The Frozen Empire

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Those who lived in the Sunmarch thought they went extinct centuries ago, when the Snowfall covered the Empire. Others, more formally educated, believed the dragons abandoned their nesting grounds as the Meerandalese armies tried to expand beyond the enchanted winter. Either way, the Empire failed to outrun the curse and the dragons, like so many other creatures, disappeared. One more loss among many as the Snowfall ruthlessly blanketed each conquered nation brought under the Empire's mantle.

Until the juggernaut's expansion finally halted in favor of survival.

Neighboring kingdoms, still green with farmland, orchard, and pasture, now thrived under wealthy trade agreements with the Empire. For the Sunmarch, it was too late. The Meerandalese Empire's final conquest, once a rich nation with dark soil and bountiful harvests, the Sunmarch was now a winter province spotted with sparse, sturdy forests and reindeer herds.

Along its southern border, the Valley, once a green place where dragons nested and sung in the heights, was now an icy passage of pitfalls and dead-end ravines. Frequented by snowcats, heraptors, and other large predators, it was fifteen leagues of white-walled cliffs and pillars that emanated a chill not entirely physical.

Where the gentle roll of the Sunmarch reared abruptly into the impenetrable wall of the mountains, two men waited. The air was crisp on their reddened cheeks, but the sun was bright and the wind was gentle. They were comfortable in their fine leathers and furs, and sunshields protected their eyes from the snow’s bright glare. Barely out of boyhood, both of them gripped their spears tightly as they gazed up the slope towards the gaping entrance to the Valley.

Their gear was wrapped against the cold, and their weapons were strapped under their backpacks, where body heat would help ward off the frost. Aside from their tense grip on their weapon, they appeared nonchalant, caring nothing for great bears or grichen. They'd come for another prize.

While at Icewatch there were over a dozen noble advisors and attendants, all happy to organize and execute the countless details of their mission. When the most that was expected of them was to stay out of the way, boredom pushed the youths to latch onto any distraction. When a random soldier arrived from his post near the southern mountains, they latched onto his report with an almost exaggerated zeal.

Dragons had returned to the Valley.

Thaniel initially found the news to be a curiosity. That the soldier did see something, just not a dragon. Then Arkyn told him that wyrms were appearing more often in his own northern kingdom. And then Thaniel overheard his personal guards discussing wyrm sightings in remote regions of the Empire. For the most part, the Orphan Swords were practical men, not prone to gossip, so there must've been some truth to it all.

So, doubting his own doubt, Thaniel gave in to curiosity and let Arkyn talk him into a "dragonhunt".

Now, six hours after leaving their horses in the sheltered safety of a remote homestead, his enthusiasm was starting to wane. His tall, lean body was young and fit, but half a day of hiking the barren tundra, and snowshoeing over countless hill-sized drifts, was wearing on his mind. The realities of his recent choices were seeping into his thoughts.

Thaniel was increasingly convinced that Arkyn genuinely believed they were going to kill the dragon. The Adling’s confidence was remarkable. When he'd agreed to the "dragonhunt", Thaniel thought Arkyn's declaration was a boastful jest, a robust way of justifying a temporary escape from the political drudgery of their responsibilities.

Thaniel now realized he was an idiot.

His own goal, to see for himself that dragons were not lost to the world, was benign next to the passionate nature of the Adlings. The people of Svonador used war and treasure the same way Meerandalese children played games for treats. Adlings thrived on legendary stories of battle courage and glory. Their shield-maidens fought alongside the men, their children wrestled dogs, and blood-feuds lasted for generations. All of it was everyday life. And Arkyn Vadirsson was not only a true Adling, he was an Adling Prince, the sworn Heir of Svonador.

In retrospect, it was perfectly realistic to assume he'd believe they'd go kill a dragon and be back at Icewatch for dinner.

And while that was discouraging enough, Thaniel was fully aware of his responsibility in this. He'd given in to a personal desire, which led to an impulsively selfish choice to leave Icewatch without a word to anyone. It wasn't just irresponsible, it was childish. He cringed, in his mind the word was heard—loudly—in his father's scornful tone. Thaniel was the Emperor's only heir, the future of the Empire. The last place he should be was isolated with a foreign prince, a day away from any support or protection, and hunting one of the world's apex predators.

