Born of Blood and Flame

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley.”

Bryn withheld the temptation to roll her eyes as Eldren began his speech. She’d heard it already far too many times, and Eldren was a master politician. Despite his ancestors having little to nothing to do with the dragon repopulation after the Fall of Skryr, his silver-tongue had deftly made the other members of the council believe otherwise.

But that was Eldren. She thought. Twisting history to make it sound like the House of Wolder single-handedly saved the Valley of Leadrim. No, not his ancestors. As if he was actually Analia reincarnated! Bryn snorted audibly, drawing a few disapproving looks from the other members of the council. Eldren continued unphased.

“But on this day, the millennial of the Fall of Skryr, we rejoice and celebrate the brave Analia Dragonrider, who led the final battle against House of Skryr and ended the tradition of dragon slaying in the Valley of Leadrim.”

Bryn mouthed along sardonically as Eldren’s self-aggrandizing speech reached its climax.

“Of course, as the council knows, the House of Dragonrider has long been dear friends and allies of my own house, the House of Wolder. And that friendship shines as brightly today as it did 1,000 years ago.”

Bryn stomach turned as she prepared for what came next.

“And naturally, today of all days we must honor Analia’s great work through her descendent; who bravely continues to champion dragon conservation and educate us about the importance of protecting this great species: Bryn Dragonrider.”

Bryn felt her cheeks go red as the council applauded. Although the spotlight was not on her for long before their attention turned back to the great Eldren of House Wolder. It had been that way since they were children. Eldren, adored by all, and Bryn always found to be sorely lacking. A little too wild. A little too loud. A little too, uncivilized. While hailing from the House of Dragonrider, Bryn’s parents had died when she was a child. Out of old ties of allegiance, she was taken in as a ward of House Wolder. Eldren was only a few years her senior, but he had lorded that seniority over her since they were very small. As if his arrogance wasn’t enough, the incessant bullying had been an utter nightmare. Her childhood was marred with memories of having her hair pulled when the tutor wasn’t looking, of finding her favourite doll decapitated or its limbs torn asunder, of having to approach the staircase with caution in case Eldren decided to give her a push.

Yet, all that changed when Bryn grew up. And Eldren discovered her usefulness.

The truth was, Bryn had little to do with the dragons. In fact, nobody in the Valley really did anymore. It wasn’t that their importance was lost upon the people of the Valley—they’d all been told the story of how the Great Balance had been in peril as dragon populations dwindled 1,000 years ago, when many houses, led by the House of Skryr, took part in dragon slaying.

Ancient wisdom had been traded for bloodlust. Dragon skulls became cherished trophies in many a nobleman’s home. A sign of power and prestige. Even the lower classes would try to get their hands on dragon teeth, scales and eggs—under the false belief that a tooth would provide protection against demons, a scale would bring a rich harvest, or that eating an egg could turn a barren woman fertile. All utter nonsense perpetuated by desperate people.

The people of the Valley had forgotten that balance is the key to a flourishing world. That dragons embody an ancient power which keeps evil at bay. Demons would never enter a valley protected by dragons, and a dragon’s benevolence helps grain grow and families be blessed with healthy children.

As the slaughter continued, the Valley—and surrounding hills and mountains marking the edge of Leadrim—fell further into ruin. Droughts killed crops, pregnant women miscarried, demons ran rampant. Disease spread like wildfire and neighbour turned on neighbour as all good will amongst men was lost.

For a time, it appeared that the dragons had finally gone extinct after their leader—a golden dragon by the name of Krag’a—was felled by the Prince of Skryr. The land succumbed to darkness, and ruin.

But unknown to the people of the Valley, a Wilderchild named Analia had rescued Krag’a’s unborn eggs. She took them high up into the mountains where she and her people raised the hatchlings in secret, patiently waiting until they reached maturity—when they could fight back.

For “dragon conservation” had become the term politicians—many of whose ancestors were among those who hunted dragons—used for what really happened. A great battle, where the Wilderpeople—led by Analia and Krag’a’s hatchlings, M’ara, Lyral and Kazlan—laid waste to the House of Skryr. There were no survivors. The nobles who’d sided with the House of Skryr were given a choice: Align with the dragons and save the Valley, or perish.

Many of the old houses were lost to dragon flame, but those who had the good sense to switch sides—like the House of Wolder—built bridges with the Wilderpeople and common folk alike. From the ashes of the great battle grew the seed of hope that balance could be restored—birthing a new world built on equity and acceptance.

It took centuries to heal relations between the people of the Valley and the dragons. Analia—who became known as Dragonrider after the great battle—spent the remainder of her lifetime teaching the people of the Valley the ancient wisdom preserved by the Wilderpeople. It was she who founded the first council, including representatives from the Wilderpeople, common folk and noble families. When she died, her daughters continued her great work. Slowly, farmers, merchants and nobles alike began to recognize the importance of the dragons—as crops grew once more, disease ended and goodwill returned to the Valley of Leadrim.

