There Weren't Always Dragons in the Valley

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. By night’s end, there’d be dragons no more.

“I heard he won’t even sell the scales, or the horns, or whatever it is that fetches the highest price these days.” Langmir said, the words like thick swamp mist with how slowly they issued from his mouth and crawled over the low fire, filling the clearing in which we’d made camp for this leg of the conquest. He stared into the flames, eyes focused on a distant place only he could see. There was shame there, not evident to anyone but me, his best friend and loyal second-in-command. To everyone else, this was simply a statement.

“It’s not our place to question the King,” said Acho, who spun the tip of one of his dagger’s in the dirt, aimlessly creating a narrow, deep pit. “It’s our place to slay the last of them, and that’s that. Welcomed back to Mantenlo as heroes, with bodies to warm our beds, and coin to chill our coffers.”

“Your coffer’s cold because it’s empty Acho.” That was I, Corolnor, in an attempt to end this train of thought with laughter, so that I could dig into Langmir’s words, and the thoughts behind his shadowed eyes, with orbs that sparked with firelight when the bright yellow-orange of the flames leapt just right.

“You’re a real bastard Cor.” Acho leaned back against one of the great pines that surrounded us, sheathed his blade, and glared at me. “What’s the use of bringing a mage with no magic Commander Langmir? I know you two are tight, but if the numbers were so slim in this outfit, maybe there’d have been others more qualified.”

“There were others more qualified.” Langmir shot with some venom. “None of us are qualified for this. Cor lost his Sourceline. You’re just a criminal looking to earn penance. We’ve got our archer keeping watch in a tree it took her the better part of an hour to climb…” The silence was not as heavy as the truth he’d just spilled. We weren’t a hopeless crew, but perhaps we should’ve been.

“And what of you, Commander?” Acho questioned as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, suddenly appearing snakelike in our small circle. “Are you qualified to lead a criminal, an impotent mage, and a twiggy little archer?”

“You answer.” He replied.

“Oh, I don't really need to, do I? We all know what this is.” Acho stood and walked away from the firelight. “I’ll be back for our little jaunt into the nest.”

As he put some strides between us and himself, the sound of his steps diminished swiftly, not because of distance, but because the forest itself seemed to be hungry for it, eating it up. This was the Dark Pine Forest of the Valley, ringing a good portion of the region before one reached the Copse of Spires that marked the start of the Sand Caves and the Endless Desert, so called because it trapped those who entered. Wisdom — and anecdotal experience — stated that one should always circumnavigate the Desert, and never, ever try to cross it. On maps, the Desert looked to be only half a day’s travel. That was on maps.

The Copse of Spires is where the pair of dragons dwelled. Forced to migrate from Dragon’s Nest, where they were butchered for meat, scales, and horns, and mined for their hearts, which were said to, upon consumption, impart a deeper connection to the magical Sourceline while also extending one’s life for decades, if one could survive the other forces that looked to claim mortality on this strife-ravaged continent.

“He’s got the King’s own ear.” I said to Langmir, voice subdued, barely louder than the crackle of heated logs.

“That he does.”

“Then why wonder aloud at the King’s intentions?”

“No man shall limit me in my own thoughts. Whether he wear a crown, or sport a dagger. Corolnor, I have my doubts about this quest. Why would we destroy them?”

“Because it is our duty, as warriors who’ve sworn fealty to the rightful King of Mantenlo and all that he claims dominion over.”

“That’s my Lieutenant speaking. Now what says my friend?” Was he tired? His girth seemed to sink, his shoulders seemed to drop, and his eyes, they could not seem to muster the strength to meet my own, but instead found the tops of my armored feet.

“Your friend says, no matter where this goes, I will be by your side. You can count on that.”

“Thank you.”

After that, he spoke no more, just continued his act of gazing into the fire, consumed by his thoughts. Acho returned, then our archer, Kay, made her appearance. The fire was kicked out, and we moved, cloth wrapped and tucked around and against metal, so that we were silent.

