The Vale of Dragons

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

Nestled in the north of the Summerlands on the border of Midany, the Vale of Craigalmron, bounded by sheer faces of rock on all sides but the east was smothered in a verdant carpet of ancient woodland. A river wound lazily through its base fed by the many waterfalls that threw themselves from the heights of the valley walls, blanketing the valley in a fine mist. Few villages had set down their roots here, the isolation making the valley a peaceful place. Peaceful, asides from the dragons.

Rhowaenna had never known any different. Every one of her twelve years she had been told the stories of the dragons that infested the steep cliffs and nested the towering branches of the pines and ash. Stories of when they had come, swarming out of the mountains of Craigalmron and had terrorised their small village ever since. Stories meant to scare her and keep her from danger. Stories that had failed entirely.

Rhowaenna glanced once more down the narrow stairs to her small attic room, her mother was nowhere to be seen. She carefully placed the squirming package wrapped in a blanket onto the goosefeather matress of her low bed. Slowly she pulled back the fabric with a smile revealing the scaley dog-like face of a dragon. It was beautiful. Its scales glinted red and gold in the dimming light of the evening that filtered through her small grimey window. A ring of feathery hair protruded from the base of its head, it ruffled them as it swivelled its head towards Rhowaenna inspecting her light olive brown skin and hair dark as night.

Eye's of dark green met the iridescence of the dragon's. Do dragons see the same way that we do? She knew that dwarves could see better in the dark, and elves could see colours that seemed invisible but what about animals? What about dragons?

It had fangs but nothing larger than those of the local dogs, and claws on its slender limbs but nothing sharper than those on Willow, the baker's cat. All in all he seemed pretty harmless. Why so much fear over such amazing creatures? She watched as it unfurled itself cautiously from the makeshift swaddle and crept onto the bed.

"Why do they hate you so much?" she whispered, carefully tickling the dragon behind its ear. It nuzzled into her hand and she giggled. He wasn't the biggest of dragons, she had to admit. But why do they treat you all the same? She vaguely remembered when she was younger that one of the huge ones, bigger than a bear, had attacked the village. All that it had done though was carry off one of their neighbour's cows and destroyed their barn. Bears had done more damage.

The slam of a door sounded from below and the dragon bounded from the bed unfurling its wings of skin stretched between spindly fingers, wider than the creature was long. Swooping tightly around the small room and landing on one of the dark oak rafters, it turned to fix Rhowaenna with its inquisitive stare. It chirped loudly.

"Shhh!" Rhowaenna hissed, it cocked its head and chirped again, "If you don't be quiet, mother will-"

"Rhowaenna? What's going on up there?" her mother's voice called from somewhere down below.

"You've done it now," she whispered to the small dragon then raised her voice, "Nothing, just playing."

"I heard noises," her mother replied, the steps to her room creaked loudly and the dragon chattered as Rhowaenna lunged to catch it, missing and tumbling to the ground. The dragon circled the wooden rafter, then swooped back down to sit upon the blankets of Rhowaenna's bed - just as her mother reached the top of the stairs.

Rhowaenna was sure that her mother's scream could have been heard all the way over the mountains.

Before Rhowaenna could react there was a broom in her mother's hand - how did she always manage to find a broom so fast? Rhowaenna scrabbled to her feet as the ash wood handle descended upon the startled creature. The broom missed by a hair as the dragon leapt from the bed towards the window connecting hard with the murky glass and falling back in a heap to the floor.

Rhowaenna managed to get between them, "Ma, stop! Please stop!"

Her mother ignored her pushing past, still yelling. The dragon bolted to the other side of Rhowaenna, scrambling down the narrow stairs. Her mother was hot on its heels and herself on her mother's. She heard the crash of pottery ahead of her, but when she reached the bottom the stairs the half-door to the kitchen out to the yard was swinging closed. Her mother followed into the yard, Rhowaenna stopped in the doorway, the dragon had already crossed the yard. There was no way that her mother would catch up.

Rhowaenna stood back and sighed, then looked back outside. Oh hell. Her mother's expression could have unshoed a horse and wrought a fresh one. Rhowaenna shuffled from toe to toe. Run? Hide? Too late. The door slammed against the wall, a lump of white plaster crumbled onto the bare stone floor.

"How many times!?" her mother bellowed, "Dragons! Playing with dragons? What were you thinking!? How many times do we have to tell you that they are dangerous!?"

"But, it was-"

"NO! You stay away from them! In fact, you're to stay with either myself or your father until you learn."

"No, please. I promise that I will stay away from them, I promise!"

"When you learn. Room. Now!"

Rhowaenna's heart sank, tear stung the edges of her eyes. She turned and clambered up the stairs stumbling through blurred vision. Diving on her bed she couldn't contain her sobs any longer, she burried her face into the pillows. Why? Why did they hate dragons so much?

*

Scales of red and gold. Mountain peaks shrouded in mist. Wings. Thousands of wings, swirling, swirling. A lone man holding a staff looking over a waterfall, the pointed ears of an elf. A cave. A swirling darkness. Chaos. Evil.

Rhowaenna's eyes flickered open and the dreams evaporated before her. She could only clutch onto the vaguest of details. What did they mean? Did they mean anything?

