Yesteryear Fiction

Sixth Trial of a Dragon Knight
By Robert William Shmigelsky


Like the horned tail of a red dragon, his thick and pronged metal shield was dug into the ground as he knelt down and braced himself.

A voluminous and constantly changing current draped around him, the apprentice’s instructor attempted to defeat his student’s resolve with the sheer force of nature and prove he was not worthy to become a dragon knight.

His gaze kept above the rim of his shield, the apprentice’s mind steeled itself against the dance of storms.

At this moment a whirlwind of dark green color blared in his ears. The dragon knight apprentice had so far managed to outlast his dragon master; but he knew, from what other knights had told him, and judging from his own personal experience with his instructor, his teacher undoubtedly had a trick or two concealed by his dragon-like wit.

Just as it had the times before, the dance of storms shrieked then changed hues and turned bright blue.

Following the same pattern this time the apprentice found himself in the middle of a blizzard, a sheering curtain of ice and snow.

Same as before, the apprentice did not move an inch. He continued to brace himself with his dragon shield.

The apprentice’s eyes lit up. Now, he could see the dark silhouette of his instructor standing just beyond the rim of the storm.

His instructor was undoubtedly stepping closer, prepping for the right moment to end this, thought the apprentice. But little did his instructor know he just had to bide his time, until they were close enough, for him to go on the offense.

In his left hand he gripped tightly the hilt of his scimitar. Its blade – the whirls of his own storm – pulsated and spiraled behind his shield like thunder building up in a cloud-hung sky, a beast ready to pounce at the slightest opening.

The next moment the storm changed again. This time a thunderstorm swirled and crackled around the apprentice. Small bolts of lightning flashed into existence and streaked across the air above him.

Knowing he would fail the trial if just one of the bolts struck him, he stayed as motionless as possible.

The silhouette of his instructor edged closer.

Likewise, the armored form of the student continued to bide his time. He wondered what the hidden, true purpose of this trial was. As was the way for their kind, the apprentice was laconically tossed a shield and told to brace himself. Wanting an explanation, he had asked his instructor: “brace against what?” But his instructor just said “this” and before he knew what would happen next his dragon master pointed his scimitar at him, whirled it around and formed an eddy.

The next moment the vortex forming the blade of his master’s scimitar detached itself from its hilt, spiraled towards him before splitting apart and swirling around him.

The storm changed back to its original green hue as the dance reverted back into a whirlwind.

As before, the silhouette of his dragon master took a step closer. Now, he was at the edge of the storm. One more step and his master would enter it.

The apprentice swirled his scimitar in the grip of his hand; his wind-blade brightened and glowed in anticipation: now, after countless moments of waiting, his master was finally within reach.

He waited for his chance to go on the offensive. He knew he would have to wait until the storm changed again before he got his chance. Every time the storm changed forms, it relaxed momentarily in intensity, granting him a small window of opportunity.

He hated being forced to stay on the defensive: the blood of dragons pulsed through his veins. He was made to be able to stretch his wings between slumbers, soar above the world and unleash his flames, not to be trapped in this net like a helpless whelp.

The dance of storms changed back into a blizzard.

That window of opportunity flashed before his eyes, but a strange foreboding inside him stayed his hand.

The path to becoming a dragon was never what it seemed. He wondered: why did his dragon master take a single step forward every time the storm changed? It almost seemed to the apprentice that his master was trying to tempt him to go on the offensive. As he knew well enough for himself, the wants of dragons were never transparent.

The grimace the apprentice bore on his face tightened underneath his helmet: there had to be something he was missing. This was the first trial he was allowed to use a shield. He knew it was the key, but how exactly? Was this trial perhaps not as complex as he originally assumed?

The apprentice’s thoughts fleeting before him like high clouds caught in a time-storm, once more the storm changed color.

Sensing his hesitation, his dragon master spoke to him; his voice unhindered by the wind.

"Now, is the time to go on the offensive," his dragon master said.

The apprentice ignored him and continued to brace himself against the storm.

The storm changed forms.

"Now, is the time to go on the offensive," his instructor repeated, stoically.

The apprentice refused. Even though the changing of the storm gave him a brief opportunity to attack, it also left him vulnerable to a possible counterattack.

Past the cusp of its power and now not as strong or constant as it was before, the intensity of the storm began to wax and wane. It pulsated quicker.

In his mind the apprentice silenced the words of his master. He knew all he had to do was continue to bide his time and wait for the storm to end. There was no point in chancing it all now. Like a nefarious dragon plotting its various schemes and blessed with long life, he could wait to see how events would unfold.

