"How are your hips, Kerian?" Ailmer asked.
The poor boy turned almost as red as the scales of his dragoness. He glanced around at the other riders that were working with the myriad of fetishes and reagents on the workbenches in the mage's lab. Hal was there, his face plastered in a knowing grin as his jolly form strode around the room, carefully correcting the new students' exploration of their powers. "Good, sore. I'm unused to riding, and that was a rough tumble we took yesterday." Kerian said.
Ailmer was impressed by his recovery. "I'm sure you are, Scout. Cymris will certainly give you plenty of practice." He said.
Kerian didn't have an answer to that. He grunted and fiddled with a charred branch of ash on the scarred stone workbench, looking anywhere but at Ailmer. Cymris, however, wore a wide grin beside her rider. Her tail tip wound loosely around Kerian's boot and her attention wasn't quite focused on their magical exploration. "Of course. Firebrand seems an experienced rider already. We did catch you, after all." She said.
"True, but there's much to learn. As a scout, its often prudent to avoid putting on, ah, displays. That is how one tends to get caught in the field." He said.
His words weren't veiled enough to prevent Kerian from blushing more. He leaned in, focusing his attention on a glowing ember in the center of the large branch, before suddenly yelping as it burst into flame. He dropped it on the bench to avoid singeing his hands and sighed as it crackled and burned in front of him. Hal strode over with his dragon in tow. "Powerful, but undisciplined." He said.
Ailmer nodded. "Which one?"
Hal chortled. A quick wave of his hands silenced the crackling log, stealing the heat from the burn to form a floating flower. The brilliant, orange-red petals of the firework floated several feet into the air before disappearing in a wisp of smoke, carried up as if it were an ember on the wind. It left the chunk of wood singed, though red still glowed through cracks from the core of the wood. "No wonder she calls you Firebrand, Kerian. She didn't want you to give her the name first."
Cymris blinked a few times to clear the afterimage of the floating fire. It was no surprise that it had burnt into her retinas, as intensely as she'd been staring at it. "Was that wind shaping, Master?" She asked.
"Nay, pure flame. Wind can help shape the air it feeds off of, but once a mage can feel the fire, they can manipulate the energy itself. I take it that something similar happened before?" Hal asked.
"Yessir. I, uh, lit a candle. Enthusiastically." Kerian said.
"How enthusiastically?" Kihil asked.
Kerian hesitated to answer, but Kihil was patient. He took a moment to examine the scorch mark left on the workbench before he ran his paw over it to pick up some of the fine ash. Kerian glanced down to Cymris, but it was obvious from her entertained smirk that he was going to have to admit it himself. "I lit most of my desk as well. Cym slapped it down with a gust of wind, but I spend the better part of an hour trying to collect my drawings and notes."
Hal laughed. "Ailmer, the boy's your shadow, isn't he? But there are better ways to extinguish fires than smothering them mundanely. Here?" He said, reaching down to hover his hand over the ash. The long-suffering branch began to glow from inside, visible through the cracks that the previous flames had made in the stick. "Focus not on kindling more energy, young mage. Reach in and feel the energy that devours the wood and pull that free."
Kerian nodded, focusing on the glowing wood. Cymris turned to lend her focus to the spell as well; they both locked onto the throbbing glow inside the wood. Hal smiled as he felt their interference. It took a few moments, but Kerian managed to move the glow towards the surface and thin wisps of smoke trailed from the very ends of the stick. Hal watched Kerian's eyebrows furrow and his body tense as his concentration deepened. "Careful, mage, if you wish to keep your eyebrows, don't try to pull the fire in towards your center."
Kerian nodded, but his concentration was far elsewhere. Cymris, however, managed to heed the experienced mage's words, bending herself forward as she lent him her power. Suddenly, a brilliant gout of white-hot flame whooshed from the top of the branch, sending a smoldering ember skittering across the floor as the whole of the fire expended itself a short foot above the rod with an audible hiss.
Kerian jerked back with the violence of the action, and Hal chuckled as he cut his spell. "When one tugs at a thread, Kerian, it tends to snap back into place. One must either prepare for the backlash or aim to guide those forces that are infinitely more powerful than you towards your preferred outcome." Hal said.
Cymris huffed. "It is our magic, is it not? It is no more powerful than what we chose to use of it."
