Post by eelathedragoncalm on Feb 7, 2012 17:43:53 GMT -5
Prologue:
Dreams of turmoil
Sorry about the italisization, I'll fix it as soon as possible. Thoughts from the dragon are supposed to be italisized
In a cell, far into the depths of a dark king’s castle, lied an ancient dragon. He was a majestic sight; dark, purple scales rippled along his body except for a long gash at the ridge line of his neck spikes. His wings were each the size of a large house; dusty and worn from age. A dark dream swirled upon the thoughts of Garnyr; a dream he’d seen many times before.
A great fierce battle commenced; one that would turn the fate of Eironoshia forever. Soldiers bled upon the open field, clutching at their dismembered limbs. He could hear the howls that came from the men who were struck down, and the roars that came from those whom slain them. There was soldiers with pikes sticking from their chest; soldiers with their helms crushed beyond recognition, men beheaded by better swordsmen. It was gruesome—it was something he’d not seen for a century. The sky was dark—darker than ever before. A storm raged on, beating down upon the warriors who fought for nothing and those who fought for everything they’ve ever known.
Three dragons swirled the sky above the soldiers, lightning illuminating their giant wings and tenacious snarls of the mighty beasts. Jets of flame scorched the air—now the air was hotter than ever before—combining with the noise of swords clanging against each other. He could see the one lone figure tried to repel the attacks the two ruthless perpetrators delivered, but soon the sword was tossed aside by the flurry of attacks. There was words exchanged; but he could not hear what the humans said.
The one lone figure gave them a rebellious cry; then swooped down on the dragon towards the ground. With a tuck of their wings, the other dragons followed. Both dragons let loose a blast of fire at the lone figure and the dragon. Flame engulfed the dragon and its rider. Then there was a roar of fury and—
Garnyr stirred from his slumber and lifted his head. He had seen this dream before. It was the dream he had woken from for the last several months. And it was always the same dream. Garnyr knew that something significant was about to happen in Eironoshia, and he often wondered: Was he glancing into the future? Is this to become real?
Small puffs of smoke rose from his nostrils, rising to the ceiling and then disappearing. His snake-like barbed tongue tasted the air, tasting like imprisonment as it always had. The air had smelt and tasted like this for almost a century.
Iron shackles bound his neck, legs, and wings to the floor in the dusty cell. No light came from outside into the cell, and there was only dreams for company. His limbs ached from being in a cramped cell for so long. Garnyr had been a prisoner of Ralindorr for eight-and-ninety years.
Every minute felt like an hour, every hour an eternity. It was so long ago Garnyr thought I wish that my partner were here to rescue me from this cruel imprisonment; to take me through the void with him.
Ralindorr, that foul-diseased-lying-murdering-traitor had killed his partner of bond and his soul. Garnyr had had the ultimate, most painful thing done to him. And now he was only half of himself without his partner.
Garnyr glanced out of his cell now, his tail swaying back and forth upon the stone slab of his containment. Once more he let out a burst of fire; to melt the iron grating that blocked his path to freedom if not for his chains. The flame passed through the grating without harm, and he was disappointed again. Why isn’t there a way out? Of all the enchantments that Ralindorr put on the chains, one must have a flaw somewhere, right?
Garnyr kept assuring himself that sometime he would finally find a way out of this prison and set out to destroy the evil king. He shifted and rolled over on his right side after bathing it in a stream of fire, feeling his hot-belly lie across the warm stone. The chains jerked tight; but he ignored the discomfort.
A sudden cracking sound filled the air, enough to startle the old dragon to his feet. There was a piece of the stone floor—roughly four feet in length—broken from the rest of the floor. Garnyr could smell the soil beneath the stone; a familiar but a distant smell he never thought would touch his nose again.
Excited, Garnyr began to pull on his chains. The shackles clanged, but they refused to break. Viciously he began to shake back and forth to rip the chains from the floor. Why don’t the chains break now that there is a flaw in the enchantment? Escape was so close, and he was not going to give up now.
But the chains still refused to break and his attempts were getting him nowhere. The broken part of the floor is already unstable. . . .I might be able to—
Garnyr shifted himself over the gap in the floor. With his huge claws he moved the section of stone, to reveal the hard earth beneath the slab. He set to break pieces of the floor, and then move them to the right of the hole.
Once he broke off enough pieces to have the hole in the floor next to his chains, Garnyr gave the chain another heave. clink. The chain broke from the floor, a part of the floor still connected to where the chain had been connected.
Yes, now I only have to repeat this four more times! His heart was racing faster than ever as he quickly dismembered the stone and broke the other chains from the floor.
There was a thumping noise, as if someone was coming to check out the commotion. Not now Garnyr thought not when I am so close to being free. Another set of feet filled the air. He could smell the alertness that followed, and Garnyr began digging.
Shouting; more scoops of dirt being flung in all directions. He felt the hole get bigger, and he felt the cold stone wall under the floor. There was the sound of swords being unsheathed—more shouting.
Garnyr found the wall again, and rammed against it. Something broke under his shoulder, and bricks fell from the wall and into the hole. He hit the wall again, and the wall crumbled. There was light; light he hadn’t seen in over a century. Sounds of the grating opening filled the air, but he knew that they were already too late.
Excruciating pain overwhelmed his mind. His tail hurt; it was pain he had felt only during the gruesome battle at the fall of Eldisnora. When he had been sliced along the ridge of his spine and gouged in the side by a sword. It was pain worse than spending the last century in this cage, with nothing but his dreams for company.
With a roar, Garnyr leaped from the gaping hole in the wall beneath his cell into the world. He flapped his wings now; the muscles sore from not flying for so long.
It took a minute to get the rhythm beating of his wings, but now he ascended into the sky. The aromas of the world overwhelmed him. All of the smells he thought he would never smell again flooded his senses. Pine trees, fresh air, the smell of grass and the sea so many leagues away came to his nose. He could now remember what it felt like to lie in the grass, basking in the sun.
Now Garnyr dared look back his tail. The last four feet was not there anymore, just a stub where the tail should have been. Thick, red blood dripped from his stumpy tail. For a moment he felt remorse for his lost tail, but this feeling was replaced with overwhelming emotion in his chest. Garnyr had the joyous thought: He had just escaped.
Ignoring the pain in his tail, Garnyr soared high into the sky. He glided left—then right—feeling the wind flow under his wings and lifts him higher. Balance was now and issue with half a tail. He would wobble, and then regain his smooth gliding.
Cold air frosted to his snout and his eyelids. The giant ball in the sky was so magnificent—colors of orange, pink, and yellow painting the sky with a majestic beauty. A beauty that might of even matched that of a dragon’s scales. The hard lump of emotion in his chest was still there.
Garnyr did the one thing that he had almost lost hope for, and now he could strike back. Now he would hurt Ralindorr in the same way the dragon killer and murderer hurt him. Garnyr would take what was most precious from him; take it right before his eyes.
He knew that the land of Eironoshia was about to change in a way that it had never changed before. Garnyr knew that the one lone figure from his dreams would cause that change. That the change would happen soon. And he would be waiting.
Chapter 1:
A Familiar Place
A
ewyn glanced off into the horizon, the yellow-orange-pink sky receding behind mountains that seemed to loom over her small world. She glanced over the ice glazed land, searching for the fishing hole she made earlier that month. “About six leagues north of the gate—past the big boulder with the strange drawings on it—twelve steps northeast of the boulder.” Then a troubling thought occurred to her. “Is that right? What if I got it wrong?” Cutting another hole in the ice would take hours. Aewyn reassured herself that she remembered correctly, and trudged on through the snow.
Aewyn had just turned seventeen last spring. Her age, which would have been important to humans, held no satisfaction for her. She was an elf; tall, slender—with hair dark as the midnight sky and angular facial features. A branch and leaf-woven pack slung upon her shoulders and an iron dagger strapped to her leg.
The fishing spot was far outside the boundaries of Lyian. Mountains surrounded the small artic village and the vast forest behind it. It snowed most of the year; now was the time to hunt and fish for food. Rarely did it sprinkle a few inches or more of snow during the present month or the next.
Aewyn was experienced; she knew everyone’s hunting territories and what humans would do to keep people from stealing their game. Years ago she had found this spot, wandering upon the open frigid terrain, and had come back every year since.
Within the hour she found the boulder, and stopped. The carved faces in the boulder seemed to glare at her, making Aewyn uneasy. She torn her gaze from the boulder; there was many strange unexplainable things in the world. Her sable hair swayed with the howling wind; small ice-crystals forming at the tips of her hair and she could see her breath. Hands numb, Aewyn pulled off her pack and leaned it against the boulder.
She rubbed her hands together; summoning little warmth. Turning northeast she counted out twelve steps, kneeling on the twelfth step and brushing the thin layer of snow from the top of the hole. A thin sheet of ice had formed over the hole in the recent days—Aewyn could see where the existing hole had been.
Aewyn drew her cold, iron dagger from a sheath strapped to of her right leg. There was a crack, and she broke the ice with the pommel of her dagger. The pieces of ice floated in the slushy water, like a ship drifting upon the open sea. Aewyn put her dagger back in its sheath and retrieved her pack.
From it she took her Elm bow; a gift from Nalin, her brother of all but blood. Aewyn drew one arrow from her quiver, as well as three arm lengths of cord. A knot was tied around the bottom of the bow, and another for the arrow. She set the bow down and grabbed a small, cloth pouch with a dry-bait food to attract the fish.
Sprinkling the bait on top of the water, Aewyn grabbed her bow—sat and waited. She rocked back and forth, pushing the ground with her feet. A minute passed; two minutes; then ten. Aewyn shivered and tried to think of the warmth sitting by the fire in her home. It helped but the cold slowly kept creeping into her limbs.
A ripple in the ice water and the sudden pop of air bubbles at the surface interrupted her thoughts. Aewyn could see the shadow of an ugly, Swarmhead fish with tiny slit eyes and two deformed humps on both sides of its head. The Swarmhead had two rows of razor sharp teeth—for shredding and tearing.
Aewyn braced herself; on one knee and notched an arrow. She held steady—the fish swiftly swimming to the surface to grab the food. The arrow drew back—she took a moment to take aim—the drawstring released with a twang.
Water splashed, and the fish flopped around lazily in the water. Aewyn reeled the fish in by grabbing the cord hand-over-hand, reaching down to hook her already half-frozen fingers through its gills. The fish took several more breaths before going limp; she could feel the fish flexing its mouth and trying to bring oxygen into its lungs.
Aewyn drew her knife and quickly cleaned the fish; first removing the head and then splitting it up the belly. The organs she left in the fishing hole; hoping to bring more fish to catch in the coming week.
The fish was roughly one and a half meters. Not the biggest fish she had ever caught, but it would feed her family for a couple weeks. They needed the meat—they did not have the money to buy it from the markets.