The storm became a mere shadow of its former self. Beyond the tears in its fabric, he could now glimpse the glistening blue armor of his instructor.

"Now is the time to go on the offensive," the dragon master recited, the words slipping past the barrier in his mind.

The apprentice closed his mind to his instructor.

The storm gave one last gasp before it shied away and retreated back into its master’s sword.

The apprentice loosened his resolve and stood up, sensing this trial was finally over. The sight before him was the same as before: the two of them stood a short distance apart on the grassy green plains of Endeleas and there was not a cloud to be seen on the pristine blue sky beyond.

The student looked at his instructor; the instructor’s eyes were already pressed upon the student.

“Congratulations,” the master said. “You’ve passed.”

“It’s over?” the apprentice said.

“For today…” the master answered, turning to walk away. “You can keep the shield.”

Unable to say another word, the apprentice stood absolutely still in complete silence as he watched his master leave. Slightly taken back, he tried to formulate in his mind and piece together what had just happened.

He realized his instinct had been right, though it had taken this small hurdle for him to evoke the ways of a dragon as was taught and cleverly instilled into him. He now would not forget that there were times when one should go on the offensive and times when one should stay on the defensive as sometimes winning the battle required holding out against all odds and trials.

This trial was one such trial. And now, there was just one more trial for him to overcome before he became like a dragon and took flight.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Fifth Trial of a Dragon Knight
By Robert William Shmigelsky


The words "ascend and reach the top of the mountains without the use of your wings" echoed through the young apprentice's mind, reminding him of the task at hand.

He was brought here then left behind without being given specific instructions on how to go about doing exactly that. He had only recently earned the chosen weapon of a dragon knight. He figured overcoming this fifth of seven trials would entail using it in some way and in the process mastering the art of the scimitar.

The words of his dragon master leading him forward, the inspiring knight stood tall, high up amidst the majesty and vastness of the White Mountains, and surveyed the surrounding mountains and their cloud-wrapped peaks.

His dragon helm hiding his facial expression in a veil of secrecy, he knew he couldn’t climb any one of these mountains. As was said by his and the other four lineages, the White Mountains were unclimbable without magic, their slopes either being too tall or slippery and the wintry forces churning atop them – too fierce and far-reaching.

His mind searched for ideas: the way he was supposed to overcome this challenge. Although he did not know if it would work, one idea quickly leapt to the forefront of his mind. He picked the mountain peak before him and told himself there was only one way for him to find out.

He closed his eyes, dulled his other senses and saw the mountains and their slopes standing around him, almost encasing him. They appeared as vividly as they did in the real world.

He felt the accumulated weight of snow on the surrounding mountain slopes on his shoulders, ready to come crashing down towards him at the slightest disturbance, and saw the weakest points in the snow banks from where the conciliating motions in the air hit and bounced off their glistening white slopes.

Picking a nearby spot to his right he unsheathed the scimitar embedded discretely in his armor then using an effortless motion hurled out a bolt of spiraling green wind from the tip of his blade towards the mountain. It struck the mountain where he intended and a small avalanche of snow slid down to his right and passed him.

The bottom of the mountain to his right filled a small measure.

The apprentice repeated the process and hurled out another bolt of wind: this time to his left.

A second small avalanche of snow rumbled down to his left, brushed past him and filled the other side of the mountain’s basin.

Fully immersed, the apprentice’s lids parted open, but his eyes, channeling his innermost senses, saw only the direction of the mountain air around him and the shapes, sizes and angles of the avalanches that would result in relation to where he hit them.

He looked up above him, near the top of the peak he had chosen, and sent hurling a third bolt of wind. Illuminated in his eyes, it spiraled towards the most fragile point in the mountain, which according to what the wind showed him would produce the largest avalanche yet.

Perceiving through his second sight, a large avalanche roared to life and plummeted down the mountain top, threatening to engulf him as soon as the bolt hit the side of the mountain.

His dragon-like eyes showing no emotion through the narrow slits in his helm, the apprentice calmly crouched then effortlessly leapt into the air as the avalanche rumbled past where he had been standing moments before.

His boots propelled him high into the sky. He did not use their wings.

When he reached nearly a quarter of the way up the mountain his progress slowed then stopped altogether before he began to plummet back down.

The avalanche had run its course by the time his boots hit the added layer of snow now covering the basin.

Without pause, as soon as he had recovered from his landing, he swung his scimitar left and right. Two bolts, one aimed at either side of him, hurled through the air and hit the mountains at those directions.

