The Hatchers

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. According to the official record, it was my grandfather who first introduced them here, bringing modern farming techniques from the northern regions to the small farmlands down south. An immensely strong beast with the ability to fly, the flames they produce can be used for slash-and-burn fertilisation or weed-flaming, and they are the single most effective scarecrow possible; the dragon was an all-purpose work animal.

According to the official record, my family is an offshoot of the great Hatcher clan that has two hundred years of history in dragon breeding. The reality was different, but that didn’t stop us from becoming the only breeders in the region, with the only female. Every customer within ten leagues had to buy from us or risk falling behind their competition, whether they wanted a work animal, security animal, or household pet. It was because of a pet owner that I had been called out today.

I will never advise having a dragon as a pet. As useful and intelligent as a dragon was, it was still a beast.

The charred corpse of the man and his wife were sprawled across the floor just inside the remains of their house. It looked like the fire had started in their living room, still smoking in areas, but the caved in roof had exposed the bodies. A deep resentment swelled in me for recognising the smell of a burnt human.

The dragon was screaming through its muzzle. The metallic screech was both a terrifying and heart-breaking sound as it scrambled beneath the chains keeping it tied to the ground. Its wings were held shut, unable to spread outwards in the harness we had managed to slip around the torso. It trusted me right up until we pulled the chains that forced the dragon down and onto its belly. Its claws scratched into the dirt and its tail whipped left and right, threatening to break the shins of anyone who walked too close.

A member of my family was present at every hatching, to ensure the dragon was imprinted on us. It made it possible for us to pay visits, perform health checks, and, as in this case, euthanasia. The dragon would remember all those present at its hatching for its entire life. They were fiercely loyal, and dangerously territorial. Knowing this was the only reason I had yet to put the dragon down.

I remember the owners, the Beaumonts, a rich couple looking to retire to a scenic valley like ours. They were both pompous and ostentatious in their desire to own a dragon, but they were not cruel or stupid. They treated it much like one would treat a dog, laughing and clapping like children when the hatchling had spit its first flames. They were going to spoil the dragon, not provoke it into killing them.

The dragon seemed distraught at their deaths. I could see its golden eyes constantly looking towards their bodies, pupils wide, angry. When I first arrived it was aggressive towards anyone else who came near, spitting flames towards the couple’s servants and roaring in aggression, but it did not leave their side.

I knelt down next to the dragon’s head and rested my gloved hand on its brow, rubbing my thumb along the scales.

“Shhh, boy.” I said softly, leaning in close. “We’ll bring you home with us.”

“Sir…” My assistant said. “We were told to put it down, we didn’t bring a cage with us.”

“Then you better go get one.” I shot them a harsh look and they quickly ran off.

“We called you here to kill the beast!” A man shouted. Turning, I could see he was one of the staff. “That monster killed my boss!” The staff that were still around all shouted in agreement. They were angry and unsure of their futures.

“You called me to deal with the dragon. And I will, in my way.” I said. My hand was rubbing up and down the dragons face, its golden eyes calming as it looked up into my own. “And if you don’t like it I can just take the muzzle off and let you deal with it.” In response, the staff grew silent and started to drift away, leaving me alone with the dragon and the Beaumonts.

When they were far enough away, I loosened the chains on the dragon slightly, giving it room to move around before I walked into the remains of the house. It smelled of burnt wood, the distinct sulphur of dragon breath, and the burnt couple. I started to taste bile in the back of my throat. I kicked a collapsed beam of wood out of my way, a white swirl of ash floating up into my face.

The colour was gone from the house. What used to be reds and greens, golds and bronze, was all now either scorched black or ash white. It took minutes for me to make out the shape of what used to be a fireplace. Some heat was still present, despite the fire burning out almost two days ago. The dragon had prevented anyone from getting this close.

I was the first to investigate.

Reaching into my pocked I pulled out a dragonling. He was small, the size of my hand, but eager and energetic once awake and allowed to move. He ran up to my shoulder. “Morning Turner, have a look around.” I whispered, and he eagerly jumped from me and glided down to the floor to rummage through. I had trained Turner to grab anything that could survive dragon flame, which is mostly rocks and higher quality steel.

I was hoping to find the remains of some jewellery, most precious stones and gems could survive and the Beaumonts were wealthy after all. But what Turner brought me was far less valuable, and far more dangerous.

According to the official record, it was my grandfather who first introduced dragons to the valley. But the Silver Dragon Scale that Turner found in the ruins of the Beaumont house, and was now hidden deep in my pocket, proved it all to be a lie.