The last several winters had been bad enough, especially when the traveling market failed to stop by the village. But a question still nagged at her: Will they come this year? Their crops barely last any time at all anymore, and without the market, everyone would starve except what they bagged in game.
Aewyn retrieved her pack and stuffed the outer pouch with snow. It would keep the fish cool at least until she got to the village. The fish was put firmly in place, and she packed more snow around the belly and the head.
Somewhere in the night a wolf howled—followed by serene silence all throughout the land. The wind raged with a hateful cry of loneliness, and then suppressed as the air seemed to push pressure down upon the earth.
The fish’s tail flopped back and forth as Aewyn slung the pack over one shoulder. She grabbed her bow and arrow; slung it over the other shoulder and set off towards Lyian.
Chapter 2:
A New Dominion
There was the distant sound of shrieking birds as a man of towering height and fierce, gray eyes paced along side the stone walls of the evil king’s castle. Faenin’s dark, brown curls fell upon his shoulders and his eyes scanned the room around him.
The only furnishings in the chamber were a wooden table and two chairs, one on each side of the table. To his left, a blazing fire crackled violently. A ray of morning light shone through a stone opening above the hearth.
Faenin had longed for the power he now wielded, despite the unbreakable oaths sworn to his master. But now he knew how to use magic that was not even practiced by the dark magicians, and this would allow him to have his revenge upon the world. He had gained a new ability, the ultimate manipulation of magic through his new title: a Dragon Servitor.
Faenin gritted his teeth at the thought of being a slave to the ruler of the gods and mortal earth men, selling his soul for his newfound abilities. He could not even name his dragon or his sword until Ralindorr deemed him worthy of.
Both he and Areyon, his Oath-Partner, could be twisted to do anything their master bade them to—no matter how hard they tried to resist.
“One day,” he thought “I will break my and my dragon’s bonds. So we can be free and not live like slaves under Ralindorr’s tyranny. If only we had more time to ourselves, we could figure out what spells were woven to bind us to our oaths.”
Faenin turned as Areyon accompanied by one of Ralindorr’s nobles entered through an age-worn entrance.
Areyon was shorter than he; with a medium build and bright golden hair. His soot-black tunic matched his cape that swept across the floor, sending dust into the air. There was the loud thumping of boots thumping Areyon came to stand beside him.
A gleaming, clear sword hung at Areyon’s waist. The blade of a Servitor’s sword gained its luster of the rider’s dragon when the bond was strong enough between the two that the sword became an extension of not only the body but the mental link connecting the Servitor and their dragon.
Ralindorr’s restrictions prevented this from happening, and thus they wielded almost the same blade. The only difference was the slight adjustments he made to the hilt and the point of the blade.
The messenger stayed in front of both Areyon and him—fear reflected from the man’s eyes. This amused Faenin, to know that he was feared by those who had lesser titles than him.
“He should have a reason to fear me,” Faenin thought “But soon I will be even stronger than Areyon or the elves.”
He then turned his attention back to the moment, and the noble. There was sweat upon the noble’s brow and the man averted his eyes. A garnished robe of blue satin dressed the messenger, and several scrolls were tucked under his right arm.
“Master has sensed and foreseen a great threat in the province of Eironoshia. A girl….” He stopped—, coughed into the crease of his elbow—, then resumed. “An elf in Lyian, a small arctic village to the north. The both of you,” he gestured to Areyon and him “are to find and eliminate the young elf at all costs. She must not live long enough to become a new Vëk-raon.
The man went quiet for a moment, but then the noble saw that Faenin was going to speak and interrupted him.
“Don’t ask me how he knows; master only told me to give you your task.”
The messenger stood there, a look of concern on his face as he glanced between Areyon and him, as if to decipher their emotions. For a moment the man waited, fidgeting with his scrolls. There was his heavy breathing, then the scratching sound of metal as Faenin adjusted his gauntlet and clenched his hand. A scurrying noise came from a black spider moving from the fire to the chair.
“When will our master stop sending us on these pointless and rather irritating tasks?” Faenin roared as he paced back and forth. “There is nobody powerful to stop us or challenge us in the land of Eironoshia, yet he lets Tëra-lon, the city that provides refuge for those foul-blooded traitors who rebel against the New Empire, oppose us! Where is our master’s dominion? Why does he cower in this castle, secluded for most of the day, when the Empire is corrupt? Faenin took a quick breath as he vented his anger “We could be looking for Garnyr, the escaped dragon! But instead we are sent to rid the land of some petty elf-girl. He has the power of a thousand elves, and every race in Eironoshia fears his name!”
Areyon stood calm—undiminished by his words—and this angered Faenin even more. Sweat appeared upon Faenin’s brow; he bared his teeth as he swore under his breath. The messenger stepped back, terrified.
“Our master sends us on these “irritating tasks” as you call them to test us. And he allows Tëra-lon to still exist because he knows that it will never oppose a threat to his throne with the power he has. He also tests us to¬¬—
“To determine if we are worthy. I have heard this a hundred times. I have to disgrace my dragon every time that I speak with him. To not own the title of your own name, the thought of it coats my tongue with bile. It is unjust and disgusting. So do not lecture me like you are better than me!” Faenin bellowed at Areyon.
In one swift motion and a mighty shout, Faenin drew his sword and swung at the messenger. There was the sound of metal tearing flesh along with a red mist of blood. He felt the sword and the man’s head give way as the blade sliced through the neck.
Gasping of the man’s windpipe was then followed by a loud thump as the messenger’s body and head fell to the cold, stone floor. Scrolls he’d been holding scattered everywhere across the floor, and red blotches stained the parchment. The messenger moved twice more and then he was no more
Faenin wiped his blade upon the edge of his gray cape, and then spoke to Areyon through clenched teeth.
“You are lucky Oath-partner,” Faenin spat, “that our oaths to the king prevents me from providing you with a similar fate. You would make a formidable opponent.” He smirked, challenging Areyon.
“Maybe one day, brother.” Areyon growled at him. “But do not be so sure that you would win.”
Faenin scowled and walked over to the round doorway of the room. “You are no brother of mine.” he said harshly. There was his steady breathing, the sounds of footsteps in the distance. As he leaned against the entrance to the chamber, his sword bounced off the stone, a metallic clink filling the hallway.
Four soldiers garbed in iron greaves, hauberks hanging to their knees, and in dark gray tunics with the emblem of a sword welded to a flaming shield ran up to Faenin. They either had a standard iron short sword with a shield or a barbed spear in their hands, and they looked ready to battle.
“We heard someone yelling,” said one of the soldiers. “It sounded like somebody was in trouble…” He fell silent as he glanced into the room and saw the dead messenger lying upon the ground, head removed.
“Get this mess cleaned up, I don’t want his blood all over the place.” Faenin told them. “The “God of Kings” will not be happy when he hears of this, so be aware that many of you will be slain in his frustration. Good luck….and farewell” He said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. He then spun on his heels, cape swishing through the air, and left the soldiers to what he ordered them to do.
Areyon had followed him as he exited the castle, but he had never said a word to him. They both walked over to the edge of the cliff, which surrounded their master’s castle except the south entrance. He moved his foot back as a pebble pulled loose from the cliff, and he summoned his dragon with his mind; as did Areyon.
“O’ mighty dragon, let us embark on this quest and earn our names! Let us be known and feared! Join me on this next task and we will be much stronger. Then we might be able to break our bonds and live free among the land.” Faenin shouted with his mind.
“Humph, touching speech indeed,” the dragon spoke. “Will it be true this time, or another lie woven by that dragon-slaying-oath-breaking-traitor?” the dragon inquired with penetrating curiosity. “We dragons are nothing but savage beasts from the wild without a proper name. It sets the furnace in my chest thundering with rage, my scales itching with aggravation.”
A few seconds passed before their dragons jumped from their lair in the side of the embankment and his dragon flew up to join him. Both dragons were magnificent beasts, scales rippling with light as the sun beamed off of them.
His dragon was the color of the midnight sky. The black dragon was bigger than Areyon’s scarlet red dragon, and it had a wingspan two feet longer than the red dragon. Areyon’s dragon had several more spikes along the jaw than that of his dragon. Both had fierce talons, which could slice a cow in half with ease.
Their tails swung side to side as they flapped their wings and landed next to Areyon and him. His dragon let out a roar, and then Areyon’s dragon roared in return. The dragon’s heavy lidded eye stared at Faenin. It was a dark, inquisitive look—one that could strip him of any thought whatsoever.
“What is our task, Faenin? If you stall much longer I will take it as ignorance,” a puff of smoke rose from the dragon’s nostrils, “and dragons are higher than king or royal—no one should dare ignore a dragon. We dragons have a tenacity to eat and . . . . tear little fleshlings like humans that do.” The dragon growled, further expressing his point
Faenin apologized and told his dragon about the young elf and what they must do. His dragon accepted this, and motioned for him to mount up in the leather saddle placed upon its back. He scratched his dragon roughly under the chin, and then moved to the front leg of the dragon.
“You did not have to kill the messenger,” Areyon yelled to Faenin as they ascended up the front leg of their dragons and into the leather saddle. “He did nothing to become a victim of your uncontrolled rage.”
With three, great strokes of the dragons’ leathery wings, both dragons and riders flew into the sky. The sun was now setting, the orange-pink sky meeting the horizon as they began their journey towards the small arctic village.
As he grasped hold of a spike of the black dragon’s neck, Faenin mumbled to himself. “Then maybe Oath-partner, you are on the wrong side.”
Chapter 3:
Strangers from afar
Throughout the night, Aewyn often used Lyian’s still lit lanterns to guide her way. She walked the distance to the village; stopping only to take a drink from the wineskin or check the fish. The morning sun came with warmth, along with the sweet twitter of birds as they continued to nest for winter again.
Before long, Aewyn saw the outline of Lyian’s huge wooden gates as light quickly began to rise above the mountains. There were two solders, posted on each side of the portcullis with long, wooden spears in their hands.
Several wagons were passing through, the overdue merchants coming at last. “Good,” she thought “Now the town will have enough food to last the winter. Now I hope that the king’s tax collectors will not make it this year to take more from us.”
God of the Kings Ralindorr was despised all across the land of Eironoshia; he was the one who corrupted the Great Empire before he claimed dominance over the kings that once ruled the Province of Eironoshia amongst themselves. Peace had reigned among the land, watch over by those who used magic for good. Now there was no such thing.
Lyian was one of the few places untouched by the Empire’s massive army; she had heard that many of the inner cities were pillaged and burned. The men enlisted; their families murdered. Nothing was left by the New Empire but dust on their boots and blood on their swords.
Stories were still around about Ralindorr’s conquest to rid the land of the elves, dwarves, and the Vëk-raon—strong magic users that kept tyranny from the land with their dragons. But all of the storytellers bold enough to recite the story were hanged by the Empire in front of the entire village so they could see.
