Preston stood alone in the dragon cave, shivering, unacclimated to the northern air. Even with the heavier coat and boots provided by the Scholars of the Northern Lights, he felt woefully underprepared for the cold. He had hoped to take refuge here for a few days, not indefinitely.
He had also expected the inside of the dragon cave to be warmer, but he was sorely mistaken. The entire place was coated in mirror-like ice, perfectly glossy, but dangerously cold. The wind outside had died down long ago, so being indoors wasn’t much of a shelter as Preston would have liked. Unfortunately though, the dragon Sebastian had escorted him this far, and it was time to make good on his deal with the Lord Snowdog.
“And you’re sure you don’t have a place for me in a non-combat role?” Preston stammered, rubbing his hands together to try to warm them.
“Your bookkeeping was horrendous,” Sebastian growled back. “It’s a wonder that Lady Parhelion didn’t throw you out altogether.”
“My numbers were accurate.”
“Your scribblings are in infernal. Illegible infernal. It’ll take the better part of the year to translate, even with our translators occupied with the task.”
“But I’m good with magic,” Preston protested. “Why not-“
“Don’t insult the Scholars of the Northern Lights by insisting you’re a better researcher, demon. You’re good, but you’re not ‘dedicate your life to arcana’ good.”
Preston sunk down lower as he stood in the freezing cold.
“Maybe… you could always use more clerics?” He asked hopefully.
Sebastian lowered his mighty head, levelling it with Preston’s. “Your brother is the only student of mine I’ve actually held out hope for in these recent years. Do not tarnish his learning with your gibbering ways. If Snowdog says you can fight, then fight you shall.”
Preston let out a sigh, but stood still, waiting for his dragon to appear.
“You don’t look like much.”
“You don’t either. I thought my dragon would be bigger.”
With a huff, the serpent began to contort in frenzied curls, immediately blossoming into its full scale.Tell engulfed the cavern, his head twisting into a silver dragon’s maw with teeth the size of Preston’s arm. He wouldn’t give the dragon the satisfaction of surprising him, but Preston felt his feet quiver at the immensity of the beast. It was bigger than any of the other silver dragon’s he had seen in the city, and it looked twice as feral.
-
“Watch your flank.”
Preston’s voice barely carried over the height of the storm. With a disappointed sigh, he buried his nose into the collar of his jacket once more, bracing against the white winds of the north. Nearly two years of flying together, and Preston still was never sure whether Tell could even hear him from the back of his harness. The dragon operated mostly on instinct, but then again, so did Preston. They were a good match for each other, something that everyone had begrudgingly admitted.
It had been a slow process, getting to work with Tell cooperatively. Lady Parhelion was not a good teacher, and there were few others who could help Preston along in the process of dragon riding and fighting. He’d picked up the basics from her while Tell complained about his wasted time, but when push came to shove it all came through. Tell fought like a mad dragon, and Preston became the ace of the skies. The dragon mowed down the masses of demons, and the demon hunter’s arrows struck down their resilient foes with an efficiency unmatched by most others in the pact.
The “resiliant foe” today was an escaped black dragon. Young, but aggressive and attacking the scouting parties. They’d already had a run-in with it on the northeastern ridge of the realm, but it had slipped away before they’d gotten the chance to kill it. Lady Parhelion was leading her troops home while the demons teamed up to finish the dragon off. Kida had taken the land routes, Preston had taken to the skies, and Logan was… hopefully doing something productive.
“I said ‘watch your flank,” Preston repeated, narrowing his eyes at a faint shadow by his dragon’s massive wings. In a moment, it was gone, and after a minute or two he realized it had been just a trick of the light.
They flew in silence for a bit, Preston watching Tell’s sides for any sign of the injured black dragon, but there was nothing besides the mountain beside them.
Then, in a flurry of snow, a black streak crashed into them. Preston spun out of his harness, fired a blind bolt, then was struck by Tell’s massive wings as both were knocked off-kilter. He heard the black dragon’s scream as the crossbow bolt found its mark, and with a surge of magic Preston activated the arrow, igniting the lifeforce of the great beast in a final schism of magic.
