Stone Valley Saga

There weren't always dragons in the Valley, there were rumblings, but no one had seen a dragon for more than a century. It all started one cold night, the winter of my eighth year. It had been a hard winter, with many losses across the land. Our village, called Stone Valley, was not large by any means, nestled in between two large mountains along a strong river. It was always open to travelers and anyone else who chose to call it home. One night, the men and women were gathered in our great hall to speak about the discovery of two small dragons found along the southern border of our lands. I watched them as I hid behind the enormous chair that my father Alrich was perched on as he listened to the concerns of his people. Though not a king by name, my father was called the King of Men and was looked upon as a leader whose wisdom was sought after by many. The clamoring of the crowd had reached an almost deafening height when a sharp clang rang out through the hall. All eyes turned towards Sabine, an enchantress to some, merely a witch to many more. Her coven stayed towards the northern outskirts of the village, however they were still seen as members of the community. Even as exiled as some of them seemed to be. I watched as her knuckles blanched as she gripped her staff, the source of the echoing cacophony. “Alrich…” she purred, her voice soft and alluring, one of her many gifts. Sorcerers or enchanters as they were called across the land dedicated their lives to various magical practices. Sometimes, they were as harmless as placing a rainbow in the sky. However, on the other side, they had a penchant for being downright deadly. “These dragons do not have to be our downfall, we have the opportunity to use them to our advantage, our greatest advantage.” She continued melodically, her words weaving in and out of the villagers ears. She knew that no one would speak up against her, except perhaps my father. The two of them rarely saw eye to eye and as my father spoke this would be such a time. He was not swayed by the power of her voice, its potency waning over perhaps their years of tentative friendship, or even a deal struck between the two. “It’s madness, Sabine, pure madness to think that you and your enchanters would stand a chance against dragons.” He said, his emphasis sounding as if he spit the word from his throat. It pained me to hear how he spoke about enchanters, knowing that my mother had once been among their greatest. “Dragons…” He said trailing off. I did not know if my father was having trouble finding the words or if he was just choosing them carefully. He took a breath before he began again, his resolve renewed. “Dragons are not something that can just be wished away with your spells and staffs, they can only be dealt with using swords and steel.” He said knowing just the reaction that he would release in Sabine. The enchantress was incensed at the audacity of her old friend’s words, her nostrils flared as she brought down her staff hard onto the stone ground. The sound cracked through the great hall and echoed off the walls as smoke billowed out, her black hair flared out and the image of a dragon filled the great hall. “You forget that I am more than just spells and staffs, you forget just how powerful I am!” She said, her voice taking on a life of its own as it boomed throughout the hall. The people cowered in fear of her, scrambling to get out of her path as she advanced on my father. I looked on in awe of her, while most were terrified by her power, I was fascinated by it. No one else dared to stand against my father. Though he was not impressed nor intimidated by her display. He had seen many things outside the Valley during his years at war. He saw her smoke and mirrors as a mask to hide the fact that she was merely flesh and bone.

The only other person in the room who was not scared of Sabine, was her daughter Cyra, whose red hair shown under her hood against the fireplace like rubies splayed on a velvet swath. My dark blue eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of her green orbs, finding solace in her glance. The two of us had been best friends even before our births. Our mothers were sisters, not by blood but by purpose. Both practitioners in the art of magic, my mother, Moira had departed from this life the summer of my third year. Sabine, though she bore a hatred for the village and more importantly most of the villagers, stayed with her coven in a promise kept to my mother. My father stood up from his perch and drew his family sword from its sheath. Its blade always seemed like it was bigger than my own height. I watched as he swung it broadly through the illusion that Sabine had created. The smoke and image began to immediately dissipate, leaving only the enchantress in its place. "Enough!" He bellowed, his voice rattling through to my bones. The people stayed cowering, in case the enchantress had more than just illusions to show. There were many who only trusted Sabine in the things that she was able to do for them. A revenge hex here, a love potion there. My father advanced on Sabine, his large frame blocking her from my view. "We will proceed with a group of warriors and enchanters to see just what these dragons have in store for our village." He said, this time softer and more like the father I knew. "If there is an opportunity to subdue without killing, we will do so. However, if the need should strike, I will not hesitate." He said, as he returned his sword to its hilt. Sabine was satisfied with this conclusion, she stated that she would be ready with a small ensemble of her finest Sisters. I watched as Cyra was guided away from the great hall by her mother while my father turned towards the rest of his people. He knew that the people were scared of Sabine, but also knew that the dragons posed a far greater threat than any witch could even fathom. "I cannot force you to come with me, but unless we put a stop to them, we will never be free of them." He said and I began to hear the rumblings of the villagers once more.