Two more large avalanches roared to life and rumbled towards him, sending huge plumes of snow up through the air.

As the mountainsides collapsed inwards towards him, the apprentice swung his body left then right and directed the energies of his blade before and behind him. He leapt up into the air as the first two avalanches, followed shortly by the additional two, rumbled underneath him.

Soaring straight up through the air, he directed bolts of wind left, right and behind him at carefully aimed points. Avalanches erupted to life then gave their last gasps.

As the full fury of the mountains slid down left, right, before, behind and below him, he fired a second volley before landing back down on the raised basin. He repeated what he had done in the beginning – only quicker and with greater results, raising the compacting snow under his feet with every avalanche and steadily reaching higher and higher up the mountain as he leapt into the air, continuously hurling bolts of wind around him.

Getting into the groove of things, the air brushing against his armor, his pace only quickened and grew more effective until finally the nearby mountain slopes were nearly all bare of snow and the basin that had stood at the bottom of the mountains was no longer a basin but a mound of snow almost level with the top of the peak he had chosen.

After nearly a whole hour of uninterrupted work, the apprentice finally stopped and sheathed his scimitar. He stood motionless as he let the balance between him and the world slide back into place and restore itself.

From the last avalanche a single flake of snow fell and melted on his armor.

Finally finished, the apprentice relaxed and looked up at the peak.

Without putting much effort into it, he crouched then leapt up into the air one final time. He landed atop the mountain peak in a half-kneel as he braced himself. He raised himself up and leveled his gaze before him. Above the veil of the clouds two landscapes – one on either side of the blocking mountain range – opened up before him, showing him a strange and variegated world populated by many vastly different places.

As he absorbed in the sights of the lands around him, the apprentice reflected, finally allowed himself to inhale the mountain air and regain his breath. The air filled him as he let the weight of the moment press down upon him.

He had bested the mountains and completed the fifth trial in the way of him becoming a dragon knight like his brethren before him. Not only had he proved to himself that he had mastered the art of the scimitar, he had realized the full extent of that meaning and shown his dragon master, who he knew was somewhere watching unseen, how to wield it in conjunction with the world around him.

Nothing else left to do here, having regained his breath; the apprentice swung around towards his side of the mountains then leapt up and caught a current of wind. Riding the high wind, he whipped and curled in the air as he flew up towards a familiar sight of castles, halls, mansions, towards and arks – to slumber between trials.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

The Dragon King
By Robert William Shmigelsky


The high wind, tossing and turning over top of a vast kingdom of castles, mansions, towers, halls and arks, flew towards a tall, distant blue tower, which spiraled up into the night sky to the top of the veiled heavens beyond like a whirlwind pulled up from the ocean and frozen into place.

It rode in, through a narrow slit in the tower’s wall, to the top of the tower and into its main hall, which, like most of the floors in the tower, stood majestic with its wealth and splendor and its dazzling arrangement of hanging blue banners embroidered with the emblems of dragons, behemoths and other fierce beasts, presently empty but frozen blue alcoves awaiting the return of their absent occupants, rows of glistening bluestone pillars, glass mirrors backed with the high wind and crenellated balconies standing out like distant mountain peaks.

Like the king he was, Kalaran Stormrider stood on his raised dais with his half-full, half-empty, cup raised in his hand. He was amongst his fellow dragon knights, his four brothers and those that had happened to be present for a night of food and drink in celebration of the victory that would be sung from hall to hall until it was etched into memory, sung by their children then their own children after that.

Except for two diagonal slits revealing his dark-auburn brown eyes, offering a glimpse into the mind of the dragon master, Kalaran Stormrider’s facial expressions were concealed behind the metal snout and frame of his dragon-inspired helm. Running down the length of his arms and legs glistened blue mithril plate wrapped around his body like a strange wind: metal as light as a feather. But standing out most, with their polished shine, was the glittering pair of mithril dragon boots, with tiny white Pegasus wings attached at the heels, he wore on his feet.

One part on account of his night of heavy drink and being swept away by the emotion of it, the other to his usual pretentious ways, Kalaran exclaimed to his brothers:

“In the name of the Light, the four godly gifts it bestowed upon us and in honor of our triumphant return from the First Dark Crusade, I here challenge my three extraordinary brothers,” Kalaran said, gesturing with his right hand towards the kings of sages, rangers and temporal knights; who, by all accounts, looked magnificent in their fine robes, armor and jewelry. “But not my fourth brother, who is ordinary as he was not given a gift of his own,” he added, gesturing towards the king of those who were ordinary, who like the king were dressed in plain ordinary clothing. “To a series of ‘friendly’ duels to see who amongst us four is the best and brightest.”

