I should explain that Wyrm is a Scandinavian word meaning dragon. I should probably also explain that ex-colleague Jon Lavelle posted up some pics of motorbikes on Facebook. At this time of the night that's all it needs to inspire this.
James
Alright, I don’t much like the beasties, but I had a real kick out o’ flying one. I wanted ‘Dambusters’ playing while I was up there. Though to be honest, the closest thing to a flight on a Wyrm is the Enfield Bullet 500cc. A beautiful piece o’ engineering, ye stick it into gear, open up the throttle, get a noise like God farting and go. Stick wings on it and it’s a Wyrm.
It was a real hoot to be doing the ‘Wyrm leader to Wyrm Flight, bandits at six o’clock’, business and I drilled them through all that stuff. Well, everything I could remember from watching The Battle of Britain every Christmas. And like the guy with the Poles, tried to get them to behave with proper discipline.
We landed by a small loch and had a quick go at strafing runs. Then we went through the defence against attack that young Earle had come up with. I was reluctant to admit it, but it looked like it all might just work. Against the new crop o’ Vere anyway. Vere born o’ Vere ye might just have to kill, but I couldn’t see myself crying real tears over that.
I checked with Udaam after a wee while how he reckoned the Wyrm were fairing and he said they could go on for a while yet. I reckoned it was enough for the day, though, so I ordered a return to the Gard. I gave them a last strict order to observe proper procedure while talking on the Wyrms and to keep good formation and then we set off.
Kattem
We were barely in the air when we saw them. We had lined up in the good wing formation the Senior had taught us. Already we were feeling proud of what we had done. Why had we never thought of flying with the dragons before? With us on their backs they were clearer in their minds and less likely to panic. We could fight with them. Better still, our cousins who were not Mages could do this. It only asked the skills we have developed in living with dragons.
That Brendan apprentice’s idea was to turn the vampires back into humans was well enough. I could see the sense of it, we would gain and Maldon would lose, but, in truth, I would be as happy to kill them too. We have generations of blood to pay them back for.
So is it any wonder, when we saw the group of vampires resting by the road from Black River Bridge, we Duerg did not have to think of what to do next.
“Dragon eight to Dragon Flight, bandits at 9 o’clock. Engaging.” We peeled off in a very perfect formation, the dragons folded their wings and we dropped towards them like the talons of a hunting hawk.
“Get back here ye wee buggers. What do ye think yer at going Polish on me?”
I did not understand the question, but I would have ignored the order even if I had. They were going to be ours.
Adam
McGregor was in front, Phoebe and I flying in parallel behind and the rest of the flight in a nice wing formation behind us. I heard the 'bandits' call, but the other dragons had peeled off and were heading for the Vere below before we knew what was up. We followed them. There wasn’t really much choice.
The Vere didn’t know what to make of it. I think they’d never been attacked by dragons or Duerg before, and were used to the idea that everything ran from them. They stood too long watching to see what was happening. Then it was too late. The flight came in at ground level and back-winged to a stop, knocking half the Vere down in the cyclone blast. In dropping down the Duerg had already pulled their weapons from their backs and, as the dragons’ claws hit the ground, they opened up.
Supersoaker water guns are not the most imposing of ways of taking on vampires, but loaded with Rowan berry spirit they could reverse the magic effect of the vampire bite. I doubt that’s in any of the books on vampire lore either, but the AI had assured us it would work and it made the rules around here. Alistair had made a big deal of the anti-magic properties of the Mountain Ash, so it was his own fault. He’d set up the AI with something it could extrapolate a solution from and it had.
And I was more delighted than I could say. Alistair would have had his heart attack early if he’d have seen his beautiful fantasy degenerating into a water pistol fight. We didn’t kill anything and I took the piss. Some days it does all go right.
As the stuff hit the Vere they collapsed in twitching masses. The dragons didn’t give them the chance to get their wits or legs under control and kept back-winging to knock them down, advancing and herding the crowd, harrying them until they were splashed and changing.
Some didn’t react. These, I guessed, were the Vere born of Vere I’d been told about before. Two of them lifted off and tried to get behind us. Reflex I suppose, as that was the way they’d always attacked dragons. McGregor’s mount rounded on them and let fly with a white hot jet of flame. It missed, but the point was made, these dragons couldn’t be confused and scattered. They had discipline.
Another three managed the same trick of getting out from in front of us and swinging in for an attack from behind. Before my dragon could barbecue them I sprayed two with spirit and watched them twitch, fall and hit the ground with bone-crunching thuds. The third I hit in the solar plexus with one of the distance punches Jake had taught. It went down trying to hold its gut and flap its cloak at the same time.
In only a minute it was done. Perhaps five of the Vere escaped. The others were on the ground curled into snails of quivering flesh, caught in the change back to human form. We got down and walked among them. The scene scared the Duerg. Seeing the pain of the twitching teens wasn’t something they’d geared up for. One of the figures on the ground clutched at my leg as I got too close.
“Again,” it croaked. I waved the spray at it.
“This?”
It nodded, so I gave it another blast. It arched as though electrified then slumped back to the ground. I could see that the cramp-like rigor had gone out of it now though. It looked me in the face. Another painfully skinny, painfully pale, suffering teen. Not the stuff of nightmares any more. “Thanks,” he wheezed and passed out. I wondered which personality he owned, but realised I could never know.
We went through the others then, spraying them until they slumped and the pain had gone out of them. It looked like a mass execution, but we’d brought them back to life, not taken it from them.
McGregor looked around at the flaked out crowd. “Looks like the morning after a beach party in Goa,” he said, “Without the spandex psychedelic trousers o’ course. Now, how are we going to get these back to the Gard?”
There was a question. None were in a condition to even start walking yet, and wouldn’t move fast when they could. We agreed Malaika and I would go back to the Gard and get transport and reinforcements. The others would stay.
There was a risk of a counterattack. We didn’t know how great, as there’d been no sign of enemy in this area, but the Duerg and dragons were quietly confident they could see off anything thrown against them.
Mere vampires they would laugh at, werewolves or sand giants they could escape by taking to the air and our reports suggested that Maldon’s ranks of rogue Mages were thin on the ground by now. What a dragon couldn’t burn or a Duerg apprentice punch a hole through, McGregor could deal with.
McGregor thought they’d have no trouble. He’d send his familiar to the nearest Duerg village to ask for help in getting the rescued kids a place to stay until the transport arrived.
“Hey,” I called just before we lifted off, “Are we still on for a concert soon?”
“Ye know what they say, ‘If I can’t dance to it, it’s not my revolution.”
“I’m still up to sing?”
“Is the Pope a Catholic?”
“Lai too?”
“Does a bear crap in the woods?”
“Hey Jock,” called Phoebe, “Are we going to win this war?”
“Er, that’s one o’ them, ‘Does the Pope crap in the woods?’ questions hen. I’d love to ken the answer. We won’t know till it’s over and it’s not over till Oprah Winfrey says so, but I think so. Today, I really think so.”
He waved his arms around him in an expansive gesture. “Look upon my works ye mighty, and wet yourselves, eh? Now get a move on and get some o’ the lads down here, right? See ye soon.”
We waved goodbye, but, before we could start our run-up, he called again.
“Hey! Earle?”
“Yeah?”
He waved the supershooter like an AK47.
“I think I look a fool with one o’ these in my hand. I don’t care. Damn good idea son, damn good.”
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