The Beginning of War

The Beginnings of War

There were not always dragons in the valley. They, like many living things, had migrated in search of food and safety. In the Inveranie valley, after a savage and arduous search, they had found a place they could call home. They were, however, not the only intelligent beings that inhabited the valley.

The valley had long been home to the Durish, a tribe of humans that had fled from war and poverty a millenia ago to farm and ranch the fertile Inveranie valley. The valley itself was nestled high amongst the Anorus mountains and had provided natural protection from the armies and warring clans of the steep below.

Dragons had long been hunted and killed by humans. Most humans viewed them as vile and disgusting competitors vying for supremacy in a food chain dominated by humans. In the beginning, before the era of the Fidalis in the valley, both human and dragon blood poured so generously that both sides feared total destruction of their kind in the region.

Each side was completely ignorant of the other. Living together in symbiotic harmony would have been unthinkable.

The dragons were Yastasi and indigenous to the mountainous region to the far north. Their food source had been hunted thin by human tribes and so had they. Left with no choice, the Yastasi, like the Durish before them, fled to the safety of the Invraine Valley. The Dragons, unlike their cousins far to the south, did not fly, nor did they breathe fire like their brethren that inhabited the Arcan Isle territories. The Yatasi were not giants either, they were large but hardly the monsters of myth.

The Yatasi possessed two incredible gifts aside from razor sharp claws, teeth and amazingly strong jaws that could effortlessly tear a man in half. The first was the ability to nearly render themselves invisible. Their scales could adapt and change color and texture to imitate their surrounding territory. The scales could also bend light, momentarily blinding their prey or unfortunate adversaries.

The second and most dangerous aspect of their being was a highly intelligent, organized and large brain. All dragons were intelligent but the Yastasi brain had developed cunning out of necessity. They were master tacticians and hunted or went to war with a nearly psychic connection between them.

For 10 centuries the Durish had lived in relative peace, easily repelling the few would-be-invaders foolish enough to try taking the valley from an un-advantageous and treacherous uphill position. They were farmers and ranchers, yet they were the descendants of the greatest raiding tribes the world had ever seen. Although the Durish had been trying to live a peaceful existence, they carried with them the veracity of their ancestors.

Every member of durish society was enlisted for three turns as a scout or mountain ranger when she or he came of age. Because they were once warriors, martial activities such as archery, fencing, spear throwing, and hand to hand combat- along with various games of strategy- were hobbies of even Darish Grandmothers.

The Durish catapults had always faced south down the mountains. Invasion from the north, west or east was simply an impossibility. No man, yet alone an invading army could possibly climb the jagged and treacherous mountains to gain access to the valley. The only logical access point for invasion was the nearly impenetrable southern range.

The mountain rangers main patrols were concentrated in this area. Much smaller scouting patrols would roam the valley and the foothills of the other mountain ranges. It was true, the jagged outcroppings, sheer drop offs, lack of visibility and 100 other hazards would stop a man instantly. A group of mountain dragons? They could swing through the ranges as if they were playgrounds.

Shendai stood at the tavern bar. The ale was good and quickly found its way to her head. She was dirty, tired and sore and needed the drink. The Darvish descended from the greatest horsemen in the world. They had handed down riding techniques, generation to generation. Out of all those techniques, there wasn't one that told you how to keep your ass from getting sore. She laughed to herself, shaking her head and ordering another ale.

It was there, standing at the bar, not wanting to sit on her ass when she received the report. A rider of the scouts entered the tavern, young, tall and slender, obviously spent from a hard ride. Bleary eyed, he quickly scanned the crowded tavern until his eyes met Shendai’s. She nodded to him to come forward.

He made his way winding through the occupied tables, laughter and belligerent antagonists to arrive at Shendai’s side. “ Captain, there are dragons gathering in the northern foothills.” Shendai laughed, “Dragons, you say? Are they eating children?” Shendai could see the fear in the young riders eyes. “Please captain, they are real and there has been no report back from scouting team seven.”

Shendai was captain of the Varin Guard, the only full time army the Durish employed. They had been used as more of a police force than an army for hundreds of years- but it was her duty to bring troops at any report of invasion. Shendai relished a good fight, but highly doubted there were dragons in their midst. She dreaded having to ride 5 hours across the valley. Her poor ass.