"Humility is a virtue ideally found before magic forces it onto you, dragoness. If you wish to burn yourself to save your pride, it will make no difference to the thread." He said.
Cymris grumbled, shrugging her shoulders. Kihil held a slight, entertained curve to the edges of his lips as he watched the dragoness. "Our words will not be the things that will burn you, Crimson of the Stonepeak. Were they to have that much power over magic, we would be gods."
Cymris nodded, though she still seemed mildly offended. Kerian shrugged, looking down at the extinguished log. "I would be with you, Cym, but I've accidentally lit a great many things on fire already."
Cymris continued to try her best to keep her pride wounded, but it was difficult to scowl convincingly when she was giggling at her rider. Kerian smiled down at her, before returning his attention to the legendary mages that crowded around him. "Is there other things one can do with flame beside generating and extinguishing?"
Hal nodded. "Well, one can't extinguish; one simply moves the energy to a place where it has no fuel to burn, then the flame dissipates. It is a subtle distinction, but fundamental in understanding the behavior of that technique. Now, with the correct control, one can control the heat and light shed by the flame. Besides that, there are a great many techniques one can combine to interesting effect by borrowing techniques from neighboring magic; With welding, one can melt a handful of coal to a clay and create a long-lasting fireball, or wrap a gout of fire in a fine wind tunnel to create a piercing pinpoint of heat. As well-"
"Hal, show the poor boy a concentration exercise before you drive him wild with advanced techniques," Ailmer said.
Hal snorted and nodded, taking a moment to pull a jar from a shelf. He opened it and poured a small handful of the dust onto the workbench. A few deft motions spread it into a set of small piles. "This is a powder of charcoal, sulfur, and niter salt. It is a simple but excitable mixture that is often used in fireworks and many alchemical mixes. I'm sure you can guess what it might do; when brushed by flame it?" He trailed off.
He tapped his finger near a small pile of the powder, theatrically splashing sparks from his fingertip onto the pile. The powder went off with a sharp snap and a flash, leaving a small plume of smoke drifting into the air. Cymris looked impressed and Kerian jumped. "Now, be sure your piles are quite small, as the rest of the students will be quite irate if you smoke us out of the room. Your task is to light the powder as slowly as possible and control the burn through the eager niter so that the mixture takes two heartbeats to burn through, instead of an instant."
Kerian nodded and turned his attention down to the gunpowder. He separated out a tiny pile, and a sudden pop demonstrated his first failure. Ailmer chuckled quietly to himself and shook his head, following the older mage as Hal gestured him closer to walk through the rest of the class. Almost as soon as they turned their backs, there was another pop and a quiet oath. "He'll be a while on that, Hal. That is much more advanced than I would have given him; I believe that particular trick took me a year before I was knowledgeable enough to manage it."
Hal nodded, watching over the rest of the class as they walked through. Several were playing with water, raising it out of bowls to make it dance and separating out impurities. "Of course. He has?Nearly as much potential as you had, before." Hal said, measuring his words to dance around the implication, "The control afforded by that will be the biggest step to his mastery."
Ailmer sighed and nodded; not due to the comparison, but that the way Hal danced around his history. Of course, that twinge was far less than what he would have felt had Hal opted to drop the euphemism. "True." He said.
Hal nodded, his smile dampening somewhat until he came to the small girl and her white dragoness. Meliu was her name, as Ailmer had learned, and she had indeed been the girl that had stopped them to give Beroan a flower. At the moment, she was leaning lazily against the white dragon's neck, carefully pinching and pulling at a chunk of stone to shape it into a crude doll. Hal's smile quickly returned as he watched her pinch the ends of the stone doll's arms, shaping a pair of hands as if the slate were clay.
"I take it that the King has sent for me, then?" He asked.
"You, and Kerian as well. The rest of the scouts are indisposed with the war, and he is?close enough to being ready, with his military training and natural aptitude." Hal said.
Ailmer stayed silent for a few moments as Meliu set the doll down, making it toddle around in front of the dragon. "White ones are quite the rarity. His name is Aymat, of the Shorescales."
"Shorescales? That is a name that I rarely hear." Ailmer said.