Aewyn had heard only a few of those stories; how over three centuries ago he slaughtered his first Vëk-raon and their dragon. No one knew exactly how or why Ralindorr set out to complete this evil deed, only that he accomplished it.
The wind shifted with a great whoosh; Aewyn was sprinting faster than ever. Thrumming of her boots filled the air, as well as the sound of creaking hinges. Both soldiers proceeded to close the giant, metal gates until they saw her.
Motioning with her hand, Aewyn stopped the two soldiers, and strode up to them. Both wore dusty, yellow tunics, worn from extensive use. Each of the men was fitted with iron greaves and mail armor, with a leather coif upon their heads.
The soldier on her right was tall and masculine, with a golden beard of hair that gave the man a dull, greasy appearance. His face had the look of depression; the long hours of guard duty with little pay. Aewyn did not know who the hefty soldier on the left was, but she shifted her stance as she confronted the two soldiers.
The man Aewyn recognized was Helroy. The man was a little shorter than his partner, but with a neatly combed black mustache. He too, appeared grim and whiter than the moon; as if he’d seen a ghost. Aewyn brushed herself off, and with the man’s sullen appearance intriguing, she questioned.
“Helroy, what is wrong?” Aewyn shot a pressing glance towards the two. “How fares your duty of guarding the gate? Was there civilian trouble?”
“No, it was something worse; much worse.” His voice quivered as he spoke, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to stand up. “You’ll never believe it, but…” His voice trailing away
Aewyn did not persist, but slightly tilted her angular head towards him. Helroy’s voice then came in short, rasp intervals.
“Well, you see, me and Clayvin here, we was having a short lunch,” Helroy explained. “He noticed it first and tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up; and my eyes followed what caught here old Clayvin’s attention.” Clayvin grunted in agreement. “At first, I thought that my eyes were deceiving me, but now I am sure of what I saw—
“Oh, come on Helroy, nothing could have frightened you this bad.”
“But you didn’t see what I saw.” He protested
“No, but for something to turn you white as—
“Did you want hear what I have to say?” Helroy snapped. Aewyn nodded. “Then stop interrupting me.”
“Anyways,” He told her “I saw two people, and both were seated upon two different dragons. One dragon was dark, black as coal. All I could see was its ferocious white fangs and its neck spikes in the sun.”
“Two dragons?” Aewyn asked “Are they of the Empire? There was a moment of excitement at thought that they had come to help and remove the God of Kings, but it disappeared a second later. Helroy had confirmed that they were from the Empire, some of Ralindorr’s new fancy servants.
“As for the other one, I’m afraid that I only got a glimpse. I think it was red though… yes it was, red as crimson blood. They were flying north towards Swelthguard, but they stopped to ask about you when they passed by.”
Aewyn was shocked by the news. What was so important about her that Ralindorr would send two new Dragon Servitors to inquire about her? Did this have anything to do with her parents that she had never even spoken to? Was she in trouble?
The God of Kings would not send two of his best servants to talk with a mere elf dropped off in a small arctic village. This was bigger somehow, but she had no satisfying answer for herself.
“What did they want with me?” Aewyn interrogated as she accompanied Helroy and Clayvin inside the village. “Did you tell them anything?”
“Not really much of anything. They asked where you were and we told them that you were out for the week to hunt game. Also, they asked if you had family. I never said anything about Sparah or Nalin. All I told them that you would be here tomorrow but nothing more than that.”
“Did they state what they were here for?
“They told us that it was none of our business, that it was the Ralindorr’s orders.”
“So you inquired no further I’m guessing.”
“No, I’m afraid that I did not, they were…very persuading.”
“Did they leave after that, or did they stay around?”
“Oh no, they headed out on horseback after that back the way they came after we told them that you’d be here tomorrow afternoon—
“They were on horseback?” Aewyn exclaimed “But I thought that you said they were flying on dragons. Why abandon them?”
“We saw them flying along the ridge of the mountains west from here. They stayed in sight for only a moment. But we knew it was them when they came here on horses. By the way they rode them I mean. They rode them horses like they would dragons, leaning forward more than they should, and the ill-tempered rider kept reaching for where a dragon’s neck spike would be.” Helroy paused for a moment, putting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I sense trouble with those two—just by the way they talked to us. As for why they rode up on horses instead of dragons would be they did not want to cause panic among the village. How would you react if two ferocious dragons showed up on your doorstep suddenly and unexpected?”
“Terrified,” Aewyn admitted
“Strange men they were though, with their peculiar swords clear as glass and their brilliant steeds.” Helroy said “Probably stole the horses off of some nobles in the next town over. One of the Servitors had a temper though. He was very impatient when questioning us—even threatened once to cut our tongues out when we told him that we knew nothing more.”
Aewyn then thanked the two for the information and excused herself. The village of Lyian was surrounded by stone walls—high enough for archers to stand on but not for people to climb—with entrances on only the north and the south sides of the village.
The houses were dark; mud bricks were stacked to create walls for the villagers’ homes. Snow covered most of the houses, as well as the streets.
Aewyn passed a few of the villagers; whom she recognized to be Lorami, Hubner, and their son, Ulanar. She waived at them and muttered a greeting; then turned down a cobblestone street on her right.
The moon was now bright upon the stone of the village; a slight stir as the people retreated for the night. There was the constant squeaking of a mouse and its babies down a dark alley to her right. Yelling came from a local tavern across the street; drunkards advancing toward waitresses whom by mistake strode too close to them.
As the noise lessened with distance, Aewyn took a left and came to a small, mud-house and went to the door. The wooden door squeaked on its hinges as she entered.
The house was warm—smelt of warm bread and gnawing aroma of a stew. A wooden chair sat by the fire; knitting tools and wool yarn on it. There was a table to her right, and a small kitchen useful for only the smallest meals was behind it. A great kettle was placed upon the fire, and the soup was simmering.
Behind the counter stood a woman in her late thirties; gray and brown hair fell upon her shoulders. Dark circles ere under her eyes—worn from stress and the many years raising a family as a widow.
Aewyn put her leaf-woven pack by the table. Sparah looked up—saw Aewyn and they met in a meaningful embrace, hugging each other. Sparah held Aewyn’s cat-like face in her hands and brushed the hair from her eyes.
“I’m so glad you are back; I was worried when the storm turned worse than normal,” She started “I did not want you to get stuck out there in the snow and the cold—
“I missed you too Sparah,” Aewyn interrupted her. A wry smile appeared upon her lips; Aewyn put her hands on Sparah’s wrists.
There was a moment of silence—the sound of snow beating against the house—the rhythmic thumping of boots against the floor.
Nalin stood next to the kettle now; startled by her sudden return. The boy was two-and-ten years old with shaggy, brown hair and blue eyes. His mouth was agape; Nalin threw his arms up and ran towards Aewyn.
Aewyn caught him in her arms and spun him around in a circle; faster than she ever dared. A joyous laugh escaped her; a sharp but wondrous sound, and kissed him on the forehead. She let go of him and Nalin—looking dizzy—stumbled before finding his footing.
“I leave for a few days and it’s as if you’ve not seen me for a century,” Aewyn said to him “have you been treating your mother Sparah right? Because if not,” Aewyn smirked and pretended to punch Nalin in the jaw. “I would have to feed you to my giant pet Lizardagyi…he’s very hungry this time of year. Especially for two-and-ten year olds that give their mothers trouble.” She joked
“You don’t have a Lizardagyi; they live way east—over the Floracion Mountains. They could not survive here—
“Oh, is that so?” Aewyn then chased him around the house; laughing when Nalin turned around she tickled him. “What if I have been raising it. . . hmm. . .under your bed? She chased him for several more minutes while Sparah watched from the counter.
Aewyn then padded Nalin on the head and went over to the pack lying upon the floor. She began to unpack, setting the contents on the table. The fish, however, she put on the counter aside of Sparah. It was then that Sparah asked of her fishing trip.
Aewyn recited the trip, including her conversation with Helroy and Clayvin. She quite had not understood what this meant, and Aewyn hoped that Sparah could give her some insight.
Sparah seemed just as surprised as Aewyn when she had heard from Helroy. Aewyn gently massaged her right hand when Sparah got up from unpacking the pack. Sparah was biting her fist, her knuckles turning white.
“What does it mean?” Aewyn questioned. Nalin turned to the kettle now; filling a bowl with the warm enticing soup. After ladling the creamy soup into his bowl he went back into his room to avoid the conversation. She knew that he disliked hearing the details of the villager’s everyday life.
“I’m not sure; Dragon Servitors or Valkyrie have not been here in centuries, not since the birth of the New Empire—
“Valkyrie?”
“That’s what they would be called if they were women instead,” Sparah explained “They were equally skilled in the blade, but Servitors were normally stronger in magic.”
“Oh….but how do you know that?”
“When I was in Riern many years ago, I had a friend who that I studied with that came across a rare book that spoke of this. There were many bits of information like that in the book. If my memory holds true, it was “The Ancient scrolls of the Teshla Vek shi mite” or the Ancient scrolls of the great warriors.”
“But why would the God of Kings send these Servitors to find me? I am nothing but one elf in a small village in the farthest, poorest parts of Eironoshia.”
“It could be for nothing; but then again we never know what peoples’ intentions are. I am not sure what it means or what to tell you. Just don’t worry too much, promised me that.”
“I won’t” Aewyn promised
Aewyn was content with her mother-of-all-but-blood, but she was not satisfied. It still did not answer why they had specifically asked about her. “And why would they ask about my family?” Even if they were here to see her, her family would be of no business to them, so they would have no reason to ask about them.
She wiped these questions that clouded her mind and enjoyed a friendly conversation with Sparah. They had not talked for a while, and Aewyn hated being so distant. They hadn’t spoken much since her father-of-all-but-blood had died. It had taken a terrible toll on Sparah, as well as her. How could it have not? Tyran and Sparah had raised her from the time she landed on their doorstep ten-and-eight years earlier.
As the night dwindled away, Aewyn soon became tired and excused herself from Sparah. She grabbed her yew bow and went into her room. It was just as she left it—barren except for a wooden dresser in the corner and a bed next to it. The dusty window above the dresser was boarded shut with no way of letting chilly air entering.
Aewyn hung the bow upon two pegs above her bed, and then lifted the blankets upon the bed. Getting in the blankets, she was immediately warm and she rolled over on her side. She then closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be thrust into dreams with the immense possibilities of why the Servitors came to see her.
Chapter 4:
Grave danger
When Aewyn woke up, there was breakfast on the table along with a scrap piece of parchment. Steam still rose from the eggs and bread, and she saw a fresh change of clothes on the other side of the table.
Aewyn—
I went to the market today to pick up more flour and check out the merchant’s merchandise. Breakfast is on the table, and a set of clothes. I took Nalin, so we will be home in a few hours.
