Nihal of the Land of the Wind

  It wasn’t easy. Ido never missed, no matter what weapon he used.

  Nihal reacquainted herself with the lance, the mace, the axe, and the whip—all weapons she had trained with at the Academy. She also learned to concentrate while fighting, rather than being led by instinct.

  Ido was never satisfied despite his student’s progress. It wasn’t enough for Nihal to master the techniques. He wanted her to be strong and confident, to always have a clear sense of why she was fighting, and above all, he wanted her to control her blind rage.

  He knew her potential and admired her tenacity, but he also saw that she was motivated by anger, a desire for revenge, and a feeling of contempt toward her own life. Ido was not willing to let her throw her life away. He wanted her to become a genuine individual who would be good to herself and to the Overworld.

  And so, he never let up.

  He rarely praised her. He would knock her to the ground over and over again and insist she get up to try again. Nihal always got up without complaining, despite her wounds.

  As the weeks passed, however, Nihal’s determination began to waver. She had always believed she was destined for vengeance and never truly questioned the morality of her actions, but now Ido’s lecture had weakened her conviction.

  She kept telling herself that there was nothing wrong with hatred. After all, why had she been spared, if not to seek vengeance? When she woke from her nightmares, she would convince herself that her only purpose in life was to beat the Tyrant. Then her life would be over. Nihal was unable to imagine what would become of her after the Tyrant was vanquished. Where would she go? What would she do? Without her goal, she would be nothing. And yet …

  And yet Ido had raised all number of doubts. How was he capable of fighting without hatred? Where did he find his strength?

  The beauty of life, he said …

  There had been a time when Nihal thought life was beautiful, but that time was over. Her existence now consisted of only fighting and nightmares.

  At times she thought about what she had felt the night of her first battle, the possibilities she had imagined. Was that the life everyone loved? Perhaps. But it felt like nothing but a distant dream to her.

  Nihal’s training became a source of entertainment for the men at the fort. Ido’s skill was well known and Nihal was a good match for him. She was agile, talented, and, as an added bonus, she was beautiful.

  She was not beautiful in the classical sense, but there was something fascinating about her. She had a mysterious air. Her violet eyes were daring and she was slender without being shapeless. Not to mention that her fighting style was graceful, enchanting, and deadly.

  Many men began to notice her. There were even wagers on who would be first to catch her, but Nihal ignored the looks that came her way. She disliked the attention she was getting; she had stopped thinking of herself as a woman the day Fen died. Now she was a warrior and nothing else.

  She did not make friends with the women at camp, either. They envied her. There were exceptions, of course. A couple of girls tried to befriend her, but Nihal felt she had nothing in common with those girls who stayed home helping their mothers until they could marry.

  She was alone. The only creature to receive her attention was her dragon.

  Nihal adored him. She knew she would never ride any other dragon but her own restless beast.

  Ido had left her to do as she chose after the first few disastrous attempts.

  “I’ve told you what dragons are like and how to behave toward them. Now you’ve got to find a way to make him accept you. When you’ve managed to mount him, we’ll start our training.”

  Nihal worked with her dragon every day after lunch. On their first day alone together, Oarf had growled and clawed at the sight of her. Nihal held her ground and stared at him for a long time, showing him she would not be frightened off.

  Oarf’s keeper stuck around to watch for the first few days, but soon lost interest. Every day, Nihal and Oarf would simply glare at each other venomously for hours. It was a bore.

  When people asked for an update, the keeper invariably replied, “I think she’s nuts. She just stands there and stares at him. The half-elves must have been a really weird breed.”

  One day, Nihal started talking to Oarf. She sat at one end of the arena with her eyes fixed on him and tried to connect with him telepathically, but when all her attempts proved ineffective, she reverted to using her words instead. She thought her personal story would be more compelling than fighting and was convinced that she and Oarf were linked by a common destiny. She hoped this knowledge would make him trust her.