While the first three brothers showed no obviously ill feelings towards their brother, raising their arms in the air and turning to face the crowd when Kalaran called out their names; Dalahan, the fourth brother, was clearly less than impressed. He crossed his gauntlets over his chest and his face tightened slightly.

His broad shoulders and lofty frame complemented by his long and silvery cape, Kalaran walked forward into the crowd and directed them to clear the floor to make space for the match. He faced his brothers and asked: “tell me—who amongst my three brothers is the bravest? Who shall step forward to face me first?”

The rangers in the crowd, well known for their boisterous and adventurous ways, quickly hollered the name of their king, encouraging him to step forward.

Feigning reluctance, Eldaeron Shadowwalker obliged his fellows and stepped forward. Rather than use his own, Eldaeron asked for and received another ranger’s bow before walking forward and stepping into the ring.

The crowd died down as Kalaran and the ranger-king walked towards each other. They stopped a fair distance from each other then gave each other a pair of cynical good lucks.

When Kalaran stood ready, in less time than it would take to blink an eye, the ranger-king slung out his bow from over his shoulder, sidestepped into dimensional shadows, reappeared to the left and sent a pointed blue arrow, wrought of winter’s touch, hurling towards its intended target.

But in response, Kalaran simply unsheathed his sword from the scabbard embedded in the left legging of his armor. The scimitar’s spiraling green vortex whirled and hissed before him and from it a small storm hurled outwards.

Eldaeron’s arrow flew into the storm and was immediately sent hurling away from Kalaran toward a far off wall, encasing it in ice.

As Eldaeron gazed upon the arrow’s splintered remains, Kalaran stood up and gave the cheering crowd his victory pose, bowing low with his hands stretched wide.

Knowing he had met his match on this day, the ranger-king bowed humbly and returned to his fellows, who—always enjoying a good show even though it did not have the outcome they desired—clapped their king on the back for giving it a good try.

Continuing down his pretentious path, Kalaran stretched out his hands before him and asked the crowd: “Now, who amongst my brothers is the second bravest?”

The sages in the crowd, known for their initial caution but their fervor once something had been tried and tested, hollered out the name of their king, who in response to their fevered cries teleported in front of Kalaran and stood amply ready in his fiery red garb and crimson rod. The ruby-inset ring on his left index finger glowed with spiraling flames within.

Kalaran raised his hand, asking for a moment. He sauntered up the steps of his raised dais, stopped in front of his throne and swung around. In position, he bowed before his brother in slight jest.

Intending to punish his brother for his lack of respect, when Kalaran stood up, Ragnar Firebringer teleported again, but kept teleporting around Kalaran, making it appear there were twelve wizards around him.

Using the same concentration he used when listening to the wind to discover the world’s mood, Kalaran stayed absolutely still, closed his eyes and listened. He kept his senses attuned to the vibrations around him, recognized the patterns and waited.

As soon as he sensed the slightest change in the fluctuations, in that fraction of a second, Kalaran opened his eyes, reached over to the side of his throne and swung back.

The next moment a giant fireball struck Kalaran’s pronged shield and vaporized harmlessly into a cloud of dust.

Noticeably vexed, the fire-king swung his robe over his shoulder and tapped the head of his staff onto the cold tiled floor and disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Kalaran looked before him and gave the crowd an exaggerated gesture with his hands and face as Dalahan watched on with great interest, a deep and attentive look engraved on his tired, timeworn face.

Before Kalaran could further boast, the temporal king stepped forward and stopped before the dragon-king.

With a deceivingly youthful look on his face, a breeze of confidence lingering in the air around him, Ither Timeholder looked at Kalaran, but did not bother to unsheathe his sword from its scabbard.

Kalaran smiled with much anticipation. He knew this brother would be the hardest for him to defeat. It was not that his skill matched his own; he knew the temporal king could simply stop time around him if needed be.

He resumed a fighting pose; the temporal king simply stood there.

His cape giving him that extra boost, using his mithril dragon boots, Kalaran gave himself a starting run then leapt into the air and swung out with the blade of his scimitar, but before his blade reached its intended target; Ither Timeholder clutched the golden looped cross around his neck and froze time around Kalaran then simply walked away, restoring the distance between them.

Ither would stand there for a few moments and wait for the spell to wear off. When Kalaran was unencumbered once more, he would turn and face his brother with a look of increased determination etched on his face.