--Sparah—
Aewyn quickly got into the fresh clothes, leaving her bow but again strapping on the dagger to her leg. After eating the small breakfast, she left a note telling Sparah that she would be in the woods out the north gate of town for a while. Aewyn then left and closed the door behind her.
A half an hour later, she exited the north gate. After answering to the guards to where she was going, Aewyn crossed a small wooden bridge and followed a snow trampled path to her right. The trees along the side of the path swayed with the wind, and their branches bend downwards from the weight of the snow.
She came to a place where the road forked out left, and she followed the left path to the entrance of Astrai Forest. Great big willow trees loomed over the forest, shaking and whispering as the branches shuffled against each other.
The land under the massive trees were bare; snow could not be seen anywhere throughout the forest. Astrai Forest was the biggest forest in Eironoshia, meeting up at the base of the Orsuup Mountains.
No one ever went or tried to climb the Orsuup Mountains. The land was too steep—people died every year to the ravines and to the unfriendly animals that lurked among the caves. Temperatures were below zero up in the mountains, and even the most experienced climbers could be killed by the cold
“I doubt that the Servitors would ever go up there.” Aewyn thought. Not that it mattered anyways; they had to be long gone by now.
She stepped into the vast forest and walked along the trees. There was a bird or a squirrel every once in a while, but otherwise she was alone. Several minutes passed before she found a nice, comfortable spot under a tree where the moss was completely dry and pine needles were fresh.
Before she sat, Aewyn broke off a branch roughly a foot in length and two inches in diameter. She settled on the soft bed of needles, and with her dagger, began to whittle the log of wood. She sang softly to herself and to the wind.
Soft melodies about the forests and the rivers and the land filled the air as she began carving the figure of a bird. Her voice was beautiful and vibrant; it brought a strange happiness to the world around her. Aewyn often sang in her elven tongue, a language only she knew within the tribe.
She remembered the scrolls given to her by her mother-of-all-but-blood that taught her how to speak and write her language, so she taught herself at four years old. The language came naturally; and although it was her race’s language, she often could not help but think why she knew it well enough to read and write the elven language by the age of five.
After carving the outline of the bird, Aewyn used the tip of the dagger to etch out the eyes of the bird. She whittled away small pieces of wood; a pile of shavings on the ground between her legs.
Then there was a roar that echoed throughout the entire forest. It was a sound she had never heard before, it was ferocious and powerful. The roar had come from the village, and now she could smell the faint odor of smoke.
Aewyn thought of what could have made a roar like that. Wait a second: It couldn’t be a. . . Dragon! She had to get back to the village. Smoke meant that the village was on fire. People would need to get out of there. Then a thought occurred to her: Sparah and Nalin were at the market!
Aewyn dropped the carving and her dagger onto the ground and ran as fast as her legs could to the village. A trail of pine needles and then snow was kicked up as she made her way back to the village.
She sprinted along the trail and then across the bridge and to the gate. The soldiers that were guarding it before now were gone. There was fire erupting over the tops of the wall of the village from the houses with two levels.
Pushing open the wooden gates, she was met with a sudden heat wave that was almost too much to bear. Aewyn put her arm in front of her to lessen the brightness of the fire that burnt around her. Only the roads were free of flames, and she made herself down the main road leading through the village.
She coughed from the smoke and her eyes began to water. “I have to get home to save Sparah and Nalin.” There was a horrible, gurgling scream from a house to her right.
A man burst from the entrance of a burning house, flames hurling from his body. His hair was singed and gone from the fire. The clothes that he was wearing were burnt to his skin, and his flesh was peeling. It was a gruesome sight; Aewyn tasted bile on her tongue.
Aewyn ran over to the man, ripping off her over-shirt and tried to extinguish the flames. But the man fell to the ground and twitched, and then died. The smell of rotting flesh was pungent from the burning corpse. She looked away from the burning man and threw up along the path to the village road.
Wiping her mouth, Aewyn cursed whoever was the cause of this. These were innocent people; they had done nothing to be murdered like savages. Deep down, Aewyn felt she knew who had done this. But she had a question: Where were the two men on dragons?
Then there was the mighty roar again. Aewyn looked up, and both of the two Servitors were hovering just above the village. Both had their swords in hand; waving them in small circles with the steady flapping of the dragons’ wings.
The heat of the fire stung her cheeks, her eyes now dry from constant exposure. She coughed again, and looked around for the gate. It was beginning to catch fire, the sides of the gate rippling with small flames.
Then the Servitor with dark brown curls and his black dragon bellowed at her. It was full of pain, and fear, but it was deep and his meaning was clear.
“Elf-girl, we are here to kill you! Ralindorr does not want you to become a Vëk-raon and we are here to make sure that happens,” The Servitor pointed his sword at her. “There is no escape; so make this easy on yourself! Accept your death willingly, and we will make it as painless as possible. If not, well. . . I cannot assure you it will be painless.”
“Vëk-raon? What do you mean? Who are you? And what did you do with my family?” she then yelled back at them “Did you kill them like you slaughtered everybody else?”
Aewyn swore that she saw a smirk appear upon the Servitor’s face. The man laid his sword across his knees and adjusted in his saddle. She knew that they had killed them, and her heart sunk.
“As for whom we are, that does not matter. And we did not kill your family. We have them safe right outside the village. No harm will be done to them if you—
“You lie!” She managed to say “You lying-murdering-thieving traitors!”
“Fine then,” the Servitor spat “You have chosen your fate.”
“I’ll never go with you two! Both of you are cowards . . . cowards I tell you!”
She turned around and ran. Aewyn sprinted to the flaming gate and kicked it open; the dragons letting loose a roar before bathing the street in flames. She ran for the one place she knew the most. The dragons were too big to fly into Astrai forest and she was much faster than a dragon or a human on foot.
Aewyn constantly felt the heat from the flame that the dragons released from their jaws and the loud thrusting of their wings as the chased her along the path. One of the Servitors yelled “Get her” and Aewyn took the left at the crossing and continued to sprint.
She jumped the last several feet into the forest as a jet of flame singed the hem of her clothing. The dragons and their riders slammed into the trees around the entrance of the forest. There was great roar from the dragons’ at her escape; leaves ripping from branches as they howled at her.
The dragons grabbed hold of the trees with their claws and pushed off into the air. A giant jet of flames erupted into the forest and the trees began to burst into flames. After ascending into the sky, both dragons released a fury of blast of flames at the trees covering the forest.
“If we cannot catch you,” she faintly heard one of the Servitors say “Then you can burn with the rest of the forest.
She stayed silent as the dragons scorched the trees one more time and began to fly away. Flames swirled all around her; blocking her every path of escape. The smoke was worse than the heat, and it hurt to breathe with her already raw throat.
Aewyn coughed; the horrible taste of ash in her mouth. She looked around and saw a small path had opened up on the other side of a wall of raging flames. The fire had not scorched the path on the other side, but the fire was spreading to the path quickly.
Ignoring the heat and smoke, Aewyn jumped through the flames. The edges of her clothes were in small flames, other parts smoldering. She batted the edge of her clothing and rubbed her heat-dried eyes.
Squinting, Aewyn could barely see where the Orsuup Mountains met up with the end of the forest. If she could get to higher ground she would be fine. But the smoke was filling her lungs and she wasn’t sure if she could last another minute. She had to try; or she would die.
She tried to run, but her legs were weak. Not enough oxygen was present to breathe. Coughing began to hurt with much pain, and her vision began to flicker between reality and unconsciousness.
The fire raged around her, consuming all of the trees that stood in its way. A wild deer that had once been eating berries now ran through the forest, its hide burning from the walls of fire it had leaped over or through to get away.
Aewyn then stumbled towards the mountains. After about fifteen steps, her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. She took in a breath of smoke and air, and at the same time tried to pull herself across the forest with her hands. Holding her breath brought extreme pain, and her mind screamed for more air.
Spots of hazy blue, red, and yellow clouded her vision. Her vision flickered, and she saw a man with gray long hair and beard hold out his hand. Coming out of unconsciousness again Aewyn saw that the fire around her was being extinguished by the man, and that another figure had appeared into view.
She realized that the second object was much bigger; the figure was gigantic. The man spoke to her, but she could not hear what he’d said. There was then a sudden relief in her chest, but she was too weak to speak and her throat was still raw.
Then her vision went black.
Chapter 5
Prophecy of the Dragoncalm:
Aewyn stirred, her vision slowly coming back to focus. Through squinted eyes, she could see light reflecting off of the rocky walls of a cave. Two torches placed several feet apart lit up the small portion of the cave, and a soup kettle sat over a fire in the middle of the small camp.
The man Aewyn saw just before she passed out was kneeling before a bucket of hot steaming water, dipping a cloth into it. Water dripped from the rag to the bucket and water sloshed over the sides.
After the grey-bearded man wrung the rag out, he came to Aewyn’s side. As he put the rag upon her head, she felt the warm water run down her face. It was relaxing, and it soothed the dull ache in the back of her head.
A trickle of water slid down the base of her neck and down her back. The water tickled her skin, giving her the urge to scratch. Aewyn sat up; the rag fell onto a leather hide bedroll. Scratching her back for a moment, she noticed that the grey-bearded man was gone. “Where did he go?”
A deep, throaty rumble came from within a dark tunnel that led deeper into the cave. Light flickered in the direction of the noise, but it was still too dark to see further into the tunnel.
“Ah, you have waken,” a voice came from behind “I was wondering when you’d come around.”
Aewyn jumped at the sudden conversation. Whirling around, she was surprised to see that it was the gray-bearded man that had spoken to her. She had thought that the man had left, but he was right behind her.
Finally able to see the man up close, she saw that the man’s skin was wrinkled, and the happy lines had long been gone from his face. His beard was nicely trimmed though, for it was unnaturally straight. It was medium length, and the end of his beard was tucked into the belt of his mail tunic.
Without waiting for a response, the grey-bearded man moved over to the soup kettle. He took the lid off, and steam blew off of the top of the soup. The aroma of a thick creamy soup filled the air, making Aewyn realize how much hunger gnawed at her.
“How long have I been out? Last thing I remember was. . .” Aewyn played through the scene in her head. “Wait—that was you that put out the fire, was it not?”
The man continued to stir the soup, without acknowledging that she had said anything. Aewyn swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “What is going on with this old man? He’s acting very strange.” Then the man set the ladle down and looked straight at her. For several moments the grey-bearded man stared at her, as if he was distracted by something else. A rumbling noise came from within the tunnel again.
“You have been asleep now for a near three days, I think.” He then looked down and gently massaged the back of his neck. “Now, I know that you want to ask about a thousand questions. First lets eat, then we'll talk."
