The Heir and the Demon

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.”

Therian hesitated and tried to gather his bearings, not sure, at first, that he had heard anything. The city hummed with activity despite the oppressive afternoon heat. Workers bustled past him down the cobblestone streets of the trade district, deftly maneuvering their way around teetering piles of boxes and barrels. Every now and then a person on horseback would pass by and the crowd would push back against the walls, grumbling, to make way. While not entirely overwhelmed, Therian was uncomfortable. He was not accustomed to being on foot and the smell of unwashed bodies and rotten produce was made all the more unpleasant by the heat. Once a litter passed, carried by four enormous men and escorted in front and back by footguards. It was an oddity to see nobility in this part of the city and the throng stared inquisitively after it as it passed. The richly colored curtains were drawn, hiding the identity of the passenger, nevertheless Therian turned his face away and pressed himself further into the crowd. He now found himself near a large pile of crates that were being loaded from a dark and narrow alley onto a creaking cart pulled by a tired-looking donkey.

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” This time Therian was sure he was being spoken to. He peered down the alley and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows he made out a figure in the darkness. An old man was leaning against the stone wall of one of the buildings, staring intensely at Therian. Therian glanced up and down the street, then cautiously stepped closer. Though the alley smelled even worse than the main thoroughfare, he was grateful to be out of the crowd and the glaring sunlight.

“Did you say something?”

The old man nodded. “There weren’t always dragons,” he repeated, then lowered his voice, “there used to be something much worse. Some say…” he looked around furtively before narrowing his eyes, “some say that an unfathomable evil is still there, and that the dragons are there to keep us from it. There are those that say the dragons are a blessing and not a curse.”

Therian hesitated. “I thought that there had always been dragons in the valley. For hundreds of years, at least.”

The old man chuckled. He lurched away from the wall, using a knobbled staff to bear the brux of his weight. Despite the heat most of his body was concealed under a long cloak. “Hundreds of years isn’t forever, boy.”

Therian was unimpressed. “Stories. Children’s stories and fairy tales. You won’t get any coin from me for your theatrics.”

The old man scowled and his eyes flashed. “Your coin is worthless to me!” He spat on the ground for emphasis. “They are not stories. They are the truth!” He lowered his voice again. “I know, boy, for I have seen them. Hundreds of years ago, I was there!”

“Now I know you are either a liar or madman.”

“I am as sharp now as ever I was.” He leaned closer and Therian reeled back. A stale smell of smoke and decay emanated from the old man. “How old would you guess I am, boy?”

Therian was backing out of the alley. He’d had enough. “No idea.” He muttered, adding under his breath, “Crooked old fool.” He paused in the glare of the sunlit street to catch his bearings.

“Over three hundred years, young master!” Therian picked the direction that looked least familiar and started walking as the man shouted at him from the alley. “Old enough to remember the fall of the House Burchard!”

Therian stopped abruptly and spun around to face the old man, who had by now made it halfway into the street. How could he have known? In the sunlight Therian could see fine strands of wispy hair clinging to the old man’s mottled head. His skin was thin and almost translucent, crossed with countless lines and wrinkles. It reminded Therian of a piece of parchment paper that had been crumpled and smoothed over. He could almost believe that the creature before him had been around for three centuries.

“What do you know of the House Burchard?” Therian’s hand instinctively reached to his side for a sword that wasn’t there. The old man chuckled. “I was young then, but I remember, even after all these years. I remember the Great Betrayal. I remember…” he paused, sucking at the discolored remnants of his teeth, “I remember the Ter Agul.”

Therian shivered. It was a word that one hesitated to whisper behind closed doors. Even a madman would be unlikely to utter such a name in a crowded street. It felt out of place in the bright light of the afternoon sun. Therian glanced about the see if anyone had overheard. Just then, he heard shouting from across the street.

“Over there! Grab him!”

A trio of city guards were bearing down on them, swords drawn. Their eyes were not on the old man but on Therian. A stocky woman in a coarse, brown dress was loading crates onto a wagon in the middle of the street. The soldiers shoved their way around her and Therian could hear her cursing loudly at them as he dashed past the old man into the alley. To his great relief the far end of the alley was not blocked. As he dashed past piles of garbage and stinking puddles of putrid liquid, he was grateful, for the first time, to be unencumbered by sword or armor. He could hear the soldiers pursuing him and the old man laughing in the distance.

At the entrance to the alley, the woman spat after the soldiers and heaved her crate onto the wagon. She turned to the old man.

“Time to go, da. What was that all about? A friend of yours?”

The old man chuckled as he pulled himself onto the front seat of the wagon. “One of the Burchard boys. Getting into trouble, as usual, I reckon.”

“Yeah? There’s an odd lot. Surprised he admitted who he was.”

“Oh, he didn’t.” The old man tapped his nose knowingly and winked at his daughter as she grabbed the donkey’s harness. “But I could tell. They have a look about them, that lot. Something about the eyes.” He puffed himself up and sat up straighter. “When you get to be old as I am, you learn to observe a thing or two about people.”

His daughter groaned. “Oy, come off it. If you want to see sixty you’ll have to learn to stop mucking about with strangers.”

The old man chuckled gleefully. Slowly, the old cart creaked into motion and they made their way carefully up the crowded street.