The faery knight stood guard at the mouth of the cavern. The entrance of
the abandoned dragon city glowed, eerily, in the moon’s pale light,
causing the young chevalier to nervously flutter his iridescent wings.
As a man-at-arms in the court of Lua, it was not the moon that unnerved
him. Rather it was the things that could lurk in the shadows, and escape
the moon’s wandering gaze, that caused him disquiet.
It was folly to be here, he thought. The whole quest was lunacy. He would never express such doubts to the Queen, but her obsession with awaking the dragon king was bordering on insanity. He was not the only courtier whispering behind their wings about the queen’s odd behavior, either. The court had been buzzing with rumours, for at least a season, and the capture of the dryad witch had only increased them. Sighing, he leaned against the polished jet archway, his wings rustling, in a slightly irritated way, in the cool breeze. Who was he, after all, to question the actions of his queen?
Out of the darkness came a low, menacing, growl, snapping him out of his thoughts and to attention. Dropping down, he edged against the wall, slowly drawing his weapon. His wickedly curved scimitar slid slowly from the sheath, the sharpened edge faintly glistening. The growls grew louder, followed by the sound of teeth gnashing and the war cries of goblins. From the silver-leafed trees strode Emyr, the Goblin King, his obsidian bow drawn and arrow nocked. He was followed, closely, by a horde of goblin warriors, many of them astride the hairless wolves of the Cristal Mountains, carrying the meticulously honed bones of fallen enemies.
The goblin king stopped, raising a long fingered hand to halt the army. The moon hid behind dark gray clouds, as if she were frightened, blotting out the stars and casting the earth into shadows. Emyr’s long, colourless, hair seemed to glimmer in the sudden, and complete, darkness and his eyes gleamed like icy gold. He raised his bow, aiming into the lightless void of the cavern’s mouth. His keen sight fell on the frantically beating heart of his prey and he smiled, wickedly.
“The queen expects to awaken the dead and defeat me?” he hissed, his nocked arrow glittering green with poison. The faery chevalier said nothing, believing himself hidden from view. He held his weapon in front of him, as if it would shield him further from the horde. His wings spread out, fully unfurling, their colour shifting to the black of the cave’s outer walls. Thinking himself still concealed, the knight crept toward the inner corridor of the dragon city.
Again Emyr smiled, his jagged teeth capped with sharpened gemstones, and let the arrow fly. Moving too late to escape, the dart embedded itself in a muscle, betwixt the heart and shoulder, of the target.
He looked surprised for only a moment before he began to convulse from poison. He clawed at the arrow, choking and spewing pink flecked foam. A small trickle of blood dripped from his eyes, as though he were crying, and he collapsed in a twitching heap. Nonplussed, the goblin king strode forward, stepping over the fallen carcass, and entered the Caverns of Omra.
It was folly to be here, he thought. The whole quest was lunacy. He would never express such doubts to the Queen, but her obsession with awaking the dragon king was bordering on insanity. He was not the only courtier whispering behind their wings about the queen’s odd behavior, either. The court had been buzzing with rumours, for at least a season, and the capture of the dryad witch had only increased them. Sighing, he leaned against the polished jet archway, his wings rustling, in a slightly irritated way, in the cool breeze. Who was he, after all, to question the actions of his queen?
Out of the darkness came a low, menacing, growl, snapping him out of his thoughts and to attention. Dropping down, he edged against the wall, slowly drawing his weapon. His wickedly curved scimitar slid slowly from the sheath, the sharpened edge faintly glistening. The growls grew louder, followed by the sound of teeth gnashing and the war cries of goblins. From the silver-leafed trees strode Emyr, the Goblin King, his obsidian bow drawn and arrow nocked. He was followed, closely, by a horde of goblin warriors, many of them astride the hairless wolves of the Cristal Mountains, carrying the meticulously honed bones of fallen enemies.
The goblin king stopped, raising a long fingered hand to halt the army. The moon hid behind dark gray clouds, as if she were frightened, blotting out the stars and casting the earth into shadows. Emyr’s long, colourless, hair seemed to glimmer in the sudden, and complete, darkness and his eyes gleamed like icy gold. He raised his bow, aiming into the lightless void of the cavern’s mouth. His keen sight fell on the frantically beating heart of his prey and he smiled, wickedly.
“The queen expects to awaken the dead and defeat me?” he hissed, his nocked arrow glittering green with poison. The faery chevalier said nothing, believing himself hidden from view. He held his weapon in front of him, as if it would shield him further from the horde. His wings spread out, fully unfurling, their colour shifting to the black of the cave’s outer walls. Thinking himself still concealed, the knight crept toward the inner corridor of the dragon city.
Again Emyr smiled, his jagged teeth capped with sharpened gemstones, and let the arrow fly. Moving too late to escape, the dart embedded itself in a muscle, betwixt the heart and shoulder, of the target.
He looked surprised for only a moment before he began to convulse from poison. He clawed at the arrow, choking and spewing pink flecked foam. A small trickle of blood dripped from his eyes, as though he were crying, and he collapsed in a twitching heap. Nonplussed, the goblin king strode forward, stepping over the fallen carcass, and entered the Caverns of Omra.
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