The frozen lake cracked beneath his feet. A tearing, grinding scream of breaking ice echoed endlessly off the snow-covered mountains. Azarn smiled watching the fractures race outwards from the spear-butt driven hard into the centre of the lake. Like strands of a spider’s web, the ice shattered. No natural lake-ice would break so.
They could not deny him now. Long had they lay dormant beneath the lake’s frigid surface. Hiding. Waiting. Biding their time. But the time for waiting was ended. The time for action had come. Azarn raised the ebony staff aloft once more and brought it down with the force of ages. The heat-hardened wood struck deep, shattering the ice further.
“Awake now!” his voice held resonance beyond the mortal. “Awake and rise. You have been summoned.”
The fracturing surface became unstable, but Azarn was already mounted once more upon his sooty-dark griffin. As the mighty beast beat his wings and bore Azarn aloft, the lake below split asunder.
Giant shards and fragments of ice the size of boulders flew skyward, thrown upwards and outwards by the colossal beasts that emerged from beneath. Scales dark as night and harder than steel pushed vast sheets of ice aside with effortless ease.
Azarn watched as they poured from the lake. He counted, fifty, sixty, a hundred, and more. This was the largest nest yet. The morrow’s battle will be fierce indeed. He thought, allowing himself another smile of anticipation.
From his vantage point upon the mountain, he watched the horde disperse and warmed his hands over the small fire he had kindled. These Wyvern had slumbered for millennia. Ravenous from their extended hibernation, they would search, but find little sustenance in the frozen landscape. They would return to him soon enough. All he had to do was wait.
Azarn was well practiced at waiting.
As evening painted the landscape in shades of fire and blood, the dark shapes of the wyvern trailed up the mountainside to converge upon Azarn and the midnight griffin beside him.
Each beast was formidable in its own right, but the largest gave Azarn pause. In all his lifetimes, never he had encountered one such as this. Perhaps he had finally found Kameo, the fabled Wyvern King. The ruler of all. He had searched for centuries to find the last King of the Wyverns.
Azarn beheld the might of an era, and doubt crept in. There’s no turning back now. He reminded himself. The lives of every soul in the south depended on his actions here.
Talons like swords gouged great furrows in the stone as the Wyvern King ascended the mountain. Mighty wings, folded like dark canvas sails upon his armoured back. A neck, long and serpentine, swayed with every step.
Apprehension seized him as the wyvern king brought the fiery red orbs of his eyes level with Azarn. Eyes whose cunning intelligence, was untempered by human emotions. Azarn shuddered. Was he up to the task ahead?
Why have you awoken us? The voice came in Azarn’s mind and he was left with no doubt he faced the wyvern king. There is no food, and the snows have yet to melt. Dark lips peeled back revealing teeth, jagged and fearsome to behold. You should not have disturbed us. The unspoken threat was clear, as a forked-tongue sampled the air between them.
Azarn swallowed hard, steeling his resolve. “I have come to lead you to the great feasting grounds in the north. Even now, the sands of the ever-warm run red with blood.” He swung onto the back of his Griffin. “We fly north this night, to join the great battle of the wasteland king.” He held his staff aloft, “there you will fill your bellies and bask in the sun for all eternity.”
The wyvern regarded the man for long moments, his eyes swirling with thought. Assessing, judging, calculating, Kameo weighed his options carefully.
We will follow you to the lands of plenty. Lead us astray and we will devour you and sate our hunger on any who stand before us. The Wyvern king’s jaws opened wide, a deep throated bellow tore forth, echoed a thousandfold by the wyvern around him. Take us to the lands of plenty so we may feast and grow in strength and numbers. He demanded.
Azarn smiled then, safe in the knowledge they would follow. He urged his griffin skyward, resisting the impulse to look back. He knew the wyvern followed. What choice did they have. Awoken from their hundred-year slumber. Awoken in the depths of winter. Awoken before the time appointed. They had little choice but to follow or perish.
Both were inevitable.
North they flew, beyond mountains wrapped in winter’s pale blanket. And further north still, beyond the forests and woodlands in their snow-covered slumber. They soared silently over plateaus and grassland until the stars began to fade with dawn’s easterly glow. At last, the red desert stretched vast and endless below them. A featureless sea of blood-red sand.
Azarn angled downwards, directing his midnight griffin to touch down upon a vast sand dune. Only then did the ancient sorcerer turn to the horde of wyvern at his tail. They darkened the southern sky. Their black wings extended in flight, as they glided tiredly to the sands.
Kameo, the Wyvern King, circled slowly above. His ancient gaze beheld the barren lands. No scent of slaughter drifted upon the air. No scent of food or nourishment. No scent of any life at all, save that of the ancient sorcerer below.
Red hot anger swirled in his eternal eyes as realisation struck, hard and fast, and hollow. And devastatingly final.
WE ARE BETRAYED! His mind-scream split like blinding light behind Azarn’s eyes. He brought his mind-wards up even as Kameo bellowed his full-throated rage.
With deadly precision, Azarn raised the ebony staff aloft. Eloquently, he intoned the words to release the spell within. With a blinding crack, the wood shattered as the staff split. A pulsing shockwave engulfed the shifting sands and those gathered thereon.
The effect was instantaneous. Wyvern with murder in their eyes, turned upon one another. Lashing left and right with teeth and claws. Fearsome talons gouged the hides of their brethren. Vicious teeth in vicious jaws closed fatally around serpentine necks. Ivory white incisors sunk deep into flesh, a sickening contrast to the dark blood that welled forth.
Wings tore, shredded mercilessly by frenzied claws. Bones crunched and death-keens rent the air until at last, only one remained. Kameo, the mighty Wyvern king. Weakened from hibernation, weary from the night-long flight and further exhausted by the battle. He never stood a chance.
Lacking even the strength to raise his head, the Wyvern king could do naught but watch the human betrayer, his lips pulled back in a reptilian snarl of distain.
What purpose have you once I am gone? Kameo said as Azarn drew an enchanted sword from the shattered shards of the ebony staff. A relic of a time long past, summoned now in his time of need. Fading sunlight glinted off the polished blade. Red sands reflected in the flawless surface, a hint of what was to come.
What becomes of a wyvern slayer when I, the last of my kind, have fallen? Azarn’s steps faltered, but only for a moment.
Azarn, Wyvern Slayer and sorcerer of ages past, resolutely pressed the tip of the blade to the scalded head of the Wyvern king. Helpless, Kameo watched as the Wyvern Slayer seized the hilt in both hands.
May you live for all eternity, Kameo whispered, as the blade was driven home, snuffing forever the light of his soul.
And so began the Wyvern slayers curse.
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