Young Writers Society

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“Father!” Méave screamed, racing into the building with Shiloh on her heels. “Father, where are you!”

She ran through the wide foyer, going against the flow of fleeing, screaming people. All of the servants, the cooks, the maids, the butlers, even the guards. They fled, very few of them remaining nearby to defend anything at all. On the other side of the wall, she could hear the servant quarters emptying out, its own people clambering over walls and evacuating.

“Wait, slow down!” Shiloh shouted at her, “Princess! It’s not safe!”

“I have to find Father!” she cried back at him, pressing on. She raced down the hall, calling out for the Elfin king. She ran on, panting and sweating, until the entire floor was swept. He was somewhere above. She knew his bed chamber was on the third floor. She whimpered, tears coming to her eyes as she began to panic. She went to the tower stairwell, pausing at the bottom and looking up the line of stairs.

Shiloh caught her arm, holding her fast for a moment. She looked up at him with moist eyes, terror coursing through her veins. He sighed; he knew this was unsafe. The castle had been bombarded savagely, and it might not hold much longer. But her face…her worry…her love for the man who ran this island nation and its people… He nodded. “I’ll go first, in case something happens. Okay?”

She smiled slightly, and nodded. She watched as he looked up to the ceiling of the tower, his eyes shifting peculiarly and focusing. Shiloh listened, feeling for the king’s telepathic conscience presence within the castle. There was a soft response, far above them. “Third floor, other side of the palace,” he said as he finally withdrew back into himself, becoming alert once more. He grabbed Méave by the wrist, leading her up the stairs in the tower.

As they reached the second floor, Shiloh got another nervous feeling. He tensed, looking out at the outer wall. He paused by a window, and hissed, swearing. A wyvern was diving for the tower, head first. He felt its mind touch his for a brief moment; it opened its mouth, spitting a ball of acid onto the stones, beginning to melt them. It continued to dive forward, flattening its skull to use as a battering ram.

Shiloh tightened his grip around Méave’s arm, pulling her out of the way of the landing. “Get back!” He wrapped his arms around her and charged forward, getting out of the tower’s second floor foyer. Even as he reached the doorway into the castle corridor, the wyvern plowed through the walls, sending stones and mortar everywhere. The man groaned, boulders flying and pelting him across the back of his shoulders and ribs. He staggered into the corridor, ducking behind the wall as the tower crumbled and fell silent, the wyvern a collapsed heap beneath the rubble.

He grunted, setting her down onto her feet. He looked back at the tower as the stone structure began to creak, parts of the second floor landing starting to crack and lean. He hissed a swear, putting a hand on her back and urging her forward. He didn’t care so much about his health; he was much sturdier than she was and could handle a potential collapse. But the princess, with her pampered frailness… He beckoned her to go forward at a swifter pace as pieces of the floor began to crumble behind them. “Move, Méave,” he whispered to her. “It won’t hold much longer.”

She whimpered, and pressed on. They were almost to the center of the corridor, equidistant from either end. She looked up a little, eyes searching and ears straining as she picked up the sounds of movement, of heels clicking on the stone far ahead of them. Shiloh smiled, relieved, as he felt the familiar presence. “Milord!”

The king slammed through the door of the tower, panting and brandishing a scimitar. Blood trickled down his arm and from his scalp. He smiled, his eyes falling on Méave. “Thank God,” he said, beginning to approach. “You’re alive!”

“Father!” the girl cried, tears falling down her cheeks and she pulled away from Shiloh, running toward the bleeding elf. Shiloh sighed, studying the wounds on the noble. His arm looked like it had been shredded, savagely bitten and then raked with the razor teeth. His head had been mauled, with thin claw marks that oozed. He knew what they came from, and there was nothing he could do about it. He caught the elf’s gaze, and locked with him, their consciences connecting. You are mortally wounded, sir...

I know. I was ambushed in my chamber; a small wyvern plowed through my window and struck me. I am beginning to feel its effects…

What will you have me do, Alderic? I am loyal to you and your family so long as your daughter lives.

The elf lord smiled, turning his gaze to his daughter. She was only about twenty strides from him now, and closing the distance. Then do simply that: protect her. Make sure she lives to prosecute those who have destroyed my kingdom, and rebuild it. Even in death, I continue to trust you.

Shiloh nodded his head. He and Alderic locked gazes one last time, and then the peace was shattered again. Méave whimpered, looking at her father with terrified eyes as he braced himself, tightening his grip on his sword and looking down at the shuddering floor. Shiloh gasped, staggering a little as the palace shook from the force of an explosion below them. The girl halted, screaming as the floor cracked, separating her from her father. Alderic scampered backwards, away from the widening gap and rising smoke and soot. Shiloh watched the floor, trying to identify their new attacker, but his attention was drawn elsewhere; Méave shrieked, slipping down onto her knees as a second explosion sounded and rocked the foundation. Alderic yelled to her, but she couldn’t hear. A dragon roared below them, its crest slamming against the underside of the level so that the floor began to cave and its multiple bony spikes protruded through the stone. And this dragon was huge. Its temple spikes could have easily been over six feet in length, the marbled, scaly skin around the bases of them as black as midnight.

“Mac soith..! Méave, get away from there!” Shiloh yelled at her, taking a hesitant step forward. The girl cried out in terror as the massive dragon rammed the floor again, this time its entire head crashing through. It turned dark, malicious burgundy eyes on her, huffed, and snarled toward Alderic. Shiloh felt the elf touch his mind one more time, Take my daughter, Shiloh! Keep her safe!

Shiloh growled, clenching his fists as he watched Alderic square off with the beast, swinging his blade warningly in front of its muzzle. The dragon was unfazed and rose, but its body was too large for the small space. It turned and tore at the outer wall and floor with its head until one of its forelegs could reach through and continue with the demolition. The young warrior rushed forward during its distraction, diving under flying rubble as the floor began to cave in, Méave sliding down the slope toward the mighty beast. If she fell… He yelped as the whole section began to crack off and lean, throwing him forward onto his knees. The king yelled, finally blasting the dragon’s nose with a spell before taking off running down the hall and out of sight. The dragon roared, suddenly shifting and pushing itself up onto its hind legs. It opened its wings, bringing them up through the remainder of the floor and bursting through the walls. Glass and stone shattered and was sent askew.

The next moment was a blur; Méave was vaulted from her perch on the stone slab, and Shiloh was sent onto his back, slammed against the crumbling wall. He blinked, seeing her beside him, and the ground giving way. There was no way out; the dragon continued to climb, splintering the floor and wall by feet at a time with every passing second. The seam between the floor and the wall broke. He reached out and latched onto the girl, cocooning her against his chest and within his strong embrace as they plummeted below, the dragon’s roar echoing amidst the thunder of the palace’s collapse.