An Excerpt From Lord Markand’s Histories Of Magick and Strange Events.

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Grandfather Todd told stories of a time when there were three large villages in the Valley. The old man would sit and mumble to children for hours. He claimed that in those days so many people would come to Festival that you could walk for two hours and still not see the end of the thousand camps. That was before the war with the plains people, Grandfather would tell the stories of the war as well but he had never seen a dragon. He almost never told stories about the plagues which came after the war.

Philip knew Grandpa’s stories about the towns were true having traveled with his Father and the hunters to the two old villages in his boyhood. Before the war, Grandpa had traveled with Father, who was a small boy at that time. They had gone all the way to Markand’s Seat. The city of Markand’s Seat was a proper city with walls, a river harbor and the castle of the family Markand.

Philip knew a stark difference now from the times past with just ten large stubborn families of the Valley. It was more accurate to call it a gap than a valley. You could climb the lower mountains and only sometimes on clear winter days see the way to the high mountains north. The Valley sprawled between these ranges on a line from the heat of the plains to the southwest to the High Mountains that always had snow. The weather was mild and even warm with only a few freezes each winter. The plagues and the plains people had taken the thousand families though.

Philip thought he would leave the Valley soon but he stayed because his Father was the Headman. He was the easy extra-man to help build a house or butcher a cow, mend a fence. He somehow knew to draw the line between the real danger of dragons and adventure though. There were stories of ghosts and outlaws that would stay in the old scraps of the dead towns. Grandfather always told those stories as if the villains were lazy or broken in some way, even the ghosts were confused and unable to find rest. His stories made Outlaws only into lazy or willful men.

When Philip had seen the houses of the lost towns they were nothing more than chimneys and a few walls with rotten boards. The boards were flat and well-cut but ruined by fire or bent by sun and rot. Now decades later in his twenty-seventh summer, Philip did not need to go that far to find deer enough to feed five families. There was plenty to eat in the warm valley with late winters and early springs. The deer and pigs were like a plague and he doubted he could even find the old Villages as fast as the forest claimed the fences of his pasture much less the century-old ruins of lost towns.

Philip thought about the dragons and adventures as he drank his ale and listened to the dice players and rare conversations of farmers and their sons in Roy’s Public House. These glowing sounds were occasionally punctuated by Margie’s loud orders for old Roy.

Roy was an old and jolly ruffian. Philip had decided long ago that Roy must hate people which is exactly why Roy would choose to keep the Public House. Roy could be at once famous at the end of King’s East Road and could also avoid drinking with the lost folk of a small town. Old Roy probably loved Margie too because he would almost always yell at her and bang things around in the kitchen. Roy was banging things around when the stranger arrived.

Philip thought the man at the door was another lumberman or farmer but was struck suddenly by the Stranger’s wary stance. Calm and slow like most but not the same. In the manner of most country folk, Philip turned to stare having the honor of seeing the new man first. The Stranger was strong and alert with the easy grace of someone who had been tested by violence.

The Stranger closed the door and looked at the fire and the light from the kitchen then directly at the farmer who turned to stare first. The Stranger smiled with his most patient nod at Philip. Then sat gently close to the bar with Philip who he now assumed was some farm version of a guard to sort out unruly customers. The Stranger watched Margie as she turned from the kitchen and noticed him.

The Stranger lightly saved her the burden of speaking first, “Hello Miss.” He stopped wondering what the suddenly still woman might say. She surprised him when she turned fully toward him and looked him straight in the eye.

“You lay the name Miss on me and it will cost you extra sir. We have four copper ale. You should call me Margie. The pottage is free and we have a good venison stew for three more bits.” Margie and Philip watched the man absorb the words while smiling at Margie. Then he looked around at Philip again. His broad shoulders seemed to relax as he sat fully on the stool. The lumbermen at the dice game went a bit quieter as their game slowed and they bent ears and eyes to the stranger announced by Margie’s speech.

He smiled back at her and said, “Thank you, Margie, a large bowl of Pottage enough for two, an ale for me and some stew if you please. You can call me Ian.” With this, the man nodded and turned again to Philip and extended his hand. Philip looked at the offered hand and seemed the slightest pause before shaking it realizing Ian meant to greet him.

“Name is Philip,” Philip said as his hand and eyes matched Ian’s. Ian demoted the blond and tan farmer guard to assistant. Margie was the captain here.

“An ale for Philip here too.” The man smiled at Margie and took back his rough hand held briefly by Philip’s farm hardened grasp. Now even old Roy had shown his rheumy eye through the kitchen window before returning to making kitchen noises.