Kalaran know realized his brother would freeze time no matter how quick he was, whether on his feet or not, and that his experience and prowess as a dragon knight would be useless for him from here on.

He decided to converse his energy by walking towards his opponent, but when he thought he was close enough, perhaps close enough to catch Ither off guard, Kalaran leapt again, but the result was the same: the temporal king would simply stop time then give himself a comfortable distance.

The temporal king asked his brother if he wished to admit defeat, but Kalaran shook his head in stubborn defiance and pushed on.

Their game of cat and mouse continued on a couple more rounds until, with the sheer weight of time pressing down upon him finally taking its toll, Kalaran’s reactions slowed; his movements became slightly off balanced; and his body began to reach its limit.

Once more the temporal king asked his brother if he conceded.

Kalaran felt the match slipping away from him. He delved into his own thoughts. Though he kept it from the forefront of his mind, he believed he had noticed something about his brother. Although he should have noticed it beforehand, he had never fought his brother before. While he knew it would be a gamble; he also knew it might be the only chance he had to defeat Ither Timeholder.

He lowered his head, said nothing in reply and walked forward, stopped before an unsuspecting Ither.

“Do you concede, brother?” Ither Timeholder asked.

Kalaran did not immediately look up and answer, but Ither Timeholder remained absolutely patient, having all the time in the world.

Kalaran looked up at his brother and gave him his answer.

“No.”

Ither’s face flashed with surprise.

“Why is that, brother?”

“For the same reason you do not fight back.”

“And what is that?”

And so Kalaran told him.

“The reason you do not attack me after freezing time is for you have been freezing time around me. If you attacked me – time would freeze for you as well, brother.”

Ither laughed. “That is ridiculous, brother.”

Kalaran raised his sword and shield casually into the air and said: “then come and finish me, brother. Here I am.”

Ither Timeholder looked at his brother for a moment as if not believing what he was seeing and hearing, but then he smiled and let out a boisterous laugh. Ither embraced his brother with both hands and told Kalaran: “I hate to admit it, brother, but I think you have me figured out. I admit defeat.”

Relieved that he had won, Kalaran leaned into his brother and embraced him in return. Ither gave his brother a small slap on the back before leaving the floor to his brother.

Everyone in attendance clapped and cheered this magnificent display of heroic feats, even those that had been cheering against Kalaran. Even Dalahan himself gave a small clap for his brother and the intension that had been on his face seemed to ease.

Kalaran swung back around and faced the crowd and resumed his high and mighty pose. He turned and bowed for the crowd and gave them a series of exaggerated gestures with his hands. “Thank you, thank you all for coming to celebrate this glorious night, made even more glorious by my extraordinary brothers,” he hastily told the crowd, “but I’m afraid this will be the end of my demonstration, unless of course you all wish to see me best my fourth brother,” he added with a grin.

Dalahan’s long and bearded face once more rifled with indignation as everyone in the main hall laughed. Ignoring their voices, he motioned for those around him to follow before swiftly departing.

“Now, I must wish you all a good night and a very fond fare well – until tomorrow night that is and the next party it brings,” Kalaran laughed, who raised the cup in his hand for one final toast.

With that said everyone still left in the vicinity turned around and began filtering out of the tower while Kalaran, wanting to lie down in a real bed for a change, retreated to his private chamber in the enjoining room at the back of the main hall.

Kalaran sat down at the edge of a pleasing couch bed and slid out of his boots. After all, all men must sleep at night and Kalaran was no different and like them – they don’t usually wear their boots to bed. Finished undressing, he laid down and soon sleep came to him as the wind coiled unheard towards the chamber’s open balcony and out into the night.

As Kalaran slept and the wind blew fierce in the middle of the night, a dark figure dropped down onto his open balcony.

Careful not to make a noise and risk waking Kalaran up, Dalahan quietly made his way from the balcony and edged towards his brother’s bedside.

He stopped next to the pair of mithril dragon boots sitting on the ground and looked at the face of his brother. He was still fast asleep.

Dalahan glanced enviously at his brother’s boots before unsheathing his dagger and stepping towards his brother. Without pause, he slid the curved edge of his dagger across his brother’s throat whilst his boots were off believing Kalaran was just a man without them.

Kalaran screamed in agony before the gurgling of blood flowing out his parted throat and down his front muffled his screams and Kalaran fell down dead.

Knowing someone might have heard the scream, Dalahan hastily grabbed his brother’s boots and ran off with them, thinking now the boots would make him extraordinary.

Dalahan quickly rejoined the rest of his men in the main hall.