It was said the dragons didn’t sleep. It was also said they only ever slept, until disturbed. It was said they were impervious to damage, by sword, arrow, or Source. One could not trust any rumors, but of the many, we dismissed outright the last. Impervious beings did not ever face the threat of extinction, and tonight, the threat would become real. Genocide of an apex predator, ruler of the sky.

If we could pull it off. Acho, who strode out in front as if he were the leader, or fearless, his twin daggers being pulled from their sheathes, flipped, twirled, replaced with antsy precision, was not wrong about me. I’d lost my connection to Source, and in a shameful way, in the failing of a test of my very soul. I’d sought a way back ever since.

Acho was not wrong about me, and was not wrong about our archer, a charity case who’d been pulled from the streets and trained as an archer for the Great War, the opposite direction of our journey. Kay was not strong, was not fast, nimble, agile, or anything of note, except maybe quiet. And for a person with no talent, quiet was preferable.

Acho was not the best of us. He was capable, but he was not Langmir. Langmir the Wolf, imprisoned in an enemy stronghold for two years before fighting most of the way out with his bare hands, then the rest with whatever weapons he could find. This was where he’d gotten his “Wolf'' moniker. When he’d returned to Mantenlo, there was dried flesh and blood encasing his body, and wet flesh and blood in his mouth and between his teeth, indicating that he really had used all the tools at his disposal to claw his way from his prison. When he spoke of enemy movements and positions, of which he’d gained much knowledge, those he spoke to found him so unsightly and sickening, they forced him to wash himself and repeat the story of his escape, and all that he’d come to know.

Yet here we were, on a trip to demolish a species. Four of us, meant to kill and destroy all that we’d find. No spoils of war. No salvaging materials for new weapons or armor, no eating the hearts, or bringing them back. One corpse alone was worth an entire kingdom. And there would be two to divide and bury. It made no sense. Langmir was right to question, and Acho, the snake, was right to protest against Langmir, considering he was here as the King’s man, and not as Langmir’s. Could he be trusted?

The question wasn’t worth the breath it would take to ask. Of course not. Perhaps we were meant to slay the beasts and Acho himself to slay us and carry back any prizes he could bear for the return journey. Warm bodies, warm beds, filled coffers for one of us, and a frigid shared grave for the rest.

When one treks great distances regularly, one develops a practice for covering the lengths required to make the destination. I could not speak for the others and what they did. If they scrolled through memories in their heads of that which would encourage them to get back home, or if they simply counted the left-right-one-two of their tramping steps as a meditation. That’s what I used to do. As we passed pines that gradually lessened in density and neared the Spires, as the cold orb of the moon rolled across the horizon and changed the angle of the shadows, I did what I normally do, on treks, and off, in the confines of my quarters in the small and large hours of the morning and the day, as I ate and eat, as I drank and drink; I tried to find my thread to the Source. I tried to find my Sourceline.

All beings have it. All flora and fauna. All beasts and bastards. All men and women, kings and peasants, enemies and friends.

The Sourceline connected one to Source, and followed the curve of the spine, to varying thicknesses, and varying strengths. There were many ways to access it and utilize it in the world. Acho could not spellcast, as I could, but undoubtedly he plugged into Source, pulled from it all that he needed for the speed and dexterity he’d become known for as a thieving rogue and silent assassin, feared for his skillset and ability to ably wield two daggers.

Kay had yet to tap into Source. Maybe one day Source could steady her hand, and aid her in sighting a target down a nocked arrow, but for now, she sparked with unreliable moments of competency, else fell flat at most other times.

Langmir was often deeply aligned with Source, able to understand timing and release his strength to the moment so that things just seemed to occur as if by Divine Will, allowing for him to do the impossible with unerring regularity. Source that strengthened his arm in one moment for a death blow could weaken his knee in another, forcing him to the ground and saving him from knowing his own mortality. We call all of these physical manifestations of the Source.

