Valley of the Great Lake

Chapter 1

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

The beasts of ash and fire were drawn, as all the creatures were, to the water. A lake gleamed at the floor of the massive ravine; it provided the singular clean water source within the mountainous and forested region. Here, life teemed…..and roared and growled and grunted and chirped. Most of the valley’s inhabitants were winged. The birds nested and sheltered in the surrounding pines while the dragons ran rampant among the stone, grass, and brown, coarse soil. An occasional herd of wild boar might charge their way down from the rock face to partake in the clear nourishment only to return in haste to the thick of their wood to avoid becoming a meal. Rarer still, a wild horse from the hills might stray down, find the lake, toss its head at the scent of the dragons, and quickly leave if it was in good fortune.

All gave a wide berth to the dragons. And there were all sorts of them to make the other animals wary. Some were small, boney, and leathery. They spat embers and spent much of their time scuttling between the shade of small apertures and large boulders. Others grew to great size, sprouted wings in adolescence and were plated with gleaming scales. Their breath commanded fire. Their nostrils flared and smoldered.

Guarding the valley keep was their king. His age was beyond reckoning and his eyes reflected his years with keen perception, perhaps also wisdom. Curled, black horns crowned his head. The tremendous wings he boasted could no longer take him to the sky. His body had grown too heavy with the burdensome weight of his scales. Yet, Ramuk remained watchful and deadly on the ground.

Another sentinel guarded the dragons’ hold on the valley territory. Flaga circled above most of the day and throughout the night. The queen’s vigilance did not cease except for in the early hours of the mourn when the moon set itself to slumber and somberly ceded to the sun. Only then did a chance exist to gather more than a paltry sip of water. The lesser dragons could be dealt with, perilous as it was. But the pair of watchers were too old, too cunning. When the two slept for those few dim, hazy hours one just might avoid detection near the lake.

Kali bit down softly on her lower lip, anticipating the ephemeral opportunity. The dark purple gems that were her eyes darted back and forth between the settling giants and their lesser kin. Atop her shock of black hair and pale face she wore a dragon’s skull helmet that still shone brightly with the dead thing’s scales. She was uncertain if the adornment aided in her success, but it had been her kill and she fancied it to be a charm.

Kemo, the grey, sat prudently silent beside her. A thong of leather hung from his neck, the diamond affixed to it matching the hue of his mistress’ eyes. The cat waited quite easily, his patience better than Kali’s own. His eyes – yellow, somber, unimpressed – observed the scene.

A dash of white at the tip of his tail flicked across the grass as he remained otherwise motionless.

Finally, the ruling dragons bedded down into a slumbering heap of scales and wings in the high distance. The underlings became sluggish as well. One lone, leathery runt skipped across the lake water, its wings flapping in the air until it reached the shore, spit a hunk of ember, and disappeared behind a tuft of high grass.

Time to move.

Kali ran her fingers through Kemo’s silky fur before taking the first of many careful footsteps through the dragon infested territory. In each hand she held a clay jug. Her body was festooned with straps, all with canteens attached. She would take every drop of water she was able to carry. They needed it. They had gone too long this time.

Kemo took the lead, his feline paws soundless in the grass. At the first sight of trouble, he would alert his mistress. A twitch of his tail in the air might make the difference between Kali being able to hide or having to defend against an attack.

Each step closed the distance spanning from the tree line to the lake. There was little trouble getting past the diminutive leather-backs. A few lazing on the grass hissed and growled, but decided sleep was more important than the sprite and the cat.

Upon reaching the lake after the stealthy approach that was almost ruined by a scaled green drakeling blending in with the vegetation, Kali knelt carefully at the water’s edge, cupped her palms together, and drank deeply before un-corking the jugs. Kemo stood at her back by her ankles and kept his eyes on their path in and out. Runnells of sweat ran down the sprite’s cheeks as she filled one jug, then the other, and started on the canteens. It was not a particularly hot season, but the dragons’ breath transformed the valley floor into a humid hearth. Then, as she was set to fill the last couple containers – she froze. The hair on the back of her neck tingled; her arms were covered in gooseflesh. Kali peeked over her shoulder and saw nothing amiss. Kemo raised no alarm.

There was something.

She hurriedly returned to her task. Kali dipped the next canteen into the water, gasped, and fell back onto Kemo as a pair of glowing blue orbs and scabrous hide rose to the surface of the lake. Horns sharp as swords pierced the air and the dragon’s head emerged, dwarfing the skull helmet Kali wore. Puffs of steam rolled out of its nose and mouth.

They’re not supposed to be in the water! They’re never in the water! Her mind shrieked frantically.

She staggered to her feet even as Kemo wiggled out from underneath her, hissing. The dragon reared its head, scales the color of mid-day sky. Its long neck glinted in the fading moonlight with lake water.

Kali forgot all thought of stealth.

“Run!”