Scales

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. The pervasive belief that they had crawled out of the primordial chaos was bunk. Hokum. The dragons had fed the first of the earth-bound races a false provenance, and waited centuries for it to set. A few believed the lie, passing it to their children. Time did the rest. Apocrypha became myth, then myth became common knowledge: Dragons were the first to taste the morning dew, and would be the last to stand upon the earth when it crumbles into dust.

Many worshipped them. Some were wise enough to doubt, and label the dragons as fabulists, though none of their theories gained credence. After all, power is indisputable. If something has persisted, unending, since before language existed to record it, immortality is not so far-fetched.

The earth-bound lived their transient lives the best they could under the constant threat of armored, flaming hell falling from the heavens. Once every generation or so, the small creatures - usually humans, though sometimes others - would make an attempt on a dragon's life after some particularly egregious injustice. It did not matter whether the attempt was made by a single person or an army, they failed. They simply could not meet a dragon on equal footing. Stone, metal, magic. Nothing penetrated a dragon's hide.

Not until the small races formed a coalition.

The result of their efforts was a weapon capable of tearing through a soaring dragon's nigh-unbreakable scales from the ground. One death was all it took to unravel the lie. And though a single dragon meeting its end could be dismissed as a hoax, the dragon that came for vengeance soon confirmed the new reality. Two, then three, then dozens found their graves. Soon, the terrible race had dwindled, and their curated legend expired.

Now the Valley of the Drakes held little outside of vegetation and small wildlife that the dragons had never bothered to hunt, though this would soon change.

The monsters' abandoned nests provided ample wealth to tempt the intrepid, and those brave enough to risk encountering a surviving dragon would be rewarded with caves filled with treasures, trinkets, and oddities. Cadres of bandits would begin to favor looting a vacant cave over highway robbery or kidnapping, and parties from the nearest villages would strike out in search of better fortunes. A small group of the first scofflaws to attempt the expedition were making camp along the sole path into the valley.

A grizzled man with a gray-flecked beard knelt to the ground in the shadow of the massive boulder that marked the center of the clearing, unsuccessfully striking his flint at a small pile of tinder. Surrounding him was a circle of ragged onlookers, wan and shivering. After nigh a dozen failed sparks, he lifted his head and scanned the group before fixing his gaze on the diminutive lump sitting alone just outside the circle.

"Boy!" he shouted. When the lump looked toward him, he chided, "These twigs are all green. Didn't anyone tell you to find the dead ones?"

When the boy shook his head, the kneeling man muttered a few unkind things about the boy's parents, then stood up and dusted himself off.

"I'll be back with something that'll burn. Get your tents up in the meantime." He struck off into the woods, briefly turning and walking backwards to shout, "Tusk! Help the boy."

A bear-sized, snaggle-toothed member of the circle looked up and grunted, "Sure thing, Domm."

The other men grumbled; they had been looking forward to dulling the winter chill in their bones while they unpacked. A moment later they pulled out oiled tarps and stakes and began to set camp. Tusk was showing the boy how to find a good level spot and hammer in the stakes when another member of the group, a lanky man with sharp eyes and a bulbous nose, peeled himself off the side of the boulder he was leaning against to approach them.

"Hey Toothy, why are you bothering with the nitwit?" he asked, kicking up some dust in the crouched boy's direction. "He'll just forget everything you show him by tomorrow."

Tusk didn't respond. The man wheedled, "Come on, ditch him. We're going to do some gambling while the boss is gone. I'll even spot you the first round."

Tusk shook his head. The man sighed.

"You're a real bore, Tooth. Fine, be that way. Oh, at the least do me a favor and keep a lookout for the boss. Cough real loud when he gets back." Not waiting for a response, he sauntered off followed by the rest of the men.

Tusk would not be keeping a lookout for anything other than actual danger. After the others had rounded the stone and were out of earshot, Tusk spoke.

"Don't listen to Crag, Hugo. You're no dimwit." he assured in a quiet tone, "But what caused you to forget what I'd taught you? For finding the good kindling?"

The lad, Hugo, looked at the ground and shrugged. Tusk's stoic expression softened a bit.

"Come now, I know we've only known each other for a spell, but I can tell you're cannier than that. Trust is important on an expedition like ours. Can't very well sleep next to some bugger that might steal your trousers, eh?"