Turning around with a glum expression on his face he met the deceptively cunning, sleepy-lidded gaze of his companion.

“What’s wrong, Imperial-heir?” The older youth flashed him an impish grin, his Adling accent heavy and gruff. “Second guessing? Afraid?”

Thaniel eyed his new friend wearily. “I’m not afraid, Adling-heir, but..." he grimaced in acknowledgment, "but yes, my father won’t be pleased to hear of this. Losing me would be a despicable waste of his time and resources.”

Arkyn flashed him a skeptical look, causing the spiked rune tattoo over his eye to arch. “The children of Svonador would call you volla.”

“Volla?”

“I’ve heard your men say ‘pusi’…from your word pusillanimous,” Arkyn laughed, his broad cheeks and nose rosy around his blond beard. “You Meerandalese, your language is as haughty as your nobility, I have trouble with it.”

Thaniel sighed. Evidently Arkyn had no trouble with the Meerandalese language. “Clearly the children of Svonador haven't met the Meerandalese Emperor, or they'd be volla too.”

Arkyn continued laughing as he brushed pass Thaniel, his strong legs carrying him swiftly up the slope, where stone and dry yellow grass poked through the snow.

Thaniel pulled his sunshield down to his chin and brushed dark hair out of his face. Even at his young age, years of squinting away the snow-reflected sunlight had begun to mark the tan skin around his hereditary amber-gold eyes. His step-mother, the Empress Aeriene, told him the lines would deepen handsomely with age, but he knew it was only his father's strong nose and jaw that would save his smooth face from looking boyish in manhood.

“Cowardly or no,” he muttered, “The road back to Nol Brannor will be long and quiet. The Orphans won't be pleased with the position I put them in."

Arkyn shrugged. “You're the Belmoren heir, your pretty eyes prove that, why worry on the Emperor’s wrath? I hear it is as common and as fleeting as a thunderstorm.”

Thaniel considered Arkyn’s words and frowned. The thought of his only heir risking not only his own life, but also the life of the Adling prince, would enrage the Emperor like nothing else. As the Imperial Heir, Thaniel was virtually untouchable but, because of this, it would be those closest to him who would suffer. This vulnerability cut him deeper than any blade ever could, since his father knew of this weakness, was disgusted by it, and exploited it.

The worst part was that the Emperor would be entirely justified in his anger. If anything happened to the Adling prince, especially while under guest-protection of the Empire, it would be a political nightmare. And it would be entirely Thaniel's fault. He side-eyed the broad young warrior, highly doubting he could carry him back across the tundra.

The Adling royal family was said to be descended from giants, and began training for combat as soon as they were old enough to pick-up a spear. Standing well over six feet, with wild hair and massive arms, Arkyn embodied this. His dark leather armor was skillfully decorated with fine bear and wolf teeth, talons, and claws, and his handsome, rakish face suited his knavish personality. It was this roguish side of Arkyn's demeaner that worried Thaniel. It led the prince to fight with an advantageous recklessness in their training that was both admirable and asinine. Thaniel had no doubt at all that the Adling would take on the dragon when they found it. It was whether or not his friend survived the fight that was the real concern.

Just beyond the entrance to the Valley they found their first true signs of dragon. The bare remains of what must've once been a reindeer lay scattered near a large flat rock. The crushed bones and scraps could've been left by any predator, but the scorch marks and charred fur left little doubt that this was the remains of a dragon's meal. A distinct scent in the air would've eliminated even that small doubt.

“Dragon,” Arkyn explained, when he noticed Thaniel’s reaction to the smell. “I think this one might be getting ready to mate, they use scent to attract females.”

“Arkyn,” Thaniel straightened. “It seems foolish to interrupt a mating dragon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Arkyn scoffed, still studying the ground. “This one couldn't get a queen if he tried. It’s maybe eight or ten feet, from shoulder to hind quarters; couldn't steal a mate from a Kingsire.”

