Chapter 1

There weren't always dragons in the valley.

  Flowers used to grow here. When they danced on a lilting breeze I never grasped the magnitude of colours I may never see again.

  The water was sweet here. If you had told me that I might never dip my feet into glacier fed rivers and gasp as the cold stole my breath, I would have laughed at the idea.

  Children would run through the bright colours and delicate smells of a summer market. Now no one runs out of joy.

  Three days of rain. We couldn't believe the gods were smiling on us again. This would be enough fresh water to keep the last remnants of Pilard, all eighteen families, from having to say farewell to any more relatives this night. Moreover, we will have enough for cleaning wounds. Will we never again know the comfort of a hot bath?

  If the Dorgs come home from sourcing tubers to the West we might even hope for the warm kiss of soup on starving tongues. How I miss the sweet spice of Palural in a hearty Ventis stew. But one does not find sustenance in remembering such things.

  Another sign that the Kennen have not forgotten their faithful, the clouds have parted early in the day.

  "If you can see the shadows first, you may yet see your beds."

  That was Helad's favourite saying. He always had good advice. I guess that some people forever stay rooted in your memories.

  I made my way cautiously out of the cave and down the rocks, they wore their lichen robes proudly. The buckets would be full, and it was my job to navigate these sharp stones. Three trips down and up the narrow trail carrying the heavy wooden buckets, sure footing was imperative trying not to slosh the valuable water. My arm had healed well, but I was glad not to make a fourth trip.

  The smell after the rain was so fresh that it would have been a nice morning, if circumstances had been different.

  My pants and shirt were both too short, exposing my wrists and ankles to the chill of the breeze. After what had happened in Pilard we needed to search outlying homes for clothing. It wasn't always a perfect fit but I was happy to have any at all. One could not afford to be picky these days.

  I nodded to Urma Bard, who kept watch at the entrance to the cave.

  "Six buckets? The Kennen surely smile on us today," he said as I passed.

  "Let us hope that the others are as lucky in their hunt for food," I replied.

  The Dorgs, Porrorin and Aldon, did indeed find potatoes and carrots that had grown wild on the edges of a farm long since ruined by the hatred of dragon-fire.

  We could only have fires at night as the vented smoke would not be visible. This was when we would cook, on days that there was food to be had. This night we all smiled as the soup made by Ladda Riggs was as hearty as any we could hope for. Sleep took me quickly as I lay with my stomach warm and my hunger sated.

The morning was clouded over when I awoke to the great clang of the brass fire bell. Two notes, a pause, then one more. Smoke on the horizon. Ten of us mounted our horses and rode for the distant black pillar rising over the forest to the West. Had lightning struck Wilco's wheat fields in the night? We rode as hard as our steeds would carry us.

  It was an hour's ride to the bridge and another hour between a corridor of ancient redwoods that led out to the graying old farm house, at least, it used to be gray.

  Wilco's barn used to stand tall against the sun, if somewhat crooked after the weight of one-too-many good harvests had caused the loft to sag. But on arrival, the iconic farm was unrecognizable. Burning timbers lay asunder as far as a hundred yards from the melted stone foundation. Huge swaths of wheat fields, the only stretches that weren't currently a roaring inferno, were hard, blackened rends that looked more like black glass than the fertile soil that had been here the day before. What under the gods eyes has happened here?

  Before we could dismount, the winds changed direction. Sharply and suddenly, all breath was stolen from my lungs. Replaced instead, with a dry, acrid heat that made me cough and raise my cloak in front of my face. Tangent reared up under me and we turned away from the searing heat.

  A screech louder than a thousand eagles pierced my ears with such a peel that I could only cover my ears and grip with my legs tightly, praying that I would not be bucked from my saddle.

  The other riders were faring no better. Urma, Dallen, and Toth turned on their mounts and fled back up the winding path through the redwood forest to Pilard.