  She told him about the nightmares that tormented her, about Livon’s death, the destruction of her city. She told him about Fen and how much she had loved him, recounting his cruel death.

  Oarf was unimpressed, but Nihal carried on trying to get inside the animal’s head.

  Ido often watched from a distance. He thought Nihal was on to something. Oarf continued to look at her with suspicion, but there was a glimmer of interest in his eyes.

  The rest of their time was dedicated to battle. Nihal and Ido rode into combat regularly, and Ido made sure Oarf was brought along to watch. Before every battle, Nihal would visit him and ask, “Do you feel the tension in the air? The excitement? They’re calling you, Oarf. They’re asking you to come back and fight.” Then she would take to the field and fight for all she was worth.

  They won many battles and lost many others; Nihal got used to seeing the ground covered with the corpses of her comrades.

  Ido continued to chastise her for her attitude on the battlefield. Every time, Nihal would promise to fight more honorably, but it was useless. The clang of the weapons went to her head; when she was on the battlefield, she became an instrument of death.

  Nihal kept trying to get through to Oarf.

  She tried to move closer to him each day, one step at a time. Oarf no longer feared her nearness and simply looked at her with suspicion. She sensed that the dragon was no longer hostile, no longer afraid. Now she wanted to try to establish a deeper level of communication.

  For two weeks, she spent her afternoons hunkered down next to him.

  She concentrated, trying to hear his thoughts. Ido had explained that between a knight and his dragon there could be no communication unless they both wanted it. And Oarf, for the time being, did not want it.

  Still, Nihal remained confident she would find a way eventually.

  One day, by chance, she arrived a little earlier than usual and saw Oarf as he was led into the arena.

  His keeper pulled him along with the help of two other servants. It was a sad scene. The dragon balked and dug in his hind legs to keep from being dragged, but the chain had wounded his ankle. He got yanked forward bit by bit to the sound of the men’s curses as he growled and whimpered in pain.

  Nihal had not noticed the wound. She cursed herself for not checking in on him more often to see the kind of care he was receiving. Once Oarf was in the arena, Nihal stalked up to the servants as they were leaving.

  “Hey, you!” she called to them. “I don’t want to see that chain again.”

  They looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “What do you know. Without that chain he’ll eat you up in one bite and fly away, girl,” one man sneered.

  Nihal grabbed him by the lapels. “I’m a future Dragon Knight. I’d advise you to be more respectful.”

  His colleague barely managed to suppress his laughter. Nihal drew her sword and put it to his chest. “I mean it,” she growled. “As of tomorrow, no more chain. If he kills me, that’s my business. I’ll take the blame for you cowards if he escapes.”

  She let the men go and turned to Oarf. He was licking his wounded paw, trying to reach under the chain. Nihal walked up to him and he assumed an attack position, roaring a warning.

  He was preparing to launch a burst of flames when Nihal swung her sword down. The iron links fell away revealing a large, fe
stering sore.

  Oarf was too surprised to fight when Nihal stretched her hands toward his paw. The dragon felt heat around his wounds that eased away his pain. Nihal noticed the animal’s relief.

  Oarf lowered his big emerald green head and saw that a reddish light was coming from Nihal’s hands. He tried to pull back a little, but Nihal moved closer and kept working her healing spells.

  Oarf watched her carefully. It had been a long time since anyone treated him so lovingly. That was when the dragon finally opened himself to Nihal. He understood her sadness, her gloom, and her sorrow.

  Nihal did not have the skill to work a healing spell for long, but at least she was able to clear the infection. She sat on the ground, covered in sweat. The spell had required a lot of energy.

  Oarf sniffed at her inquisitively and Nihal gave him a faint smile in reply.

  “You owe me,” she told him. “Maybe you could be a little more cooperative from now on.”

  Oarf went back to his pen without causing any trouble.