I am a mage, and caster, my own connection to Source manifesting as the ethereal, as a way to manipulate matter in frightening ways. Or at least, once that was the case. Now, it was as though the Sourceline within me — that I still could sense — evaded my mental tendril to touch it and access it, as a punishment perhaps. It was as though I was attempting to use my forefinger and thumb to pluck a fish from a barrel, and even if I could gain contact with it, there was no guarantee I could squeeze it hard enough to pull it free. There was no guarantee I could access all that I’d built my military career on.

An impotent mage he had called me, hurtful for its truthfulness. Source still ran through me but deigned to show itself in the mundane physical, not in the vaunted ethereal of those “touched by the Divine.” I was now just like the other three in my party and would have to rely on my sword and shield and them to best the dragons and their napalm respirations.

And the time to do so bore down on us. We’d reached the Spires before I’d realized it, and before I could gain control of my magic, and only one of those was any kind of surprising.

They were enormous, the Spires, like stalagmites or tapered pillars, tall enough to cover us in narrow shadow, amidst streaks of silver moonlight.

Between many of the spires, perhaps seven, were a criss-crossing latticework of gleaming, moon-touched material.

“That’s metal.” Langmir whispered. In the dead of night, we heard his assessment, recognized its truth. It was indeed a mass of metals, war machines, armors, coins, valuables, torched to melting, lifted into place, and shaped by mighty taloned claws. This was how a dragon nested.

“Our archer will have no luck getting up there. And she certainly can’t fire that high.” Acho spoke through a sneer, never looking at a self-conscious and still-quiet Kay. “Our four on two has just become a three on two. Two and a half on two.”

“Do you see a way up?” Langmir inquired. I believe this was mainly to Acho, but also one for the group.

I looked out at the tall Spires, surrounded by sparse plants and dirt, the deep shadows that gave away nothing. We would have to get closer.

“Do you see them?” I asked.

I felt movement more than saw it, looked over my shoulder at Kay. She was petrified, and had it not been for the bits of strategically placed cloth, her trembling would’ve jostled her metal gear into clanking reverberations to be heard by anything living in the area. I had been acutely aware of her age from the moment she was picked for this mission. Before now, I’d only counted her out, as no help to the cause. For the first time, I saw her doom. She could not be a part of this.

I broke my gaze from her and stepped beside Langmir.

“We should post Kay here. To cover our retreat should we need it.” Langmir looked at me, eyes wide, then to her, then to me, eyes not so wide anymore. The edges of his eyebrows were turned down.

“I don’t know that we can afford to.” He uttered. He’d hardened parts of his face, but the parts that remained soft, they too recognized that she was just a child. Perhaps he knew that she was needed, not to cover a retreat, but perhaps as a sacrifice to ensure a retreat. A fact that had occurred to me as well.

“We have to be able to afford to.” I turned completely to him now, and no one present could ignore this conversation, nor the content of it. Acho was in disbelief. Kay seemed to be reliving a moment in her childhood, maybe recent, when her parents had been in heated, fiery, scary discourse. Never had their arguments had such stakes as this.

“We need all hands.”

“You really believe hers will be of any use?”

“She may surprise you.”

“It’s not her abilities I’m speaking to.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Why would I lie?”

“You lie about your intentions here. None of us are guaranteed to leave this place. If you believed in her abilities, you never would’ve spoken a word—”

“She’s too young.” I interrupted.

Langmir looked at her, but without appraisal, without recognition of her youth, without being persuaded of my point.

“No one is too young to die, Corolnor.” Langmir grabbed me by the shoulder. “You know this. The choices you made that led to the loss of your magic, it has no bearing here, on the decisions I must make. She stays. She may save our lives, and her own.”