~Tell me what you think and if you feel like it, help critique whatever parts you want. And sorry that chapter 5 is not complete, I am working on it~
~Thanks, Eela The Dragoncalm
Dreams of turmoil
Sorry about the italisization, I'll fix it as soon as possible. Thoughts from the dragon are supposed to be italisized
In a cell, far into the depths of a dark king’s castle, lied an ancient dragon. He was a majestic sight; dark, purple scales rippled along his body except for a long gash at the ridge line of his neck spikes. His wings were each the size of a large house; dusty and worn from age. A dark dream swirled upon the thoughts of Garnyr; a dream he’d seen many times before.
A great fierce battle commenced; one that would turn the fate of Eironoshia forever. Soldiers bled upon the open field, clutching at their dismembered limbs. He could hear the howls that came from the men who were struck down, and the roars that came from those whom slain them. There was soldiers with pikes sticking from their chest; soldiers with their helms crushed beyond recognition, men beheaded by better swordsmen. It was gruesome—it was something he’d not seen for a century. The sky was dark—darker than ever before. A storm raged on, beating down upon the warriors who fought for nothing and those who fought for everything they’ve ever known.
Three dragons swirled the sky above the soldiers, lightning illuminating their giant wings and tenacious snarls of the mighty beasts. Jets of flame scorched the air—now the air was hotter than ever before—combining with the noise of swords clanging against each other. He could see the one lone figure tried to repel the attacks the two ruthless perpetrators delivered, but soon the sword was tossed aside by the flurry of attacks. There was words exchanged; but he could not hear what the humans said.
The one lone figure gave them a rebellious cry; then swooped down on the dragon towards the ground. With a tuck of their wings, the other dragons followed. Both dragons let loose a blast of fire at the lone figure and the dragon. Flame engulfed the dragon and its rider. Then there was a roar of fury and—
Garnyr stirred from his slumber and lifted his head. He had seen this dream before. It was the dream he had woken from for the last several months. And it was always the same dream. Garnyr knew that something significant was about to happen in Eironoshia, and he often wondered: Was he glancing into the future? Is this to become real?
Small puffs of smoke rose from his nostrils, rising to the ceiling and then disappearing. His snake-like barbed tongue tasted the air, tasting like imprisonment as it always had. The air had smelt and tasted like this for almost a century.
Iron shackles bound his neck, legs, and wings to the floor in the dusty cell. No light came from outside into the cell, and there was only dreams for company. His limbs ached from being in a cramped cell for so long. Garnyr had been a prisoner of Ralindorr for eight-and-ninety years.
Every minute felt like an hour, every hour an eternity. It was so long ago Garnyr thought I wish that my partner were here to rescue me from this cruel imprisonment; to take me through the void with him.
Ralindorr, that foul-diseased-lying-murdering-traitor had killed his partner of bond and his soul. Garnyr had had the ultimate, most painful thing done to him. And now he was only half of himself without his partner.
Garnyr glanced out of his cell now, his tail swaying back and forth upon the stone slab of his containment. Once more he let out a burst of fire; to melt the iron grating that blocked his path to freedom if not for his chains. The flame passed through the grating without harm, and he was disappointed again. Why isn’t there a way out? Of all the enchantments that Ralindorr put on the chains, one must have a flaw somewhere, right?
Garnyr kept assuring himself that sometime he would finally find a way out of this prison and set out to destroy the evil king. He shifted and rolled over on his right side after bathing it in a stream of fire, feeling his hot-belly lie across the warm stone. The chains jerked tight; but he ignored the discomfort.
A sudden cracking sound filled the air, enough to startle the old dragon to his feet. There was a piece of the stone floor—roughly four feet in length—broken from the rest of the floor. Garnyr could smell the soil beneath the stone; a familiar but a distant smell he never thought would touch his nose again.
Excited, Garnyr began to pull on his chains. The shackles clanged, but they refused to break. Viciously he began to shake back and forth to rip the chains from the floor. Why don’t the chains break now that there is a flaw in the enchantment? Escape was so close, and he was not going to give up now.
But the chains still refused to break and his attempts were getting him nowhere. The broken part of the floor is already unstable. . . .I might be able to—
Garnyr shifted himself over the gap in the floor. With his huge claws he moved the section of stone, to reveal the hard earth beneath the slab. He set to break pieces of the floor, and then move them to the right of the hole.
Once he broke off enough pieces to have the hole in the floor next to his chains, Garnyr gave the chain another heave. clink. The chain broke from the floor, a part of the floor still connected to where the chain had been connected.
Yes, now I only have to repeat this four more times! His heart was racing faster than ever as he quickly dismembered the stone and broke the other chains from the floor.
There was a thumping noise, as if someone was coming to check out the commotion. Not now Garnyr thought not when I am so close to being free. Another set of feet filled the air. He could smell the alertness that followed, and Garnyr began digging.
Shouting; more scoops of dirt being flung in all directions. He felt the hole get bigger, and he felt the cold stone wall under the floor. There was the sound of swords being unsheathed—more shouting.
Garnyr found the wall again, and rammed against it. Something broke under his shoulder, and bricks fell from the wall and into the hole. He hit the wall again, and the wall crumbled. There was light; light he hadn’t seen in over a century. Sounds of the grating opening filled the air, but he knew that they were already too late.
Excruciating pain overwhelmed his mind. His tail hurt; it was pain he had felt only during the gruesome battle at the fall of Eldisnora. When he had been sliced along the ridge of his spine and gouged in the side by a sword. It was pain worse than spending the last century in this cage, with nothing but his dreams for company.
With a roar, Garnyr leaped from the gaping hole in the wall beneath his cell into the world. He flapped his wings now; the muscles sore from not flying for so long.
It took a minute to get the rhythm beating of his wings, but now he ascended into the sky. The aromas of the world overwhelmed him. All of the smells he thought he would never smell again flooded his senses. Pine trees, fresh air, the smell of grass and the sea so many leagues away came to his nose. He could now remember what it felt like to lie in the grass, basking in the sun.
Now Garnyr dared look back his tail. The last four feet was not there anymore, just a stub where the tail should have been. Thick, red blood dripped from his stumpy tail. For a moment he felt remorse for his lost tail, but this feeling was replaced with overwhelming emotion in his chest. Garnyr had the joyous thought: He had just escaped.
Ignoring the pain in his tail, Garnyr soared high into the sky. He glided left—then right—feeling the wind flow under his wings and lifts him higher. Balance was now and issue with half a tail. He would wobble, and then regain his smooth gliding.
Cold air frosted to his snout and his eyelids. The giant ball in the sky was so magnificent—colors of orange, pink, and yellow painting the sky with a majestic beauty. A beauty that might of even matched that of a dragon’s scales. The hard lump of emotion in his chest was still there.
Garnyr did the one thing that he had almost lost hope for, and now he could strike back. Now he would hurt Ralindorr in the same way the dragon killer and murderer hurt him. Garnyr would take what was most precious from him; take it right before his eyes.
He knew that the land of Eironoshia was about to change in a way that it had never changed before. Garnyr knew that the one lone figure from his dreams would cause that change. That the change would happen soon. And he would be waiting.
Chapter 1:
A Familiar Place
A
ewyn glanced off into the horizon, the yellow-orange-pink sky receding behind mountains that seemed to loom over her small world. She glanced over the ice glazed land, searching for the fishing hole she made earlier that month. “About six leagues north of the gate—past the big boulder with the strange drawings on it—twelve steps northeast of the boulder.” Then a troubling thought occurred to her. “Is that right? What if I got it wrong?” Cutting another hole in the ice would take hours. Aewyn reassured herself that she remembered correctly, and trudged on through the snow.
Aewyn had just turned seventeen last spring. Her age, which would have been important to humans, held no satisfaction for her. She was an elf; tall, slender—with hair dark as the midnight sky and angular facial features. A branch and leaf-woven pack slung upon her shoulders and an iron dagger strapped to her leg.
The fishing spot was far outside the boundaries of Lyian. Mountains surrounded the small artic village and the vast forest behind it. It snowed most of the year; now was the time to hunt and fish for food. Rarely did it sprinkle a few inches or more of snow during the present month or the next.
Aewyn was experienced; she knew everyone’s hunting territories and what humans would do to keep people from stealing their game. Years ago she had found this spot, wandering upon the open frigid terrain, and had come back every year since.
Within the hour she found the boulder, and stopped. The carved faces in the boulder seemed to glare at her, making Aewyn uneasy. She torn her gaze from the boulder; there was many strange unexplainable things in the world. Her sable hair swayed with the howling wind; small ice-crystals forming at the tips of her hair and she could see her breath. Hands numb, Aewyn pulled off her pack and leaned it against the boulder.
She rubbed her hands together; summoning little warmth. Turning northeast she counted out twelve steps, kneeling on the twelfth step and brushing the thin layer of snow from the top of the hole. A thin sheet of ice had formed over the hole in the recent days—Aewyn could see where the existing hole had been.
Aewyn drew her cold, iron dagger from a sheath strapped to of her right leg. There was a crack, and she broke the ice with the pommel of her dagger. The pieces of ice floated in the slushy water, like a ship drifting upon the open sea. Aewyn put her dagger back in its sheath and retrieved her pack.
From it she took her Elm bow; a gift from Nalin, her brother of all but blood. Aewyn drew one arrow from her quiver, as well as three arm lengths of cord. A knot was tied around the bottom of the bow, and another for the arrow. She set the bow down and grabbed a small, cloth pouch with a dry-bait food to attract the fish.
Sprinkling the bait on top of the water, Aewyn grabbed her bow—sat and waited. She rocked back and forth, pushing the ground with her feet. A minute passed; two minutes; then ten. Aewyn shivered and tried to think of the warmth sitting by the fire in her home. It helped but the cold slowly kept creeping into her limbs.
A ripple in the ice water and the sudden pop of air bubbles at the surface interrupted her thoughts. Aewyn could see the shadow of an ugly, Swarmhead fish with tiny slit eyes and two deformed humps on both sides of its head. The Swarmhead had two rows of razor sharp teeth—for shredding and tearing.
Aewyn braced herself; on one knee and notched an arrow. She held steady—the fish swiftly swimming to the surface to grab the food. The arrow drew back—she took a moment to take aim—the drawstring released with a twang.
Water splashed, and the fish flopped around lazily in the water. Aewyn reeled the fish in by grabbing the cord hand-over-hand, reaching down to hook her already half-frozen fingers through its gills. The fish took several more breaths before going limp; she could feel the fish flexing its mouth and trying to bring oxygen into its lungs.
Aewyn drew her knife and quickly cleaned the fish; first removing the head and then splitting it up the belly. The organs she left in the fishing hole; hoping to bring more fish to catch in the coming week.
The fish was roughly one and a half meters. Not the biggest fish she had ever caught, but it would feed her family for a couple weeks. They needed the meat—they did not have the money to buy it from the markets.
The last several winters had been bad enough, especially when the traveling market failed to stop by the village. But a question still nagged at her: Will they come this year? Their crops barely last any time at all anymore, and without the market, everyone would starve except what they bagged in game.