Hal was happy enough to let Ailmer put off the business of the war as long as they could. "Very. He came on his wings all the way from the far western shores, but he tells tales of trappers and some strange herb being used there by the trappers and blood mages to incapacitate dragons."
Ailmer sighed. "What is becoming of the world, Hal? It seems as if the previous war was in vain now."
Kihil glanced up at Ailmer. The other two fell silent as they saw the dragon begin to prepare his words. "But you have ensured that our stories continue and that we may still yet make legends, Inman. I have felt your threads, and the legends that you have made feel as if they will pale in comparison to your upcoming actions."
Ailmer swallowed and nodded slowly, watching Meliu perch the doll on Aymat's neck, who swayed it from side to side while making whooshing noises. He opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't find the words for several long moments as the weight of Kihils prediction pressed down on him. "You've seen it?" Ailmer asked.
Hal's smile dropped from his face and they both nodded, in unison. Kihil kept his stony expression as Hal spoke. "It's?Only a time or two since you brought the astrolabe. We've now seen Drav Nikon, Ailmer, and neither of us has ever felt the threads move as they have lately. It is terrifying, but not the same way the last war was."
Ailmer sighed. "Even with my stunted attunement, I've felt the same."
Kihil nodded before speaking, "A great many extraordinary things have happened as of late. Even the mundane could guess."
They fell into silence as they watched the girl press strands of hay into the head of her stone doll as if it were clay. The dragon stayed slouched against her, reaching a paw up to carefully work with his claw as Meliu held it still. He sketched a face onto the doll with a few quick flourishes and Meliu beamed as she held up her craft to the light.
She hopped down from the workbench, leaving Aymat for a moment. Hal crouched down as she approached, holding her new toy proudly. Hal smiled wide, looking less the grandmaster and much more a grandfather. "Lookit what I made!" She said.
"Wonderful, Meliu. Did it feel strange to work with stone like that?" He asked, accepting the doll as she offered it.
"No, it was just a little squishy." She said.
Hal nodded, looking over the crudely constructed human form. "Rocks aren't usually squishy, are they?" He asked.
"Dirt is!" She replied.
"You are wise beyond your years, Meliu. Look here, though. If you focus in on the colors of the rock here, you can move them around." He said.
She leaned in to watch as he swiped his thumb across the front of the doll, shifting some of the lighter gray speckles into a single spot on the front of the doll. She watched with wide eyes as the colors shifted, reaching her hands out for the doll as soon as Hal's concentration wavered. "Oh wow! I wanna try!" She said.
Hal smiled, handing her the doll back. He didn't say anything; the moment the rock was back in her hands, she ran back over to the workbench to try to puzzle out the magic trick with her dragon. "I'm gonna make it white like a lily!" She exclaimed.
Hal let out a slow sigh as he reached up, wiping some sweat off his brow. "I'm not much of a welder." He said.
"Still more apt than we used to be," Rihil said.
Ailmer sighed, looking away from them. His arms were crossed by the time the mage's attentions were back to him. Hal began, but a sudden pop from behind him made him pause for a moment, a smirk teasing up his face as they listened to Kerian's mutterings of frustration. "Best not to keep the King waiting for too long, Scout," Hal said.
"The royals all eventually find out that their heirloom blood doesn't move my magic any faster," Ailmer answered.
"But he has resurrected you," Rihil said.
Ailmer chuckled. "Other things guide my threads than the whims of a man with more gold than sense."

***

Ailmer was uncomfortable. He was not as uncomfortable as Beroan was. The dragon shrugged and squirmed nearly every stride to adjust the fit of the formal standard on his back. Kerian had on his best uniform, the folds of the garment pressed to keen lines. Silver and blue smoldered above Cymris's crimson scales, her own standard seeming to rest on her as naturally as her wings.
However, it wasn't the stuffy clothing that made Ailmer uncomfortable, even as much as he longed for a simple, comfortable riding uniform. It was the air of power, of divinity that every small detail of the castle tried to project. Let alone the fact the large, walled compound was built opposite Ahilia's lighthouse as if it was trying to challenge the holy structure, but the sweeping tapestries and the brilliantly stained glass windows came across as pretentious rather than divine. The carefully constructed feeling of a holy place was missing, lost among the portraits of long-dead kings and the callous displays of gold and wealth.
