Burnt

He awoke with a start, the canopy of charred and broken branches overhead being the first thing his vision adjusted to. Distinctly, he heard her voice, though a glance around told him he was alone. The sound of her calling to him was what had brought him from the depths of unconsciousness. With wakefulness came an overwhelming sensation of pain flooding his senses.

Pushing himself to a seated position was no easy task and he nearly passed out again, but he forced himself to cling to consciousness. When the wave of dizziness cleared so he could see again, his gaze was drawn to a hideous sight. The flesh of his right arm could hardly be called that anymore. From his fingers to his shoulder, what wasn’t black was covered in blisters. Blood slicked everything, oozing thickly from nearly every pore.

He turned away from the grim image, a sour taste filling his mouth. To calm himself, he took deep, shuddering breaths before looking at his damaged arm once more. Carefully, he tried to move his fingers. They curled at his command, but his hand trembled from the effort.

She called again. Her voice distracted him briefly from his own circumstances. That voice was so familiar, but he couldn’t recall where he’d heard it before or why he would be hearing it now.

Considering the blackened landscape around him, he tried desperately to remember what had happened and who he was. He’d been here for a reason. Why else would he have woken like one of the dead raised after an apocalypse?

Thinking deeply, he saw a dark cloud descending and fire raining down on him. There had been others. So many others. Their corpses littered the landscape along with his own as they burned. He remembered the fear and . . . that was it. Everything else was hazy in his memory.

Braith . . . help me!

Braith. That was his name.

The sounds of men shouting, and the clanking of metal reached his ears as though a veil had been lifted. It was coming from beyond the incline. Rising slowly to his feet, Braith grimaced against the agony movement caused him. Though not as badly as his arm, his right leg was also bunt. He made his way with a slow limp through the damaged forest to the top of the inclination.

Sweat ran down his face and neck from the effort of hauling his armoured bulk up the hill. Thankfully, the armour he wore was made of leather rather than metal. Considering how much fire had been involved in whatever fight he’d taken part in, he was glad of that.

When he reached the top, he hid himself behind a convenient hedge. Peering around the leafy foliage, the picture that painted before him was frightful. A large contingent of soldiers with crude looking weapons were violently attacking an already badly injured creature chained to a cart in their midst. He recognized it immediately as a dragon.

Braith, stop them, please. Don’t let them kill me. Braith. Braith!

Her call was insistent, and the voice so familiar. He knew it was the voice of the dragon, but he couldn’t recall why she would be speaking to him. All he knew was the pain and fear she was suffering.

A large black shadow off to the side suddenly moved forward. He hadn’t noticed it before, thinking it was just another part of the surrounding forest. The shape unfolded itself to reveal large wings and scaled body. This second dragon raised its magnificent head and roared. Instant silence descended on the valley as all movement ceased.

A man stepped out from behind the dragon and raised an armour-clad fist. Even from this distance, Braith could see the arrogance he emitted. “Victory!” he shouted. “See, the great silver dragon burned and beaten, her rider lying dead in the forest. Those maggots of Sarenth have today lost their champion!”

A cheer rose up from the soldiers. It was deafening.

The man raised a fist and silence took hold once more. “With their hero defeated, we shall conquer them swiftly. The war has changed to our favour. Sarenth will fall by our hands. N’Kar!”

The dragon roared in response and the men shouted their triumph.

While the cheering continued, the man swung himself up to the base of the black dragon’s neck. “To Frethengor!”

The dragon took off into the air with a mighty beat of his great wings. The men watched the departure before mounting their own beasts; Giant Krakh’s: half wolf, half bear. The cart on which lay the silver dragon was dragged behind them.

He watched them leave, sorrow and urgency gripping his heart. “I will save you!” he cried in a whimper. One thing he could remember, he had never before felt this helpless.

Braith, you must remember. Come to me, and hurry! Before it’s too late.

Remember. That’s right. He had lost his memories. They’d been burnt up. “I will remember,” he said to himself. “I will. And I will save you!” He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to fall. Then, in a pain-torn voice, he raised his head to the sky and roared. “Elkana!”