  Yonna Burrik was thrown from his horse and landed in a heap in the hard, dry grass. Burlin Halford leaped clear of his golden stallion to rush to his side, covering Yonna with his cloak as the sparks from the fire singed his arms. He yelled for his horse but his voice was rendered mute.   Something enormous moved in the smoke. A sound like a giant sail catching a tempest gail made the earth tremble and the trees quake. Titanic wings, impossibly large, beat the air and a shadow passed above us, obscured by the thick smoke and into the sea of dark clouds overhead.

  "Dragon!"

  That cannot be what I saw, dragon stories are told to children. Winged lizards the length and breadth of eight carriages, each pulled by a team of four horses. Scales the size of a tower shield. They were written to breathe fire hotter than a dwarven forge. Such things simply do not exist. But here we were, witnessing a faerie tale monster bathed in a sea of flame, the very epitome of destruction. But where had it gone after seeding death in what surely would have been a bountiful summers harvest? It had torn the sky and was headed East. The direction of Pilard!

  Burlin had pulled Yonna to his feet and both were corralling their horses.

  "Search the grounds for Dalamec Wilco and his family but do not tarry," I yelled over the roaring fires around us as they reigned in their steeds, "the rest of you, on me. Whatever that beast was, it flies now in the direction of our home. We will leave no muscle lax in our pursuit."

  The thunder of hooves below us bellowed off of the trunks and trail. My mind raced. How is this possible? Truly dragons have not sprung into being. But what other explanation would fit the tragedy and monumental destruction we all bore witness to? It matters not. If this thing does indeed fly towards Pilard, our only course is to summon all haste and pray to the Kennen that we may yet warn our kin.

  We made record time through the woodlands, but every second felt as though it were an eternity. We overtook the three men who had fled the dragon's terrible presence, as our concern for our families outpaced their fear. They matched our gait and we rode hard through that corridor.

  When we reached the trail head I clutched my heart, which had exploded with pain at what I saw in the distance. White smoke curled into the sky on the other side of the river, a silver scar against the dark clouds. Toth Vorlen moaned in agony. There were choked tears and prayers behind me as the rest of the company reached the arbor.

  "Nothing is certain until we reach Pilard," I could hear my voice but it barely occurred to me that the words were my own, "steel your resolves, we ride hard for our homes."

   And we flew. Tangent was surely exhausted, panting under me as he galloped but we could not take rest. We needed to know the fate of our people. The better part of an hour eroded in a heartbeat.

  The grey smoke had turned black as the time passed and it loomed up over the final rise in the rode. My teeth clenched in anticipation and I begged the Kennen, "let it be a trick, a great effigy that the town erected to ward off a bad harvest while we were away." Prayers and reality rarely coincide.

  Cresting the hill we each saw what we dreaded most, the smoking ruins of a town burned away.

  There was ash in the air, like a light snow that muffled the sound of embers crackling. The once joyous town was silent in a way it had never known. Even in the latest hours of night, laughter could be heard at the inn. Dogs would chase cats and a neighbour might walk out to the latrine. Now even the crickets could not be heard. Only the crackling of fire and the wind that directed the plumes of smoke. A pool of brass shined on the ground at the edge of the destruction. Fingers of burnt wood, once strong timbers, clawed out of the piles of blackened rubble. The flagstones of the roadways were all melted into an amalgamous flowing shape or outright shattered from the ungodly heat that had spilled across them.

  I led the men to the corral by the river, one of the only structures resembling it's former purpose.

"One of you wet down the horses lest they die from the heat of the ride. The rest of you, search for survivors. Search under rubble and wherever one might hide. There must be people that yet still live."

  We left our horses with Urma Baddens in the corral and headed on foot into the wreckage.

  Some roof trusses balanced precariously on sections of gutted walls, still popping as they burned. A mirror to Wilco's fields, large strips of the ground had turned to black glass from gouts of fire, belched forth from the belly of the beast.

  I ran to the closest building, it's head nestled in it's arms. I began to toss aside smoldering debris. My riding gloves were a blessed protection from the heat. They quickly turned from a rich, creamy tan to a deep black from the soot. Nothing was recognizable. Was this furniture or fabrics that I moved aside? It all fell to ash and coals in my hands.

