Tears of Gold

Most windows in the town were dark as the falling snow coated the houses and shops in a thick blanket of white. The windows that still glowed the brightest belonged to the local tavern where the sound of muffled voices and rolls of laughter spilled into the stillness of the night. It was late, and many patrons of the small tavern had gone to their rented rooms or returned to their homes. Despite this, a strong crowd still remained. They passed the hours with drink and stories. Some were personal tales of grandeur and others were legends shared around the glowing embers of campfires. Many of the people gathered were thankful for the rare night spent indoors with a tall fire to warm their bodies and all the mead they could drink to warm their souls.

A young woman gazed at those gathered around her from beneath a thick, gray hood. Her face was mostly obscured by the garment, but dark ringlets spilled out to frame her sharp chin, betraying her beauty. Some of the other patrons had noticed her, but she kept her replies short when anyone spoke to her. She had spent the better part of the evening holding the same mug as the ale within grew warm.

As another round of applause and cheers shook the faded paintings on the wall, the young woman rose. “I’ve got a story to tell next.” Her young voice rang strong and clear despite the commotion. “It’s got a dragon, heartbreak, and even revenge. I think you’ll find it interesting, and it may even strike a chord in your stony travelers’ hearts.”

Those gathered paused for a moment, unsure as to why the woman had chosen that moment to break her silence, but the alcohol soothed their distrust as they laughed at her mirth. She walked to the front of the audience; her steady movements stood out from the others who had only shared their stories through the aid of liquid courage. The flames dancing in the hearth illuminated her from behind as her shadow climbed eerily across the drink-reddened faces, and she began her tale.

“Every traveler knew the legends of the forest and its dark, dangerous path that curves between steep, towering mountains. It’s patrolled by raiders in the daylight and wild beasts in the night, both eager for the easy bounty promised by those weary from a long journey. However, every traveler also knows this path is the only way to reach the thriving port city if one does not wish two spend an additional month traversing around either of the great mountains. Consequently, many succumb to the tempting shortcut and its not-so-secret dangers.

“It was on this very trail in this very forest that our story begins. A lone figure walked through the mist that blanketed the rough path. He wore all gray and seemed to move more silently than the trees themselves. He drifted around the twists in the road, intent on his destination, until he stumbled upon a tragic scene.

“As he rounded yet another bend, he saw the remains of a camp. It was small, containing only a few tents, but it was ravaged. Torn packs lay with their contents smashed and scattered. The tents were torn and the bedrolls were pulled half into the open, suggesting that those staying here had been ambushed in their sleep. At the edge of the camp, a man lay with his side slashed open. A pair of crows peered at the stranger from the gaping wound, their beaks glistening with his blood. One hopped on top of the carcass and opened its beak in a warning caw at the stranger – the only movement in the thick, humid air.

“There were no survivors to be found amidst the carnage. The stranger examined a pair of bloodied boots that sprawled out from beneath one of the collapsed tents before turning away. Bandits had made quick work of the small camp. Crudely-made arrows protruded from some of the tents, some with dark red seeping out from where the shafts cut through the weather-worn hides.

“The stranger shook his head. He had seen similar scenes all too often. The desperate parties chose to take these woods despite the dangerous, winding nature of the path simply as the shorter alternative to trekking around the mountains, but they frequently paid the price. Often, they were ambushed at least once during the week-long journey, and tragedies like this destroyed camp were not uncommon. He was about to leave when a soft scuffle from the trees froze him in place. He stepped back onto the path and, unwilling to be caught unguarded, loosened his cloak from around his neck.

“As the dark material slipped from his shoulders, it left behind golden scales that gleamed, almost illuminated by what little sunlight reached the forest floor. By the time the cloak fluttered to the ground, the man had tripled in size. Glittering scales glided over his soft, human skin as his nails lengthened into gleaming claws. His white hair darkened and stiffened into spikes, and his wrinkled face lengthened as sharp fangs protruded from his maw. In an instant, the man was gone, and in his place stood a massive, golden dragon.”

“Bah!” shouted one of the men from the back. He had yet to take off his soldier’s armor, and given the slur of his words, he was unlikely to, even after turning in for the evening. “Dragons ain’t humans, and humans ain’t dragons! That’s the dumbest legend I ever heard!”

His comrade elbowed him. “Shut your mouth, you dumb beast. Legends ain’t supposed to be believable.”

The young woman smiled. “Your disbelief is to be expected, good sir,” she said. “After all, not much is known about the dragons of this land besides the tales of their deaths.”

“That’s because the only good dragon is a dead one!” The drunk man raised his drink in a toast that was shared by the other soldiers who sat around him. Several others in the crowd shushed the men. They laughed loudly, but quickly settled down for the remainder of the story.

The woman smiled tightly before she continued.

“The dragon eyed the woodline, certain that his transformation was enough to drive whatever beasts, human or animal, had been stalking him to turn tail and run. For good measure, he lowered his head and breathed out. The stream of hot, dry air evaporated the mist that had settled into the small clearing almost instantly.

“Again, he heard the scuffle just beyond the dense tree line, but it did not flee as he had expected. Instead, a tiny giggle echoed from behind the leaves. The gold dragon scarcely had time to realize what creature was capable of such a sound before a small, chubby child, clothed only in a soiled diaper and a makeshift blanket wrap, toddled out from the bushes.

“The dragon remained still, curious to see what the tiny human would do. He knew he was not in immediate danger – he could squish the tiny thing like a gnat, if he was so inclined – but he was used to people reacting with fear when they saw his metallic mass for the first time. Oddly, this child did not seem to share the fears of the older members of her race. The tiny human stumbled over the dead coals from the long-extinguished campfire but picked herself up and continued waddling towards the dragon. She never hesitated as she flung her arms, still thick with baby fat, around one enormous gold claw.