Over Langmir’s shoulder, Acho stood, a smirk on his face. His eyes sparkled with mischief and joy. Inside me, what felt like injustice for Kay cooked itself into easy fury, the kind that could poison limbs, heart, and mind against anything, and where anything could come of it. The blinding sort that did not make everything red, but rendered all black, that, when remembered, is only whiffed in scents, or spotted in flashes, or heard in pops and gasps. Unattached moments, a puzzle of wrath, strength, and regretted moments, of monstrosities and guilt. I could feel the moment wanting to whisk me away. Kill Acho it said. Kill Acho. I pushed Langmir’s arm off my shoulder, felt resistance from him, great, his arms around my torso after failing at stopping me while they were on my chest—

SCREEEECCCHHHHH!

The anger turned icy. Red to blue. Clarity. The hair on my neck and arms rose, and the temperature changed for me, dropped radically, though in the atmosphere there was no difference.

My head swiveled, away from Acho, and up to the skies, like everyone else here. A darkness in the sky, darker than the surrounding star-specked heavens, darker than the pale blue earth, but as dark as that which the moon could not lay a silky hand on.

SCREEEEEECHHHH!

It came again, and made the heart do funny things, that roar.

I gulped, I think. I could not feel my body to confirm this. There was a dragon in the sky, at least one. And we were frozen, staring upwards, trying to perceive movement of some sort. A black dragon it must have been. Invisible, or close to it.

“It hasn’t seen us.” Acho shot at us from his kneeling position. “I say we wait.”

“Is it only the one?” Langmir asked.

“Our mage can tell us. Oh wait, he has no Sight.” Acho, sarcastic, even now, so close to battle.

“Does anyone see the second?” Langmir spat. He was met with silence, which was answer enough. One dragon in the night sky. Four cowering warriors nearby. No plan of attack.

I closed my eyes. No Sight, no, but I did have ears. If the dragon was large, which it seemed to be, perhaps I could make out the “thumps” of its wings as it flapped to remain airborne.

The blackness behind my eyes was not much different from the blackness of the terrain. My ears seemed to strengthen the longer I steeped my pupils in the cloak of darkness housed by my sockets. The sounds came to me, and I began to take them, hold them up for scrutiny, discard them if they weren’t relevant. Like that of my own breath, or Kay’s knees that brushed each other and caused the soles of her shoes to scratch against the hard dirt. Langmir was quiet, but Acho fiddled with his blades, something he’d been doing the whole trip, perhaps a nervous tic.

But beyond the small circle, there was very little to be heard—

“I think we should—”

“Shh.” I interrupted.

Eyes still closed. Then came what might’ve been a pattern. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

The dragon. Whoosh. Whoosh…whoo-whoosh-whoosh-whoo-whooosh—

“Both are out.” I whispered. This was met with whispered curses.

“Don’t they sleep? We can’t fight them now. We can’t fight them in the day.” Langmir said.

“Make a choice leader.” Acho.

“Maybe…” A petite voice, from a petite woman. My eyes snapped open, and all attention turned to her. Kay. “Maybe we can snare one, and use one against the other.”

“Like how.” Acho asked in a way that wasn’t a question.

“Can you put an arrow through a wing, in this pitch black? An arrow with the weight of an attached line?” From Langmir.

“And what then? We pull it from the sky?” Acho wondered in disbelief. For maybe the first time, I was in agreement with Acho. What was about to happen?

The arrow must’ve come from nowhere. Two great beasts, stirred to action by intuition, by some whisper through Source of impending threat. Or maybe it was routine. Were the creatures nocturnal?

The pair circled in the moonlight, casting fleeting shadows on the ground. They were not aware they were being observed, and that the attempts to track them were becoming increasingly more successful. They had no eyes for anyone or anything but each other.

This was a mating ritual. This is why they were up at this hour, circling, screeching, flapping their wings, swooping in and out, back and forth, without touching, sizing each other up. The last two dragons, on the brink of extinction, engaging in a once in a decade ritual that would yield anywhere from one to seven dragon eggs. If they weren’t interrupted.

They let loose fire. Up to the sky, smoke roiling off the flames for a moment, before meeting, then ending as their jaws came closed.