Yet as time went on, the Dragonrider line joined the ranks of nobles, ancient teachings faded to legends, and class structures that had been broken centuries ago in the hopes of building a more equitable world were revived. The people of Leadrim fell back into their old ways. The council may no longer be called a court, but it had long ceased to be the shining beacon of equity that it had been during Analia’s time. Certainly, affluent farmers and merchants had carved their own space at the table, but the only person of Wilder blood remaining was, well, Bryn.

For most of Bryn’s life, the dragons had been mostly just stories. Occasionally one might fly over the Valley to remind those below of their might—but there were little to no relations between dragons and Leadrim’s citizens. The Wilderpeople had retreated to their mountains, and there seemed to be an unwritten agreement between those of the skies, mountains and valley that as long as the Great Balance continued, there was no need to harbour relations.

So much for Analia’s brave new world. Bryn thought wryly. Imagine what she would think knowing her line had become nothing but a token, and her great victory simply an excuse for the local people to drink too much and explore beyond the bounds of their marriages.

The applause slowly clattered to a halt. Eldren waited smugly before continuing. “Yes, yes, well done Bryn, well done Bryn. And well done us! For thanks to this council, the Valley flourishes. Yet another year has passed in peace, yet another harvest has fed the hungry, and trade continues to fill Leadrim’s coffers. Rejoice! For this Analia’s Day we celebrate the continued peace our ancestors fought for. So, my esteemed friends and fellow councilmen. Raise your glasses. To Analia! To prosperity! To peace!”

Cheers thundered throughout the ancient hall, as Leadrim’s elite clapped one another on the back, cheeks growing rosy from wine and self-satisfaction. It was time for Bryn to leave, before Councilman Yurka and his wandering hands had a chance to corner her, or Councilwoman Vionnette the opportunity to drill her about Eldren (who it seemed she’d set her sights upon after her last husband’s untimely, and somewhat suspicious, death).

Exiting her seat, Bryn’s feet stepped lightly and quickly across the stone floor, smiling just enough to be polite without encouraging conversation when met with the drunk-addled greetings of her fellow council members. She’d almost made it to the door when a firm grip on her arm stopped her in her tracks. Bryn would recognize those ice-cold hands anywhere, for they’d left many bruises on her tawny skin throughout her childhood.

“Dearest Bryn, I was hoping to have a word with you before tonight’s festivities.”

Bryn forced herself not to shudder as Eldren’s sanctimonious voice sent shivers up her spine. His tone was not an invitation, but an order.

“Of course,” she replied quickly, beckoning him to lead the way.

They stepped out of the great chamber and into the hall, where Eldren pushed aside a tapestry depicting the Fall of Skryr to reveal a set of stairs spiralling upwards. Indeed, the castle where the council held their meetings once belonged to the House of Skryr. In the fallout of the great battle, most of the possessions and land belonging to the condemned houses was divided up amongst the remaining nobility. But property belonging to the House of Skryr had been bequeathed to the public—a symbol of a new world belonging to all the classes.

The staircase led up to the westernmost tower, which was where Eldren handled council affairs. When the castle had been inhabited by the House of Skryr, the tower served as a library and laboratory for the resident sorcerer.

Until Eldren claimed the tower for his own purposes, it had been deserted since the Skryr’s sorcerer vanished when the house fell. A dark mage known as Dreadmor, he’d fueled the Skryr’s dragon slaying, bloodlust and quest for power; driven by his own nefarious ambitions. It was rumored that Dreadmore went so far as to conduct experiments on dragon hatchlings, convinced he could harness their powers.

Eldren had left the tower nearly as he’d found it—aside from brushing off centuries of dust and cobwebs. It was a sinister place. Ancient spell books were stacked precariously against the tower’s cold stone walls, stained with age and caked in candle wax. In the middle of the room was a long table, on which strange and ominous looking instruments had been pushed to one end. A chair, quill and fresh parchment sat at the other. This was where Eldren met with his fellow council members to discuss matters of state, merchants with news from outside the Valley, and common folk dealing with petty squabbles (serious matters must be presented to the council at an official meeting). Hanging from the ceiling in rusted chains was an enormous dragon skull. So large, so commanding, it made the human-built structure around it seem pathetic and frail. As if the tower, while thousands of years old, had the strength and longevity of a piece of parchment.

When Eldren refused to dismantle and cremate the skull—a tradition among the dragon tribes—to honour the fallen and lay the pour soul to rest, the people of the Valley were outraged. Bryn shuddered to think of what may happen should the dragons discover that one of their ancestors was hanging like a chandelier in the Skryr castle—let alone the wrath of the Wilderfolk. But Eldren’s silver-tongue had convinced the masses that the skull should remain as a reminder of past mistakes—lest history repeats itself.

The skull creaked and groaned as a cold wind blew in through missing shingles in the tower’s roof. A faint thread of sunlight graced the rafters, and a small songbird chirped delicately while it flitted back and forth across the ancient beams—looking most out of place in a room that had seen much pain and torment.

Bryn watched the bird dully, while Eldren took a seat at the far-side of the table.

“Why don’t you sit down?” He implored unctuously, gesturing to a wooden chair next to him.