Thaniel eyed him. Perhaps dragons were more common than he thought in Svonador. "You got all that from charred reindeer bones?"

Arkyn grinned at him. "Some of the great wyrms can grow to over forty feet, they hunt the mammoths and whales of the northern coast. Prey like this is a snack, barely worth the effort." He pointed to a series of gouges and claw-marks in the dirt, leading deeper into the Valley, "this dragon is fat from food, too heavy to fly. He will find a safe place to sleep until he can.”

Thaniel examined his spear. Like Arkyn’s, it was about four feet long with a finely shaped and heavily barbed tip. The spearhead was designed to pierce a target’s hide, break, then use the creature’s movements to work deeper into the body.

He looked back at Arkyn, who was running long fingers through the muddy snow. “Just under an hour,” the Adling said, “see how the heat from the dragon melted the snow, turning the dirt to mud.”

Despite his misgivings, Thaniel found himself grinning at this friend, feeling the anticipation of the hunt start to settle on him. It was getting real now.

Two hours later, they found the wyrm bathing on a mound of sun warmed rock along the Valley floor. Watching the sleeping beast from a ledge nearly a dozen feet above, Thaniel felt awed.

His tutor had once indulged him in a study of dragons; an enjoyable distraction for a nine-year-old forced to memorize the six dozen familial bloodlines of Meerandalon. The vast library of the Palace was a formidable archive, but even its wealth of knowledge and history didn't prepare Thaniel for the sight of a living, breathing dragon.

Its wings lay open to the sunlight, their mass surprising him. Each wing was easily twice the length of the dragon, the thinner membrane protected by rough scales and ribs. The plates were a complimentary blend of snowy white to stony gray-brown, allowing the dragon to blend with the surrounding landscape.

He admired the dragon’s long, pale head, the ribbed spikes framing the jaw and eye ridges. Powerful, bulging muscles built up around the shoulders and wings then spread down its sinewy back and strong hind quarters. The body and legs were cat-like, with a sleek grace. The dragon’s belly was bloated and it curled around it protectively, its long, sinewy tail twitching lazily. Thick, yellow talons flexed subconsciously in slumber.

From where he stood, Thaniel could feel the heat of the wyrm on his face, rising in warm waves on the crisp air. A dragon’s blood supposedly blazed like fire in its veins, in this moment, he could believe it. The scent of the dragon rose with the warmth, surrounding him in an almost primitive atmosphere. He inhaled deeply. It wasn't a bad scent, just interesting.

Looking at the ancient creature, he wasn't sure if what he felt was fear…or awe. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

Arkyn crouched beside him, staring down at the wyrm. Like Thaniel, he studied the dragon intently, though he showed little appreciation for its beauty. “They are a nuisance,” he muttered. “A dragon that size can devour an entire shema herd in a month, along with the men protecting the herd. Beautiful or not, it has to die.” He narrowed his eyes at the ground around the dragon. “No ice,” he observed quietly.

Patches of damp stone surrounded the dragon, where the wyrm’s heat cleared the rock. Arkyn grinned. “A dragon has three vulnerable spots,” he muttered to Thaniel, “the eye, the throat where the jaw meets the neck, and under the neck shield, between the shoulder blades. Each of these targets means a mortal injury." He hesitated, then added, "his bloated stomach might be weak, but worry about that last.”

Thaniel nodded, noting instantly what Arkyn meant about the neck shield. While sleeping, the dragon's head was lowered and his thick ridge of neck armor flared slightly over the shoulders, hopefully exposing the flesh beneath. Arkyn looked at him, making sure he heard before punching his arm reassuringly and smiling. The Adling prince then stood up, raising his spear and aiming below him with his other arm.

“Just how many dragons have you killed?” Thaniel finally found the courage to ask.

Arkyn’s smile turned into a wicked grin, “two...and a half.”

Leaving Thaniel sitting in surprise, Arkyn leapt off the ledge. Thaniel lunged forward to watch, eyes wide, as his friend landed on top of the dragon, plunging his spear under the neck armor. The dragon’s head whipped up, his jaws spewing white liquid fire as an enraged snarl echoed off the cliffs. The sound was startling, a blasting roar like a great rush of wind, choking out around the molten vomit of the dragon. Where the dragonfire touched the ground it sizzled and spat like hot grease in a pan, burning briefly before smoldering out.