The Laughing Pony was home to a rough and dangerous crowd, and she liked it that way. The captain was certainly not a soft person. Most of the “dangerous folk'' knew to leave her alone, afterall, she was crazy. The majority of her intell came from individuals that frequented such establishments. When she and the messenger exited the tavern, she was shocked to see at least a hundred mounted riders prepared for battle. Each with two ponies for speed, it looked as if this would be no leisurely gallop across the valley.

Her second, Tenru, a mountain of a man scarred and aged from years of pit fighting, sat patiently upon his stead, pony in tow- holding two fresh mounts for the capitan. “Shendai, something is happening in the northern foothills. They say it is dragons, but what I know is 2 scout teams have not reported.”

Without saying a word Shendai shook her head. She, with amazing speed and strength, jumped into the saddle of one of the two horses Tenru held for her. She then galloped north with her little army instinctively falling into formation.

“My God, Shendai,” Tenru yelled, “If any invader gets a whiff of you, they will surender just to get you to bathe!” Shendai had not bathed in 7 days and wore 3 day old clothes. She had been on patrol and had no time nor place to bathe. “Kiss my smelly ass, Tenru!” She yelled. “Hell no,” cried Tenru as the cavalry sprinted north over someone's grazing land.

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It was summer in the valley and the warm air felt good as they rode. The little army could expect rain in the foothills as the cold air from the mountains collided with the warm air from the valley. They rode swiftly through towns and villages, passing farms and terrifying the grazing ranch animals as they went. After a few hours of hard riding they stopped at a stream to water the horses and switch mounts.

The northernmost scouting outpost was about an hour ride north at a medium pace. They were making good time. The night air vibrated with the sound of insects, the flat lands gave way to rolling hills and the jagged snowy monoliths in the distance seemed close enough to touch.

There was an eerie silence amongst the ranks. Horse thieves, poachers and the selling of stolen goods were usually problems easily solved and not many dare tangle with the guard. Dragons? They had all heard stories of dragons. How they could fly hundreds of miles in minutes. How they could consume a village in flames, roasting its inhabitants, and fly away with the livestock they had not yet ingested.

The only ones that were truly not afraid were Tenru and Shendai. Neither could show fear in front of their troops, so they had laughed and belittled each other in jest the entire ride. Tenru had been in so many fights (both for sport and for work) and he was always on the winning side. He, in his arrogance, had convinced himself that the gods must truly favor him when it came to combat. His confidence was disgusting.

Shendai was another matter. Ever since she was a little girl growing up on her parents ranch in the east, Shendai had a strange fascination with death. She had always felt as if she was here in this life by mistake, that she did not belong here. Her place, her true place was among the dead.

She had been visited by “those who can not be seen,” since she was swaddled and carried on her mother’s back. She felt as if she was stolen from the ancestors and placed in this life by mistake. They wanted her back. Dying to Shendai would be like coming home. Shendai had deliberated over her sanity on many occasions. From a physician's standpoint she was clearly insane, yet it was her insanity that allowed her to quickly rise through the ranks to become captain of the guard.

The captain, however, knew it was her responsibility to protect, to the best of her ability, her soldiers. Her fighting force was, after all, young men and women hardly older than children. “Those who can not be seen” had always provided her with superior tactical advice.

As they neared the camp of the 6th and 7th scouting patrols, the wind blew gently from the north carrying with it a gentle, cooling rain. She brought her unit to a standstill a few miles before the camp, sending out the reconnaissance team she had personally trained and had always managed to supply her with valuable information.

She waited impatiently for their return. The sun began to rise over the eastern mountain range ever so slowly, conquering the darkness in the valley village by village. Glowing, reaching across the sky. The soldiers ate some of their rations and waited nervously as light rain continued to fall.

At long last the small detachment of reconnaissance riders she had dispatched , came tearing back to the small army of their fellow Varin Guard. Atlan, one of her best trackers and a valuable member of her reconnaissance team, jumped from his horse and walked briskly towards Shendai. “Captain, report.” He struggled to recapture his breath as he spoke. “The outpost has been completely emptied. No signs of anyone. Tracks lead north, and it looks as if team 6 may have left to aid team 7.” Shendai digested the information. “And the dragons, Atlan? Did you see the dragons?” “We did not.”

Shendai remounted her horse and with a gesture of her hand the guard mounted and rode north in formation after their capitan. Shendai had never seen the outpost completely deserted. It was normally a permanent home to a logistics officer and a small staff. It was also a temporary base for the scouts coming and going. It was strange to come upon the place in such silence, so devoid of life.

