The voice could scarcely be heard over the roars of dragons and the screams of their riders. At the sound of it, however, about a dozen of these dragons turned in their flight and began flying rapidly back toward the base in the distance. Their enemies pursued them, striving to bring them down as they fled. One of the retreating dragons faltered slightly as a strong head wind hit it and in a moment the enemy had caught up to it. The air was filled with screams and roars as the dragon and its rider strove to get away, but the enemy were too many and in moments a sword was plunged through the dragons heart and its rider was snatched up into the gaping maw of one of the dragons. The disturbance caused the other riders to look back, but there was nothing they could do. They pushed their mounts to even greater speeds, silently shedding tears for their fallen companions and for the hundreds of others who had died in that accursed war. They had been so confident of victory in the beginning yet they had not realized how strong their enemy was growing over time. From the eve of the war over twelve years ago, he had held the upper hand; still, they were hoping they could win. Now after all this time, they were retreating once again.
A bellow of rage came from the pursuing dragons as the retreating ones entered the protective shield surrounding their base. They slowed down as they realized that they were safe from harm, then glided down and landed in the field next the main building. The riders slowly dismounted as a group of people came running out to meet them.
“We can’t continue fighting,” one man said grimly as he surveyed the few riders left. He stood looking out of a window in that main building.
“We must,” answered another who stood beside him as he turned away from the window and began to pace. “Who will fight if we don’t? Answer me that.”
The first man watched him silently. This was the leader of the Dragon Riders. He looked to be about forty years of age, still in his prime, but his short brown hair was already starting to show streaks of gray. He was a tall, powerful man who always set others at ease with his calm, commanding presence. Now, however, alone with his second-in-command, he looked weary, defeated.
“If we continue to fight, sir, we will be wiped out. You know this,” the second man answered at last. “His Lordship warned us that we should not fight the war, yet we did not listen to him. He knew the strength of our enemy far surpassed our own, but even with our numbers so severely decreased, he has a plan. He knew that we would not listen to him. Have you forgotten that his plans are perfect? Some good will come of this. Even if we are wiped out he will find another way to win this war; but he expects us to make smart decisions. It is time for us to pull out. If we do so now, we will live to fight another day.”
“You’re right,” the commander said with a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. “We were so sure that we could win, but now here we are: tired, defeated, almost wiped out. We can’t keep fighting.”
“Give it time,” his second-in-command said as he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Let the men and women get their strength and their spirit back.”
“Yes,” he agreed as he walked back over to the window. He watched the people below for a moment before speaking again. “They’re so young, yet they’ve already seen the horrors of war, felt the pain of knowing that they will never see some of their friends again until they too die and go home to the King. They shouldn’t have had to suffer these things until they were much older.”
“Time will heal them,” his friend replied. “It will be a long time before we fight again. By that time they will be older and stronger and soon they will begin to help train the new riders.”
“Again you are right, my friend,” said the commander. “Come, let us go down to our brave warriors. We must tell them that the fighting is over for a time. We will live to fight another day.”
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