  The seconds felt as though they were separated by hours. We searched systematically, one ruined building before the next. Half of an hour had passed before Dallen Bard called out from the dilapidated remnants of the scorched , stone school-house.

  "Please, I need help, there are cries below the stones."

  We rushed to his side. Between Yubak, Dallen, Regalard, and myself, we managed to seat steel bars, found in the rubble of the mill, under a wide, granite door and heave it aside. A small nest had formed as the stones fell. Six young children looked up at us, sobbing and filthy. Four boys and two girls counted among them.

  "Are there more of you?"

  "Mama," the oldest child wailed. The rest broke into fits of raking tears.

  "Children, hear me now. Run as fast as your legs can carry you. Run to the corral by the Northern road and river. Urma Baddens waits for you there. Go. Now."

  It took them a moment to fully comprehend the direction given to them after all they had been through, but they all began nodding and slowly, one by one, we lifted them from their would-be tomb.

  "There must be others," I yelled, "and it is our duty to find them."

  Our efforts renewed tenfold after finding those children, our hope had been restored. We did not rest. For hours we searched the rubble and charred remnants of homes and businesses. I found Ladda Riggs unconscious but breathing, my heart quickened. I dragged her from under a pile of smoldering debris. When she awoke later she asked me with tears in her eyes about her husband, but he was never found.

  Another two children were discovered under the stone bridge that once connected the bakery and it's storefront. They had nearly been crushed when it collapsed around them, it was a miracle that they had survived uninjured.

  The walls of the town hall were still on fire when I reached the spot where the front gate once stood. The building itself had remained mostly in tact but flames rose up around it. I had to check inside regardless of the danger, if people were trapped inside then time would be against them. I pounded my heel into the door and it swung open, the heat immediately hit my face and I had to turn away. I pulled up my cloak and bellowed into the hall.

  "Is there anyone in there? Is there anyone that still lives?"

  A large chunk of the wall collapsed inward and embers swirled around me. I heard someone scream at the back of the auditorium.

  "Can you hear my voice," I yelled to them, "come towards me, I will get you out of here."

  The smoke made it hard to see as I moved through the wreckage. The heat felt as though I was surrounded by a dozen torches. I pushed myself forward toward the scream.

  "Where are you?" My throat was stinging and I began to cough. The room felt as though it was beginning to sway. I needed to find whoever was in here quickly.

  I heard a groaning behind me and turned towards the sound. The balcony could no longer hold itself aloft as it's foundations had been burned away. I couldn't move fast enough to clear the hot embers as they fell. The breath was forced from my lungs as the balcony hit me in the shoulder and slammed me into the hard floor. The pain was so intense that my vision went white. When I regained my sight a second later I was looking at the coals and stone on the floor, the weight of the balcony pinned my arm and the fire roared all around me, closing in.

I could hear my screams echoing off the cave walls before the shapes around me began to look familiar.

  The nightmares were nothing new but I silently chastised myself for yelling.

  Those huddled around had awoken instantly and were wordlessly bracing for impact. No one dared to breathe. Instructions didn't need to be given, they all knew the protocol. It had been drilled into them those first days, bitter and terrified.

  Count the seconds and take stock. One. Don't make a sound and get low. Three. Turn your eyes skyward, what do you see? Seven. Are there other survivors nearby? Scatter. Ten. People around the cave let out their breath as heavy sighs of relief. Ten, if you can count this high it didn't see you. You're among the lucky ones.

  Shivering against the cold stone, no one felt lucky. Every person here had the dirt or soot on their cheeks cut through with the agonizing tears of loss. The constant metallic taste reminding them that they were clenching their jaws too tightly in an anger that would not relent. Others still, felt akin to the caves that they now called home. Cold, unfeeling, and empty inside. But once we were prosperous.

  Home was warm, modest cottages carved out of brown and yellow Darel wood from the thicket.