Aewyn retrieved her pack and stuffed the outer pouch with snow. It would keep the fish cool at least until she got to the village. The fish was put firmly in place, and she packed more snow around the belly and the head.
Somewhere in the night a wolf howled—followed by serene silence all throughout the land. The wind raged with a hateful cry of loneliness, and then suppressed as the air seemed to push pressure down upon the earth.
The fish’s tail flopped back and forth as Aewyn slung the pack over one shoulder. She grabbed her bow and arrow; slung it over the other shoulder and set off towards Lyian.
Chapter 2:
A New Dominion
There was the distant sound of shrieking birds as a man of towering height and fierce, gray eyes paced along side the stone walls of the evil king’s castle. Faenin’s dark, brown curls fell upon his shoulders and his eyes scanned the room around him.
The only furnishings in the chamber were a wooden table and two chairs, one on each side of the table. To his left, a blazing fire crackled violently. A ray of morning light shone through a stone opening above the hearth.
Faenin had longed for the power he now wielded, despite the unbreakable oaths sworn to his master. But now he knew how to use magic that was not even practiced by the dark magicians, and this would allow him to have his revenge upon the world. He had gained a new ability, the ultimate manipulation of magic through his new title: a Dragon Servitor.
Faenin gritted his teeth at the thought of being a slave to the ruler of the gods and mortal earth men, selling his soul for his newfound abilities. He could not even name his dragon or his sword until Ralindorr deemed him worthy of.
Both he and Areyon, his Oath-Partner, could be twisted to do anything their master bade them to—no matter how hard they tried to resist.
“One day,” he thought “I will break my and my dragon’s bonds. So we can be free and not live like slaves under Ralindorr’s tyranny. If only we had more time to ourselves, we could figure out what spells were woven to bind us to our oaths.”
Faenin turned as Areyon accompanied by one of Ralindorr’s nobles entered through an age-worn entrance.
Areyon was shorter than he; with a medium build and bright golden hair. His soot-black tunic matched his cape that swept across the floor, sending dust into the air. There was the loud thumping of boots thumping Areyon came to stand beside him.
A gleaming, clear sword hung at Areyon’s waist. The blade of a Servitor’s sword gained its luster of the rider’s dragon when the bond was strong enough between the two that the sword became an extension of not only the body but the mental link connecting the Servitor and their dragon.
Ralindorr’s restrictions prevented this from happening, and thus they wielded almost the same blade. The only difference was the slight adjustments he made to the hilt and the point of the blade.
The messenger stayed in front of both Areyon and him—fear reflected from the man’s eyes. This amused Faenin, to know that he was feared by those who had lesser titles than him.
“He should have a reason to fear me,” Faenin thought “But soon I will be even stronger than Areyon or the elves.”
He then turned his attention back to the moment, and the noble. There was sweat upon the noble’s brow and the man averted his eyes. A garnished robe of blue satin dressed the messenger, and several scrolls were tucked under his right arm.
“Master has sensed and foreseen a great threat in the province of Eironoshia. A girl….” He stopped—, coughed into the crease of his elbow—, then resumed. “An elf in Lyian, a small arctic village to the north. The both of you,” he gestured to Areyon and him “are to find and eliminate the young elf at all costs. She must not live long enough to become a new Vëk-raon.
The man went quiet for a moment, but then the noble saw that Faenin was going to speak and interrupted him.
“Don’t ask me how he knows; master only told me to give you your task.”
The messenger stood there, a look of concern on his face as he glanced between Areyon and him, as if to decipher their emotions. For a moment the man waited, fidgeting with his scrolls. There was his heavy breathing, then the scratching sound of metal as Faenin adjusted his gauntlet and clenched his hand. A scurrying noise came from a black spider moving from the fire to the chair.
“When will our master stop sending us on these pointless and rather irritating tasks?” Faenin roared as he paced back and forth. “There is nobody powerful to stop us or challenge us in the land of Eironoshia, yet he lets Tëra-lon, the city that provides refuge for those foul-blooded traitors who rebel against the New Empire, oppose us! Where is our master’s dominion? Why does he cower in this castle, secluded for most of the day, when the Empire is corrupt? Faenin took a quick breath as he vented his anger “We could be looking for Garnyr, the escaped dragon! But instead we are sent to rid the land of some petty elf-girl. He has the power of a thousand elves, and every race in Eironoshia fears his name!”
Areyon stood calm—undiminished by his words—and this angered Faenin even more. Sweat appeared upon Faenin’s brow; he bared his teeth as he swore under his breath. The messenger stepped back, terrified.
“Our master sends us on these “irritating tasks” as you call them to test us. And he allows Tëra-lon to still exist because he knows that it will never oppose a threat to his throne with the power he has. He also tests us to¬¬—
“To determine if we are worthy. I have heard this a hundred times. I have to disgrace my dragon every time that I speak with him. To not own the title of your own name, the thought of it coats my tongue with bile. It is unjust and disgusting. So do not lecture me like you are better than me!” Faenin bellowed at Areyon.
In one swift motion and a mighty shout, Faenin drew his sword and swung at the messenger. There was the sound of metal tearing flesh along with a red mist of blood. He felt the sword and the man’s head give way as the blade sliced through the neck.
Gasping of the man’s windpipe was then followed by a loud thump as the messenger’s body and head fell to the cold, stone floor. Scrolls he’d been holding scattered everywhere across the floor, and red blotches stained the parchment. The messenger moved twice more and then he was no more
Faenin wiped his blade upon the edge of his gray cape, and then spoke to Areyon through clenched teeth.
“You are lucky Oath-partner,” Faenin spat, “that our oaths to the king prevents me from providing you with a similar fate. You would make a formidable opponent.” He smirked, challenging Areyon.
“Maybe one day, brother.” Areyon growled at him. “But do not be so sure that you would win.”
Faenin scowled and walked over to the round doorway of the room. “You are no brother of mine.” he said harshly. There was his steady breathing, the sounds of footsteps in the distance. As he leaned against the entrance to the chamber, his sword bounced off the stone, a metallic clink filling the hallway.
Four soldiers garbed in iron greaves, hauberks hanging to their knees, and in dark gray tunics with the emblem of a sword welded to a flaming shield ran up to Faenin. They either had a standard iron short sword with a shield or a barbed spear in their hands, and they looked ready to battle.
“We heard someone yelling,” said one of the soldiers. “It sounded like somebody was in trouble…” He fell silent as he glanced into the room and saw the dead messenger lying upon the ground, head removed.
“Get this mess cleaned up, I don’t want his blood all over the place.” Faenin told them. “The “God of Kings” will not be happy when he hears of this, so be aware that many of you will be slain in his frustration. Good luck….and farewell” He said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. He then spun on his heels, cape swishing through the air, and left the soldiers to what he ordered them to do.
Areyon had followed him as he exited the castle, but he had never said a word to him. They both walked over to the edge of the cliff, which surrounded their master’s castle except the south entrance. He moved his foot back as a pebble pulled loose from the cliff, and he summoned his dragon with his mind; as did Areyon.
“O’ mighty dragon, let us embark on this quest and earn our names! Let us be known and feared! Join me on this next task and we will be much stronger. Then we might be able to break our bonds and live free among the land.” Faenin shouted with his mind.
“Humph, touching speech indeed,” the dragon spoke. “Will it be true this time, or another lie woven by that dragon-slaying-oath-breaking-traitor?” the dragon inquired with penetrating curiosity. “We dragons are nothing but savage beasts from the wild without a proper name. It sets the furnace in my chest thundering with rage, my scales itching with aggravation.”
A few seconds passed before their dragons jumped from their lair in the side of the embankment and his dragon flew up to join him. Both dragons were magnificent beasts, scales rippling with light as the sun beamed off of them.
His dragon was the color of the midnight sky. The black dragon was bigger than Areyon’s scarlet red dragon, and it had a wingspan two feet longer than the red dragon. Areyon’s dragon had several more spikes along the jaw than that of his dragon. Both had fierce talons, which could slice a cow in half with ease.
Their tails swung side to side as they flapped their wings and landed next to Areyon and him. His dragon let out a roar, and then Areyon’s dragon roared in return. The dragon’s heavy lidded eye stared at Faenin. It was a dark, inquisitive look—one that could strip him of any thought whatsoever.
“What is our task, Faenin? If you stall much longer I will take it as ignorance,” a puff of smoke rose from the dragon’s nostrils, “and dragons are higher than king or royal—no one should dare ignore a dragon. We dragons have a tenacity to eat and . . . . tear little fleshlings like humans that do.” The dragon growled, further expressing his point
Faenin apologized and told his dragon about the young elf and what they must do. His dragon accepted this, and motioned for him to mount up in the leather saddle placed upon its back. He scratched his dragon roughly under the chin, and then moved to the front leg of the dragon.
“You did not have to kill the messenger,” Areyon yelled to Faenin as they ascended up the front leg of their dragons and into the leather saddle. “He did nothing to become a victim of your uncontrolled rage.”
With three, great strokes of the dragons’ leathery wings, both dragons and riders flew into the sky. The sun was now setting, the orange-pink sky meeting the horizon as they began their journey towards the small arctic village.
As he grasped hold of a spike of the black dragon’s neck, Faenin mumbled to himself. “Then maybe Oath-partner, you are on the wrong side.”
Chapter 3:
Strangers from afar
Throughout the night, Aewyn often used Lyian’s still lit lanterns to guide her way. She walked the distance to the village; stopping only to take a drink from the wineskin or check the fish. The morning sun came with warmth, along with the sweet twitter of birds as they continued to nest for winter again.
Before long, Aewyn saw the outline of Lyian’s huge wooden gates as light quickly began to rise above the mountains. There were two solders, posted on each side of the portcullis with long, wooden spears in their hands.
Several wagons were passing through, the overdue merchants coming at last. “Good,” she thought “Now the town will have enough food to last the winter. Now I hope that the king’s tax collectors will not make it this year to take more from us.”
God of the Kings Ralindorr was despised all across the land of Eironoshia; he was the one who corrupted the Great Empire before he claimed dominance over the kings that once ruled the Province of Eironoshia amongst themselves. Peace had reigned among the land, watch over by those who used magic for good. Now there was no such thing.
Lyian was one of the few places untouched by the Empire’s massive army; she had heard that many of the inner cities were pillaged and burned. The men enlisted; their families murdered. Nothing was left by the New Empire but dust on their boots and blood on their swords.
Stories were still around about Ralindorr’s conquest to rid the land of the elves, dwarves, and the Vëk-raon—strong magic users that kept tyranny from the land with their dragons. But all of the storytellers bold enough to recite the story were hanged by the Empire in front of the entire village so they could see.
