Chapter III, part 1: When the mighty fall.

“Four days…” Razin whispered to the thick smoke. “We have lasted only for four days…”

He knew that they were doomed from the beginning. But he hoped that he could have given the younger ones some more time.

They had no way of succeeding through a direct confrontation, and so they have been forced to use skirmish tactics. No one in the world would count today as a defeat, no one than the Charodians that is. For even if they have killed five for each one they lost, tonight they would lose something even more vital.

Razin knew that he didn’t have another choice. Aldair’s plan demanded the exact opposite of what the archmage was about to do. But Aldair didn’t have the dreams that haunted the Count. Dreams that even a fool could distinguish for prophetic.

The Charodian way was to fight. Today it was asked for him to either leave his clan weaponless, or cower in the face of the world’s destruction. He looked at the banner, a silver banner with a brownish mountain. It was like an omen, the clan was there for the earth, not for the sake of themselves.

“Maybe they will succeed in the years to come. They could probably remake it through the sword.” As he looked at the tattered flag beside him, he knew that he was trying to fool himself. It would be near impossible for them to ever reach the knowledge and pureness that was required for this task. For he knew, that to form a pact so deep, something dire would have been required in the past…

Razin was standing on top of the sorcerers’ tower, one of the few buildings that weren’t burning. Down in the ground, the clashes of the swords were audible to all. The screams of death, resounded in his ears as he cast his last spell.

His loud voice was multiplied a hundred times in the night sky, deafening those that they were near, but also making it audible to all that were in the city, and even farther, a voice clear that echoed even above the sounds of the battle.

“Have you accomplished your goal Lermaine? Two hundred thousand of your soldiers have perished already. Three hundred of your dragons will never fly again. And yet, as a savage beast, you continue to send your butchers in. As a mindless ravager you devour the flesh of our children. How many more will you sent? Almost as many as those who have perished remain. But you were fool to kill us…

For five thousand years we stole eggs from the same two mountaintops. You should have wondered why the dragons have allowed us to live. Today, I set them free from their oath.”

And with that, the slim steel staff of the elder burst into flames. A relic old, presumably crafted alongside with the sword of Kaidin, but unknown to all save the elders of the clan. A symbol to mark the covenant between the humans of this land, and the dragons that roamed once free, was reduced to ashes in mere seconds…

The Count hoped; hoped that by this time tomorrow, the dragons wrath would have left nothing left of Charoden. No human would ever be allowed to live here. No building would be left standing. For five thousands years, Charoden has stolen the baby dragons from their mothers. Razin could only wish that in the resulting wrath not a single Lermaine soldier would be left alive. It would be necessary to destroy more than the two thirds of the whole Lermaine army if the world was to have a chance. And the numbers of the soldiers that were currently in the Charodian plains were much more than those…

It was only ten minutes later that the first dragon appeared. Razin stood straight up, unflinching, as the dragon swooped downwards towards him, its eyes blazing red with hatred.

The last elder of the clan smiled knowing that their murderers wouldn’t touch what they sought. He had done his part, now, in his last moments, he could only pray that the young ones had enough determination to rise from their ashes…