A Haunting Dragonsong

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Then one day, there were. The end,” I answered, rolling my eyes. Unfortunately, this did not seem to be the answer the three patrons of my shabby tavern were looking for - they responded to this perfectly accurate and succinct reply by levelling two steel spears at my throat. I glared contemptuously across the wooden bartop at them. Princess Eira Valley and her two identical guards, all stony-faced statues with nary a shred of good humour or respect for other people’s time between them, stared impassively back.

The cold steel of the spears bit into my skin; I disdainfully nudged them away with a finger. “Look, the dragons burst out of the moon like maggots bursting from a corpse when the mad champion struck it with his spear, everybody knows that,” I said testily. “I don’t know what else you expect me to tell you. Go read a history book if you want more details.”

The princess raised a single languid eyebrow, and slowly reached for the tankard of ale I had poured her. Her long, pale fingers curled delicately through the tankard’s handle, a mottled spiderweb of blue veins visible through her translucent silvery skin. She lifted the tankard to her lips and took a long, slow draught.

It was a moment that only took a few seconds, but she somehow managed to drag it out into an eternity. I stood there, doing my best to hold my vaguely irritated glare in the princess’ general direction - I didn’t have anything better to stare at. The guards’ mirrored silver helmets did far too good a job of reflecting my tired, dark-circled eyes, and my weathered, beaten-up tavern was hardly a pretty sight.

The princess steadily returned the tankard to the bartop, placing it down without so much as a sound. She was trying to drag out the silence to make me feel uneasy and small, the same way the dragons did - and she did quite a good job, really, but unfortunately for her the sound of silence had long since been stolen from me. She was clearly quite practised at maintaining the same silent and imposing air as the dragons, and had modelled everything about herself after them - as was fashion for nobility - from her unsettlingly silver skin, to the chin-length mane of wavy powdered hair framing her face, to the horned headpiece that sat low across her forehead, to the way her very presence made you feel as though you had to crane your neck just to look up at her, even when you stood a full head taller. Perhaps, if I was lucky, she’d remain as mute as a dragon, too.

“Nero, was it...?” she said, regarding me with eyes as cold and distant and grey as the moon itself.

Damnit. No such luck. I nodded.

“Why don’t you tell me more about your grandfather, Nero? The Champion, Cerrick.”

My mouth opened and closed soundlessly. The Champion, Cerrick. The princess’ perfectly annunciated words echoed throughout my head, a chorus to my constant companion of stolen silence. The bags beneath my eyes suddenly felt heavier than every keg of ale I’d ever carried through the tavern. “The Champion, Cerrick,” I spat mockingly through a curled lip as my nails dug into my palms. “Hero of the people, beloved by all, virtuous and pure of heart and the cause of the winged wyrm calamity that descended from the heavens to rain upon us naught but fire and ash.” My stolen silence grew louder; I did my best to ignore it. “What is there to tell? He either went mad, or his ramblings about the songs in his dreams are true - in which case, he’s a damn fool for listening to them.”

“Tell me about the songs,” the princess said in her slow and measured cadence.

I did my best to hold back a bitter laugh. They start as a gentle soothing whisper in your dreams, and grow like a tumour until your sleep becomes fraught with resonating song and your every waking moment is haunted by their melody. “He woke up one day and claimed there were poor creatures trapped within the moon, who had sent him a plea for help in his dreams,” I said flatly. Idiot. Stupid idiot for listening to their siren song. “So he climbed the tallest mountain in the Valley on the night of the fullest moon, and threw his spear when the moon hung low in the sky like an overripe fruit. And the next morning, after his spear struck the moon and the dragons burst forth, he was found cold and lifeless and lying on a pillow of his own frozen black blood that had poured out from his nose and ears.” I grit my teeth; my stolen silence raised its melody to a crescendo. “The dragons sang to him and only him a tale of woe and unjust imprisonment, and he listened like the virtuous hero he was. And he died for it.” They killed him for it.

I sighed and crossed my arms, leaning against the back counter as the weight of a year’s fatigue settled upon me. The song buzzed through my head, my constant irritating companion. My secret burden I would take with me to my grave. My fingers massaged my temples. “Anything else?” I said peevishly, shooting the princess a weary glare.

Princess Eira took another long, slow draught from her tankard, leaving me stewing in the haunting dragonsong. Her guards, who hadn’t once stopped pointing their spears at me, remained still and stalwart. I wondered idly if the princess' guards were truly animated stone while I waited for her to finish her precious routine of dragged-out draconic silence.

She placed the tankard back down upon the bartop without so much as a sound, and leaned slowly forward, steepling her long fingers. I noticed uneasily that even her nails had been fashioned to be curved and silver like a dragon’s talons. She looked at me with a smile on her face, and suddenly I felt like a cornered rat. The smile did not reach her eyes, which continued to stare down at me like cold and distant moons. But her pale blue corpse-like lips stretched out wide until they were thin and white and gave the thorough impression that they were concealing rows of sharp, needle-like teeth.

She opened her mouth to speak. I allowed myself a quick glance - her teeth were perfectly normal and surprisingly human looking. “And what do the dragons sing to you?” she asked, and my blood ran cold.