Myriad Colors Of A Thousand Wings

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There wasn't always a valley in the Valley. The histories of the two were as intertwined as mating snakes; it was impossible to determine where one ended and the other began. Nobody knew the truth of it all—not really—but everyone had their theories.

The arcanists built their twisting, unnatural, interconnected tower complexes out of the rugged and torn walls of the Valley because they believed it was a natural nexus of wild magic left over from Creation. The Wyrmstone druids living amongst the unnerving, towering spires of the Valley believed that they walked on the burial site of a long-forgotten dragon god. The Grand Imperial Parish claimed that one of the oases of the Valley was the birthplace of Judashin, the Bright One, the hero-king who had founded the Empire. They all each had their own official names for this place: the Wellspring, the Dragonhearth, and the Valley of Light, to name a few.

They all agreed on one thing: the Valley was the home and birthplace of the dragons, and that made it a wondrous place.

For young Rhian Y'rali, that was more than enough.

A small, green-scaled body lounged across her lap as she basked in the soft sunlight that flooded her secret hollow. Thin, nearly translucent membrane stretched between the thin fan of bones that formed the lazily unfurled wings. Rhian smiled, rubbing the upturned pale belly of the dragonet as he napped. He purred beneath her fingertips, prompting a surge of warmth within her that could more than match that of the sun.

With a contented sigh, the young woman looked out over the Valley. Hundreds of feet above the windswept grassy plains below, her hidden perch in the gently-curving spire that she called home was exposed to the sky, giving her everything she wanted and blocking out the rest. The wind was a constant, mischievous presence here, tugging and mussing her ivory hair like an over-friendly cousin or sibling. Its cooling touch came irregularly, but inevitably, preventing her from overheating, even in the height of the current summer season. It was a luxury she greatly appreciated; Rhian would be here even on the hottest days. Nothing would stop her from bearing witness to—if her predictions were correct—today's big event.

A small meep tickled her ear. Rhian looked down at the dragonet, realizing too late that she'd stopped rubbing his belly. She looked down into a pair of bright blue eyes, set beneath a ridged brow that was currently furrowed in haughty offense. His mouth hung open, ready to release another demanding chirp. She giggled at the sight, prompting him to flail his small taloned forelegs at her and meep once more.

Rhian laughed. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" She resumed the belly rubs. The dragonet's face immediately relaxed, slit pupils dilating and forked tongue dangling out of his mouth. Her smile grew brighter as the purring resumed. "You're so demanding, but I just can't say no."

She turned her gaze out over the expanse of the Valley. The walls of the Bowl—the mountainous region that loosely encircled the Valley, giving it its name—were dull green shadows in the distance, the many miles between sabotaging their clarity. The yellow-green grasses below swayed and shimmered like swirling waves of ambrosia, giving Rhian the impression of being surrounded by a sea of the gods' favored libation. Herds of minophant lumbered through it, cutting swaths through the fields as the great, furred beasts trampled a path between oases and meandering rivers. They kept their distance from the spires; despite their long tusks, they were nonaggressive and cautious, preferring not to approach the budding forests and the small human settlements that grew around the unnatural earthly protrusions.

Which meant they were also more exposed to the dragons—dragons that some would say were uncharacteristically absent from the Valley's skies today. Rhian knew better; she'd lived beneath their shadows in the Valley all her life, studied them zealously, and spent every possible moment with them she could. Noble, magical, and more intelligent than humans gave them credit for, the dragons brought a vibrancy to life that nothing else did. So she knew that the skies weren't empty today—nothing was out of place, nothing was out of character. The Valley was simply holding its breath, waiting for the winds to fill with wonder.

The wind shifted, twisting its swirling dance to a new rhythm. The little green form in her lap spasmed, rolling and flailing to its feet beside her in a sudden flurry of movement.

"What is it?" Rhian asked, uncrossing her legs. The dragonet looked back at her and meeped, then bounded toward the edge of their perch. He strained his neck out as far as he could, his wings rotating and flexing, as if warming up. Rhian stepped up to join him, but not before tugging at the rope tied around her waist. The knot held, the safety line was secure. Satisfied, she propped herself on the ledge and leaned out into the empty air, eyes closed. The wind dragged at her long white hair and the sun caressed her smiling brown face—and the air tasted faintly of cinnamon.

