T'grat took to the air with the rest of the flight close behind.

< Haroc tells me that his rider wants to go after the wilder with the 
child while the rest of us deal with the pack > Malachite said as they 
climbed.

T'grat saw the dark blood-red dragon high above near the lip of the 
volcano. He'd forgotten that the quiet dragonrider had broken off from 
the flight to go to his own rooms upon their return to the Warren.

< Why? > T'grat asked.

Apparently the dragonrider believes those who know and care about the 
child might be too reckless or too cautious and make a mistake ... and 
he says he's done it before. >

T'grat knew he had to make a decision so he went with his gut.

< Tell him to rescue the child at all costs. >

Haroc received the go ahead and conveyed the message to H'tor by arching 
his back, spreading his wings and launching himself skyward.

The wilders were coming on fast and high. They clearly intended to dive 
down on the Warren dragonriders as they emerged using the speed of their 
descent and the crush of their weight to overwhelm the superior numbers 
of the Warren.

The maroon dragon clutching the warrenchild was toward the back of the 
pack, clearly an alpha male. Both H'tor and Haroc noted the wilder held 
the child in its left claw. That was the only positive note so far.

As they gained altitude they studied the wilders, looking for 
weaknesses. The constant jockeying for position in a pack led to 
injuries which weren't easily treated in the hostile environment of the 
Barrens. Infection, disease and squabbling ensured that no wilder would 
ever achieve old age.

< You see it? > H'tor asked after few seconds of study.

< Of course > Haroc answered. < Shall we? >

H'tor glanced back towards the warren where the fastest of the dragons 
were just clearing the enclosure. A number of the wilders started their 
dive. < No mistakes Haroc > the dragonrider said softly. < No mercy. >

Haroc's wings expanded and they rapidly climbed toward the crowded air.

They closed with the left side of the advancing mass. The dragons there 
extended their necks to produce a long stream of fire which burned the 
air around them. The working of Haroc's wings was a rapid drumbeat as he 
weaved a chaotic pattern through the boiling air.

Then Haroc was upon them. A billowing wall of flame erupted from him 
into a green at the joint of its right wing. A moldy sore crackled and 
flamed and the green reared, opening the line enough for Haroc to break 
through.

They moved crosswise through the wilders towards the one who held the 
child. The dragons before them fired the air intent on bringing them 
down, while those leading the dive pulled up to turn back and punish the 
pair. Haroc and H'tor arched, dived and weaved though the turmoil, their 
minds in perfect sync.

Haroc's second flame forced the wilder closest to the kidnapping maroon 
to back off and away. As it retreated Haroc moved like a dart straight 
at its target. H'tor held a long polearm with a wicked point and a 
curved, serrated blade back over his shoulder. As the wilder began to 
launch its flame towards the charging Haroc, H'tor's eyes were lit with 
a strange, eager joy.

Haroc spun down and to his right as the wilder's fire raged forth. The 
blood-red Haroc was under the left wing of the wilder and almost 
sideways when his powerful talons lashed out. He grasped the claw of the 
wilder holding the child and the limb supporting that same claw. The 
force of the collision drove H'tor's raised weapon deep into the 
membrane of the wilder's left wing. The wilder howled as Haroc's jaws 
clamped down on the limb above the child and white-hot flame seared from 
Haroc's gullet.

The two dragons, bound together in a hissing, snapping ball of fury, 
fell from the sky like a stone. The rest of the pack broke in confusion. 
Some dove in pursuit only to encounter Norwall dragonriders straggling 
in from late patrols. Other wilders continued to race towards the Warren 
where T'grat and the flight was charging forth. A few even decided the 
battle was going poorly and moved to withdraw. General battle was 
joined.

As the ground rushed up to embrace them Haroc twisted sharply and broke 
away from the wilder. The furious maroon howled and flamed the air as he 
fell backwards gushing blood from the stump where his right limb had 
been. He righted himself just in time to crash to earth. He didn't move 
again.

Haroc's head bobbed down to study the tiny figure he held carefully in 
the severed limb of the dead wilder.

< Who are you? > the boy asked, his eyes wide.

< I am Haroc little one. > He didn't wonder at the child's ability to 
communicate with him. < I will take you home. >

< The child is safe > he broadcast to the others as the battle raged.

< Let's get away from here and down on the deck Haroc > H'tor said, his 
eyes on the battle. < I must examine the child. >

Haroc spotted a small plateau on the rocky away from the line of fire 
and was above it and hovering a moment later. Gently he set the detached 
limb and the child down and banked left and away before landing.

H'tor leaned down from his saddle and put out his right hand. The child 
had already pulled himself from the blackened, smoldering claw and 
looked up to where the dragonrider reached out. Effortlessly the man 
swept the boy up and lifted him ino the air to set him before him on the 
scorched saddle.

Demee twisted his body around as only young children can and looked up 
at the silent dragonrider, unaware of man's fingers were running over 
his body checking him for injuries that shock had made unknown.

"Hurting!" Demee cried out when he saw the blistered and peeling skin 
running from the dragonrider's face down his left side to just above his 
high boots. H'tor's eyes flared in alarm but when he looked down at the 
boy and saw the concern in his young face he smiled.

"I'm fine lad," H'tor said as Haroc launched himself skyward once more. 
"You were very brave. Let's go home now. You've had a busy day."

Demee smiled joyfully and turned forward again to snuggle himself 
against the warm dragonrider. He rested his cold hands between the folds 
of the man's crossed arms holding him securely. After a busy day, he 
suddenly felt very safe.

************

Submitted by Abe Barker

"Beware the fury of a quiet man" - John Dryden