Kerian and his mountain dragoness were staring, slack-jawed, at the ornate walls. Beroan had soon joined them in their wide-eyed worship. His eyes traced along the gilded trim of the doorways and the ornate paintings of people before he slowed down in front of one. "Beroan, come on," Ailmer said, not breaking his step.
Beroan took as long as he thought he could get away with to stare at the edge of the painting, noting the little peaks and alleys that the brush strokes had made in the velvet shirt of some old noble. "How do they get it to stay like that?" He asked.
"It's like mud. Hardens when it dries. Come on." Ailmer answered, staring forward down the hall.
Beroan glanced between Ailmer and the painting before he scurried to catch up, his head ducked down. Ailmer felt bad for taking the wind out of the curious dragon's sails so abruptly. He didn't have an excuse for it, either. He'd stomped down these hallways hours after washing bloodstains off his traveling clothes too many times for there to be any magic left in the castle's hallways.
He could tell Beroan was still burning with questions, almost as much as Beroan could tell that Ailmer was smoldering with anger. Even as large as the castle was, their power-walking clip deposited them at a pair of huge double doors with matching guards. They eyed the group with less suspicion than Ailmer expected, but what other groups would come striding through with several dragons beside them?
Ailmer led the way, crossing his arms as the closed doors brought him to a stop. He glanced at one of the guards, who stared back. Ailmer gestured at the door and the guard shrugged. "Is his majesty ready to-" Ailmer began.
"No."
"'Kith's." Ailmer hissed, through clenched teeth.
If the guard had heard the oath, he didn't give any reaction. Ailmer rubbed his forehead, opening his mouth to say something before he closed it again. "Din't you hear the news?" The other one said.
"What news?" Ailmer asked, but his mouth shaped the words the same way a spitting snake shaped venom.
"Watch caught some damned fool apothecary dealing in dragon bits. King's in there now, doing the sentencing." He said.
Ailmer took a long, slow breath in order to occupy his mouth. He narrowly avoided saying any of the myriad words that leaped to the end of his tongue. "You would think that the college would be invested in the outcome of this?" He said.
"You'll hear it like the rest of the peasantry. Said this one was special, needed extra privacy," He said, "Word outside says the apothecary's a duke's nephew."
"How much does that matter?" Beroan asked.
"The guard shrugged. "Could be a lot or a little. Depends on if the duke's important or not."
"So you keep up on the politics, then?" Ailmer asked.
"Gotta. Need to know people and faces. Haven't seen that one before, though." He said.
"So you know I could just push in there?" Ailmer asked.
"A bandit good enough with the sword could too, but his words would have little weight." The guard shrugged, though his hand drifted down to rest on the hilt of his blade, "Screaming at the end of a sword ain't a good way to convince a noble of much."
Ailmer crossed his arms, settling himself back so that his toe could tap the ground. The oak doors seemed to be exactly as unmoved by his display as it had annoyed his companions. After a few more boring minutes, the time marked out by Beroan's fidgeting and attempts to wander off, the doors swung open.
A man that put great stock in looking rich appeared in the portal, his head draped down and his shoulders slumped as the shadows of the amphitheater reared up behind him. His judgment bored down on the soft purple cloak that weighed on his shoulders. His boots clicked to a pause as he passed through the doors, waiting for them to slam shut behind him. They closed with a crash that echoed through the hall, and the cloaked man's shoulders twitched as if he were choking back sobs.
As his head came up to reveal a wide grin, however, he strutted off down the hall. His laughter echoed down the hallways, leaving both Ailmer and Beroan to glance back at the guard. He shrugged. "Dukes do that. Once you get some land, you have to spread half your mind over it. Only explanation I've been able to come up with."
Beroan blinked at the guard while Ailmer's eyes turned to the retreating back of the nobleman. He knew the limitations of magic; no matter how hard he stared at the man, there was no way he would be able to materialize a dagger underneath his cloak. He turned a corner after a few more strides, leaving the group back at the whims of the door. Ailmer glanced back between the dragons and the younger rider, making certain that they were as presentable as he could make them. At least what little military experience Kerian had shown through; he carried himself well enough to be mistaken for a warrior.
Finally, the heavy oak parted again to reveal a man's face, his head and shoulders draped in colorful velvet. "His Majesty will see the riders now." He said.