The arrow must’ve come from nowhere, glancing off scales, looping around the female’s wing from weight and momentum, sending the female off her circular path, off to the right. The male watched, traced the line to its origin point, the two figures on the ground. Down the male raced, slicing through the rope to spare his mate, though she felt gravity, found her landing, heavy, gained control of her forced descent.

She snapped at the rope that was tangled around her wing with her scissor-sharp snout, razor-like teeth. She stopped when she heard them. Two more, approaching. She crawled backwards, made herself large, spread her wings and from this close, even though she was dark, her armor shone like a beetle’s carapace, and she could be made out, massive. Taloned claws, gaping maw with a fiery glow in its depths. Her left wing stretched out wide, terrifying, but the right could not completely open, until—

The flexing of the wing burst the rope and now it extended out to match the impressive scale of the left.

The female coiled down—

“She’s gonna leap!” Langmir shouted, one of the two here.

The other raced forward, grabbed up some remnants of the rope, twirled it around—

A burst of flame lit up the terrain. The male had opened his jaws, spewed a stream of fire towards Kay and Corolnor, and they could only flee for their lives, as the nimble creature had the upper hand in its pursuit of them—

And leap she did, high, but not before Acho flung something out, ah, his dagger, rope attached and it pierced her wing.

She shot towards the heavens, and Acho, hands on the rope, was brought with her, from feet on the ground to weightless and soaring in no time. Langmir dove for the rope and missed it.

Acho and the female would battle in the sky.

Langmir watched, spurts of flame showing him a nightmare scenario that could not be won. Two dragons in their domain of the sky, healthy, violent, angry, and able to see each of their assailants. All elements of the upper hand of surprise, of the night, were gone. In an equal battle, one dragon could wipe out a brigade of men, and this group were just three misfits led by one true warrior.

A screech from the female, different than any that had sounded that night. One of pain. Acho had climbed the rope and mounted her, and whatever he was doing was hurting her. So much so that the male had broken off his rabid pursuit of Kay and Cor, and had flung his wings out and banked, turning his sights on his mate, and the man atop her.

He roared, and then the fire came. Acho saw it, as did all those on the ground. Two dragons destined to meet in the sky, one of them set to graze the back of the other with a bath of heat and hell.

Acho’s fate would be that of whatever the wind would will of him, once the torch hit. He would fall from the sky in countless pieces, as ash.

But that was not meant to be. Acho had been hard at work sawing at her wing with his daggers and in one final effort, he hacked through muscle, flesh, and bone and the wing twisted under the turbulent forces of the atmosphere at that height, it’s taut skin flapping like a loose sail, before it entirely came free and spiraled to the ground, and the body split and spiraled to the left, dooming her to a flightless life.

She dropped like a rock. Her dragon mate followed, torch still blowing. She impacted the earth, sent dust flying, and all present knew Acho could not have survived it, but questioned whether or not she did.

The male flapped, his wings billowed, and he alighted on the ground next to his mate.

A keening cry issued from his mouth and it did not abate, even as the dust settled.

There was no movement from anyone, at least not physically. All were moved by the scene, internally, hearts throbbing with empathetic pain, as the male curled up around the female, growls, grunts, cries still emanating from it, no longer just from its mouth, but its chest, its stomach, its heart, as though its whole body was speaking its grief.

Barely registered was Acho, crawling from beneath the female, miraculously alive, though not for very long, judging from the state of his body, which was crushed flat in parts. The male dragon turned to look at him, froze him with its stare, and then it bowed its head.

Acho hesitated only for a moment, procured his dagger, and plunged it deep into the creature’s eye, where it punctured brain, sent it into death throes, and Acho was caught under that as well, undoubtedly squished dead now, the man who killed the last two dragons, with his own hands.

By this time the moon had taken its leave as if ashamed of what it had witnessed, and half the edges of the sky were brightening.

The trio circled the corpses, separated the male from the female, before standing in silence to survey the dead, and consider what all had just happened.

“We should bring his body back.” Kay whispered.

“We were told to bring nothing back.” Langmir responded.

“I understand. But he is a hero.” Her voice trailed off at the statement of fact.