For the time being this northernmost outpost would become their home. Shendai wasted no time in organizing a reconnaissance mission into the foothills. They would gather a greater amount of information in the day. She put Tenru in charge of the guard. She would employ Atlan’s skills once again. He handpicked another 10 riders. All Varian Guard were the elite but those picked for reconnaissance were always the most ruthless, the most highly skilled fighters, riders, and trackers.

This time Shendai would join the team. Obviously something was going on here. Sleep deprivation was nothing new to Shendai. Honestly reality often intertwined with dreams for her but she always managed to get her job done in this reality and done well. She hoped the majority of her troops could get some rest while she and her reconnaissance crew gathered some intelligence.

They set out traveling in a diamond formation, Atlan at the point, following the tracks. Much had been washed away by the rains, but it's hard to hide the tracks of thirty riders. The markings in the mud were light indicating all the riders were moving at a decent pace. The rain had stopped, the sun baked down upon the tired recon crew and they continued to advance.

The terrain began to become steep and rocky. They were forced off their mounts and had to abandon their strategic diamond formation in lieu of a single trac as they wound their way through cannons and rocky terrain. This made Shendai extremely uncomfortable. As she often did, she argued with herself. As soon as there was room, she would turn the horses and they would head back to the outpost.

This is when the horses, alarmed, snorted and whinnied, tried to turn around in a section of canyon with a steep unnavigable rock wall to one side, the slender trail they were on, and a death drop to a crevasse below. The horses sensed something terrible and were now in a mad frenzy, rearing up uncontrollably. Atlan’s lead horse chaotically reared and began to back up, her eyes huge and terrified, she missed the trail stepping backwards and tumbled down - bouncing off outcroppings and coming to rest dead at the bottom of the ravine.

It was then that they showed themselves. Scurrying down the almost sheer canyon wall from above, one appeared in the front of the patrol and a second clung to the canyon wall in the rear. Dragons! The team was trapped.

They were taller than two men and must have been as long as four horses. They walked on all fours easily traversing the smooth cliff wall. Their bodies shimmering with thousands of scales, pointed horns, camouflaged, they matched the color of the canyon.. Their huge musculature bulged as they moved, and their tails (armored with scales as well), curved menacingly upwards as they ran and came to end in a pointed horn.

Atlan instinctively took a knee amongst the mayhem. He proceeded to fire arrow after arrow at the beast that was now standing close in front of him. A set of grotesquely clawed feet on the trail the other somehow clinging to the edge of the wall it had just traversed. The arrows found their mark and simply ricocheted off the monster.

The thing almost seemed to smile and, in an instant, its huge curved tail shot forth, impaling Atlan through the chest. Blood instantaneously shot from Atlan’s mouth as the tail withdrew. He stood, looking truly confused, then momentarily stumbled forward before losing his footing, tumbling, suffering the same fate of his horse in the crevasse below.

More horses panicked and fell to their death. Shendai, amongst the chaos, had managed to retrieve a lance before her horse plummeted to its end. She had been directly behind Atlann on the trail. The beast’s eyes were on her.

Within the midst of the savage madness, one of “those who can not be seen” yelled, the words echoed through her brain, “under the scales!”. In a meteoric flash, the dragon's tail came whipping towards her. She parried the attack. In an instant she ran and using the canyon wall as a springboard, jumped on to the back of the beast.

Its spiked armor penetrated the flesh of her legs and feet as her blood began to flow. Its armored scales overlapped in a downward angle. She thrust the blade of her lance with all her might upward under the scales into its neck. The dragon roared, screamed and instinctively stood straight up in an attempt to dislodge its attacker.

The dragon's armor had pierced so deep into Shendai’s flesh she would not simply fall off. The dragon in a desperate attempt to kill Shendai thrust its great horned tail downward towards its back. It would have killed Shendai instantly, yet she was too far back on the beast for its tail to curve and reach her. Instead the great horn sunk deep into the muscles of its back, ripping through scales and creating a gaping wound.

Screaming and thrashing about in utter terror the dragon simply lost its grip and went tumbling into the crevasse along with Shendai.

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Shendai awoke on the sandy bottom of the crevasse floor. She strained to turn her head sideways and spit out some of her teeth. Her breathing was labored. She coughed and spit up blood, she could not quite remember why or how she had come to be there.