The guard shrugged, gesturing at the door. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" He asked Ailmer.
Ailmer's jaw tightened, but he paid little attention to the guard as he stepped up, flinging the doors open to march in. Beroan followed close on his heels. Thankfully, he managed to keep his head up and chest forward, walking as if he'd endured far more training than Ailmer had managed to give him. Cymris trailed behind them, her eyes flicking between the humans and the armed statues in the room with her head lowered.
Ailmer slowed his approach just a hair to take in the King himself. He was draped in exotic furs of animals that even Ailmer had never seen. A splash of iridescent scales lay mixed into the pile, but Ailmer couldn't quite place the hide. He wrote them off as colorful snakes for the sake of diplomacy, even though he could guess exactly what they were. Elith Karles the Fifth, His Royal Majesty and the Voice of the Divines, the Sword of Halin and the Relayer of Ahilia's Divine Knowledge, slouched in the chair. The royal was slumped forward and worry lines creased his face, giving him the impression of already being annoyed when he wasn't exhausted.
Ailmer dropped to a knee in front of the king, an action mirrored by Kerian. Kerian dropped his head as well, but he stopped drooping before his deference turned the King into a deity. Ailmer's head stayed up, his eyes turning back to bore into the royal. Elith didn't seem to notice the glare.
"I do my best not to tempt the gods, but I must admit that calling for a dead man to have him arrive, resurrected, does give me an unhealthy pride in my power."
"The power is in my oaths, Your Majesty. A proper soldier knows that death is a poor excuse for breaking them."
The King chuckled, staying reclined on his pile of furs. The implication had not escaped his notice but he was in good enough humor to let it go without comment. He waved his hand with the same gesture he'd used to spell out his doom on the previous noble, gesturing the riders up.
Both Ailmer and Kerian raised to their feet but the dragons continued callously sitting. Elith's eyes narrowed as they turned to the pair of dragons. "You will follow my commands as if they were your rider's own. Feral dragons follow none but their ancestors, but I would hope the proper training would also show them the way of the divines. Stand." He said.
Beroan complied, lifting onto all fours with a very slight stretch, enough to make a point. Whether that point was that he needed to stretch more than the King wasn't about to have complete control over him was left expertly ambiguous. Cymris bowed her head and tightened her jaw in a manner that might seem submissive to someone of poor survival instincts. After a bare moment that left Ailmer's heart pounding, the fiery dragoness lifted her hips and settled into a scowling stand. Elith straightened on his throne, frowning, as his irritated gaze turned back to the First Scout.
Ailmer was not much in the mood to help. "You are a king of men, your Majesty. No matter their training, a dragon will not bow, even to Halin's hand."
"Yet, I am often advised that they are quite clever creatures." He replied.
"Perhaps the day's powers are spent on the resurrection. What have you called me to do?"
"It is been a long time since you've dealt with royalty, it seems. I will shorten my order so that the rest of my mood does not fly from me with you. But, urgent need of your unique skills has put me in this position." Elith said.
Several long seconds passed by as the King held his tongue. Ailmer had forgotten how much he detested these games; he never had the patience for them. "Your Majesty?" He asked.
"Scouting, and a message. I have heard precious little from across the border, besides the rumors that flow out of men after beer flows in. None of my missives have received a reply from the Astalian royals, and the flames of war have a habit of burning paper."
"And should I refuse?"
"I would first remind you of your duty and your oaths. You, as much as I, as much as any other Galastian warrior, have sworn themselves to the protection of this land. Not a few moments ago, you were extolling their power to bring you back from the dead. I am certain you remember yours--you wrote them for the riders. Then, I would resort to the power of my position and, finally, the many blades that I command. You would protest that."
Ailmer's arms folded across his chest. His jaw tightened in a manner strikingly similar to Cymris's earlier show, but he knew his growl would be far less threatening than the dragons by his side. Elith waved his hand dismissively, continuing, "I could then make any number of threats to any number of things you hold dear. Of course, you would be harder to manipulate than a simple duke or landowner. I know there are some that would make you attempt to strike me down, but I know the time of your legends is long past."
Ailmer's fingernails dug into his palms. He did his best to hide his white knuckles in the crooks of his arms, but there was no better camouflage for his anger than the crushing weakness pushing down on him. In a previous life, too long ago, he would not have been able to stand for this. Then, he was a force of nature. The Fourth had only requested things of him; the only orders that had been given to him descended from his oaths and from Makith's guidance alone.