Cinnamon! It's time! she grinned, spinning to her small green companion. "Grolit, come here. Quickly!"

Grolit turned, the budding crest above his emerald brow casting a narrow shadow on his head and neck. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated almost into circles, and he wriggled in place. At her call, he skipped and bounded to her, nearly bowling her over as she pulled a yellow flag from her belt. It was a thin triangle only a handspan or two wide, and Rhian rapidly tied it to the similarly triangular tip of his tail. In time, that tip would solidify into a lethal hooked barb, which would begin to fill with a paralytic toxin as he reached adulthood. But for now, it was just firm enough to hold an identifying token—something Rhian would need if she wanted to track him in the coming minutes.

With one final tug at the knot, Rhian nodded. "There, all set. Are you ready, Grolit? Just jump and trust your wings, just like we practiced, okay?"

Meep! said the dragonet, leaping up onto her torso. The newly flagged tail wrapped around her waist as Grolit nuzzled his head into her chin. The pulsing warmth that came with the syncopated beating of his twin hearts was comforting, familiar, and full of love. They held each other for one human heartbeat. Two. Three.

The wind stilled. Rhian and Grolit disentangled themselves and rushed to the edge. It's time, she thought. Looking at the tense, focused, vibrating verdant friend before her, she felt a pang of bittersweet sorrow. I wish your mother could have been here for you today. I'm sorry I'm such a poor substitute. Rhian's eyes flickered to a broken mess of branches, scrap iron, and patchwork fabric lying in the corner. I'm sorry I wasn't able to join you.

Her moment of introspection was shattered by a roaring from above. Not the roar of a lionel, or a bear—it was more akin to the roaring of storm winds or the resonant rumble of a stampede, the kind that reverberated through your bones, flattening you beneath a wall of sound. Rhian and Grolit both pushed their heads as far as they safely could over the edge, and looked up just in time to see the soft white clouds far overhead tear apart and split away into shreds of white mist before the thundering wingbeats of the swarm of dragons that plummeted from their aeries above.

Hundreds upon hundreds of winged shapes dove into the skies of the Valley from above, like a hail of arrows from the gods, cluttering the sky as far as the eye could see. Scarlet, violet, burnished orange, flashes of silver and scintillating iridescence scattered the sunlight without reverence or awareness, setting the colors of the Valley ablaze with the reflections and absorption of light from the myriad shapes and classifications of dragonscale that danced with the wild winds as much as conquered them.

Rhian gasped and grinned and giggled with glee, barely holding back her desire, her instinct, to throw herself out into the open air to join the draconic host in their grand arrival. Grolit shuffled in place, head tilted and wings flapping hesitantly as he tried to look at both his kin and the distant plains below simultaneously.

Rhian took stock of the draconic shapes that had, by now, broken free of their dives and now swirled and played in the skies around the spires. Adults, some adolescents, some elders...that looks like the first wave. She paused, leaning further out to get a wider view of the Valley. Where's Big Red? She frowned. She's usually one of the first down into the valley. Is she sick?

Another roar shattered the skies, dragging the Rhian, Grolit, and the draconic host's eyes upward. The air itself seemed to twist and bend with the strength of the low vibrato, as if nature itself was being reminded of its place in the hierarchy of the material realm—and teetered on the edge of acquiescence. A titanic shadow that darkened the remaining cloud cover from above. If the sky hadn't been broken by the arrival of the initial host, it was certainly annihilated by the gargantuan form that careened through the white clouds, dragging them through the sky with the edges of her expansive wings. The deep maroon form, white clouds streaming from its body, thundered down into the valley with a roar that was as intimidating as it was gleeful. The draconic host responded with a cry of their own, a sonorous chorus of varying tunes, tones, and colors. It was an earsplitting experience—Rhian could see the protective flaps closed around Grolit's ear holes as she plugged her own with her fingers—but it was beautiful.

Big Red turned, each wingbeat flattening acres of fieldlands far below as she found her place in the flock to hover, giving Rhian ample time and framing to take a look. Her maroon scales had darkened from last year—closer to purple than red now—but her body was as full as ever. Massive amber eyes took stock of all before her, and her wingbeats came regularly and strong. The old girl looks as healthy as ever, Rhian thought. A squadron of other dragons flew in toward the matriarch, flitting around her and touching wingtips or lightly brushing their tails against her spine. The barking, quiet roaring, and squawking sounds carried to Rhian's ears as she watched the cavorting host patiently hover and flit around the spires. After a moment or two of this, Big Red raised her head back through the clouds and called out once more—less a roar, more a warm call.

