ANTON COLICOS
He was a historian, which was really only a fancy word for “storyteller.” The Ildiran rememberer kith had always understood that.
The drama of grand events in the Spiral Arm was more than a listing of facts and dates. It was a story, a genuine saga, with untold trillions of characters, countless races and factions and clans. The Ildirans had chronicled millennia of history in their magnificent billion-line poem, the Saga of Seven Suns.
Anton Colicos knew his purpose in life. He wanted to preserve those stories of civilizations in conflict, to capture the essence of the titanic events that had swept through the galaxy, not just from centuries ago, but in recent years as well. After all, he had been in the thick of much of it himself.
And here he was again.
Riding in an open flyer that skimmed above the lush green forests of Theroc, Anton admired the worldtrees. He was part of the entourage accompanying King Peter and Queen Estarra as they headed to a village built along the shores of a shallow inland sea.
For months, a giant wyvern had preyed on Shorehaven. From what Anton had heard, the predator was a voracious sharp-clawed insect the size of a dragon. According to reports, this was the largest wyvern ever spotted; even allowing for a certain amount of exaggeration from excitable eyewitnesses, he was sure the thing was a monster by any definition.
When Peter and Estarra had put together a party to go to Shorehaven, Anton immediately asked to go along. Over the years, he had fallen into most of his adventures by accident. This time, though, he sought it out intentionally. “Someone has to record it, Majesties.” Yazra’h would have been proud.
He smiled at the thought of the tough warrior woman, daughter of the Ildiran Mage-Imperator. Yazra’h had been his bodyguard, his companion, and she reveled in any kind of fight. She liked to demonstrate her prowess for him, in what Anton had realized with alarm was a flirtatious way. He was not interested in her as a lover—and not only because Yazra’h would have damaged him in their first lovemaking session. Fortunately, she remained on Ildira, and Anton had been evacuated here to the worldforest planet. She would have loved to go along to see the wyvern.
Anton had lived on Ildira for years as a guest historian, devoting his career to translating the Saga of Seven Suns, so that humans could understand more about the oddly humanlike race. “Rememberer Anton” had been adopted as a hero among the Ildirans, who were pleased that he loved their culture so much. He had spent well over a decade in the Ildiran capital of Mijistra while the alien empire rebuilt itself following the devastating Elemental War.
When uprisings of shadow-contaminated Ildirans made Mijistra too dangerous a place for Anton or Prince Reynald of Theroc, they had departed Ildira for the supposed safety of the worldforest planet … only to be engulfed by yet another shadow attack.
And then the unexpected Onthos refugees had arrived with their astonishing tale. It was all too much for a historian to write down, even if he spent all day, every day, taking furious notes!
For now, though, a wyvern attacking a village was simply too intriguing to pass up.
Peter and Estarra looked regal as they rode in an ornate skimmer that cruised above the canopy. They wore traditional Theron clothing: scaly moth-wing adornments, and glistening insect carapaces mounted on their shoulders. Two green priests and three business-suited Confederation representatives rode in a separate craft along with Anton, as well as a group of security troops.
The worldtree canopy ended abruptly like a gigantic cliff as they reached the edge of the inland sea. The water stretched out flat and blue ahead of them, dappled with sunlight. In the marshland along the shore, dwellings were made of knobby structural reeds covered with tough polymer films. Long rafts and anchored docks extended into the shallow sea.
Lightweight sailing boats and fishing trawlers moved about like water bugs, but the fishers had to be wary as they went out on the inland sea. From shore, watchers scanned the sky for any sign of the wyvern.
The royal entourage swooped down to reach the main settlement on the shore. The people of Shorehaven emerged to greet the King and Queen, but they remained close to their homes. Anton took detailed notes, not sure how this story would shape up.
Peter and Estarra were greeted by the Shorehaven village leader, Tristan Cove, a dark-skinned man with a smoke of gray through his hair. He wore clean unornamented clothes; he was clearly a fisherman himself. “Please help us, Father Peter, Mother Estarra—that monster is destroying our village. Twelve victims so far. We’re crippled, many of us afraid to do our daily work, while others are desperate enough to risk for everybody.”
“We’ll help all we can,” Estarra said.
Peter added, “You don’t know where the wyvern’s lair is? Have you sent out hunters?”
A green priest stepped up to them. “A wyvern has no lair.” He was muscular, bare-chested, wearing only a traditional loincloth. “I am Beltrias. Through the eyes of the trees, I studied the creature, watched its movements. I am starting to get to know it. The monster attacks, it feeds, it flies away, then it hunts elsewhere. I could not follow the thing, even through the trees.”
Tristan Cove gave a grim nod. “Despite its size, it has only a rudimentary reactive brain, but eventually it recalls the good feeding it found at Shorehaven. It comes back. It always comes back.”
“Then we will have to kill it,” said Queen Estarra. “We’ll send teams, use tracking devices—and be ready the next time it comes.”
Anton held his pad, ready to take more notes. “I’d like to hear about the previous attacks, record the stories, talk to witnesses.”
Alarms out on the great lake startled them. The colorful fishing boats began to race back toward shore so swiftly, they created a visible wake. The crews on deck scurried about.
The village leader pointed to the sky where a small speck grew noticeably larger. “That’s the wyvern.”
In a blur of segmented wings and jagged carapace sections, the wyvern swooped down, targeting one of the smaller fishing boats. The crew scrambled to rip down the colorful sail, which had somehow attracted the monster. Projectile-weapons fire erupted from the nearby ships, but the wyvern had already chosen its target.
Anton watched, chillingly fascinated as the creature dropped like a hawk pouncing on a quivering rodent. With segmented claws, the wyvern crashed down on the boat and snapped the deck and the hull. With a beat of throbbing wings, it tore the vessel from the water and flew into the air, carrying the entire thing.
The wyvern’s claws continued to work, ripping the hull apart, cracking and peeling pieces away. After it flew high enough, it dropped the shattered vessel, and Anton could see human figures falling through the sky. The wyvern danced about with a blur of wings, extending numerous limbs to snatch bodies out of the air, before whisking away across the water until it disappeared in the distance.
Tears filled Peter’s eyes. Estarra was shuddering. The King said to the village leader, “Anything you need.”
Anton recorded the King’s exact words, knowing they would be a vital part of the story.