  The next day, Oarf came to the arena on his own. Nihal walked toward him, her hand outstretched. She had never patted a dragon. Not even Vesa had allowed her to touch him, though by now he was accustomed to her presence.

  Seeing her hands, Oarf drew back in disdain.

  “Hey, what’s this? I freed you, I healed you … you owe it to me to let me touch you, Oarf.”

  The dragon grunted and shook his head.

  “Come on. You’ll like it!” she smiled.

  Nihal stretched her hand out again. It was shaking. Her fingers grazed Oarf’s skin lightly; it was cool and leathery but pleasant to the touch.

  She rested her palm on Oarf’s chest and felt a powerful, rhythmic beat. Life. This was life. Nihal started to run her hand over his scaly flank more confidently.

  Oarf did not move. It was as though he were listening. No one had ever petted him before. It was nice. The hand was small and cool and the creature was so kind to him. And yet, she understood hatred. He had sensed that the first time he saw her. The creature was sad and bitter, like him.

  Maybe he could trust a human again. He wanted to unfurl his wings and fly the way he had done as a pup.

  “You know, I’ve always wanted to fly, too,” Nihal said as she petted him.

  She liked the way his scales felt. She could hardly believe she had done it. She was petting a dragon. Her dragon. And one day, she would ride him.

  For a moment, Nihal found a part of herself that she had lost when her city went up in flames. Once again she felt free, with her whole life before her, a life whose path had not yet been traced. How have I managed to come so far from what I was?

  Then Oarf moved away from her, but not before Nihal caught the happy gleam in his eyes, too.

  Later, Nihal told her tutor about her day.

  “Good, Nihal. I’m glad.”

  “Now you’ll teach me to ride him, right?”

  Ido puffed out a cloud of smoke. He seemed to be hesitating.

  “So … ?” Nihal said impatiently.

  Ido tugged thoughtfully at his beard. “Yes, I think the time has come. You’ve been here for three months; we’ve waited long enough.”

  Nihal felt her heart leap. She would ride her dragon. She would begin to fight like a knight!

  Ido did not share her enthusiasm.

  He was fond of Nihal and he wanted to help her overcome her hardships, but if he could not, it would be up to him to make sure she did not become a Dragon Knight. She was too bent on revenge to fight for the Army of the Free Lands.

  Nihal had made great progress as far as combat techniques were concerned, but in battle she continued to be blinded by rage. Ido knew she would be a danger to her comrades until she learned to fight alongside others. The time had come to make a decision.

  For the next two weeks, Nihal spent all her afternoons at the arena. She talked to Oarf and petted him, then brought him back to the stables and took care of feeding him herself. The dragon had grown accustomed to her and only barely managed to hide his affection for her.

  Nihal grew increasingly impatient with Ido.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked him.

  “I have to go to the command post.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, Nihal,” Ido said as he packed.

  “And the next day?”

  “I’ll be at another base.”

  “So when are you going to teach me to ride?” she protested, exasperated.

  “I don’t know, Nihal.”

  Ido was very busy. He was planning a large-scale attack. Between serving as an adviser at the base and attending meetings with generals and knights from the other camps, he did not have a moment to spare.

  “If you don’t have time, I can go ahead and try on my own,” Nihal ventured one night as they ate.

  Ido let his spoon fall into his bowl and looked her straight in the eyes. “Don’t go getting any ideas. Riding a dragon is no joke.”

  “I know. But …”

  “Case closed,” Ido barked, but his words fell on deaf ears. She was already set on the idea.

  Nihal tried to resist the temptation. She trusted Ido and admired him, bur lately she had been asking herself more and more often why she should wait. She had a mission. Hanging around doing nothing was a waste of time.

  One morning, Nihal woke and went to the arena earlier than usual. It was a harsh winter and the cold made her bones ache. She sat in the bleachers and huddled into her cloak to wait.

  She saw Oarf appear gradually through the mist, a squire by his side. Oarf’s imposing figure moved forward gracefully.

