Dragonling Scuffle

 "Now please turn to page 167 in your History of Elves and Their Magic Book- Seven years before Princess Viserra and her brother Prince Ilantar are able to reclaim their lovely home, the Empire of Waeterra, from Alaesa and Daeharice from the Kingdom of Ithoukkenait," Mrs. Ikeshia ordered the class full of young women and men.

My friend Tarasynora, heir to the Qikkaterran throne, did as she was told right away.

"Obedient little fish!" I thought, vile ideas running through my brain.

"After you have read that chapter, I will require you all to answer some questions about it."

The class and I groaned. Mrs. Ikeshia turned on me, the first to make the noise that had disturbed the silence that had seemed to fill the room.

"Teharissa, I expect better from you." My teacher's pointed ears seemed to dip down ever so slightly, possibly suggesting disapproval, as she took out her steaming hot iron ruler and whacked it straight across my hands. The touch of the ruler was, oddly enough, cool when it was held upon the skin. However, once it was taken off, searing pain rippled through my arms from my nerves. It collided with the magic woven into my blood and sent jolts of electricity flying off of the mathematical instrument.

"Kiros ta menera dua viu, Teharissa. Fera melo jarqui, Mrs. Ikeshia!" I cursed in a mixture of dead languages that formed the Iahalaen tongue, basically calling myself an idiot and other things that would have earned me a scalding beating at home. I then flipped open the book and read, envisioning the Battle of Alesarence in my head. It was a lot easier than those mortal humans because magic coursed through veins as easily as water in a box full of holes.

Viserra and her small band of loyal followers escaped the Ithoukkenaitian Army and fled towards the south. They were low on rations, supplies, hope, and morale. Prince Ilantar hoped to raise the last by sharing some of his and Princess Viserra's magic, made to heal, enhance fighting abilities, and even manipulate the water and earth. The two spent hours pouring magic into the mouths of soldiers.

One day, Ilantar was still dissatisfied with the progress they were making. It had been two months since they fled for their lives, and too long for the prince's taste. He extracted nearly all of his magic and became extremely ailing in the short while that had passed after his choice. His sister stayed by him, and, in his last dying moments, wept furiously. She unknowingly passed to him, through her tears of absolute sadness, a single drop of pure health. His last breath was short and weak, but as Viserra wailed for her late brother, color returned to his face as he slowly returned to the world of the living. He had confessed that he had a terrible dream, one where their other siblings were waiting with their dead Aunt Elisme standing by them. Viserra had pressed him with questions, but he remained utterly silent as he continued living with the other breathing, freshly magicked mages.

I looked around the classroom. Almost everyone had them out. "Psst! Qedivar!" I called to my miniature dragon who was hiding, curiously enough, inside of the thick but silky fabric of my bright blue cloak. I felt his leathery wings brush my exposed right arm as he fluttered out. Cupping my hands, Qedivar slowly floated down onto them, his tiny talons pricking my palms.

"Yes, Mistress?" Qedivar asked in his childish but considerably charming voice.

"Qedivar, you don't have to call me Mistress," I quietly reminded him.

"What changes that?" he shrugged. "We are still bonded together by love when we were first hatched- er, born. And you know perfectly well that we dragonlings possess incredible respect and the urge to call our bond Master or Mistress"

"True, true," Nodding, I turned my attention onto our teacher, who was passing out small sheets of light energy. It hovered slightly over each of our desks. Kuornos, the class jokester, tried to eat it to regain health. I tried to look away, but then remembered that since Kuornos lost his left eye to a bounty hunter that he needed as much energy and health as possible- without what little of the ancient magic dissolving by excessive use, therefore killing him-.

"You're ridiculous!" a male voice was transmitted across the large room.

Kuornos stopped eating the magical paper. "No, you're ridiculous, Coryn!" he remarked, smirking. With the flick of a wrist, Kuornos's dragon Raek- nicknamed "Leek", for Raek's horrible scent that smelled like his namesake- flew out from underneath Kuornos's red cloak that was very much like mine and promptly bit Coryn's face, right on the center of his left cheek that was already covered in scars from the same thugs and raiders that stole Kuornos's eye when he was young.

Rage flashed on his face as he held the place where Raek wounded him. "Vica!" Coryn summoned his bright yellow dragonling, a sweet female.

"Yes, Master?" her high-pitched voice squeaked.

"Avenge me, Vica." Coryn showed her the injury caused by Raek. A small amount of blood trickled downwards on his skin.

"Of course, Master Coryn," she replied and flew over to Kuornos's dragonling, but not before smashing a clock beneath his feet, therefore stopping time. They both started biting and clawing each other, being careful to harm their opponent but not so much that their elves couldn't heal them with the "Blessing of Viserra/Ilantar"- if it was a woman it was called "The Blessing of Viserra" and the males just swapped the name Viserra with Ilantar-.

A few of the girls noticed the commotion after about three to four hours and looked up from their reading.

"Nhil!" Syviis called, the youngest of the three.

"Yolon!" ordered Eirae.

"Malthor!" commanded Ryllae, the oldest, aged sixteen. Her dragonling was already halfway through its maturing stage, where it learns how to breathe fire, hardens its scales, is able to conjure magic and distribute it, and a lot of other things that I had heard about from the legends of our kind.

"Nhil, Raek." Syviis's dragonling flew off to defend Kuornos's.

"Yolon, Vica."

"Malthor, assist!" The rare command placed, Malthor darted through the air, accidentally bumping into Qedivar and at least seven other spectators who had paused their work to witness the fight.

Malthor blew out a smoky arena so that the teacher would not see them.

The dragonlings Malthor had collided with started attacking her ruthlessly.

I sighed. This was going to take a while. At best, they would be done during the sunset. But now, since Coryn stopped time for everyone over eighteen, it might as well take centuries.