Aewyn had heard only a few of those stories; how over three centuries ago he slaughtered his first Vëk-raon and their dragon. No one knew exactly how or why Ralindorr set out to complete this evil deed, only that he accomplished it.
The wind shifted with a great whoosh; Aewyn was sprinting faster than ever. Thrumming of her boots filled the air, as well as the sound of creaking hinges. Both soldiers proceeded to close the giant, metal gates until they saw her.
Motioning with her hand, Aewyn stopped the two soldiers, and strode up to them. Both wore dusty, yellow tunics, worn from extensive use. Each of the men was fitted with iron greaves and mail armor, with a leather coif upon their heads.
The soldier on her right was tall and masculine, with a golden beard of hair that gave the man a dull, greasy appearance. His face had the look of depression; the long hours of guard duty with little pay. Aewyn did not know who the hefty soldier on the left was, but she shifted her stance as she confronted the two soldiers.
The man Aewyn recognized was Helroy. The man was a little shorter than his partner, but with a neatly combed black mustache. He too, appeared grim and whiter than the moon; as if he’d seen a ghost. Aewyn brushed herself off, and with the man’s sullen appearance intriguing, she questioned.
“Helroy, what is wrong?” Aewyn shot a pressing glance towards the two. “How fares your duty of guarding the gate? Was there civilian trouble?”
“No, it was something worse; much worse.” His voice quivered as he spoke, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to stand up. “You’ll never believe it, but…” His voice trailing away
Aewyn did not persist, but slightly tilted her angular head towards him. Helroy’s voice then came in short, rasp intervals.
“Well, you see, me and Clayvin here, we was having a short lunch,” Helroy explained. “He noticed it first and tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up; and my eyes followed what caught here old Clayvin’s attention.” Clayvin grunted in agreement. “At first, I thought that my eyes were deceiving me, but now I am sure of what I saw—
“Oh, come on Helroy, nothing could have frightened you this bad.”
“But you didn’t see what I saw.” He protested
“No, but for something to turn you white as—
“Did you want hear what I have to say?” Helroy snapped. Aewyn nodded. “Then stop interrupting me.”
“Anyways,” He told her “I saw two people, and both were seated upon two different dragons. One dragon was dark, black as coal. All I could see was its ferocious white fangs and its neck spikes in the sun.”
“Two dragons?” Aewyn asked “Are they of the Empire? There was a moment of excitement at thought that they had come to help and remove the God of Kings, but it disappeared a second later. Helroy had confirmed that they were from the Empire, some of Ralindorr’s new fancy servants.
“As for the other one, I’m afraid that I only got a glimpse. I think it was red though… yes it was, red as crimson blood. They were flying north towards Swelthguard, but they stopped to ask about you when they passed by.”
Aewyn was shocked by the news. What was so important about her that Ralindorr would send two new Dragon Servitors to inquire about her? Did this have anything to do with her parents that she had never even spoken to? Was she in trouble?
The God of Kings would not send two of his best servants to talk with a mere elf dropped off in a small arctic village. This was bigger somehow, but she had no satisfying answer for herself.
“What did they want with me?” Aewyn interrogated as she accompanied Helroy and Clayvin inside the village. “Did you tell them anything?”
“Not really much of anything. They asked where you were and we told them that you were out for the week to hunt game. Also, they asked if you had family. I never said anything about Sparah or Nalin. All I told them that you would be here tomorrow but nothing more than that.”
“Did they state what they were here for?
“They told us that it was none of our business, that it was the Ralindorr’s orders.”
“So you inquired no further I’m guessing.”
“No, I’m afraid that I did not, they were…very persuading.”
“Did they leave after that, or did they stay around?”
“Oh no, they headed out on horseback after that back the way they came after we told them that you’d be here tomorrow afternoon—
“They were on horseback?” Aewyn exclaimed “But I thought that you said they were flying on dragons. Why abandon them?”
“We saw them flying along the ridge of the mountains west from here. They stayed in sight for only a moment. But we knew it was them when they came here on horses. By the way they rode them I mean. They rode them horses like they would dragons, leaning forward more than they should, and the ill-tempered rider kept reaching for where a dragon’s neck spike would be.” Helroy paused for a moment, putting his hand on the pommel of his sword. “I sense trouble with those two—just by the way they talked to us. As for why they rode up on horses instead of dragons would be they did not want to cause panic among the village. How would you react if two ferocious dragons showed up on your doorstep suddenly and unexpected?”
“Terrified,” Aewyn admitted
“Strange men they were though, with their peculiar swords clear as glass and their brilliant steeds.” Helroy said “Probably stole the horses off of some nobles in the next town over. One of the Servitors had a temper though. He was very impatient when questioning us—even threatened once to cut our tongues out when we told him that we knew nothing more.”
Aewyn then thanked the two for the information and excused herself. The village of Lyian was surrounded by stone walls—high enough for archers to stand on but not for people to climb—with entrances on only the north and the south sides of the village.
The houses were dark; mud bricks were stacked to create walls for the villagers’ homes. Snow covered most of the houses, as well as the streets.
Aewyn passed a few of the villagers; whom she recognized to be Lorami, Hubner, and their son, Ulanar. She waived at them and muttered a greeting; then turned down a cobblestone street on her right.
The moon was now bright upon the stone of the village; a slight stir as the people retreated for the night. There was the constant squeaking of a mouse and its babies down a dark alley to her right. Yelling came from a local tavern across the street; drunkards advancing toward waitresses whom by mistake strode too close to them.
As the noise lessened with distance, Aewyn took a left and came to a small, mud-house and went to the door. The wooden door squeaked on its hinges as she entered.
The house was warm—smelt of warm bread and gnawing aroma of a stew. A wooden chair sat by the fire; knitting tools and wool yarn on it. There was a table to her right, and a small kitchen useful for only the smallest meals was behind it. A great kettle was placed upon the fire, and the soup was simmering.
Behind the counter stood a woman in her late thirties; gray and brown hair fell upon her shoulders. Dark circles ere under her eyes—worn from stress and the many years raising a family as a widow.
Aewyn put her leaf-woven pack by the table. Sparah looked up—saw Aewyn and they met in a meaningful embrace, hugging each other. Sparah held Aewyn’s cat-like face in her hands and brushed the hair from her eyes.
“I’m so glad you are back; I was worried when the storm turned worse than normal,” She started “I did not want you to get stuck out there in the snow and the cold—
“I missed you too Sparah,” Aewyn interrupted her. A wry smile appeared upon her lips; Aewyn put her hands on Sparah’s wrists.
There was a moment of silence—the sound of snow beating against the house—the rhythmic thumping of boots against the floor.
Nalin stood next to the kettle now; startled by her sudden return. The boy was two-and-ten years old with shaggy, brown hair and blue eyes. His mouth was agape; Nalin threw his arms up and ran towards Aewyn.
Aewyn caught him in her arms and spun him around in a circle; faster than she ever dared. A joyous laugh escaped her; a sharp but wondrous sound, and kissed him on the forehead. She let go of him and Nalin—looking dizzy—stumbled before finding his footing.
“I leave for a few days and it’s as if you’ve not seen me for a century,” Aewyn said to him “have you been treating your mother Sparah right? Because if not,” Aewyn smirked and pretended to punch Nalin in the jaw. “I would have to feed you to my giant pet Lizardagyi…he’s very hungry this time of year. Especially for two-and-ten year olds that give their mothers trouble.” She joked
“You don’t have a Lizardagyi; they live way east—over the Floracion Mountains. They could not survive here—
“Oh, is that so?” Aewyn then chased him around the house; laughing when Nalin turned around she tickled him. “What if I have been raising it. . . hmm. . .under your bed? She chased him for several more minutes while Sparah watched from the counter.
Aewyn then padded Nalin on the head and went over to the pack lying upon the floor. She began to unpack, setting the contents on the table. The fish, however, she put on the counter aside of Sparah. It was then that Sparah asked of her fishing trip.
Aewyn recited the trip, including her conversation with Helroy and Clayvin. She quite had not understood what this meant, and Aewyn hoped that Sparah could give her some insight.
Sparah seemed just as surprised as Aewyn when she had heard from Helroy. Aewyn gently massaged her right hand when Sparah got up from unpacking the pack. Sparah was biting her fist, her knuckles turning white.
“What does it mean?” Aewyn questioned. Nalin turned to the kettle now; filling a bowl with the warm enticing soup. After ladling the creamy soup into his bowl he went back into his room to avoid the conversation. She knew that he disliked hearing the details of the villager’s everyday life.
“I’m not sure; Dragon Servitors or Valkyrie have not been here in centuries, not since the birth of the New Empire—
“Valkyrie?”
“That’s what they would be called if they were women instead,” Sparah explained “They were equally skilled in the blade, but Servitors were normally stronger in magic.”
“Oh….but how do you know that?”
“When I was in Riern many years ago, I had a friend who that I studied with that came across a rare book that spoke of this. There were many bits of information like that in the book. If my memory holds true, it was “The Ancient scrolls of the Teshla Vek shi mite” or the Ancient scrolls of the great warriors.”
“But why would the God of Kings send these Servitors to find me? I am nothing but one elf in a small village in the farthest, poorest parts of Eironoshia.”
“It could be for nothing; but then again we never know what peoples’ intentions are. I am not sure what it means or what to tell you. Just don’t worry too much, promised me that.”
“I won’t” Aewyn promised
Aewyn was content with her mother-of-all-but-blood, but she was not satisfied. It still did not answer why they had specifically asked about her. “And why would they ask about my family?” Even if they were here to see her, her family would be of no business to them, so they would have no reason to ask about them.
She wiped these questions that clouded her mind and enjoyed a friendly conversation with Sparah. They had not talked for a while, and Aewyn hated being so distant. They hadn’t spoken much since her father-of-all-but-blood had died. It had taken a terrible toll on Sparah, as well as her. How could it have not? Tyran and Sparah had raised her from the time she landed on their doorstep ten-and-eight years earlier.
As the night dwindled away, Aewyn soon became tired and excused herself from Sparah. She grabbed her yew bow and went into her room. It was just as she left it—barren except for a wooden dresser in the corner and a bed next to it. The dusty window above the dresser was boarded shut with no way of letting chilly air entering.
Aewyn hung the bow upon two pegs above her bed, and then lifted the blankets upon the bed. Getting in the blankets, she was immediately warm and she rolled over on her side. She then closed her eyes, and allowed herself to be thrust into dreams with the immense possibilities of why the Servitors came to see her.
Chapter 4:
Grave danger
When Aewyn woke up, there was breakfast on the table along with a scrap piece of parchment. Steam still rose from the eggs and bread, and she saw a fresh change of clothes on the other side of the table.
Aewyn—
I went to the market today to pick up more flour and check out the merchant’s merchandise. Breakfast is on the table, and a set of clothes. I took Nalin, so we will be home in a few hours.