In dismay, Thaniel watched as Arkyn staggered with the wyrm’s movement, his spear recoiling off the dragonscale to slice into the flesh instead of stab. As the dragon lurched in response, Arkyn was flung to the side, landing in a roll on the long wing and breaking his spear.

Thaniel followed his friend.

From the moment he left the ledge everything was a blur. Thaniel landed with a thud on the writhing, warm body, but was almost instantly thrown through the air again. He hit the ground on his side, rolling and gasping as the breath was knocked out of his lungs. His eyes blurred briefly in stunned pain as he stopped, and he blinked several times to clear his head. From somewhere behind him he heard Arkyn let out an Adling war cry. And then the wyrm's answering scream.

With a grunt, Thaniel rolled to his feet in time to see the dragon staring around at him, its golden eyes blazing with intelligent rage. He bulked, shocked by the sight, until the dragon opened its jaws, its red mouth gaping wide. Too late he realized the danger as white fire exploded from the beast’s maw.

Thaniel threw himself to the side, rolling to put out the eerie flames on his sleeve as they swiftly spread up his arm. The dragonfire was not like any fire he'd known. The liquid flames rolled over his arm, clinging with agonizing stubbornness. With a muttered curse at his own stupidity he extinguished the fire in a shallow puddle of melted, muddy snow. Then, trying to ignore the intense pain, he climbed awkwardly back to his feet.

Clutching his spear, Thaniel twisted just in time to dodge the dragon’s head as it lunged for him, fangs snapping in the sunlight. He stabbed out with the spear, hoping to hit the beast in its yellow eye. He missed, hitting the bony ridge that protected the wyrm’s neck instead. His spear slid along the side of the dragon’s head, scratching the heavy natural armor and drawing a thin stream of blood.

The wound was significant enough to cause pain and the dragon let out another roar, steam and spittle spraying. The sound echoed off the cliffs, causing snow to loosen and fall. Feeling the dragon’s heat surround him, Thaniel leapt away, twisting behind the wyrm. Arkyn was there, between the dragon and the cliff. The roguish warrior was slashing at the wyrm’s tail-end, his axe a blur as he swung it in wide arcs, trying to distract the dragon from Thaniel.

Draconic roars surrounded them, their volume intensified by the echoes on the cliffs. The beast turned to face them, its movements awkward and slow. Its belly dragged roughly on the stones and it curled its great wings to try and protect it. Still, the dragon’s neck was long, and its head pivoted with snake-like speed.

Snowy white flames blasted at Arkyn. The young warrior leapt out of the way, almost as though he were dancing. Thaniel turned and hurled his spear at the wyrm’s head, watching in satisfaction as it sliced open the dragon’s narrow snout. The beast let out a bellow of pain and turned yellow eyes back on Thaniel, blood staining its pale face. Again the intelligent hatred and rage of the gaze caught the Imperial prince off guard.

Dragons were animals. There was no mention in any of his studies of the wyrms being intelligent. But this creature looked at him as though it understood everything that was happening. It was aware.

“Thaniel, look out!”

Thaniel saw the dragon’s powerful tail arc towards him. No time to dodge, the thick, scaly whip caught him full in the chest. The air was again knocked out of him as he felt himself thrown through the air. He wasn't sure if it was a tree or rock he hit, but he was fully sure of the burning pain blazing through him. Shaking his head slowly he rolled onto his side, feeling fresh, wet blood drip down his leg.

Blinking the sweat out of his eyes and gasping for breath he looked at the battle before him. Arkyn was racing around and over the dragon, hacking at the wyrm with his axe. With lightning strikes, the dragon snapped at him, bellowing in fury as Arkyn laughed and dodged out of harm’s way.

Grimly, Thaniel pulled Kordrig, his own sword, out of its scabbard and climbed to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his chest he staggered forward, quickly gaining speed as he raced at the dragon’s back. Letting out a scream, he slammed the sword down on the dragon’s leg. A bone cracked under the force of the blow and the cry of agony that escaped the dragon wrenched at his conscience.