His eyes turned down, his shoulders slumped. "Then why have you called a newly bound rider with me?"
Elith bared his teeth in a wide grin as he relaxed back against his throne. With his victory, his spirit returned. "I requested one with the most talent already showing. The experienced riders are already part of the war, and so we must make do with what we have. He is to accompany you to the front line. Primarily, he is to gather practical information, something that we are without in that section of the line. He is also to assist in the fortification of Mossly. The war is here, Ailmer, and this time we may have to win it without you defending the pass."
Kerian was as white as a sheet. His mouth opened but it was obvious that he didn't know whether to scream in fear or to thank the King. "He's hardly had an introduction, your Majesty," Ailmer said, mercifully rescuing Kerian from his speechlessness.
"We must make do with what we have. I'm informed he has more experience than any of the others, he is a mage, and he is military. All in all, it's where you began, correct?"
"Of course, your Majesty, I, we'll do anything we must," Kerian said, his chest puffing out.
Ailmer recognized the look of pride across the young warrior's face. He remembered the same, back when he believed that speaking to the King was synonymous with speaking to the divines. His anger had left him, exhausted, in front of the preening King. "The message, then." He said.
The same aid that had let them in approached with a velvet pillow, the Karles family seal was pressed across a thick letter, keeping it folded. Ailmer plucked it from the cloth with far less ceremony than it was delivered. "You're welcome to read and memorize it, should you have the inclination. A simple request for information and promise of aide. Return as quickly as possible, you will be needed in the war and to relay more." Elith said.
Ailmer nodded but did not bow. "Your Majesty."
Elith nodded and gestured to the door.

***

"I'm not ready for this, sir," Kerian said.
Ailmer turned to look, catching Kerian with his head drooped and arms slack, staring blankly into a disorganized saddlebag. Ailmer looked over from Beroan, eying over the slumping dragoness and the discouraged private. "Why not? You flew perfectly and courageously, and made this same journey before on foot." He said.
"No, no, all this." He said, waving his hand at the pair of dragons.
Ailmer shrugged. "What's changed? You've dragons beside you instead of Pawlin and his troop, but besides that, there is nothing that should surprise you."
Kerian nodded slightly, sighing as he turned back to Cymris, continuing to rustle through his bags. "There has to be more, though, sir, much more. Fighting from dragonback can't be the same as waving a sword around, and I'm a mage now. I can't tell you what changed because the list is so long it'd take weeks."
"It has been rushed. You learn quickly, though, and Cymris seems to have a handle on a great many things that would be valuable in a fight. Trust your dragon." Ailmer said.
Kerian nodded, glancing up at Cymris. The red bent her head back to him, grinning. "Yes," She hissed, elongating the word through her teeth, "Submit to me."
Ailmer laughed, and both Beroan and Kerian blushed the same shade of red. "If she can't get you, nothing will. We'll go over much tonight and during our stay in Mossly before the ground patrol gets there to reinforce it. Much of what we'd usually go over, the stealth and long-term survival, shouldn't come into play. Worst come to worst, most of your military training should be all you need."
Kerian nodded, his hands returning to aimlessly organize his bags. He was deep in thought, enough that Ailmer took a moment to watch him. He saw a lot of himself in the blank frown across his face, and it pained him to see the ache on someone so young. Finally, he shook his head again. "I can't go back." He said, trying not to choke on the words.
Cymris twisted her head around, jostling the saddlebags from his loose grip. Her muzzle pressed in against the green mage's chest, her eyes closed. "Could you go back before?" He asked, in the same manner he'd thrust with a spear.
Kerian's eyes narrowed and his head snapped up as he glared at Ailmer. Ailmer continued packing, completely unbothered by the growl emanating from the pair. "It is a change, yes. But look at yourself. You control fire and summon wind, and stand by the side of a dragon that makes up your other half, or more, as most dragons usually insist."
Kerian's snarl drifted back down to a conflicted frown.
"If there were a time to return to wherever you were, you have the tools to do so now, more than ever before. Besides, I suppose, the obligations that come with your new powers and oaths." Ailmer continued.