“Did you kill the guards and the others while they slept?” Dalahan asked them.

“It is done my liege,” one of the men quietly replied, his sword in hand.

“Good. Then let us swiftly depart. I have what I came for,” said Dalahan.

“But do you plan on wearing them? If so – the others will know it was us. What good is this gift if you can’t use it?”

“Oh, I will wear them all right, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“But sire that would surely lead to war!”

“I’m counting on it: its time someone taught those who are extraordinary what it means to be ordinary. Now, come. Let us depart!”

Just like that, with his prized trophy in tow, Dalahan and his men disappeared into the night, the blearing of the wind stifling the sound of their retreating footsteps.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Fourth Trial Of A Dragon Knight
By Robert William Shmigelsky


Stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, a long row of ocean-blue typhoons swirled up and pierced the heavens, the ominous gray clouds hanging above. Along their path of destruction, a vast blue ocean, stretched to infinity by the arcane, shimmered with lighter shades of blue like a large melted sapphire as the typhoons swished towards the unseen gray shores they encircled.

Holding the azure blue hilt of a sword without a blade, the dragon knight apprentice flew from high in the skies towards the closest typhoon, which grew steadily larger in his eyes as he drew closer.

The Pegasus wings attached to his pair of dragon boots flapping in the air, he neared the typhoon’s prevailing winds drawing everything within their reach into it.

Undaunted, the apprentice pierced the thin white boundary marking the typhoon’s reach.

The wind tugging at him, reaching his skin beneath his armor, he combated the sheer pull of the typhoon. Although his mithril armor was as light as a feather, his steeled soulshard emitting unseen light underneath it hardened his resolve and propelled him on.

He rode in on an angle, not wanting to be pulled in too quickly. Feeling the brush of the wind against his face and in his eyes, he went up and around the typhoon, coming closer with each pass. After a dozen laps or so, he finally reached the typhoon itself. Here, the pull was at its strongest, but the apprentice was of the dragon lineage: the wind was his kin.

He flew over the mouth of the typhoon then plunged down into it and surfed along its spiraling inside wall towards the bottom, counterclockwise against the flow of the wind.

No force above or below that could stop him, he rode the wind current and made it look effortless.

Reaching the current’s end, the apprentice leapt up into the windless entrails and his blue sabatons landed above the stilled surface of the Endless Sea.

His dragon boots making him appear he was standing on water, the soon-to-be dragon knight looked up before him and saw, at the opposite end of the pool at the bottom of the typhoon, the source of the typhoon.

Sensing an intruder, the wind elemental threw up its arm-banded hands and leveled them before it. A great gust of wind hurled towards the apprentice, but he lithely dodged it and leapt out of the way.

Swooshing left and right and gliding closer, the handle of his hilt gripped tightly in his gauntlet, the apprentice reached the elemental and thrust the end of the hilt into the element’s chest.

It sucked into it the wind the elemental was made of. When the apprentice pulled back, the elemental was no more and in its place a long and lustrous streak of green wind spiraled atop the apprentice’s pristine new scimitar.

The typhoon no more, his eyes following it, the apprentice swung his sword upwards, held it above him and admired it in plain view.

The wind-blade crackled with the power of the fiercest storm imaginable: a power he now held in his hand. With a mere command, followed by the swing of his arm when his hand clutched tightly the scimitar’s hilt, he could unleash it and cause those that would dare to stand in his way – to tremble.

The dragon knight apprentice continued to admire his new sword, knowing he had successfully passed the fourth trial in him becoming a knight.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Third Trial of a Dragon Knight
By Robert William Shmigelsky


The dragon knight apprentice's blue sabatons planted themselves firmly on the ground. The wintry blue horizon contracted before him, he looked up and watched as the knights that had brought and dropped him off here, flew away and disappeared back into the welcoming arms of the storm.

Feeling the chill of cold bones, the stung flesh underneath his armor, the apprentice folded his arms into his chest, braced against the cold, shivered and looked at the storm.

The frost storm swirled and wailed around him with a tangled vortex of gray, semi-translucent wind currents, confusing even for his eyes. As if funneling straight into his ears the storm muffled his own thoughts. Beyond the storm his ashen-gray eyes could just barely pierce the veil and glimpse the darkened silhouettes of the mountains belonging to the Storm Frost Mountain Maze.

He swung swiftly around and looked up behind him. He stood at the feet of the mightiest mountain of them all: Mount Frostmourne.