  She imagined the way their day ought to go, then wondered, What if today …

  Oarf was drawing closer.

  No, Nihal. Don’t even think about it. Ido will be so mad.

  Oarf drew closer and closer.

  On the other hand …

  Nihal got goose bumps at the happy thought of flying through the air.

  No, I can’t. I don’t even know how to start.

  A little voice inside her wondered how hard it could be. Then Oarf stopped before her and lowered his head.

  “How are you?” Nihal asked as she scratched his muzzle. The dragon’s breath warmed her freezing hands.

  Nihal began petting him. After two months of conflict, she and Oarf had come to an understanding. They were both ready for this step.

  “What do you say? Shall we fly today?”

  The dragon looked at her with his red eyes. He pulled his muzzle away from Nihal’s hand.

  Maybe he doesn’t want to, but that’s normal. When I’m in the saddle, he’ll feel differently.

  “Let me up, Oarf.”

  Oarf grumbled and moved away from her.

  Nihal was stubborn. She would mount Oarf today at all costs. She raised her voice and yelled, “Stop!” but Oarf only hastened his step.

  Nihal acted impulsively. She ran to his side, leaped into the air, grabbed onto one of his flanks, then climbed onto his back.

  The incredible thing was that she managed to get herself seated. Oarf was enraged and began bucking wildly. Nihal clung to the skin on his neck as Oarf roared at her.

  Oarf was furious. How dare she? He turned his muzzle toward Nihal and roared as loudly as he could, but Nihal would not budge.

  “I’m sorry, my friend. There’s nothing you can do about it,” she said.

  Then, Oarf took flight. He climbed into the sky, pounding his wings powerfully.

  Nihal felt the wind beat her down. It was nearly impossible to breathe. She closed her eyes, terrified, but then she thought, I’m flying! I’m flying on my dragon!

  She opened her eyes and began to shout her joy. She felt as powerful as a god.

  She held on with all her strength and looked down. They had reached a dizzying height. The trees around the fortress were barely visible. It was beautiful and terrifying.

  Oarf came to a stop in midair. His wings tensed as he flipped over and
took a nosedive toward the ground.

  They fell slowly at first, but they gained more and more speed as the trees, buildings and fields came menacingly close.

  Nihal clung to Oarf’s neck to keep from being blown away. She was terror-stricken. “I trust you! I trust you,” she began to holler to the dragon, although in reality, she did not trust him at all.

  The ground was right beneath them, their crash imminent and inevitable. Nihal yelled with all the breath in her body.

  Just when it seemed they would crash, Oarf climbed back up into the air and circled over the base, grazing the roofs of the buildings as the inhabitants fled in all directions.

  She was scared out of her wits. Her stomach lurched and her heart was racing. She did not notice when Ido came out of the command post and looked up at the sky wide-eyed, nor did she hear the curses he yelled at her from below.

  Oarf was having a world of fun.

  He had not flown in ages. He was delighting in feeling the wind against his skin. In his euphoria, he forgot about his insolent passenger. He climbed high into the sky and then plummeted downward, giving a burst of speed. He somersaulted through the sky head over tail over and over again.

  This was too much for Nihal. The sky and earth changed places before her eyes repeatedly. Up and down lost all meaning. Head spinning, she lost her grip and began falling through the clouds.

  The wind blew violently against her body as she plummeted. She yelled but could not hear her own voice. She closed her eyes and thought: What a stupid way to die.

  Then she crashed against something hard and scaly.

  A crowd had gathered in the arena. Oarf landed gingerly and crouched down so the men could reach Nihal. As they helped her down, aching and unsettled, Nihal whispered, “You saved my life. Now you’re really my dragon.” But Oarf ignored her and stamped away.

  Once Nihal regained her footing she received a resounding slap in the face. “Are you capable of doing anything without nearly killing yourself? When will you learn, dammit!?”