Arkyn wasted no time, using the dragon’s distraction he lunged forward, thrusting his broken spear at the softness of the beast’s throat, but again the dragon was too quick. Snaking its head around, the wyrm thrust it forward like a ram, catching Arkyn full in the chest with all the power of its rage. With a savage snarl, the beast used its momentum to crush Arkyn between its large skull and the rocky face of the cliff.

“No!” Thaniel’s scream mingled with the sound of Arkyn’s shout of pain and he lunged forward, hacking at the dragon’s neck. Thaniel was aware of his friend’s body falling limply to the ground as the dragon lumbered backwards, favoring its wounded leg as it turned to face him. Thaniel backed up, raising his sword as he stared into the wyrm’s murderous face.

He did not make the same mistake twice. This time when the corded muscles twitched on the dragon’s back, Thaniel was prepared. Spinning around he leapt over the long tail as it whipped by, rolling painfully on his shoulder and curling to his feet. The dragon maneuvered into a safer position, its back against the cliff wall and its tail twitching dangerously around its left side. Shuddering, Thaniel realized that if the dragon was this fast after a full feeding, he could not imagine it at the peak of its strength.

Preparing to dodge fire, he lunged forward and raised his sword. He did not expect the wyrm to use its claws. It reared up, risking its vulnerable stomach as it lashed out with front talons like a cat. Thaniel skidded out of the way, his boots gripping the stone surface of the ground as ivory talons sliced through his studded leather. The tip of the dragon’s claw caught his undershirt, knocking him off his feet and onto his back. A thin line of fire across his chest told him his body did not escaped unscathed. Terror filled him as he looked into the gleaming eyes of the monstrous beast. He saw victory in those eyes even as his body moved to twist out of the way of inevitability.

Thaniel felt grief. He wished there were a way to tell his step-mother of his death, to let her know his final thoughts were of his family. Then he heard the command. It was a powerful, feminine voice, snapping like a whip across the Valley. Full of authority and rage, it spoke one word: “Enough!”

His eyes flew open as the voice resounded in his head, consuming mind and thought with its intensity. It was almost brutal, demanding complete and utter attention. Shamefully, through the pain and volume, Thaniel felt an overpowering and completely ridiculous urge to obey this voice. The only other person to demand such obedience from him was his father.

Confused, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the dragon, its serpentine head turned away from him. Steam rose from his bloodied nostrils as it twisted its ivory body around. Its whip like tail snapped, sending a shock through the still air. Thaniel crawled further back, away from the danger.

The second thing Thaniel saw was the woman, storming down the ravine on a direct course for the dragon. She was exotic and almost inhuman with golden tanned skin, smooth and creamy over an angular face. Braided and wild, her hair was a vibrant orange-red mass, with a single black lock sweeping back from her brow. Her eyes were large and green-hazel, with long dark lashes and a fierce intensity.

Tall, she had long, slender legs and a sleek figure covered entirely from booted feet to narrow jaw in tight leather armor that absorbed the light and fit her like a second skin. She carried no possessions, save for a bow worn over her left shoulder and a small pouch, sword, and quiver at her waist. The blade was a serious, elegant weapon unlike any Thaniel had ever seen before with, no cross-guard and a foreign, rounded hilt.

Barely offering his fallen body a contemptuous glare, she passed him by. In horror, he watched as she stormed up to the dragon, raising her arm furiously in a fist before her. Her gloved finger-tips glinted with claws, and the sight gave him a shiver. As he watched, she began shouting at the wyrm in a foreign, guttural language that Thaniel, for all his studies, did not recognize.

He did recognize the dragon’s reaction to the woman. It was flinching away from her, apprehensive of her anger. No dragon would cower before a human like that...would they? Perhaps she’s not human at all?

Finally the woman pointed south, deeper into the Valley, and it sounded as though she were repeating herself to be sure she was understood. The dragon raised its head and gazed southwards, a rumbling growl emerging from its throat. The slender woman furiously shook her head and pointed down the ravine a third time, her gesture impatient as she repeated her final few words. The dragon lowered its head, its upper lip twitching in a hesitant, defiant snarl.