Grolit's body went stiff, his wings slowly extending to their full length.

Rhian's breath caught. This is it.

The skies went silent—aside from the rumble of hundreds of wingbeats—as if waiting. The heartbeats marked time for two, five, nine seconds. Then, faintly, a new sound could be heard. A cacophonous chorus of cry and mewling and squawking that grew and grew until it dragged at Rhian's ears. Grolit's gaze was fixed skyward, eyes wide. His tail lashed from side to side as the sound grew nearer. Within seconds, they came into view: hundreds of tiny arrowhead shapes diving down from above, dark against the sky. As they plummeted to the ground, squealing and squeaking in alarm and fear, this year's generation of fledgling dragonets careened toward the earth in their first flight. Grolit flapped his wings once, twice, then paused. He looked over his shoulder at Rhian, and cocked his head to the side. The approaching dragonets were seconds away from their altitude.

Rhian smiled, and waved her hands. "Go, Grolit! Fly! Go!"

As the kaleidoscope of colored wing and scale plummeted past them, Grolit's mouth split into an open mouthed grin, and the young green dragonet threw himself over the edge. Rhian, heart in her throat, leaned over the edge to watch him fall with his peers.

Where many of the other dragonets tumbled crest over tail, or fell backwards, or spun wildly as they tried to right themselves with unsteady wings, Grolit dove with his wings tucked close and his nose pointed firmly at the ground. The yellow flag flapped from the tip of his tail like a distant, youthful flame.

His wings weren't spreading. Rhian held her breath, as if breathing would distract her charge from his own instincts. Come on, Grolit. We've practiced this. You can do it. She swallowed. Fly, Grolit. Fly!

The dragonets fell further and further. By this point the majority of them had figured out how to right themselves—or at least stop tumbling. A few thousand feet remained between them and the rippling grasslands between them, and that gap was closing fast. Rhian wanted to cry out, but it would be pointless; her voice would never carry through the winds and crying dragonets.

Two thousand feet.

One thousand feet.

Five hundred feet.

Rhian leaned as far out as she could, holding onto her security rope with one hand. "Now! Fly!" she cried out despite the futility, hoping that some god would carry her words to Grolit's ears.

Grolit's green form, identifiable—just barely, at this distance—by the yellow flag flared outward as his wings snapped open, catching the wind and throwing himself into the warm summer thermals and the wild winds of the Valley. As if given a signal, the rest of the dragonet cloud followed suit. The noise of hundreds of wings snapping open almost simultaneously blurred together into a sound not unlike tearing fabric, but the panicked squawking sounds turned into a chorus of meeps and small, ambitious cries. Rhian cheered, throwing herself into the wind and putting all of her faith in her security rope as her exultation spread her arms as widely as her lips, dancing on the sunlit spire. The rest of the draconic host joined her in celebration as Big Red lifted her head to the sky and roared triumphantly, joined in kind and in succession by hundreds of others. The Valley itself shook with the miracle of first flight, and the spires themselves resonated with the dragons' joy. Slowly, awkwardly, but determinedly, the dragonet swarm flapped and glided toward their parents, families, and—as of today—peers in the cloud-strewn realm. Rhian pulled herself back, heart pounding and head light as she sat herself down on the ledge, legs kicking happily in the open air.

He did it, she thought. I'm so proud of him.

She stayed to take in the sight for several minutes, letting the rush of first flight fade into a contented happiness. Alone. Her smile dimmed, ever so slightly. I hope he found a family out there, She thought. A family that can take proper care of him. It wouldn't make sense for him to return; first flight was a big moment of independence and pride for new dragons, and it wasn't uncommon for newly fledged drakes to flock together and form unique cohorts to explore the world together with. She knew this, but she still waited.

After an hour, a sour mixture of pride and sorrow boiling in the pit of her stomach, Rhian pulled herself back from the edge and began to coil her rope. The afternoon was waning into sunset, and the draconic host was beginning to disperse—some clusters leaving to hunt in and beyond the Valley, others beating their wings to climb into the sky toward their aeries. Rhian smiled at the sight of Big Red turning toward the sky, sending whirlwinds across the plains with every wingbeat, and climbing into the sky with dozens of exhausted dragonets clinging to the spines on her back.