“In death, yeah.” His answer. “We'll find a suitable way to honor the thief.”

Kay turned and walked away, her message received at least. She jumped at the movement of one of the dragons, the female, which rolled over with a deep, long grunt, froze the three humans in place.

It turned its head to look at them, a sadness, a slowness in her movements as she gazed into the eyes of each.

She rested her gaze on me. Dark blue jewels for eyes, pools that one could get lost in, pools that you wanted to get lost in. She craned her head to look at her mate, then looked back at me and I knew that she was asking something of me. Her head, massive, scaled like a reptile, but shiny and hard like metal, with dangerous, beautiful curves, tilted towards my chest, and I knew Langmir was debating whether or not to use his mighty sword to try to lop it off at the neck to protect me. But he stayed his hand and she touched my sternum with her beak-like muzzle. It was then I noticed the tear on her cheek bone and recognized that it wasn’t from pain, but sadness.

What had we done?

The creature reared back, got its feet beneath her, and in a surprising move, drew a talon across the exposed belly and chest of her mate, hooked a claw inside the ribcage, and pulled back flesh and bone to reveal a massive heart, blue, but similar to most other hearts you’d find, when exposing this organ to sight.

“I think that’s for you, brother.” Langmir said.

The dragon, the female, she turned, her sinuous body, so long and graceful, but missing a wing — its bloody stump remaining — headed off towards the Endless Desert.

“Should we let her go?” Kay asked.

“She won’t last long, an injury like that. Predator of the skies, earthbound.” Langmir answered. “Go on Cor. Take your prize. It might be what you need.”

“So long as we’re all in agreement.” I said.

I feasted on the heart, and when I offered it to the others, they declined.

We buried Acho, cut up the male dragon, and burned what we could. It was time to leave.

They say when you eat a dragon heart, the impact could come at any time. I was hopeful that it would’ve been immediate, feeling the connection with Source bursting within me. It didn’t happen. I didn’t know what would happen. Maybe that, like the other rumors, should be ignored.

It wasn’t easy to depart towards Mantenlo. We would have to meet the King, King Seon, and explain to him the events, lie that I’d not eaten the heart, and that we’d not let one of the creatures escape.

“I think we should go to her.” Kay said.

“You’ve been a regular orator since last night Kay.” Langmir spoke. “I like it.”

“Your idea led us here, saved our lives.” I said. “But I don’t think we should follow her. She’s doomed.”

“That’s why. She gave you a gift. She could’ve slain us. And she didn’t.”

“She slinked off into the Endless Desert to die.”

“Not to die. She would’ve let us kill her. She could’ve died right there.” Kay pleaded, but one thing about her, she didn’t push emotion into any of her words, simply spoke in a matter-of-fact manner.

“So go after her for what? To save her?” Langmir inquired, looking at both of us.

“What would we be returning to?” Kay again.

“Acho was the King’s man, not me, or you, or her. He won’t trust a word of ours,” I spoke. “We didn’t finish the job. We broke his orders. If he decided to investigate the results of all this…” I left the words hanging in the air.

“I don’t like this.” Langmir wiped his forehead, not of sweat, but of intrusive thoughts.

“You didn’t like any of it. From the outset.” I responded.

“So go from failing his orders, to entirely ignoring them.”

“Maybe we, all of us, died out here.” Kay said.

“This is foolish. Foolish.” Langmir sighed, looked at myself and Kay. “You two…you two go, if that’s your wish. I’ll handle the questions of the King.”

“Thank you Commander.” Kay said, gratitude welling out of her, the only emotion besides fear she’d shown.

“I’m an impotent mage, Langmir. I am not of use. Perhaps it is better if I did die here, with these two dragons.” I responded.

“You silly man.” Langmir grabbed me, embraced me. “Find your connection to Source. Stay out of sight. I hope I never see you again.”

“Or maybe once it no longer matters.” I finished.

We split ways, Kay and I to follow the dragon, Langmir to answer to a King he didn’t fully believe in.