Samuel Atkinson

A Dragon's Bond

Chapter One. The Assassination There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but then again, there weren’t always dragons here at all. Two summers ago, these green and pleasant lands had been turned into pastures of grey and barren waste. When the first dragons arrived, the Boarderlanders smelled them before seeing them. The smoke rising ahead of them like the bowsprit of a boat, the boats wake the death left behind. No one had been prepared for what would come after their arrival. No one. But that had been four months ago now. And Horrace couldn’t afford to live in the past. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he would live in the present. He looked out of the valley before him, with its twisted mountain walls leading like a stem on a leaf to a winding and pathetic stream. The charred patchwork of smoke, death, and decay a lasting reminder of the presence of these Western invaders. From his sniper's nest nestled into the hillside, he had observed the little village on the valley floor. For three days, he had watched the pattern of life in the valley. The shepherds rising early, and returning late, the bakers, who were the first to bring the village to life with their fires, and their smoke. And the Western Guard, who were as decisive as they were lethal. Horrace recalled his briefing from Edgard. “The Western Guard fight like lighting. A perfect combination of air dragon assault, infantry attack, and cavalry advance. Domination in all three spheres means domination on the battlefield, with no way of defeat.” Horrace had asked the obvious follow-up question, “if there is no way of defeating them, how do we defeat the guard? They have superior training, equipment, and tactics!” Edgard had chuckled at his reply. “Well,” he said, his voice as fatherly as it was empowering, “we don’t fight them on their battlefield.” And so that’s why Horrace was here, in the ice-cold rain, lying in three days worth of human waste so that he could fight the enemy, but on his terms and his alone. The brackish amber light of a winter's sun was relentlessly trying to crawl through the acidic smoke which hung in the valley like a plague. The darkness was good; he reminded himself. For his deeds could be done in the dark. It was the light that terrified him…