The Kingdom of Lantor

PROLOGUE

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” Sylvan sighed, gazing wistfully out of the tunnel exit. “There was beauty and peace only eight moons ago.”

Ash ran a whetstone over his axe blade. It was sharp enough but it gave him something to do with his hands. He glanced up at the Chief currently passing around bottles of fire resistance to the assembled crew.

The elf continued. “Children used to play in the streams. The sunset would bring poets, brushing their fingers in long grasses; and lovers wrapped in blankets would gaze at the stars.”

The Chief clicked her tongue. “Take your potion, Syl. Focus.”

Sylvan took the fire bottle that little Jin had been wafting under his nose unnoticed, and duly gulped down a dose.

Ash usually loved listening to Sylvan wax poetic but the elf was dragging the mood down. After months of monitoring the dragon’s movements, Ash was way past eager to get out there and swing his axe. He’d known the dragon was pregnant and had warned the Jarl her behaviour would only worsen if they didn’t move her on. And now here they were with an entrenched mama and her four dragonlings decimating herds and scorching crops.

Sylvan wiped the mouth of the bottle and thrust it forwards. Ash tucked his whetstone away and took it, brushing the elf’s fingers as he did so. Sylvan’s acorn-coloured eyes narrowed. “You’re loving this aren’t you, you brute?”

Ash grinned. How could he not? They were going to fight a fucking dragon! It’d been years since he’d encountered such a challenge, and he relished it.

The Chief clapped her hands, once, decisively. Prep time was over.

“Right, you all know what to do. That bitch has been terrorising the villages long enough. Yes, she’s beautiful, yes, she’s magnificent (the Chief gave Syl a pointed look), but this is a take-down. Babies and all.”

It wasn't ideal but it had to be done. It was only a matter of time before the local residents were next on the menu.

They had a fine dragon hunting crew. They had Jin, fast and deadly with her bow. In Sylvan they had a powerful combat mage, complemented by Rafe, their crucial defender with barriers and healing. Finally, Kirah, a master rogue, armed to the teeth with throwing knives and explosives. They would be supported by archers up high. Was it enough? It had to be.

***

Ash roared, swinging his enormous axe into the dragon’s haunches as though she was merely a stubborn oak. Blood splattered across his chestplate and there was that grin again. The warrior's unbridled and unrelenting enthusiasm had kept them going for what had felt like an age. Had it been an hour? Ten? The sun was setting and Sylvan had passed exhausted a long time ago. Brushing sweaty hair from his eyes, he winced as the Chief slammed her maul onto the dragon’s foot.

The beast unleashed another ear-splitting screech and with difficulty took flight yet again, wafting them all with her great, battered wings. Sylvan swore. Beside him Kirah screamed in frustration.

The mage rummaged in his belt for a restorative potion. Before him the reeds parted and a dragonling emerged, razor sharp teeth bared. Yellow eyes focused on Sylvan until Kirah side-punched it on the nose.

"Pissin' OW!" she cried, rubbing her knuckles frantically.

Ash laughed that deep laugh of his and Sylvan couldn’t help but bark a laugh of his own.

Kirah wrestled the creature easily and cut its throat. That was the last of the mighty dragon’s offspring. Sylvan brushed off the pang he felt at that. After all, it's not as though they could hold negotiations. Dragons were fiercely territorial. It had to be done. Even if it was royally shit.

“Come on!” the Chief shouted, waving the party onward. “This is it people, let’s crush the beast!”

The dragon had appeared to take momentary respite on a higher ridge. Ash and the Chief raced up the bank. Sylvan and the others followed, emerging into a rounded alcove, surrounded by high rock. On one hand it would be difficult for her to take flight from here. On the other, there was scant room to dodge a torrent of flames, or a swipe of foot-long claws.

Archers from the top of the Valley were still sending their arrows and bolts. That resilient scaly skin would usually repel all projectiles but, now gashed all over, some of those arrows hit true. The dragon roared furiously and sent searing flame upwards in retaliation.

Rafe sent a barrier spell over the crew as pieces of burning plant life rained down upon them. The dragon stepped back and began rumbling in her throat, like a great bellows, as she geared up for another blast.

Sylvan and Rafe dived behind a rocky outcrop and dragged the Chief with them. Jin and Kirah were pressed behind a ridge, just wide enough, but Ash had picked a stupidly small boulder to hide his massive bulk. It would have been funny under entirely different circumstances.

Sylvan stepped out from cover and was distantly aware of five different voices shouting at him: get back, get down, watch out! Everything slowed as he faced the dragon and willed his focus to narrow, drawing every last thread of mana from his aching body. He waited for that immense mouth to open before blasting hundreds of ice shards through the air, her skin, her throat. She swayed, surprised, and slumped lifeless to the ground at last.

Sylvan fell to his knees, overjoyed and awfully depleted. He heard the Chief roar and Jin yelping with glee from her new position atop the dragon’s head. He felt Ash squeezing his shoulder.

Sylvan patted that big hand absently and raised his weary eyes to see the sun dip below the Valley, bathing it in gold.