She sighed, remembering the night before. Her tears had dried but she was still clutching the swaddling blanket. She had fallen asleep fully clothed. She chewed her lip, she might get in trouble for that. Hauling herself slowly from the bed she tiptoed down the stairs, trying to resolve what was best to say to her mother. She stopped at the foot at the stairs. Next to the door to the yard was a pair of large boots still caked with half a field's worth of mud. Her father was home from the hunt.

"Da!" she swung around the bottom of the stair, running to check her parents room and their small dining room. Both were empty. She charged out into the yard seeing the hulking figure of her father. He wasn't the largest man in the village, that had to be master Illain the blacksmith, but he was definitely close. Closely cropped dark hair and a beard covered skin slightly lighter than her own. A scar ran the length of th right side of his face; he always refused to tell her how he had gotten it. I will wear him down one day.

Ignoring the pebbles underfoot in the bare dirt she dived at her father as he turned and smiled. He picked her up and squeezed her close and she felt the coarseness of his beard against her cheek.

"Where have you been? Where did you get to? What did you find?" Rhowaenna rattled off excitedly.

"Rhowaenna! Slow down, slow down," her father chuckled, putting her down, "We got to the mouth of the valley, all the way down the river," he crouched next to her and pointed away down the valley to where the ridges almost converged nearly out of sight with rolling hills beyond, "And we brought back three deer and a great bison."

Rhowaenna jumped with excitement, "Can I see the bison?"

"Not this time little wolf, they're already being skinned," Rhowaenna deflated, but her father kept smiling, "But, I've got a little present for you."

He reached into his coat and drew out a small wad of fabric surrounding an object twice the length of one of his fingers. Rhowaenna opened the package and saw the white of a bone handle, her eyes widened. Slowly, she drew the short blade from it's brown leather sheath, the blade glinted in the morning sun, "For me? But only the boys get knives, not the girls," she said cautiously.

Her father looked at her, humoured, "I have a feeling that you are going to need it. Girls in this valley need to protect themselves as much as the boys, despite what the village council might say. Anyway, you're twice as brave as any of the boys," he paused and raised an eyebrow and added, "And just as foolish. Yes, your mother told me about the dragon."

Rhowaenna stared at her feet, "It was only a little one..."

"You know the rules, they are dangerous. You're still in a lot of trouble...but so will I if your mother finds out about this," he pushed the wrapped blade into Rhowaenna's hands then winked at her.

She smiled at her father then ran back to the house. As she made her way up to her room the pit of her stomach sank. Did he intend me to use this against dragons? She couldn't bear thinking about killing something that fascinating. Pausing to look at the package she vowed never to use it to kill, then stuffed it under her mattress.

When she returned her mother had arrived. Watching her talk with her father, she thought to how everyone always commented on how alike she looked to her mother. Will I grow up to be like you too? She loved her mother but the thought filled with saddeness and she wasn't sure why.

She hastily slipped on her boots and shuffled towards her parents. They were talking in hushed voices, he was nodded quickly to Rhowaenna when she came into sight. Her mother turned as she approached. She expected more scolding but instead she smiled, bending down to her level, "Come along into the village with me today. We'll pick up some fresh wool from the Gyllam's then afterwards we can get some spiced cakes from master Rodwayn."

Rhowaenna grinned and nodded vigourously then turned to march off down the dirt track as her mother sighed and kissed her father goodbye, "Wait Rhowaenna."

The track to the village was narrow, only wide enough for one cart with sparse passing places between their fields of barley and wheat. Beyond, the track became bumpier with rogue roots as it entered the dense woodland that spread between the farmland from the sides of the valley, but only for short stretches; they were never too far from the fields of the next farm. Three patches of woodland along the track, low stone houses with thatched roofs like her own appeared, becoming more frequent and the track becoming more gravelled until it opened out to encircle a wide green. The green had been planted with flowers that spring which were just beginning to emerge surrounding the largest and most gnarled oak that Rhowaenna had ever seen. And, while sneaking out into the woods, she had seen a good many.

The Gyllam's was off a track to the left of the green. She instinctively began to hang back and as always, when they arrived, mistress Gyllam didn't give her a second glance. Not that she minded; their conversations always bored her. Instead she turned her attention to the rest of the street. A farrier's yard sat just a short distance down the street. A very large horse, as large as a draught horse but it's strong body was leaner and its coat more well groomed, stood obediently with its foot lifted in the hands of master Wignam. She was about to investigate further when she saw a glint of gold and red further down the street. No...

The small dragon was dangling from a post next to the forge of the blacksmith, it's lifeless wings drooping and fluttering slightly in the breeze. She didn't even realise she had run over to the hanging body until her hand was inching out to touch it. She retracted it before anyone saw her but she still stared at the creature. She fought back the tears, but she couldn't stop the anger that boiled inside her. Why?

The flames of the forge surged for just a moment, startling master Illain who she hadn't noticed was working it. What was that? Before she could think about it any longer her mother was behind her, "Good ridance," she frowned at the dragon, "Come, Rhowaenna, that's enough."

She bottled her anger once more as she allowed herself to be led away. How could she stop this? She needed to do something.

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

That's what the stories always said. If she could find where they came from then maybe she could find out why they had come to the valley in the first place. And then she could save them.