The mountain stood at the heart of the mountain maze. Freshly bestowed his shining new pair of mithril dragon boots with tiny white Pegasus wings attached at the heels, he was dropped here, at the start of the maze, to find his way out. To do that he would have to use what he obtained in the previous two trials: how to see and utilize wind patterns and how to fly.

The apprentice shouted at himself to get at it. Despite being fitted in full mithril armor wrought and enchanted for the harshest winters, he knew he would not be able to last out here forever.

Getting to it, he closed his eyes, dulled his other senses and heightened his sense of hearing. He listened intently. In his mind he saw and heard the convoluted medley of overlapping wind currents churning violently around him. Like the paper mazes he used to draw on spare pieces of parchment when he was a boy, he tried to spot the one and only one lane, in this case a single current of wind, which he could leap on and ride all the way out of the mountain maze. The problem was, like the other mazes, that lane was marred by countless incorrect paths leading to dead ends or back to where he started.

No matter how long he searched he could not find the pattern he sought. And so he did what he did when he was a boy playing with his paper mazes.

With one and only one thought etched in his mind, the determination to find his way out of the mountain maze guiding his hand, the apprentice jumped.

A current of wind caught him and threw him across and he flew up into the air.

As the storm propelled him forward, the apprentice rode the wind this way and that as his senses guided him.

He made his way roughly in one direction: west back where they had taken him - towards the mouth of the mountain maze.

Making his way slowly but steadily into the storm, towards his distant but hidden destination and the golden glimmer of familiar sights, the apprentice zigzagged his way out of the vale and Mount Frostmourne disappeared behind him.

He found himself in the valleys of ice. Traversing his way through the tornado-like vortex of wind currents, the apprentice made his way down this valley then down that valley as he tried to visualize the path they would have taken from the mouth of the mountain maze. The other knights had flown him over the mountains, something which he could not do alone. Although he had tried his best to memorize the path he would have to take to find his way back, even from high up, the mountain maze was heavily shrouded by the storm.

He recalled the long hours he had spent between trials listening to the sky and riding the high winds. From the mere complexity of the challenge before him, he knew now no amount of training could have prepared him for the task at hand. That meant all he had to rely on was his inner being and perseverance.

And perhaps a little luck.

But no matter which current of wind he took he could not find his way out of the mountain maze. Although he could in time make his way down the path he had chosen, the general direction he wanted, the mountains blocked him, foiling him at every turn.

The apprentice began to worry, but kept panic far from his mind. If he didn't find his way out of the mountain maze not only might he freeze to death if the others did not find him in time - he would fail himself, those that counted on him and not fulfill his destiny of becoming a knight like his father and his father before him.

He pushed his doubt aside: he could not afford to let it distract him. If he couldn't listen and ride the wind, he knew he wouldn't be able to find his way out of the mountain maze in time.

He continued to try to find the path leading out of the mountain maze, but the mountains continued to foil him. After countless hours of trying, he almost began to think the mountain maze was alive and was playing one epic mind game with him.

Worry crept back in; panic set in slightly. Again, he thought: if he did not find his way out he would fail - or worse.

The mountains continued to give then take away until finally panic permeated. His face stiffened, pressed down upon by the storm swirling against his skin, which could no longer hold back the cold. It chilled his flesh and he felt the sting as it slowly turned his hands and feet to frost. Ice beginning to encase his armor, his thoughts formed faster and he quickened his movements as he sped through the air, causing him to zigzag faster and faster. His thoughts quickly became indiscernible.

The apprentice snapped out of it: he realized this wasn't getting him anywhere.

He dropped down to the ground. He closed his eyes and listened. In his mind, he saw and heard the countless wind patterns swirling and wailing around him. He banished the rest of the world from his mind and the Storm Frost Mountain Maze disappeared from sight. It was only him standing there, listening intently, and the wind churning beside him.

Countless strands of wind continued to swirl around him. His spirit quickly followed each of them and rode them to their end. When they did not lead to the destination he sought, one by one he erased them from his mind until there was one and only one current of wind left.

He rode that current and, in the back of his mind, he saw the mouth of the mountain maze stretch open before him.

Seeing the path he sought, not even bothering to open his eyes, the apprentice leapt up into the air and caught that current of wind.

Moments later, two large chunks of ice, frozen blue sabatons within them, landed hard on the frozen tundra.

The apprentice finally opened his eyes. Standing around him were the other dragon knights. He was out of the storm at the mouth of the mountain maze. The storm wailed in the distance. Snow fell around them, draping them like a curtain.