“‘Dwagon, dwagon!’ she cooed. She turned her dollish face up towards the fearsome creature. As she did so, her ebony curls created a gentle, angelic halo around her wide green eyes. A large medallion slipped out from beneath the blanket. It bore the likeness of a regal dragon etched into its gold surface.

“‘Dwagon!’ she babbled again.

“The dragon nodded to himself before he shed his scales once more. His hard exterior melted into the human skin he wore so often during his travels, and he picked his cloak up from the blood-soaked ground. He fastened it around his neck and lifted the child into his arms. Just a few days, he thought to himself.

“The child’s gaze locked onto one of the ruined tents. ‘Mama?’ she asked.

“Just a few days to make sure she’s safe. The dragon tucked the child under his cloak, shielding her from the gruesome sight.

“Days turned to months. The dragon found a grove far from the dangers of the road where he built a shelter to keep the little girl safe. He caught her small animals and lit fires with his magic breath to cook them on. When the seasons changed and the little girl began to shiver, he made her new clothes from soft rabbit hides. When the first storm of winter threatened to destroy the little shelter, he took on his dragon scales, and the little girl slept calmly beneath his leathery wing, warmed by his heated breath.

“Months turned to years. The dragon grew to love the little girl as though she had hatched from a sparkling egg. He reinforced and expanded the makeshift shelter until the little girl had a small hut to call her own. He taught the little girl to set snares for her meals and defend herself from the beasts and bandits that roamed the woods. He spoke to her in every language he knew. Before long, he found another child – a little boy – and built him his own hut.

“As the years passed, the dragon adopted a dozen more children into his commune. He was happy. Before the children, he’d had nothing but a faint determination to stay alive, wandering from place to place to avoid detection from those who sought to make their fortune by selling his scales and carving his bones. Now, he had a purpose. He raised the children to be guardians of the forest. They learned not only to keep themselves safe from the dangers of the woods, but also to protect the innocent lives who had no choice but to risk the dangers of the trail. At first, he had only sought to protect the little girl by eliminating the threats that encroached on her hut, but as he collected more children and bore witness to more tragedy, he felt called to guard the path as well.

“Nightly, the children and their dragon guardian walked through the dense woods from their home to the winding path. There, they listened for sounds of danger. Together, they chased beasts back into the woods and killed scores of bandits. Merchants and mercenaries alike were spared by the hands of these young sentinels, but most profound were the children spared from the same fate that had befallen their silent guardians. The children and their dragon saved dozens more families from the same fate that had befallen their own.”

The woman paused her story. She sipped from the mug she had barely touched all evening and scanned the crowd. They now listened without interruption. This was far from the dragon stories that most adventurers were used to, and its novelty had captivated even the bartender who leaned against the counter, listening.

During the course of her story, a half dozen new figures had joined, slipping in almost unnoticed to stand at the back of the tavern. They wore heavy cloaks that obscured most of their bodies, and puddles of snow melted around their boots. They listened to the tale just as intently as the original crowd.

The corner of her mouth lifted into a genuine smile. This was exactly what she had hoped for when beginning her tale.

“Of course, a dragon can only remain hidden for so long, even in the deepest and darkest of woods. Soon, tales of a fierce, golden dragon that roamed the most dangerous trail reached the lord of the land. He did not hear about the group of young humans who slew bandits just as they were about to strike and saved babies from the mouths of wolves. No, only tales of dragons and the fortune promised by their heads were worthy of making it past his castle walls.

“The lord concocted a plan. If he contracted the right group of mercenaries, he could surely earn the bounty promised by the king, and the profits from the dragon’s teeth would pad his pockets for decades to come.

“While the children and their dragon sought to make the land safer, the lord set his plans into motion. He hired the most renowned mercenaries in the kingdom and paired them with the strongest of his personal troops. Then, in the light of a beautiful, spring dawn, he marched them into the forest.

“The tiny village of simple huts and their young occupants did not realize the danger that stalked their caretaker. The dragon patrolled the woods as he always had, intent on keeping his collected family safe, while the children, some of whom had spent over a decade wandering the forest with their dragon, went about their daily rituals. It wasn’t until the children heard a great thrashing from deep in the forest that they knew something was wrong. By the time they reached the clearing created by the struggle, it was too late. The lord and his army had left nothing but the dragon’s desecrated body and a bloody, broken trail where they had dragged his head back to their castle.

“The children would never know how their beloved mentor and surrogate father had fallen so easily and with so little fight. Perhaps the mercenaries were truly the most skilled in the land, or perhaps the lord himself was a superior strategist. Perhaps the dragon had even been tricked or subdued in some way. However, the end result was the same. The children mourned for ten days before deciding one thing: vengeance would be theirs.”

The woman drew her gaze slowly around the crowd once more. Several of the soldiers had straightened as she described how the dragon met his end. A couple even glanced nervously at their comrades. “Legend has it,” she said, “that those very children are still hunting the members of the lord’s army to this day. All the wealth in the world cannot save him from the trail of unexplained death that is weaving towards his courtyard as we speak, killing each member of that army, each hired mercenary, until only the lord remains.”

While the entire crowd stared, enrapt in the woman’s tale, the soldiers in particular were pale and silent. The woman went on, “Perhaps these woods and that path are the same as the ones that separate us from our own port city – that the lord and his army are the very same that reign over this region.”

As she finished speaking, she drew her cloak to the side, revealing a simple short sword. A golden medallion dangled from around her neck. Etched into its surface was the likeness of a regal dragon. In response, the figures at the back of the tavern let their cloaks drop, revealing their own weaponry. The woman grinned wildly as she met their fiery eyes.

“And legend has it that those children will stop at nothing to avenge their dragon.”