At this, he gave Hugo a playful nudge, which elicited a careful smile from the boy. He protested, "I wouldn't even fit in your trousers!"

"True enough. Alright, I trust you. And I promise not to steal your trousers, neither." Tusk favored the boy with a crooked smile, before again prompting, "So... the kindling?"

Hugo looked up from the barren ground and admitted, "I brought green sticks because I don't want a fire."

Tusk's smile fell into a look of pity. "Understandable, given the state we found you and your home in. But as long as we keep the tents a good jog away, they'll not catch a spark - "

Hugo cut him off.

"No, it's not that! A dragon might see the fire and find us!" The tears he had been holding back began to well, and he continued, "I don't want to get eaten... and I don't want Mr. Tusk, or - or anybody else to get eaten, too!"

Tusk gave up entirely on maintaining his indifferent demeanor and embraced the boy.

"We won't last the night without a fire's warmth," he explained patiently. "But don't you worry about a dragon, no one has spotted one in months. I can't imagine one of the great flying bastards could keep its ego in check long enough for hiding. We'll be okay."

Stifled by the bear hug he found himself enveloped in, Hugo nodded, and muttered a muffled thank you. Tusk hadn't mentioned that if there was a dragon still living in the Valley it would find them, fire or not.

"There we are." Tusk released the boy and checked to see if any of the others had seen him drop his stoic facade. They would have seen it as weakness. Despite his lecture on pant-thievery, he didn't trust a one of them, save for maybe the boss. Thankfully, they were still out of sight, gambling on the opposite side of the boulder where Domm wouldn't be able to see them upon his return.

"Don't let any of this lot see you afraid. They won't complain about the boss' decision to take you in so long as you stay quiet and stay useful. So no more green kindling, alright?"

Hugo, still sniffling, nodded. "Alright. Will you teach me more, like you did with making a fire?"

Tusk began showing Hugo a good knot for tying off the tent. When they had finished with their own shelters, Hugo suggested they begin to set up one more for Domm by way of apology for his earlier mistake. But before they could even fumble with the canvas, a desperate scream rang out from the other side of the boulder.

The Valley will be better off without us, the pearlescent-green wyrmling reminded herself as she blinked tears from her eyes. She shook her long snout, at once shedding both tears and sentiment, and once again tried to force an objective remembrance of the calamities that had once populated the Valley.

Rannar the Wrathful, first to die. He had been a ruby-hued colossus that had culled the lesser races by swathing their farmlands in flame. He didn't want them getting overconfident just because they reproduced faster than the dragons.

Stormblight, who had hunted in a conjured thunderstorm, left settlements lightning-struck and flooded. She had felt a childish wonder in watching bolts of lightning dissipate into fractals through the swelling bodies of water.

Fellscar the Void was unable to compromise on his refined tastes. He tore through entire countries to consume the wealthy, often leaving the razed settlements without their noble leadership. He claimed that prey tasted better wrapped in gemstones.

Finally, there had been Kingmaker Erasmus, whose casualties were hard to enumerate, though they were likely the highest. He had taken pleasure in sowing political violence by offering his poisonous counsel to ambitious noblemen. He often played them one against the other to maximize the body count. Longevity was fine, but it grew awfully dull without a hobby.

The young dragon understood why they were eradicated. They had been monsters. But they were also her kin.

Rannar had taught her to stand up for herself. Stormy shaped clouds into rabbits to cheer her up. Fellscar saved the best spoils of his hunts for her. Erasmus had let her win at board games. However, none of these kindnesses amounted to a single stone when the earth-bound balanced the scales with blood. Miraghan knew their actions were justified, but her grief proved less reasonable. They had been her family and she ached for them. All of the denizens of the Valley had deserved to be killed. Miraghan only wished she had been able to join them.

Hoping to find solace in slumber, but unwilling to sleep alone in any of the grottoes that had once housed her family, Miraghan curled up on her favorite rock in the southern forest of the Valley of the Drakes, and turned her gaze skyward. Where once the night sky had been aflight with dragons, there was now only stillness.

The afternoon sunlight coaxed her into wakefulness. She turned onto her back in a comfortable sprawl, basking for a moment before fully committing to consciousness. She flipped back over, unfurled her wings, and arched her back into a stretch. Only then did she notice the creak of wheels rolling from the south, nearly upon her. The earth-bound were finally coming to claim her home, and she had almost slept through it.

