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Chapter 1: Dragons in The Realm

Lightning flashed in the sky like a demon's breath, splitting the night air with great jagged thrusts, hammering the vale with thunder. It was unnatural, WingTouch thought—that lightning, driven by a power no dragon could comprehend. All the dragons had felt its sting. Those who confronted it directly were burned from the sky. Those who lacked the courage, or perhaps the foolhardiness to stay in the battle, had already fled.

WingTouch fought to remain airborne in the tossing winds. Even here at the edge of the skirmish, the very air had become an adversary, turned against them by the devilish power of the Enemy. How could he fight a storm like this? All he could do was tumble through the maelstrom of wind, ignoring all else but the need to destroy the creatures who were attacking the valley.

Something blacker than the night passed before him, and he instinctively flexed his wings in pursuit. Gaining on the shadowy thing, he exhaled a lance of flame. His aim was perfect. The fire struck the fleeing creature, and he heard its wail of pain. WingTouch roared in triumph, but his victory was fleeting. The blackness rippled and veered and fled into the night. He had hurt it, but it was still alive and now he had lost it.

So it had gone for half the night, since WingTouch's patrol had responded to a cry for help from the guardians of this grove. WingTouch had watched strong and faithful dragons being driven back from the flashing storm clouds, back from these undragon drahls of the Enemy that filled the sky with their trills of laughter. Dragon in shape, but not in substance, the drahls were the Enemy's most hated warriors, the leaders of his army of destruction, delusion, and fear.

But the drahls were not the only sorcery in the skies tonight. The Enemy had turned the very elements of nature against them. Amidst the lightning, it was hard even to see his fellow dragons. There were many in the sky, but fewer than at the start of battle. How many had died? How many had fled? WingTouch had felt death all around him, and dragons passing to the Final Dream Mountain, but mostly he had felt terror reigning in the sky. The valley below, with its precious lumenis groves, was being pummeled by lightning; and the dragons themselves by withering attacks of freezing fire from the drahls. So far, the dragons had held the defense in the air, and the guardian spells had held below. But for how much longer?

As if in answer to his thought, an explosion of lightning and thunder rocked the air. WingTouch shuddered, and felt something change in the air below. He glimpsed a pair of drahls flickering like shadows low across the basin. How had they gotten so low? Had the guardian spells failed? He thought he heard a roar of anger from the spell-wielding dragons on the ground.

Bucking the winds, Windrush dove to give chase. He passed harmlessly through the layer where he should have encountered a challenging spell-barrier. He felt nothing; the spells of protection had failed. He bellowed his rage; he gathered fire in his throat. But before he could catch the drahls he saw cold flames ripple across the ground ahead of him, pouring from the speeding creatures. His heart cried out—and he cried out to his fellow dragons for help, but his cry was lost on the wind. The others were occupied in battle high overhead. From the ground, he heard the wail of dying guardian dragons.

Speeding low over the valley, too far behind the drahls to stop them, WingTouch saw their freezing bursts of fire exploding in a long line, where the lumenis and the garden of power were being blasted into ruin. Within moments, one more living garden was gone, one more source of strength against the darkness. WingTouch beat his wings with impotent fury as he climbed back toward the others. There was nothing left to fight for here.

"DRAGONS, GATHER!" he thundered. His voice was nearly lost in the crashing of the storm. But some of the dragons heard, and they repeated his words in trumpeting cries. Three dragons fell in beside him. The rest gathered slowly, giving up the battle. When he was satisfied that all who still lived had joined him, WingTouch bellowed, "DRAGONS, AWAY!" and they banked away from the wind and fled eastward into the night.

As they crossed the Scarred Mount Ridge, WingTouch wondered what he could say to Windrush and to the others back at the camp. With another lumenis grove lost to the Enemy, the outlook for the realm was bleaker than ever.

No, it would not make for a joyful report to his brother, the leader of the dragons. He could only hope that Windrush had fared better tonight than had his own patrol.

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Framed