There was satisfaction for a second as Preston finished his enemy, as he waited for Tell to regain his bearings and catch him from the air. And then his breath was stolen away, his body split in half as he slammed into the mountain outcrop. Tell swung around, wings beating madly in the winter storm, searching for his rider. Preston’s vision swam in blacks and whites and reds, though, losing consciousness as he stuck the side of the mountain and bounced off down in a freefall. Tell dove after him, but they both skidded to a halt in the snow far below the mountain, in the depths of the tundra.
Fearful, Tell shifted into his human shape when he touched down, looking for where Preston had landed. The snow was deep, and he could have easily survived such a fall. He called out for Preston, but no response came. He found the boy on his back several yards away, making sounds like an injured animal, wheezing with a difficult breath.
Tell immediately swooped down, arms pulling up Preston from the snow, but Preston raised his own arms in a weak reply.
“No!” he cried. “My- my-“
Tell dropped Preston, not understanding. As Preston’s body hit the snow once more, he let out a pained yell, and Tell recoiled. He had never heard Preston make such noises before. With a curious peer, he stood over the boy and inspected him closer. There were frozen tears streaming down the demon’s face, and he was gasping at something.
“I do not understand, young one,” Tell said, “We must keep moving. The cold is too great for you here.”
“My back-“ Preston choked out between long gasps. “I think my back is broken. I can’t move! I can’t-“
The demon began to writhe on the ground, twisting madly. He curled around Tell’s boots, hysterical and injured. The dragon continued to stand straight assessing the situation.
“I am no healer,” Tell admitted. “I can’t fix your injuries. I must take you back to the fort.”
Preston remained silent, gasping and trying to move in some way or fashion. With a definitive stance, Tell transformed back into his silver dragon self, pulling Preston up in his massive claws.
As he gained in altitude, though, he felt Preston’s body twist in his grip. He heard the boy’s screams on the wind.
“NO! Tell! I can’t! Please, stop! Drop me! My back! PLEASE!”
Tell continued for a moment, weighing the options of transporting his injured rider to safety or leaving him to rest in the snow. He could feel Preston’s hyperventilation as his back was put through transport though, and he could feel the small boy’s pulse rise to unhealthy levels. The screams proved to be too much, and begrudgingly he sank back to the ground. There was no alternative, but Tell knew this was not the correct decision.
Tell finally dropped Preston, the boy’s heart racing wildly between his talons. With a huff, he lowered himself down into a human form and raced over to where he dropped the ranger in the snow. Preston lay still in the white, barely moving, but limbs shaking from the pain racking his body.
“If I can’t move you, I don’t know that to do.” Tell said, standing over Preston. “You’ll die if I leave you in the cold.”
It was unclear to Tell whether Preston had heard him or not. The boy slowly stilled himself on the ground, his spindly arms falling into the disturbed snowbanks by his side. His breathing, already pained, grew shallow and quiet. Tell waited for a moment, then knelt.
“Preston?”
The demon’s head turned ever so slightly towards Tell. His eyes, pure white, seemed to focus a bit more than before, but they still seemed distant. Tell placed a hand on the boy’s chest, gently, afraid to apply any pressure.
“You can’t save me,” Preston wheezed, “There’s no way.”
“Don’t give up hope,” Tell insisted, shaking him slightly. “You are the Seventh of Nine, a great warrior destined to rule over this land. Legends do not die in the snow.”
But Tell could feel the weak tremors in his rider’s body begin to still. Tell knew that the boy’s body had been put through too much. One misfortune had ensured his death. They exchanged glances, and both knew that this was truly the end.
Preston opened his mouth as if to speak, but his throat seized up and no words came out. Tell waited patiently, cradling the ranger’s head as gently as possible, shielding him from the brutal cold around them. For a moment, it looked as though Preston had taken a deeper breath, that perhaps he was getting a second-wind, but then Tell felt his body go far too still. He pressed two fingers under Preston’s chin, searching for a pulse, but it was gone. He waited for the fog of warm breath to escape Preston’s lips, but instead his face just grew colder.
“Please, boy,” Tell pleaded softly. “You are far too young. You are- please.”
Tell stared into the lifeless eyes of the demon, unable to comprehend the loss in front of him. There was no feral rage in his heart, nor any enemy left to kill in these lands. He cradled the young rider in his arms, and let himself be hollowed by the sorrow which it tore from him.
With a silent stroke of his wings, Tell launched himself into the air, Preston gripped in his talons once more. He prayed the boy would make noise once more, but instead there was silence, and from his talons he felt frost begin to settle on his friend’s body.