Beroan could hardly help himself, cutting off Kerian and Cymris as they both turned up to respond together. "How can you be sad? You have a dragon beside you all the time now, you can throw fire around, and you're about to go flying! Almost nobody else does the things you can do now! And then you only get better and then there's all kinds of things you can start to do and--" Beroan began, then continued, breathlessly.
As the green drake rambled on excitedly, the pallor of stress began to lift from Kerian. Beroan's infectious optimism spread to them in short order and soon Kerian was humming along, packing the saddlebags as if he were going to head off for a leisurely camping trip instead of a war. Even Ailmer forgot about his predictions in the moments he was packing bundles of cured meat and trying to avoid letting the dragon nip through their provisions. Ailmer managed to dismiss the niggling thought that crossed his mind, the one that told him that he would soon be wishing that a hungry dragon was the most of his worries.
"I can't believe I managed to fit all of that in there," Kerian said.
Cymris looked over at Beroan and they shared a grin, while Kerian grew a blush. Ailmer let a smirk cross his face as he walked over to examine Kerian's handiwork. The bags were packed well with his direction, but he spotted a few minor inefficiencies. The private would learn. He brought the cover of the back down, leaving it to Kerian to button. "To the skies then?" Ailmer asked.
Both dragons perked at the same time. Tales flicked and earfins fluttered as the dragons agreed immediately. Ailmer watched, trying to hide the emotions flickering across his face as Kerian mounted his dragoness, and Cymris bent instinctively and exactly to make the motion fluid and effortless. He looked like a rider already, like a scout that had spent a lifetime training with his dragon. Ailmer remembered the way that that binding felt. Even apart, they had effectively done just that.
Ailmer spotted the little things, the sort of flickering motions that the pair weren't even aware of. A slight shift of a wing, a slight lean forward, a dip of the shoulders or hips that helped Kerian situated himself atop Cymris. They were the sort of small actions that Ailmer found himself missing sorely as he swung his leg over Beroan's back. Trying to keep himself up on one leg as he tried to free his foot from the dragon's wing, the way a slight shuffle jostled him around made his hips hurt, while a sudden arch of the dragon's back when the green looked back drove the saddle's horn directly into his crotch. Thankfully, he managed to choke down the ache with a quiet grunt, though his stiffer movements were not subtle to the dragon underneath him.
Ailmer was glad, at least, to not share that pain with Beroan.
As the ache subsided, Beroan kept his embarrassed gaze averted. Ailmer glanced over at the other rider pair; they looked distracted enough to have missed his awkward scramble. Cymris was sharp, though, and her twittering could very easily have been about his unsteady clamber than anything else in the clearing. He took a few moments to settle into the saddle, clearing those thoughts from his mind to look at the sky. "Alright, just stay close and-" Ailmer started.
The other pair was already in the sky. His words petered out in the breeze kicked up by the downbeat of Cymris's wings, leaving Ailmer to shrug and give Beroan's shoulder a pat. The drake crouched down and Ailmer wobbled on his back, forcing him to clench down with his legs as if he was riding a horse instead of a dragon. Beroan gave a slight wiggle of his hips, enough warning for Ailmer to lean forward and clamp down in the saddle before he launched himself into the air.
His teeth ground together as the wind whipped his face. Ailmer tried to sigh as wetness blurred his vision between his slitted eyelids, but the wind forced the slight vocalization back down his throat. Instead, he leaned forward again, enjoying the bare moments when the dragon's neck blocked the wind as he pumped himself into the air. His fingers dug into the horn and straps along the saddle, his knuckles already white with the intensity of his grip.
It used to be so easy. He used to know, to feel the wind below his wings. He used to be able to ride the currents like his dragon, he used to be able to feel the twist of the air and the tug of magic under his dragon's wings. He could even see it now. The air twisted and shifted underneath Beroan's wings as he worked the world's threads instinctively, taking him across thermal shears in impossible ways as they worked their way across the plains.