Miraghan crouched low on her stone. Rannar had often teased her about her small stature, but now she was grateful for how little she had grown. Had she been even half the size of her smallest relative, any chance at stealth would have fallen apart.

The group that had wended its way so far into her home was different from those she had seen traversing the valley in the past. They numbered ten humans but had no carriage. Each one carried a large pack, and one man, large for a human, pulled a rickshaw behind him. All were bundled in tattered clothes, and most looked malnourished. Oddly enough, there was a child with them. She wondered why a group of prey walking into a predator's den would bring a child.

Intrigued and eager for a distraction after a month of solitude, Miraghan decided she would watch these trespassers. She would wait until they passed her perch on the stone, then tail them. She knew the valley well, and would be able to stay out of sight.

The party began casting nervous glances at the sky as they walked out of the wooded cover and into the clearing. Miraghan stifled a laugh. They never considered that they were already in a dragon's sight.

When the group drew closer to the stone, one of the men declared,

"We'll stop here. The stone should provide some cover from the wind."

They were going to sleep here. Miraghan could not deny that their leader had excellent taste, choosing to sleep next to her favorite boulder.

She had watched intently as the man tried to strike a flame. How did humanity survive when they had this much difficulty with such a simple task? Miraghan didn't think it was fair that they had to spend so much time fussing when she could do the same just by exhaling. When the leader of the group wanderered off in search of better kindling, Miraghan focused on the others in the camp.

The boy, apparently called Hugo, had been insulted by the human who had left with the others to gamble. Despite her small size, when other dragons had insulted her like that, she had done her best to defend herself. But the boy had said nothing. These short-lived races were odd.

Curious about human gambling, Miraghan crept to the opposite edge of her perch. The men were speaking in low tones that even Miraghan's exceptional hearing had a hard time making out. She grasped the rock with her claws and pushed the tip of her snout into the open air, testing the waters. After a few moments she decided she hadn't been spotted, and bent her head over, giving her a view of the group from above. They didn't look like they were gambling. They were huddled together, heads down. Was it some sort of word game?

"-don't think Tusk will turn on him. Should we kill them both tonight?"

Crag, the one who had insulted the child, responded, "Better not, Lem. Something will have to be done, but Domm and the giant idiot take turns at watch and I don't think we could take both of them at once. We'll have our chance soon enough, it'll be easier to lose them once we're inside a nest. 'Sides, we may as well get Tusk to lug that cart as far as possible before he's dead."

Miraghan didn't think they were playing a game.

A scrawny man with straw-colored hair piped up, "But once we've gotten rid of those two we're going to have to deal with the boy. Should we just leave him?"

"I'll take care of the boy," chuckled a broad-shouldered bald man. "We could use the bait if we run into a dragon, they prefer the young ones. Might distract one long enough to kill it."

Miraghan wasn't sure whether she was more offended that they wanted to kill her, or that they thought she was some sort of child murderer.

Crag, after a moment of thought, approved.

"Fine, we'll keep the boy. I'm not wasting rations on him, though. He should at least last a week without food. Hopefully our business will be finished before then. A cave large enough to hold a dragon's corpse should be easy to spot."

A dragon's corpse?

'What do they want with one of my family's bodies?' Miraghan thought, incredulous. 'I should make these fools into corpses before they find Erasmus and desecrate his grave.'

She didn't mean it. Miraghan was no saint, but she had never killed an intelligent creature, and wasn't about to start with these trespassers even if they meant harm to the other humans. Their lives weren't her responsibility. But... she could warn them. Due their quarrelsome nature, humans had been Erasmus' favorite playthings and he had taught her a few tidbits about manipulation. And she might be able to play them against one another to preempt any further exploration. She could almost see Erasmus narrowing his eyes in excitement at the prospect.

But wouldn't that make her just as monstrous as the rest of her family? Miraghan had always held herself apart, better than the rest of her kind. That was what she had thought. If she killed these people or played with their lives, she would be committing the very sins that eventually ended her kin.

The dissonance that arose within Miraghan caused her to tighten her already firm grasp on the edge of the boulder, causing cracks to spiderweb through the stone. The subsequent rubble ended her quandary by knocking out the bald man and causing the men gathered beneath her to look up and freeze in terror. Miraghan did not move in the futile hope of being dismissed as a particularly green outcropping of stone. But she had been spotted. Crag came to his senses first, screaming a single word:

"Dragon!"