Tw - mentions of genocide
The Wyverns, placed in every corner of the realm, would be on high alert – it was only a matter of seconds before a team would be upon them, trying to overpower the much larger Firebird and its cunning master.
It took them less time than he had thought it would.
Staring at the green cat-eyes of a dragon, he realized he didn't want to die. He wanted to live so desperately, he would do just about anything. He just hoped Nuri wanted the same. Firebirds rarely betrayed their master, but they had always had their differences, and Nuri had never done what he wanted. He wasn't sure he had ever truly controlled the Firebird or if it had just followed him around because it had nothing better to do. He felt like a fraud. An imposter waiting for their mask to be yanked off their face.
There were five Wyverns; Atesh had expected more, but he was happy they hadn't managed to gather so many willing volunteers to hide and wait. He wondered how many generations of youngsters had given up on their lives to train with a Wyvern so that one day they might catch the fabled last Master and its Firebird. How many of them had waited and how many had died, disappointed at their own stupidity? Their eyes were covered so he couldn't tell if they were shocked or not; if they were, nothing betrayed it. But he was a living legend, come true to haunt them.
Atesh almost smiled at that thought. Even the Wyverns circling them seemed afraid of what Nuri would be able to unleash. They had no idea the bird was old and tired; even the effort of flying again, with Atesh on its back, holding its own against the powerful winds in the mountains, was tiring it out. Atesh could hear every creak inside its bones as if it were his own body.
"Are we going to let them take us?" Nuri asked.
"They could have shot us down, but here they are. They must have a good reason. Ilarion must be playing an angle I am not seeing," he replied, masking his bewilderment at the fact that Nuri had wanted his opinion before deciding. "Let's see first and if we don't like it, burn them."
Atesh raised one of his hands and drew a peace sign with his fingers; the Wyverns lingered, their masters trying to sniff out deception. But there was nothing to sniff out. His magic was long gone. Only embers remained, protecting him from the wind and the promise of death. They would soon be gone too. Then what? Was his death going to be glorious? He doubted it.
Of course, they didn't know that – given how many humans the Firebird Masters had killed when trying to escape the wrath of the two kings, Atesh couldn't blame them for being so wary. As far as they knew, they were dealing with a legendary and immortal, being. That could only end in one way.
"Look at these bozos," Nuri scoffed.
"Don't provoke them, Nuri. I don't believe either of us would escape alive if you decided to annoy one of them."
"Is that what we are trying to do now? Escape with our lives?"
Nuri's anger blasted Atesh in the face like a hot furnace. They had left the mountains because they had nothing to live for, literally hoping they would die, and now Atesh was changing the rules.
"Let's at least see what Ilarion wants before we go do something idiotic."
"Sure thing, boss. And while we're at it, would you mind if I asked for a massage too?"
"No need to be cheeky."
Atesh waited for a reply, but all he got was a frustrated silence. He clutched at Nuri's feathers and pressed his palm between its shoulder blades, trying to buy some time before Nuri went rogue.
The Firebird had always treated him with a cold contempt – but it had also stood by him in times of bounty and strife alike. There was something there; Atesh had never bothered to find out what. He just hoped that laziness wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass at Ilarion's court.
The Wyverns and their riders remained silent, keeping a safe and respectful distance. Atesh glanced at them a few times, trying to discern if the riders were indeed dwarves. Judging by their stature, he thought they were ordinary humans, but their hairy knuckles told another story. He was glad the riders weren't elves, otherwise he'd be dead already. Elves didn't respect Ilarion's word-of-law; they did what they thought was best and to hell with any consequences.
The irony was not lost on him.
Just south of them was Ilarion's kingdom and everything his great-great-grandfather had built in the last war. The humans had pushed back the giants, and they had done so with the help of the Firebird Masters. He remembered his mentor, Magnus, and his mighty steed – a bird so massive in height and girth, the mountains themselves appeared small. But not even he would have ever thought the humans would turn on them once the war was over. Atesh wished he had died with them. It would have been much easier.
"Tell me, dwarves," Atesh leered, trying to coax a reaction out of their captors. "When did you join the dark side?"
He knew – he remembered that day too. Shortly after the war, the dwarves had noticed the tides changing, had sensed the winds shifting their course and, with unnatural flexibility, had betrayed the Masters, and had aided the humans in slaughtering every last one. Except for Atesh and Nuri, who had been hiding and watching the slaughter. It hadn't taken the humans long to realize there were two victims left.
His captors didn't reply, nor made any move. Atesh had used their own language; after so much time, the words had rolled strangely off his tongue. His accent had worsened, too, but it didn't matter as long as he got a reaction. But the dwarves – as sullen as the mountains themselves – did not fall into his trap. Atesh thought he saw a glimmer of disgust in the twitch of one of the older dwarves' hands, the hairs on his knuckles as white as the snow they were leaving behind.
"How could you betray us?" Nuri joined him, more out of boredom than anything else. "I cherish the day the humans will turn on you as well. It is what they do best."
The oldest dwarf turned around; Atesh wanted to see his eyes but couldn't. They were hidden behind a dark veil, giving their captors the advantage of anonymity.
"Os davai," the dwarf spoke in a foreign tongue.
He had no idea what the dwarf had just said; the language must have changed since Atesh had been hiding in the mountains. He had spent almost a hundred years there.
A hundred years. He could hardly believe so much time had passed.
"What did he say?" Nuri asked Atesh, breaking his train of thought.
"I think he told us to go to hell," Atesh lied, smiling when Nuri puffed a circle of smoke at the Wyvern the dwarf was riding and the beast twitched, choking down a shriek.
Then it got angry and flared its own puff of green smoke; its yellow fangs glimmered, and its bifurcated tongue, lathered in venom, shot out, tasting the air. He patted Nuri's back to calm down the Firebird.
"So…how is Ilarion doing?" He asked again. "I heard he was sick."