Read Online Champions of the Gods by Michael James Ploof - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael James Ploof
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dropped like a stone.
The wind roared in Roakore’s ears and pulled his beard completely out from underneath his armor to slap him in the face continuously. He cursed all the while as his cheeks flapped in the breeze like a banner in a windstorm. The pressure mounted quickly and his ears popped.
Silverwind suddenly opened her wings and veered close to the sheer cliff, quickly approaching the thousand-foot waterfall that fed the lake below. Knowing that it was no use to try to deter the stubborn hawk, Roakore instead held tight. The hawks rode the cliff sideways, following Silverwind’s lead as she veered left and tucked her wings, zipping through the back of the waterfall. The six silver hawks emerged with feathers like water, shimmering in the bright sunlight.
To the panting dwarves’ relief, Silverwind led the flock down to the valley and landed.
Freckles was clinging to the neck of his mount, muttering something to himself and still clenching his eyes tight. Two of the riders scrambled out of their saddles and fell to the ground to throw up. The remaining rider, a stout old dwarf named Grizzle who had more than a little silver in his hair, had gotten sick in the air, it seemed, for he was covered in his undigested lunch.
Roakore dismounted, shaking his head at Silverwind. “Now look what ye did. They’ll probably never want to fly again after what ye put ‘em through.”
“Bah, they’ll be alright,” Helzendar chuckled. “Best way to learn be to just jump right in, eh?”
The valley had been recently tilled as per Roakore’s request. Rain had been sparse during the hot summer months, but the dwarves were clever creatures and had built an irrigation system fed by the lake at the center of the valley. Many barns had been erected to house the growing herds of cattle. There were also sheep and giant mountain goats about, along with horses, ponies, and oxen. The Ro’Sar Mountains had many such valleys, and farming had also begun on some of the flatter slopes. The dwarves grew mostly potatoes, carrots, and other high-yield vegetables, finding them preferable to troublesome greens. Being quite fond of the drink, the dwarves also grew fields of wheat, hops, and barley.
There were many dwarves about who had been tending to the crops. They clapped and cheered their king and his hawk riders, gathering around the bank for a look at the mystical creatures.
Roakore let them gawk for a while before ordering them all back to their work and the riders back into their saddles. Freckles looked distraught and reluctant to ride again. Tears streamed down his face, and his eyes were so puffy it looked as though he had been crying all night.
“Ye havin’ second thoughts about bein’ a hawk rider?” Roakore asked.
“No, sire! Not at all, if ye please. But I wish I hadn’t forgot me goggles,” said the dwarf, having to continuously wipe his eyes to see straight.
“Here,” said Roakore, tossing the dwarf an extra pair. “Mind ye give ‘em back when we reach the perch.”
“Thank ye, me king. And I won’t ever be forgettin’ mine again.”
On the flight back to the perch, Silverwind was merciful and obeyed Roakore’s guidance. He brought them out over the eastern edge of the range and back to the perch, where the other riders waited impatiently for their turn to go.
Roakore brought out four more groups of five. Each group was led on the same crazy ride as the first. A few of them got sick, and one, named Arkose, even passed out—though he swore up and down that the ride had been so timid that he fell asleep. The other riders saw through his ruse, however, and taunted him mercilessly. From that day forth he was known as Arkose the Sleepy.
All in all, Roakore was pleased with the first day of flight training. The riders had done well enough, and to their credit, none of them had gotten themselves killed. Roakore just hoped that they were ready when the dragons decided to retaliate, a moment that he felt was
The wind roared in Roakore’s ears and pulled his beard completely out from underneath his armor to slap him in the face continuously. He cursed all the while as his cheeks flapped in the breeze like a banner in a windstorm. The pressure mounted quickly and his ears popped.
Silverwind suddenly opened her wings and veered close to the sheer cliff, quickly approaching the thousand-foot waterfall that fed the lake below. Knowing that it was no use to try to deter the stubborn hawk, Roakore instead held tight. The hawks rode the cliff sideways, following Silverwind’s lead as she veered left and tucked her wings, zipping through the back of the waterfall. The six silver hawks emerged with feathers like water, shimmering in the bright sunlight.
To the panting dwarves’ relief, Silverwind led the flock down to the valley and landed.
Freckles was clinging to the neck of his mount, muttering something to himself and still clenching his eyes tight. Two of the riders scrambled out of their saddles and fell to the ground to throw up. The remaining rider, a stout old dwarf named Grizzle who had more than a little silver in his hair, had gotten sick in the air, it seemed, for he was covered in his undigested lunch.
Roakore dismounted, shaking his head at Silverwind. “Now look what ye did. They’ll probably never want to fly again after what ye put ‘em through.”
“Bah, they’ll be alright,” Helzendar chuckled. “Best way to learn be to just jump right in, eh?”
The valley had been recently tilled as per Roakore’s request. Rain had been sparse during the hot summer months, but the dwarves were clever creatures and had built an irrigation system fed by the lake at the center of the valley. Many barns had been erected to house the growing herds of cattle. There were also sheep and giant mountain goats about, along with horses, ponies, and oxen. The Ro’Sar Mountains had many such valleys, and farming had also begun on some of the flatter slopes. The dwarves grew mostly potatoes, carrots, and other high-yield vegetables, finding them preferable to troublesome greens. Being quite fond of the drink, the dwarves also grew fields of wheat, hops, and barley.
There were many dwarves about who had been tending to the crops. They clapped and cheered their king and his hawk riders, gathering around the bank for a look at the mystical creatures.
Roakore let them gawk for a while before ordering them all back to their work and the riders back into their saddles. Freckles looked distraught and reluctant to ride again. Tears streamed down his face, and his eyes were so puffy it looked as though he had been crying all night.
“Ye havin’ second thoughts about bein’ a hawk rider?” Roakore asked.
“No, sire! Not at all, if ye please. But I wish I hadn’t forgot me goggles,” said the dwarf, having to continuously wipe his eyes to see straight.
“Here,” said Roakore, tossing the dwarf an extra pair. “Mind ye give ‘em back when we reach the perch.”
“Thank ye, me king. And I won’t ever be forgettin’ mine again.”
On the flight back to the perch, Silverwind was merciful and obeyed Roakore’s guidance. He brought them out over the eastern edge of the range and back to the perch, where the other riders waited impatiently for their turn to go.
Roakore brought out four more groups of five. Each group was led on the same crazy ride as the first. A few of them got sick, and one, named Arkose, even passed out—though he swore up and down that the ride had been so timid that he fell asleep. The other riders saw through his ruse, however, and taunted him mercilessly. From that day forth he was known as Arkose the Sleepy.
All in all, Roakore was pleased with the first day of flight training. The riders had done well enough, and to their credit, none of them had gotten themselves killed. Roakore just hoped that they were ready when the dragons decided to retaliate, a moment that he felt was
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