On the eastern side of the city, in a partially collapsed temple dedicated to the nature goddess Trinia, two yet lived.
One, a human named Bron Straker, was clad in partially scorched eagle feather cloak, and black riding leathers of an eagle warrior. The leather breeches and boot of his right leg were burned away, exposing red, blistered flesh. In places, the leather had painfully melted to his skin.
He knelt before his dead avian mount, the flesh and feathers of its underside and tail scorched by dragon fire.
The other was a magnificent male eagle called Screech, its valiant handler ripped from the saddle and torn asunder in the initial attack.
Initially, eighteen eagles, the pride and joy of Ravenholt’s military and the last of their ancient breed, had taken to the skies in perfect phalanx formation. They sped their way north, to gather information on the advancing frost elf army, and to give Ravenholt’s military leaders and militia time to prepare the city’s defenses.
Led by three wooly mammoths with huge tusks, the invading force was easily seen from the air, as it thundered across the tundra. Fierce, white haired elves and their polar bear mounts scouted the land ahead of the horde and protected its flanks.
Aiming for the Timborian royalty, and frost elf generals riding the great mammoths, the eagles and their warrior handlers swooped in for the attack.
They never saw the dragons coming.
Their scents and presence cloaked by dark magic, and guided by their warlock riders, the dragons descended from the clouds at breakneck speed, slamming into the unsuspecting eagle ranks with claws and teeth, killing seven of the giant raptors instantly.
Bred to combat dragons since before recorded history, the remaining birds recovered quickly. Instinct took over as they regrouped and went on the offensive. Their brave handlers drew enchanted swords, the rune covered blades folded hundreds of times during the forging process, and heat tempered harder than dragon scales. These magnificent weapons were handed down from generation to generation of eagle riders.
Sentries atop Ravenholt’s walls and watchtowers cheered as the eagles quickly brought down two leviathans in their counter attack, the overcast night sky briefly lighting up with wyrm fire and wild multi-colored sparks from eagle rider swords and iron shod eagle talons impacting dragon scales.
But their jubilation was short lived. The dragons’ superior size, savagery and fiery breath won out over speed and agility.
Several dragons, broke away from the fight, and turned their attention to the city below. They leveled the north gate, creating access for the charging frost elf army. This done, they began eliminating the resistance, incinerating soldiers and civilians alike, seeking out ballistas and catapults before engulfing them in fire, and feeding ravenously on the terrified population.
Bron’s grievously injured mount exerted the last of its energy, and life, valiantly carrying its injured rider to safety, closely followed by the riderless Screech, and a hungry dragon.
The two birds winged their way through the ruined city streets, using the thick haze from the roaring fires, and their smaller size and agility, to navigate their way through avenues too narrow for the hulking wyrm to follow, as its wings and tail battered and destroyed buildings in the effort to keep up with its intended prey.
Bron’s back arched as he sobbed in grief and agony. His long brown hair hung down around his head, obscuring his face.
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