said. “And listen.”
Viator looked. There was not a single bird in the sky. Even the wyverns and drakes that had occasionally shadowed them had vanished. Moreover, the entire land had gone silent. No beast that crawled upon the ground or flew through the air dared to make a sound.
“There is something here,” Pluvia whispered. “And it is watching us.”
Viator nodded grimly. For something to strike terror into even drakes and wyverns… a hydra? A great griffin? A flock of manticores? “Ready your weapons and magic,” he said, motioning for the children, the old, and the sickly to get into the centre of their formation. He gestured to their finest scouts, those with the keenest senses and the best magic for detection and scrying. “Watch the ground, the stream, and the sky. We do not know where our foe will approach from.”
The tension built, and Viator felt sweat gather on his brow. It reminded of him of the day his dryad had fallen. She had been young, his dryad, young and kind and caring. But the hydra that had come had been old and strong and cruel. That hydra had slaughtered his kinsmen and devoured the dryad before building a nest in the ruins. He had not been the only survivor, but the others had long passed, either from injuries, grief, or the despair of wandering too long without a home to call their own.
And then a great and terrible shadow fell upon them, and the weapons slipped from their hands as their magic flickered and died.
For what could their weapons and magic do against the one who had appeared above them.
A dragon hung in the sky above them, a cloud of living ruby and sapphire. Eyes like molten gold stared down at them, and wings so vast they seemed to embrace the whole sky unfurled. Power weighed down on them, not the kind that came from exertion or effort, but the kind that came from simply existing. It was enough to drive Viator to his knees, enough to make the hydra who had driven him from his home and slain the dryad he had sworn to defend seem like a single pebble before a mountain whose summit pierced the clouds.
“It has been some time since elves dared set foot in my lands.” Doomwing’s voice was thunder, and had he beat his wings, a hurricane would have overtaken them. Instead, his magic held him aloft, a second sun of red and blue. “Why are you here?”
The others did not speak. No. They could not bring themselves to speak. In the end, it was Viator who forced himself to his feet.
“We have heard that there is a dryad in your service, mighty Doomwing. If you would allow it, we wish to ask if she would accept us.” Viator trembled with the effort it took to keep his voice steady. There had been gods once, or so some said, gods so mighty that even the greatest of dragons could not compare. Looking at Doomwing, he could not imagine how powerful those gods must have been if even Doomwing was not a match for them. “But if you wish for us to depart, we shall.”
Flame kindled in Doomwing’s jaws, and embers drifted through the air. The ambient magic around them trembled, pulsing in time with the beating of his great, draconic heart. “I see.” The dragon studied them intently. “The dryad in my service is young, but she is mighty, and she will only grow mightier in the days to come. Even now, she has the strength to support all of you with ease. However… I find myself reluctant to accept all of you.”
Viator swallowed thickly. “Then… then what must we do to prove ourselves?”
“I care little if you lack talent. Lacking talent may be offset by hard work. I care little if you are ignorant. Ignorance can be remedied with knowledge and wisdom. But there are those amongst you that I detest. I speak of those who were cast out for good reasons. I speak of those who will bring only trouble to my lands. I have no time for traitors, nor shall I allow plotters and schemers to meddle in my affairs. Those who slew without cause, who stole without reason, or who ran when oaths required them to fight… I will not have them in my lands.”
Silence settled over the group. Viator had done his best to ensure that the truly detestable were not part of the group, but there would always be those who were better at deceiving than he was at perceiving the truth. Likewise, there were those amongst them who had committed crimes but swore they had repented and changed their ways. To his knowledge, none of those people had made the same mistakes again, but perhaps they had been able to conceal new crimes from him.
“But I shall make you an offer. Those who I speak of, turn around and leave my lands. Do so, and I will let you go. But if you stay, if you seek to enter my lands, then I will kill you where you stand. And do not think you can lie to me. Of all the dragons in the world, I will not claim to be the best in magics of the mind, but the last to truly deceive me was the Sixth Catastrophe. Dare any of you claim to be her better? You cannot hide the truth from me.” Doomwing growled. “This is a dragon’s mercy. Now, decide. Which of you will seek to go further, and which of you will leave?”
Doomwing’s magic swept over them, and for a moment, Viator felt as though his entire soul was laid bare.
“How interesting,” Doomwing rumbled. No one had turned to leave. “And foolish.”
Five of them died where they stood. There no build up of magic, no chant, no flash of light or crack of thunder. One moment, they were there, the next they were simply smears of red. To his great relief, Pluvia was unharmed.
Then the rest of them, along with all their belongings and livestock, rose up into the air, held aloft by Doomwing’s power.
“Please,” Viator shouted. “Spare the children! They have done nothing wrong!”
“Spare them?” Doomwing chuckled. “I have no intention of harming them. The ones I wished to harm are already dead.”
“Then…?”
“If you had to travel on foot the rest of the way, it would take far too long. I have no interest in waiting that long. I am going there myself, so I shall carry you with me.” Doomwing turned his head. “As for those I slew, let the worms and the birds feast on their remains. They are unworthy of proper burial.”
In a stunningly short amount of time, Viator and the other elves found themselves standing before a young dryad. However, before he could even gather his wits, they were surrounded by fairies.
“Ah!” The leader of the fairies blazed with light. “Elves? What are they doing here?” She hissed. “Well, we got here first! So you’d better know your place!”
Doomwing cleared his throat. “As you should know yours, fairy.”
The fairy stopped mid-rant and then began to prostrate herself before the dragon. “Oh, mighty Doomwing! Allow me to pledge my utmost loyalty!” She gestured, and the other fairies immediately began to prostrate themselves as well. “Oh, Killer of Catastrophes, Glorious Master of Magic, Foremost Amongst the Primordial Dragons…”