“I prefer to stand,” she replied, keeping her eyes on the songbird.

Eldren followed her gaze.

“Perhaps I could convince you to give me your attention, rather than focusing on the vermin.”

Bryn carefully met Eldren’s stare. His eyes were like steel. Grey and unyielding. He smiled at her through wolf’s teeth. It was an expression without warmth. Bryn wracked her brain to think of what she may have done to deserve this audience. I behaved perfectly well at council. She thought, trying to keep her face impassive. Any sign of weakness would surely prompt Eldren to pounce.

An uncomfortable silenced passed. Bryn was not sure for how long, her thoughts consumed by the fact that her palms were sweating profusely. Slowly, she smoothed them against the folds of her dress.

Ach’ra twel na; fren twel no chra.

Bryn started, eyes wide as she stared at Eldren. His eyebrows drew together as he tried to read her expression. What in the name of Analia? Bryn swallowed. This was not the time to be hearing voices. In the back of her skull, a dull pain began to throb.

Eldren decided the silence had lasted long enough. “While I know it’s not an occasion you celebrate, especially falling in the shadow of Analia’s Day, I wanted to let you know you’re in my thoughts today.” He began to rummage through the pockets of his lavishly embroidered overcoat, drawing forth a small enamel box.

My birthday? Bryn was flabbergasted. Since when had Eldren cared about her birthday? It was true Bryn neglected to celebrate. Her birthday was not a joyous occasion, and not because it coincided with Analia’s Day. Bryn felt a lump in her throat as the corners of her eyes began to sting. She pushed the memories away. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry. The pain in the back of her skull intensified.

Ach’ra twel na; fren twel no chra.

The voice was louder this time; crashing through Bryn’s mind like a tidal wave upon rocky shores. Breaking through her thoughts like thunder.

She realized Eldren was still holding the box, palm outstretched towards her. Tentatively she took it and looked inside.

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” She said, fingers gently brushing the silver necklace. It was lovely, with delicate pearls hung like dewdrops upon a spider’s web. Her hands moved to close the box.

“Surely you’re going to put it on?” Eldren placed his hands over hers. “Here, allow me.”

The hairs on the back of Bryn’s neck stood up. Her stomach clenched. I do not like this. She thought, wondering what Eldren was up to. Feeling like a mouse being toyed with by a hungry housecat, she let him take the necklace out of the box. It glimmered in the pale puddle of sunlight trailing in from the rafters. She placed the empty box on the table, and pulled her thick black hair forward as Eldren clasped the chain around her neck, his cold hands brushing her skin ever so slightly.

Ach’ra twel na; fren twel no chra.

The voice felt as if it was all around her and within her all at the same time. Like her very bones was shaking in its presence. Her head ached painfully. Moaning, Bryn touched her palm to her forehead.

“You hate it that much?” Eldren said with an attempt at coyness.

“What?” Bryn said, rubbing her temples. “Oh no, it’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“It was my mother’s. She doesn’t mind me giving it to you.”

I find it hard to believe that Lady Wolder would be happy to part with any of her jewels. The woman was like a magpie, obsessed with any inanimate thing that sparkled—leaving little room in her heart for her own children. Let alone a begrudgingly adopted ward. Why would she…

Bryn’s stomach dropped. My birthday. My 18th birthday.

She was of age. Today. Of marrying age.

Ach’ra twel na; fren twel no chra.

Bryn groaned. I’m going to be sick. Her head felt like it was being split open by a sword fresh out of the blacksmith’s forge.

“As you know, you’re of age today.” Eldren turned his back to her, idly stroking his quill. “I realize this may seem…sudden. But I’ve long harboured feelings for you…and we’d be quite the match.”

Long harboured feelings for me? That’s ridiculous. You’ve treated me like a thorn in your side since we were small.

“Councilwoman Vionnette,” she began breathlessly, trying to think through the pain.

“Vionnette will understand,” Eldren cut her off. “As the last living Dragonrider, your union is of great importance. You may not understand this, but I’m really doing you a favour. Many powerful men will seek to claim you. Perhaps some powerful women too. The ensuing chaos could be…problematic,” he turned to look at her levelly. “This way you’re safe. Isn’t it better to choose what’s familiar? The House of Wolder remains your greatest ally, and you don’t have to worry about making the wrong choice. Whomever you marry will be at a great advantage with the council.”

I understand perfectly well. The room began to swirl.

“I…I…” Ach’ra twel na; fren twel no chra.

“ENOUGH,” Bryn screamed, throwing her head back and cupping her hands around her ears. She stared up toward the tower rafters beseechingly. Enough. Please…the pain…it’s too much. A burst of light drew her attention. The skull. It’s looking at me. It’s speaking to me. Bryn didn’t notice if Eldren had reacted to her outburst. He’d ceased to exist while she stared at the dragon’s skull. In a flash, ivory bone was covered in shining gold scales. Eyes that crackled like embers burned through Bryn’s mind—as if they were looking into the deepest recesses of her soul.

“Krag’a?” She whispered, before everything went dark.