Thaniel thought the woman was sure to be attacked, and most certainly he did not expect her next action. With a lightning quick motion her hand snapped out, grabbing the wyrm by its wounded snout. Furiously, she jerked its head down to stare her in the eyes. The dragon let out a muted roar of pain, but was silenced instantly as she snarled at him, a sound dangerously similar to the dragon’s own. Then, releasing the beast’s head with another jerk, she stepped back with a fierce glare, gesturing south for the final time.

A low, incomprehensible sound escaped Thaniel’s throat as the wyrm let out a deep rumbling growl, lifting its lip at her. She stood undaunted, no fear in her alien eyes as she stared down the dragon. As the beast opened its mouth an arrow shot down from the cliffs, embedding in the deep armor of it’s shoulder. The dragon barked a cry of surprise as all eyes turned to the cliffs above. Six cloaked figures lined the ledges, staring down at them with bows drawn and arrows aimed at the wyrm.

They were odds the injured dragon was not interested in. With a low snarl it turned to leave, ambling down the ravine and favoring its hind leg. Thaniel stared after it in disbelief, before the woman suddenly turned on him. She came at him so fast that he was forced to crawl backwards along the ground, Kordrig raised protectively above him.

“What in the Abyss were you thinking?!!"

She spoke Meerandalese fluently, though her accent lent her voice an attractive, regal quality. Thaniel hesitated. With a speed that further shocked him, she stepped forward, kicking Kordrig out of his hand and lunging for him. Grabbing his leathers, she dragged him to his feet with a surprising strength. He stumbled, pain flaring through his lower leg, but she didn't let go. Instead, she pulled him close, her gaze studying his amber-gold eyes.

“I...?” He began, unsure what to say. This entire moment was surreal.

She never gave him a chance to figure it out. “Nevermind! There is nothing you can say to justify your stupidity!” He opened his mouth to respond, but again she cut him off. “Have you any idea how many drvakae are left?!”

With a look of disgust she turned towards the nearest cliff. Keeping a hand on Thaniel’s collar, she dragged him behind. Too shocked to think, Thaniel stumbled after her, feeling like a fool as she kept him unceremoniously at her heal. He'd never been handled like this in his life, and was too stunned to react.

Among the loose stones and rubble of the cliff base they found Arkyn, crumpled to the ground and apparently unconscious. “No!” Seeing his injured friend, Thaniel broke free of the woman’s hold to lay a hand on Arkyn’s bloody shoulder. The woman glowered at the Adling prince's body, then abruptly kicked him in the side.

“What are you doing?!” Thaniel shouted, finally growing angry.

She ignored him and spoke to the young Adling. “Get up. You're fine."

Arkyn grunted and, squinting up at the woman, grinned. “That was a great gambol.”

The woman pinched her lips in annoyance. “Adlings,” she muttered, shaking her head in disgust.

Arkyn grimaced bitterly and climbed to his feet, tenderly prodding his chest and flinching in pain. The Adling had a broken rib or two, that was certain. The healer at Icewatch would see to them both when – and if – they arrived back at the fortress. No one would be impressed with their efforts.

“Who are they?” he asked quietly, watching as the woman turned to look impatiently at them. Arkyn shook his head, but grabbed Thaniel’s uninjured arm and moved to follow her. Thaniel paused, looking at the Adling in disbelief. “You're going to obey her? You?”

Arkyn looked at Thaniel, his face a grimace of self mockery. “You're going to disobey her? Them?” He flicked a glance upwards, but the others were gone. “It's best not to question this until we know what's happening.”

Remembering how the woman faced the dragon, fearless and undaunted, Thaniel frowned. He was sure the Adling knew something, but had no idea what to do about it. Thaniel’s own arm was red, and hurt terribly where the dragon seared it. Blood still trickled down his leg, and with each breath his chest flared painfully. Gritting his teeth against the pain of his injuries, he pushed forward.

This day was far from over.