She managed after several tries to turn onto her back and she forced open her eyes that had been crusted shut by dried blood. She managed to shimmy backwards and hoist herself up to a sitting position against the canyon wall. Horses' bodies lay dead and mangled. Atlan! Oh Atlan, his body also lay twisted, and dead upon the canyon floor. It was then the horror of her reality came flooding back. Smashing against outcroppings on the wall of the canyon must have separated her from the dragon.

There just beyond the carnage, broken and trapped, pinned by jagged rocks and smashed between the crevasse walls, was the beast. Clinging to life it stared at Shendai intently, its eyes unblinking its breathing shallow. Its eyes narrowed and it said,'' You smell, little monkey. Yes, you smell of death- and I will be delighted when it comes for you, but you also have a disgusting underlying odor.”

For the first time in her life she was terrified..for an instant. “It spoke.” She was not speaking to it. “ How am I supposed to do that? My legs are a bloody punctured mess. I can't believe I retained enough blood to stay alive. Why do I have to do it now?” It's dying.” Her face, hugely swollen, was covered with bloody mud, and she strained to speak.

The dragon, truly puzzled, engaged with her once again.”Little monkey, with whom do you speak?” Shendai just glared at the dragon with hate in her eyes. “ You know, monkey, whoever it is, they are correct. You should in fact, kill me now. We are not as low on the evolutionary chain as you, monkey. Over the next hours I will regenerate, I will then dislodge myself, I will climb over your dead horses, your very dead friend, and ever so slowly I will tear off your smelly little head.”

Shendai laughed, a hearty real laugh, “ Oh, I would love that! But unfortunately it is not my time, or so they tell me. So one of three things happens. Either I somehow manage to get that bow out of Atlans hand, I shoot out your eyes and in the process my arrows pierce your brain and you die here. Or, you never regenerate and you die here. Or, you do regenerate but obviously you can't or don’t kill me.”

Shendai laughed again, this time coughing up blood. The dragon contemplated what it had heard, instinctively protective lenses shooting up to cover the creature's eyes. Again Shendai laughed, coughing blood. “Please lizard, do not make me laugh. Any of those scenarios are fine with me but your odds of survival are one in three. If I don’t kill you after you have regenerated.”

The dragon is a bit less confident, “You are a witch?” “No, I am not, I am insane! I am also a captain of the guard.” Shendai wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. The creature eyed her more suspiciously now.

Shendai again speaks to “those that can not be seen.” “When the time comes, I am tired. It speaks. Let me deal with it.” The dragon knew it might be dying but this was making it very nervous. Shendai made eye contact with it, “ You speak our tongue.”

The dragon laughed,” Your tongue? You monkeys are quite linguistically challenged, 90 percent of your communication is physical. You are not much different than your evil, little, screaming, chirping hairy brothers. We have watched you vile savage creatures proliferate for thousands of years. Killing everything that moves, you are a predator that the planet does not need.”

These words truly caught Shendai off guard. “We have lived in this valley peacefully for a thousand years.” The dragon shook its head,” Peacefully? We know your nature. Dragons do not kill dragons. You are barborus and hateful creatures, fiendish and corrupt. You will never know peace. Humans killing humans is a way of life.”

“Do not speak with it. It is buying time.” “I know it's buying time, but it's hard to argue with.” Shendai again was mumbling to herself. In the Yastasi culture, the few that communicated with those from beyond were special and to be honored. This made this situation even more uncomfortable for the dragon.

The two were silent for a long time.The sun that had painted the canyon wall retreated back toward which it came, leaving the canyon basked in shadow. Shendai faded off to sleep, badly needing water and stained head to toe in dried blood.

She woke to find the mighty dragon standing over her. “I guess you regenerated.” The dragon roared violently, baring its fangs, then grabbed Shendai by the face with one clawed hand. “Monkey, there are two reasons I am not ripping you apart. First, you want to die, I will not ease your suffering. Second, you are not insane. The dead have chosen to speak to you. This means even a monkey can be special.”

“Monkey, we will cleanse the valley of your sickness and then there will truly be peace here. As we speak I am certain Yatasi are purging the northern valley of your scum, as was the plan. My advice to you, monkey captain, is that if you do not die down here, leave this valley, for the next time we meet… It will be my pleasure to smash your smelly little body upon the rocks.”

The dragon smiled and dragged one of its razor sharp claws diagonally across her face. Over her eye, across her nose and lips, splaying open a face already smashed. It jumped straight up, scampered up the sheer crevasse wall, and was gone.

This was the beginning of the war.