--Sparah—
Aewyn quickly got into the fresh clothes, leaving her bow but again strapping on the dagger to her leg. After eating the small breakfast, she left a note telling Sparah that she would be in the woods out the north gate of town for a while. Aewyn then left and closed the door behind her.
A half an hour later, she exited the north gate. After answering to the guards to where she was going, Aewyn crossed a small wooden bridge and followed a snow trampled path to her right. The trees along the side of the path swayed with the wind, and their branches bend downwards from the weight of the snow.
She came to a place where the road forked out left, and she followed the left path to the entrance of Astrai Forest. Great big willow trees loomed over the forest, shaking and whispering as the branches shuffled against each other.
The land under the massive trees were bare; snow could not be seen anywhere throughout the forest. Astrai Forest was the biggest forest in Eironoshia, meeting up at the base of the Orsuup Mountains.
No one ever went or tried to climb the Orsuup Mountains. The land was too steep—people died every year to the ravines and to the unfriendly animals that lurked among the caves. Temperatures were below zero up in the mountains, and even the most experienced climbers could be killed by the cold
“I doubt that the Servitors would ever go up there.” Aewyn thought. Not that it mattered anyways; they had to be long gone by now.
She stepped into the vast forest and walked along the trees. There was a bird or a squirrel every once in a while, but otherwise she was alone. Several minutes passed before she found a nice, comfortable spot under a tree where the moss was completely dry and pine needles were fresh.
Before she sat, Aewyn broke off a branch roughly a foot in length and two inches in diameter. She settled on the soft bed of needles, and with her dagger, began to whittle the log of wood. She sang softly to herself and to the wind.
Soft melodies about the forests and the rivers and the land filled the air as she began carving the figure of a bird. Her voice was beautiful and vibrant; it brought a strange happiness to the world around her. Aewyn often sang in her elven tongue, a language only she knew within the tribe.
She remembered the scrolls given to her by her mother-of-all-but-blood that taught her how to speak and write her language, so she taught herself at four years old. The language came naturally; and although it was her race’s language, she often could not help but think why she knew it well enough to read and write the elven language by the age of five.
After carving the outline of the bird, Aewyn used the tip of the dagger to etch out the eyes of the bird. She whittled away small pieces of wood; a pile of shavings on the ground between her legs.
Then there was a roar that echoed throughout the entire forest. It was a sound she had never heard before, it was ferocious and powerful. The roar had come from the village, and now she could smell the faint odor of smoke.
Aewyn thought of what could have made a roar like that. Wait a second: It couldn’t be a. . . Dragon! She had to get back to the village. Smoke meant that the village was on fire. People would need to get out of there. Then a thought occurred to her: Sparah and Nalin were at the market!
Aewyn dropped the carving and her dagger onto the ground and ran as fast as her legs could to the village. A trail of pine needles and then snow was kicked up as she made her way back to the village.
She sprinted along the trail and then across the bridge and to the gate. The soldiers that were guarding it before now were gone. There was fire erupting over the tops of the wall of the village from the houses with two levels.
Pushing open the wooden gates, she was met with a sudden heat wave that was almost too much to bear. Aewyn put her arm in front of her to lessen the brightness of the fire that burnt around her. Only the roads were free of flames, and she made herself down the main road leading through the village.
She coughed from the smoke and her eyes began to water. “I have to get home to save Sparah and Nalin.” There was a horrible, gurgling scream from a house to her right.
A man burst from the entrance of a burning house, flames hurling from his body. His hair was singed and gone from the fire. The clothes that he was wearing were burnt to his skin, and his flesh was peeling. It was a gruesome sight; Aewyn tasted bile on her tongue.
Aewyn ran over to the man, ripping off her over-shirt and tried to extinguish the flames. But the man fell to the ground and twitched, and then died. The smell of rotting flesh was pungent from the burning corpse. She looked away from the burning man and threw up along the path to the village road.
Wiping her mouth, Aewyn cursed whoever was the cause of this. These were innocent people; they had done nothing to be murdered like savages. Deep down, Aewyn felt she knew who had done this. But she had a question: Where were the two men on dragons?
Then there was the mighty roar again. Aewyn looked up, and both of the two Servitors were hovering just above the village. Both had their swords in hand; waving them in small circles with the steady flapping of the dragons’ wings.
The heat of the fire stung her cheeks, her eyes now dry from constant exposure. She coughed again, and looked around for the gate. It was beginning to catch fire, the sides of the gate rippling with small flames.
Then the Servitor with dark brown curls and his black dragon bellowed at her. It was full of pain, and fear, but it was deep and his meaning was clear.
“Elf-girl, we are here to kill you! Ralindorr does not want you to become a Vëk-raon and we are here to make sure that happens,” The Servitor pointed his sword at her. “There is no escape; so make this easy on yourself! Accept your death willingly, and we will make it as painless as possible. If not, well. . . I cannot assure you it will be painless.”
“Vëk-raon? What do you mean? Who are you? And what did you do with my family?” she then yelled back at them “Did you kill them like you slaughtered everybody else?”
Aewyn swore that she saw a smirk appear upon the Servitor’s face. The man laid his sword across his knees and adjusted in his saddle. She knew that they had killed them, and her heart sunk.
“As for whom we are, that does not matter. And we did not kill your family. We have them safe right outside the village. No harm will be done to them if you—
“You lie!” She managed to say “You lying-murdering-thieving traitors!”
“Fine then,” the Servitor spat “You have chosen your fate.”
“I’ll never go with you two! Both of you are cowards . . . cowards I tell you!”
She turned around and ran. Aewyn sprinted to the flaming gate and kicked it open; the dragons letting loose a roar before bathing the street in flames. She ran for the one place she knew the most. The dragons were too big to fly into Astrai forest and she was much faster than a dragon or a human on foot.
Aewyn constantly felt the heat from the flame that the dragons released from their jaws and the loud thrusting of their wings as the chased her along the path. One of the Servitors yelled “Get her” and Aewyn took the left at the crossing and continued to sprint.
She jumped the last several feet into the forest as a jet of flame singed the hem of her clothing. The dragons and their riders slammed into the trees around the entrance of the forest. There was great roar from the dragons’ at her escape; leaves ripping from branches as they howled at her.
The dragons grabbed hold of the trees with their claws and pushed off into the air. A giant jet of flames erupted into the forest and the trees began to burst into flames. After ascending into the sky, both dragons released a fury of blast of flames at the trees covering the forest.
“If we cannot catch you,” she faintly heard one of the Servitors say “Then you can burn with the rest of the forest.
She stayed silent as the dragons scorched the trees one more time and began to fly away. Flames swirled all around her; blocking her every path of escape. The smoke was worse than the heat, and it hurt to breathe with her already raw throat.
Aewyn coughed; the horrible taste of ash in her mouth. She looked around and saw a small path had opened up on the other side of a wall of raging flames. The fire had not scorched the path on the other side, but the fire was spreading to the path quickly.
Ignoring the heat and smoke, Aewyn jumped through the flames. The edges of her clothes were in small flames, other parts smoldering. She batted the edge of her clothing and rubbed her heat-dried eyes.
Squinting, Aewyn could barely see where the Orsuup Mountains met up with the end of the forest. If she could get to higher ground she would be fine. But the smoke was filling her lungs and she wasn’t sure if she could last another minute. She had to try; or she would die.
She tried to run, but her legs were weak. Not enough oxygen was present to breathe. Coughing began to hurt with much pain, and her vision began to flicker between reality and unconsciousness.
The fire raged around her, consuming all of the trees that stood in its way. A wild deer that had once been eating berries now ran through the forest, its hide burning from the walls of fire it had leaped over or through to get away.
Aewyn then stumbled towards the mountains. After about fifteen steps, her legs buckled and she fell to her knees. She took in a breath of smoke and air, and at the same time tried to pull herself across the forest with her hands. Holding her breath brought extreme pain, and her mind screamed for more air.
Spots of hazy blue, red, and yellow clouded her vision. Her vision flickered, and she saw a man with gray long hair and beard hold out his hand. Coming out of unconsciousness again Aewyn saw that the fire around her was being extinguished by the man, and that another figure had appeared into view.
She realized that the second object was much bigger; the figure was gigantic. The man spoke to her, but she could not hear what he’d said. There was then a sudden relief in her chest, but she was too weak to speak and her throat was still raw.
Then her vision went black.
Chapter 5
Prophecy of the Dragoncalm:
Aewyn stirred, her vision slowly coming back to focus. Through squinted eyes, she could see light reflecting off of the rocky walls of a cave. Two torches placed several feet apart lit up the small portion of the cave, and a soup kettle sat over a fire in the middle of the small camp.
The man Aewyn saw just before she passed out was kneeling before a bucket of hot steaming water, dipping a cloth into it. Water dripped from the rag to the bucket and water sloshed over the sides.
After the grey-bearded man wrung the rag out, he came to Aewyn’s side. As he put the rag upon her head, she felt the warm water run down her face. It was relaxing, and it soothed the dull ache in the back of her head.
A trickle of water slid down the base of her neck and down her back. The water tickled her skin, giving her the urge to scratch. Aewyn sat up; the rag fell onto a leather hide bedroll. Scratching her back for a moment, she noticed that the grey-bearded man was gone. “Where did he go?”
A deep, throaty rumble came from within a dark tunnel that led deeper into the cave. Light flickered in the direction of the noise, but it was still too dark to see further into the tunnel.
“Ah, you have waken,” a voice came from behind “I was wondering when you’d come around.”
Aewyn jumped at the sudden conversation. Whirling around, she was surprised to see that it was the gray-bearded man that had spoken to her. She had thought that the man had left, but he was right behind her.
Finally able to see the man up close, she saw that the man’s skin was wrinkled, and the happy lines had long been gone from his face. His beard was nicely trimmed though, for it was unnaturally straight. It was medium length, and the end of his beard was tucked into the belt of his mail tunic.
Without waiting for a response, the grey-bearded man moved over to the soup kettle. He took the lid off, and steam blew off of the top of the soup. The aroma of a thick creamy soup filled the air, making Aewyn realize how much hunger gnawed at her.
“How long have I been out? Last thing I remember was. . .” Aewyn played through the scene in her head. “Wait—that was you that put out the fire, was it not?”
The man continued to stir the soup, without acknowledging that she had said anything. Aewyn swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “What is going on with this old man? He’s acting very strange.” Then the man set the ladle down and looked straight at her. For several moments the grey-bearded man stared at her, as if he was distracted by something else. A rumbling noise came from within the tunnel again.
“You have been asleep now for a near three days, I think.” He then looked down and gently massaged the back of his neck. “Now, I know that you want to ask about a thousand questions. First lets eat, then we'll talk."
~Tell me what you think and if you feel like it, help critique whatever parts you want. And sorry that chapter 5 is not complete, I am working on it~
~Thanks, Eela The Dragoncalm