"I guess that's it then," she murmured. "Goodbye Grolit; I'm proud of you."

As she turned, security rope coiled and slung over one arm, something tickled her ear. It was a faint thudding sound, irregular and rapid. She turned around. Nothing; just the distant colorful shapes of dragons going home. Too much to hope for, she thought. As soon as her back turned, a chittering noise floated over the ledge. She spun around and strode to the edge, and looked down.

Directly beneath her, claws digging into cracks in the side of the spire, hung three scaled, colorful bodies—one of which looked back up at her with big, vibrant blue eyes.

"Grolit!" Rhian cried, opening her arms. With one loud meep! the newly fledged drake flapped his wings and leapt up into her embrace. She fell backward into the hollow, laughing as he nuzzled her and snorted hot breath into her hair. The two other new drakes crawled up over the edge and began to sniff around the hollow, stopping briefly to lick inquisitively at the broken scrap pile in the corner. Eventually Rhian managed to extricate herself from her scaled companion, sitting up. Grolit stepped back and flared out his wings, looking at one, then the other, then back to her. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth, and his tail writhed on the floor behind him.

"I see them," Rhian crooned, reaching out to scratch beneath his chin. "Your wings are so strong, you did so well." She giggled as he purred, pushing his chin down into her fingers. She patted the side of his neck and looked around. "Who are your new friends?"

Grolit folded his wings—it took two tries to get them to sit right, but he managed—and chirped. The other two perked up and looked at him. Grolit snorted once, and slapped his tail against the floor. The two dragonets bounded over to him, full of youthful energy. Their wings and tails dragged behind them as they jumped, but their exhaustion didn't dim their excitement.

The first was a beautiful silver, with scales that faded to a pale blue at the edges. He was slightly larger than Grolit, but took up a position just behind his emerald peer. He snorted softly as Rhian stretched out one hand.

"It's okay handsome one, I'm a friend," she murmured. Grolit clicked a talon against the floor and nudged the silver. After a quick look, the silver relented, pressing his snout into her open palm. Grolit hummed in approval. Rhian smiled. "You're going to be a heartsbreaker when you mature, aren't you?" She didn't know if the silver understood her words, but he hummed nonetheless, and the vibration sent thrills through her entire body.

The moment was broken by the snuffling black snout that jammed itself under her other arm, flipping it backwards onto its slim neck. Grolit squawked in surprise, his tail lashing at the interloper as she shamelessly pushed herself into Rhian's open lap. Rhian's bubbling laughter mollified him; the silver was still humming under her gentle rubbing.

"Well aren't you pushy, little ma'am," Rhian said. The black drake looked up at her through rosy pink eyes, licked her arm, and then scrabbled at Rhian's clothing until she'd turned herself onto her belly. The young woman smiled. "You want belly rubs do you? Those are Grolit's favorite."

Indeed, his wings perked up at the words. He took a step forward, clearly debating whether or not to push his new friend out of his human's lap.

Before he could decide, a sound rent the air around the spire. A shrieking scream cut the air like a knife, following by a desperate, hacking roar. The silver and black drakes cowered and huddled behind Rhian, only to be left behind as she and Grolit ran to the edge of the hollow to investigate.

Falling through the burning oranges and deep purples painted across the sky by the setting sun were two shapes. A blue dragon tumbled down through the clouds, screaming and flailing without any control. His tail lashed violently through the air, cracking like a whip against itself as he thrashed. Black blood poured from his open mouth as he fell mere hundreds of feet out from Rhian's spire, plummeting toward the unforgiving ground. Behind him dove another, a female green, crying out as she chased his descent. Her wings wrapped tightly around her body as she tried to gain as much speed as she could, her form blurring into a verdant streak as she tried desperately to catch up.

Oh gods, were the only coherent thoughts Rhian could muster as she watched. Grolit growled, stepping back from the ledge to wrap around and wedge himself between her legs, sticking his head through as if looking out from the protective cover of a den. She reached a hand down to stroke his crest. Oh gods.

The blue's wild tumbling was slow enough for the green to catch up. For a single heartbeat they dove in parallel, and Rhian would have sworn the green was looking into the blue's eyes to try and calm him. The blue didn't respond except to scream, the black blood streaming out behind him as he fell, turning to black mist as it boiled away in the open air. The green cried out once more, and beat her wings once—pushing herself beneath the male. Her mate, Rhian realized. Once positioned, the green spread her wings and pushed, trying to straighten out, trying to support the blue. For a split second it looked like it was going to work; the fall was slowing and they were starting to level off!