I chose this time to come out of my hiding place and throw my small arms around his large frame, not able to even think about a time where I would not have him in my life. He carefully picked me up and held me in his arms. “You cannot go.” I cried into his arms feeling as he held me close to his chest. “I have to, Little one, how is it that I am the King of Men if I refuse to protect them from this, our greatest threat?” He said. I wanted to tell him of all the terrible dreams I had had recently of his death at the hands of some mysterious force. However, I knew he did not believe in the power of dreams, only the actions of men called his attention. I continued to cry as he carried me from the great hall to our home. He placed me on my bed, lighting the lantern beside us to illuminate the room. His strong hand cupped my face gently as he wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Little one, should I depart from this life, know that I will find you in the next." He said paraphrasing words from The Book of the Creator. My father was not a very devout man, which spoke to just how he felt about this journey he was about to set out for. I did not want to hear the words he was saying, not ready to face this life without him. My mother's passing was not of her own volition, but this was a choice. One I felt my father would regret. He kissed me on my forehead and smiled down at me. "Een compagne se erde." which was translated from our ancestor's tongue to mean 'One with the world.' An old saying that soldiers would speak before a great battle, especially when they believed that battle would be lost. "Se erde compagne ye." I said in response, because to not echo the phrase back, would be disrespectful to the person offering it, no matter what one felt about the circumstances. After he left, I went to my window to see the gathering of those that would follow the King of Men to perhaps slay the two dragons. I heard the door to my room open and turned to see Cyra making her way towards me. I opened my arms and she moved into them in a tight embrace. I held her close as we watched the villagers assemble.

There were seven altogether, including my father and Sabine who dared to go. Apparently, the “small ensemble of her finest Sisters'' that Sabine had promised to my father’s collection only consisted of one enchantress. Lenora was known about the village as a scandalmonger who cared more about the gossip that she could spread than the words that were spoken about her. Godric, the village’s blacksmith, was saying goodbye to his wife and son who was named after him. The little boy who was my age, dragged his father's sword to his side even though it was almost larger than his entire body. Orvyn, the winemaker who was an odd choice for the journey because he was much older than my father by at least ten winters. Yet his connection to my father was indelible. They acted more like father and son, than mere old friends. Finally rounding out their league were two brothers who were orphans, but had been raised by the village. Wymond and Cassian were not twins but rarely were they seen without the other. Here it was obvious that Cassian was more enthusiastic than his brother as he readied their horses. He was complaining to himself, forcing a smile to his lips as Wymond came to his side. As Cyra and I held each other, we wondered if this was going to be the last time we would see our parents again. Cyra had never known her father, and Sabine never talked about him. The one time it was debated among the villagers, before Cyra was born. It was said that a black fog enveloped the entire region for two whole days. After that, it was never a subject for idle gossip again. The next few days and nights were seemingly in preparation for funerals we may never have bodies for. It states in the Book of the Creator that if someone leaves for war or other such battles, that twenty sun passes must go across the sky before someone is seen as parting from this life. The beginning days were always spent making pyres which would be set ablaze in honor of the parting on the night of the twentieth day. The nights were filled with community food making and stories around a large fire. They spoke of the time before and of a time yet to be.

On the fourth night, I was awoken out of a dead sleep by wailing outside my window. The sound was familiar, something that I had heard many times over the years. When someone has been told that their loved ones have parted from this lift, their wails could be heard from very far away. This was different, it was a collective wailing. Cyra appeared at my door, her eyes red from tears. She launched herself into my arms and buried her face in my shoulder saying something, but I could not make it out over her distraughtness. The women in the village continued to wail in almost a funeral chant that was familiar from the Book. Among the sounds, there were also rumbles of cheers as well. This caused me to guide Cyra to the door of my home. Before I got to it, my father's voice cut through the noise and the sight of him caused me to pull away from Cyra and throw myself into his arms. He was battered and bloodied in blood that was not his own. He did not come home alone, yet Orvyn was his only companion. The old man and my father were swarmed with people who wanted to hear about the journey. The wailing, turning more into a pained hum for the mourners to guide their loved ones into their next life. My father raised his arms to silence all but them, knowing they needed to let out their grief. He called for healers to tend to Orvyn, whose eyes were covered and it seemed as though he could not speak. Later that night, my father was no longer known as Alrich, King of Men. Instead, he was and is still known as Alrich, the Dragon Slayer.