His blue mithril platemail glistening, the knight directly before him stepped towards him. He put his hand on the apprentice's shoulder and congratulated him for passing the second trial in the way of him becoming a knight.

"Now, youngling," he emphasized, "you are on your way to truly earning your boots."

The apprentice's head tilted back as he allowed relief to wash over him. He savored the moment, but held back the impending flood of emotions: he remembered there were still four more trials for him to pass before he could call himself a knight with words that held meaning.

Nor did he need his instructor to remind him of something of that sort again.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Second Trial of a Dragon Knight
By Robert William Shmigelsky


Wearing the unadorned white robes of a knight who had yet to earn his wings, the dragon knight apprentice continued through the lush but sparsely arranged forest.

He was here, at the edge of paradise, at the deepest part of the Enchanted Forest, to complete the second trial in the way of becoming a true knight and earning his winged dragon boots.

His youthful expression, and inside, raked with nervousness, the dragon knight apprentice repeated again in his mind the task he was sent here to complete: find and glimpse Pegasus... ride him... then pluck out and retrieve one of his feathers.

The apprentice knew he would have to use what he had just learned from his first trial to find and catch a glimpse of this most magical creature. Utilizing what he had learned, he stopped, closed his eyes and dulled his other senses as he focused his mind and attempted to commune and listen to the near motionless low wind encompassed around him.

What kind of otherworldly whisper beckoned to him beneath its earthly façade?

Did it once more leave behind a trail of scents for the apprentice to follow, only for the trail to end mysteriously with noble Pegasus nowhere to be found?

Pegasus was an elusive creature at best. In a single bound, he could leap behind a narrow tree trunk and not appear on the other side. At its worst, the wind was enigmatic.

But following the lure of the wind the apprentice strode on through the forest. After meandering this way and that along the many forest paths crenelated by large mounds of moss, swathed with flowers and sprinkled with illusionist blossoms, the apprentice suddenly stopped; his eyes lit up before him. There before him, in an open glade, he glimpsed Pegasus.

Picturesque and appearing luminous with its long coat of hair, flowing white mane and pair of feathered angel-like wings, it stood calm and motionless and looked at him with two glistening gold eyes.

Having caught full sight of the creature, the apprentice knew the horse-god would not be able to leap away and disappear behind a tree trunk, the magic of this place temporally being dispelled.

To approach Pegasus, he looked him in the eye, approached slowly with hand outstretched before him. He strode carefully on, not a single thought etched in his mind. He neared Pegasus, who remained motionless.

Sure enough, perceiving him not to be a threat, Pegasus looked down and continued grazing.

Free to come beside it, the apprentice walked next to Pegasus, massaged his neck with the gentle caress of his hand as his gaze examined him with wondrous eyes.

Done admiring, not really planning ahead, he put his hand onto Pegasus' back, lifted himself up, swung his foot around and mounted Pegasus.

From his foot hitting the side of its chest, to both their surprises, the beast lit up and broke into a gallop, sending them both hurling forward before rising upwards into the sky. At first, the apprentice held on as tightly as his hands could wrap themselves around Pegasus' neck, but then he realized there was little to worry about. He was not falling. He was simply riding atop the world.

He straightened his back, outstretched his arms and shouted out against the howl and the whistling of the high wind, the swirling of it abreast his skin as the world below unfolded before him.

Along for the ride, giving him a taste of the skies, Pegasus swung back towards the forest and circled around it before descending and landing back in the glade.

Completely and undeniably satisfied, the soon-to-be dragon knight dismounted. He swung around and caressed the beast once more. In the language of dragons, he said "thank you" before looking down and gently plucking out from one of its wings a single white feather. Feeling only a twinge, Pegasus simply continued grazing.

The apprentice swung back around, looked up and raised then examined the feather with a wondrous glint in his eye. From a narrow gap in the forest canopy, a beam of light gently streamed down upon it, illuminating him in a wide radius of light. In his hand, was the item that would not only adorn his pair of mithril dragon boots and grant him the ability to soar like Pegasus but symbolize: he had passed the second trial in the way of becoming a dragon knight.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.

Burial of the Sky
By Robert William Shmigelsky


a crown of wyverns
atop the highest mountain peak
fallen dragon rider.


- - -
Robert, a residential care aide, is unapologetic in his pursuit of excellent high fantasy. Robert has been writing fantasy for himself in his spare time for the last seven years, but has only recently begun writing for others. Besides reading and writing, some of his hobbies include computers and medieval and ancient history. He has a dry sense of humor, which he blames his stepfather for. Also, he has a habit of making history jokes no one but he understands.