The blue howled in agony, black mist seeping from between its teeth, and it lashed out. One hooked black talon caught one pale green wing membrane and tore it away like canvas from a windsail. The wet, tearing sound melded with the panicked shriek that ripped its way through the green's throat brought tears to Rhian's face—but she couldn't look away.

She wished she could.

The three new drakes flinched, all three of them ducking beneath a wing and curling tightly into themselves to hide. Rhian was too tense to move, frozen in place. She could only watch as two dragons, masters of the skies, plunged toward the earth like a screaming comet, leaving a trail of blood boiling in the air behind them. After what could only have been seconds, their tangled bodies flashed past Rhian's perch—they must have been less than one hundred feet away.

Time slowed to a halt for the single, infinitesimally short instant. In that moment Rhian could see them up close. The green's eyes were wide, panicked . . . and focused entirely on the flailing form of her mate. The blue's were just as wide, but bloodshot and rolling freely in their sockets. Blood streaked from his mouth, but now Rhian could also see thousands of tiny cuts and holes all over his body, also leaking boiling black sludge. One wing flapped in the wind, disconnected and torn. Amidst this horrifying display, two things would etch themselves indelibly into Rhian's memory.

From the eyes of the green dragon, fixed as they were on their deranged mate, flowed a stream of tears as clear and pure as fresh glacial meltwater. Those were eyes filled with grief.

From the eyes of the blue, through a pupil that looked as if it had burst from the inside, leaked an ashy black mist that coated his scales with an unnatural yellow-brown residue. Those were eyes shattered and filled with death.

Rhian tried to reach out, every fiber of her being praying, hoping, wishing for a way to save them. As this gods-given moment passed, the green closed her mouth, shut her eyes, and wrapped herself around her howling mate. Time resumed as quickly as it had slowed, and Rhian watched in horror as the green stopped flapping her wings, instead wrapping them tightly around the body of the blue. Together, like a falling star, they dropped.

Three hundred feet.

Two hundred feet.

One hundred feet.

Rhian closed her eyes and dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around the three drakes beneath her, unable to witness the end. She held the drakes as tightly as she could, her heart pounding in her ears as the wind whistled just outside.

She didn't hear the impact. The torrents of relief and guilt collided inside her, leaving her feeling nothing but nausea and a deep, penetrating sense of horror. Rhian didn't know how long she sat there with the drakes, sobbing. It could have been a minute. It could have been an hour. It was easy to lose oneself in the whirlpool of emotions and the comforting scent of cinnamon that wafted up from the drakes, a contradictory experience that was just magical enough to remind Rhian of the tragedy she'd just witnessed.

It was Grolit that first came to his senses, pulling his head from beneath his wing. He nosed under the curtain of Rhian's long hair, trying to meet her gaze. Salty tears fell onto his tongue. He snorted softly, then pushed up until his snout pressed against her cheek.

Meep?

Rhian stirred, opening her eyes. "Grolit?"

Meep.

"I'm—I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Meep meep?

"Are you okay?"

Grolit's tail thumped on the floor once. The other two drakes stirred, lifting their heads to look at him, then Rhian. The silver shuffled closer, putting his head onto her lap. The black cautiously stretched out to lick her arm. Rhian sighed. They looked confused, and scared, but otherwise okay.

Meep?

"I don't know, Grolit. I don't know." Rhian's shuddering breaths slowed, then stabilized. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, muscles and joints aching after being tense and still for so long. Dragons don't hunt each other. Something else did this.

"I'm going to find out what," she declared aloud. She looked down to her friend—friends—and nodded. "We're going to find out."

Dragons have no natural predators, she thought. Nothing can challenge them here. The Valley is safe for them. There are very few things that can kill a dragon; if there's a dragonkiller in the valley, everyone needs to know. She looked down at Grolit and his cohort, who were now snuffling and chirping amongst themselves. If Grolit is going to grow up safely, I need to find out what happened.

But that could come later. She wiped away her tears and moved toward the crevice that led back down into the spire. First, there must be a proper burial.

She allowed one more tear to fall. This was supposed to be a happy day.