It was a gift as they passed near the great bonfire. The giant pile of still-glowing embers flared up as gulps of air reached overheated charcoal, as if there was a great lava flow bubbling up against the singed hayfield outside of Damsk's overstuffed walls. Swirls of thin smoke and white ash drifted around Beroan's wings, decorating the strange twists of magic that kept the dragon so efficiently aloft. The campfire scent of the piles of burnt wood danced across Ailmer's nostrils in the cooler air, though the sulfurous scent of charred herbs and eggshells lurked behind the smoke. The dragons cut through the small tendrils of smoke, heedless of the fingers that pointed out to them from the ground. Soon, they were too far to spot the glow from the pile of ashes outside Damsk.
They drifted over the plains, with only the rush of wind echoing in the Ailmer's ears every time that Beroan's wings pumped. They raced the rippling lines of the wind winding through the grass below them. They moved quickly enough to cause envy in the fastest of the horses. Perhaps they would be outrun by a diving hawk but a dragon could travel leagues further. Soon they passed over where the rippling wind washed up on the final beach of plain grass and disappeared into the solid canopy of the forest.
The golden plans gave way to a solid floor of green, the same color as Beroan's scales. The gentle wind stills shifted and rippled the branches of the trees far below them but the motions were unable to drift evenly between the trunks of the trees. Swirling eddies of motion broke up the ripples and streams of the wind's invisible travel. Below them lay a carpet of green, pockmarked with clearings and slashed apart by the meandering trails the people had carved out. Colorful bursts of blood red or burning yellow marred the surface of the forest as patches of wide-leafed trees signaled their annual death.
The air above the darker floor was cool against Ailmer's face. His thick leathers creaked as he shifted, keeping the cool air and the chill of his metal armor at bay. They were flying high enough that the temperature in the thinness of his riding armor was distinctly uncomfortable. Ailmer supposed that Beroan, with his thick hide and muscular bulk, was perfectly comfortable this high. He opened his mouth to say something, but wind filled his mouth and stole the words off his tongue.
He glanced over at the other rider. Kerian had his head back as he leaned against the wind, one of his hands dropping off the saddle to smack Cymris on the flank. After a few moments, he settled back into a riding crouch and they continued on, in both their flight and their direct conversation.
The wind cooled the wetness forced out of Ailmer's closed eyes. It was enough to sting against his eyelids and the tracks that ran out the sides of his eyes past his temples. He slumped forward in the saddle, trying not to understand why this flight felt so new.
It was quiet up here. It was something that he already understood, in a very different way. He used to enjoy the meditative breaks in long flight conversations; those relaxing times when their conversations had petered out and left them to feel each other, the wind, and left them to admire incredible views that could only be seen from dragonback. But now, even with the dragon against him and his charge close by, Ailmer felt more alone than he ever had in his life. He had no control of the flight. He was at the whim of the easily distracted dragon below him. His words had been stolen, his body ached. His fingers squeezed around the horn of the saddle, trying to fight the chill permeating his gloves by replacing it with an ache that he made himself.
He endured the light discomfort for long enough to wipe the tears from his eyes and swallow the rest that threatened to spill. He smacked Beroan's flank a few times to catch his attention. The dragon's muzzle turned towards him, grinning with a happy glint of the drake's blue eyes. Ailmer gestured over his shoulder with a thumb, and Beroan, thankfully, understood the ambiguous motion.
The green dragon's wings flared back, catching the cool wind to slow them down. Cymris saw the motion and duplicated it. Kerian did as well, throwing his arms out to his sides with a grin that matched Beroan's expression of childish glee. They slowed to a gentle glide and Ailmer took a moment to gather his breath in the calmer wind. "This is crazy. I still can't believe that I'm flying!" Kerian yelled across the gap, "is everything okay?"
"Fine." Ailmer yelled back, lying, "We should fly closer to the ground. It will help us pick out a campsite."
"I'll be on your wing!" Cymris replied.
They dropped down, enough that the air thickened and warmed a few degrees. Ailmer felt his headache starting to subside, but the interaction weighed heavily on him. It was the sort of thing that used to be instinctual. Before he'd even felt it, Marlin would have dropped down and his wing would have followed. It was the sort of interaction that couldn't take place during a battle. He would have to talk to Beroan, train him in the sort of tactics that he never needed to think about if they wanted any hope of being effective.
It was something to distract him from his other thoughts. He settled back into the saddle, preparing to ponder what he'd need to teach the green dragon to make them into an effective pair. He pushed the rest of his thoughts as far back in his mind as he could put them, preparing for the next few hours of flight.