  It was always a busy affair when the seasons turned. It meant fresh sheaves of straw to repair old rooves and dress those built anew. And the poor Old Miller would be at the tavern nightly, moaning that he was 'too old to be run like a horse." We would all nod in agreement, knowing all the while that his four sons had managed his business for the last eight years, affording Old Miller plenty of time for his favourite hobby of napping mid-day.

  Every household made bread, of course, but Bosun Riggs made daily an airy loaf with a sour quality that knew no rival in Pilar.

  The beekeeper and his wife made candles and sweet, honeyed treats. When she offered to teach the town's children their letters and numbers, parents would joke that attendance would never be an issue. I haven't heard anyone joke in two years.

  My reverie was broken when the clash of steel on steel shattered the silence hanging in the cave.

  Children clung to their mothers or, for those without families, the legs of any adult within reach. Terror and confusion welled up in their eyes as tears.

  Porrorin Dorg motioned his hands in Silent, beseeching me to investigate the sounds of a struggle. I signed back that we understand his fear for his brother but he knew the risk of standing guard.

  If we entered the mouth of the cave, a single spout of flame could reduce our populace irreparably.

  As quickly as it began, the clamor abruptly stopped. We all waited, frozen in place, too cautious to creep forward.

  A shadow cast onto the rough, stone wall seemed to snap people into action as the children were rushed further back into the darkness, away from whatever was moving now towards us. The shadow grew larger as the figure neared. Whatever it was would be on us in seconds.

  A shock of curly hair rounded the final corner, ringlets bouncing as a wild eyed man stepped forward. His uniform seemed too large for his frame. Bright blue feathers hung from the shoulders, the uniform of a soldier of the kingdom of Lior.

  "More survivors? Incredible! How many strong are you counted?"

  "What you see before you, stranger." I replied in a whisper.

  "That makes more sense. I apologize. It would seem that I have stabbed your man. Nowhere vital, mind you, but dawn is upon us and I needed out of the open. He will live but for now he sleeps."

I had to hold Porrorin from rushing forward, whether he meant to check on his brother or attack his assailant, I could not be sure.

"How come you by this place and why have you injured Aldon Dorg?"

  "As I have already said, I was looking for somewhere to hide. Your man barred me entry. As you must know dragons have a nasty habit of eating anyone they happen across, handsome or otherwise."

  "You are a soldier of Lior?" I asked him. I gestured to his uniform. He looked down and laughed.

  "No sir, I stole this uniform when I escaped a prison transfer, but that was two weeks ago, I had completely forgotten that I was still wearing it."

   "He admits that he is a thief then, turn him away," said one of the spooked survivors.

  "My apologies, but I will not be going anywhere until nightfall," replied the man in a tone that did not hold ambiguity, "dragons and all that. I wish you no harm, but I am afraid that I must insist. I am Castro Bregara, the gentleman thief."

  With the last he gave a low, sweeping bow, "there are cities that dragons cannot near. Four have already been slain. I make my way East towards one such city of Delun. You may join me if you wish to live a life outside of this cave again."

  There were murmurs and Silent conversations at the prospect of leaving the cave. Yonna Burrik had had enough.

  "Slain? Impossible! When they first attacked us two years ago, our strongest  men and women fought back. Their sharpest spears could pierce clean through a Kallen bear, but on those dragons' impenetrable scales, those same points bent like Tosh-willow reeds. Nothing could fell such a beast."

  Castro turned to look him in the eyes, "you seem worldly in a manner that I wish for none to truly comprehend, but I have seen it done. Are you aware of the existence of the Kennen Stones? They were said to be locked away in fourteen chests that could never be opened unless true peril faced the people of this world. I am on my way to find one."

  "Such things are myths," I said to him.

  "As were dragons," he countered, "but they became very real and very terrible."

  I looked at the concerned faces in the darkness around me. Could we have a chance at a new beginning, or was this lunacy spouted from a mad man?

  "What makes you think that you could find one of these fabled chests, let alone open it? You would require some kind of-"

  "Key?"

  Castro gripped a thong of leather from around his neck and produced from inside his shirt a creamy white, stone key that had been polished smooth.

"There may be a way to save your valley."