Margie straightened up calculating, then yelled. “Two ales and a stew Roy.” This allowed the volume to rise almost to normal levels in the gathering. As Philip listened to the rare change in volume as Margie stepped closer and told Ian. “One silver and a copper if you please Ian. We still pass the king’s coin around these parts.” She looked at Philip who was the most frugal man she had ever known, “Sometimes.”

A resigned grunt from Roy emerged from the kitchen and announced two silver coins on the bar, one worn almost smooth and the other with perfect new marks. Margie dropped the silver coins into her apron and wiped the counter. Philip watched the coins and examined the man’s road leathers and boots. Ian’s coat was remarkable it could be called a gambeson in a poor land, dark brown with patched elbows. It looked warm and well worn.

Philip focused on drinking the remains of his ale as Margie returned with two wooden tankards. Margie and Philip both thanked Ian while she waited for Philip to finish his first warm ale and return the tankard. Then she decided instead to go to the kitchen for the pottage rolling her eyes at Philip’s quiet belch and avoiding the need for further patience with Philip and his slow drinking habits.

Ian got the feeling that Margie and Philip spent a lot of time together and wondered if this was not why the man had no wife to herd him home. Ian tested the ale then looked around and nodded at the lumbermen. They seemed to resume the regular dice bravado with a lesser volume only detectable to Philip’s trained ears. Having finished his first ale in record time Philip dared to break Ian’s gentle appreciations and said, “Well Ian what is your business?”

Ian considered the Farmer and his ale a bit and unfastened his jacket. His smile seemed reassuring and calm, as he pulled out a packet of documents. “Those are from the Lord for the Headman, he wants me to survey this Valley.” Ian watched the Farmer carefully.

Philip set his ale away from the leather packet and gazed upon the seal and words inked and pressed on soft leather. Philip read aloud slowly with what passed as jolly interest “Writ: Lord Markand.” Philip thumbed over the seal with recognition. “No real Headman around here except my Father Jorn who likes his sleep. Can this wait for morning?”

“Yes, yah no rush.” Ian picked up the documents and placed them in his jacket again. He was impressed that the Farmer could read. “Two days from Crosstown it took me and another four from Markand’s Seat is an awful slog for someone who would rush to this county. Let me set my horse and get a good sleep, you can introduce me in the morning.” Ian used a spoon to sort through the double serving of pottage and then to Philip’s surprise he took the bowl and rose and walked out the door.

Philip gave a look and shrugged to Margie. Following Ian outside to a large and impressive black horse. He found Ian removing the bit and letting the horse eat the grainy pottage. This horse was a quality rarely seen in Smith’s Village. Philip also noted that Ian’s gear included a two-handed sword. Philip was shocked by the presentation of the horse, its quiet nature and strength and the quality of Ian’s tack and equipment. He approached the horse carefully to a quiet sniff and intelligent eye while Ian smiled at him and nodded.

As Ian patted the horse and held the large bowl he smiled and asked, “Is there a stall and some hay to borrow overnight?”

Philip gave Ian a nod then with unconcealed awe he realized his nod may not translate in the half-moon. “Aye my Father’s barn is big enough, he won’t crib will he?”

Ian chuckled then as if in understanding the horse eyed Philip and drug his teeth on the wooden bowl. Philip raised his brows innocently and said “I am sure it will be fine.”

Once the men returned to the warm stools they were greeted with Ian’s steaming hot stew set up on the counter with a clean cloth and spoon. Margie seemed satisfied to return the large pottage bowl and spent tankard to the kitchen.

Philip mulled over the sight of the sword and horse and drank his ale while Ian tucked into the stew. Not willing to bother the man. Before he was finished Ian was rewarded with a buttery hot flat bread and Philip’s bean-filled stomach was only comforted by the smell of its baking.

Philip almost offered his coin to Margie for a piece of the fresh-baked bread when he was saved by Ian’s offer, “Tell me about what we might find in this Valley?”

The word “we” might have proceeded in a whisper from Philip’s lips completely separate from the rest of his boring farm life. He took another swallow of the ale and continued a bit louder, “We will find the Valley stands before the high mountains with a river running down from the Passage. Another West Creek runs from the West and joins the river.” Philip paused truly considering what Ian intended, “We should gather more men and go on foot with spears. Since the horse will attract trouble.”

Hearing the word trouble caused Ian to interrupt, “Explain, this trouble.”

Philip heard no question in the Man’s voice and continued, “There are the boar, wolves and dragons. There are no roads to speak of except a small track east to the overgrown switchback to the Passage East.” He noticed Ian’s brows rise at the mention of dragons and continued, “I have seen them myself..” Philip paused and added, “Well I saw a small one but they are big up near the Passage. The Elk and Bear would be the fodder for them up there.” Philip paused and offered further proof, “A Trader was lost on the road to the Eastern Lands just last summer, and the men who found his wagon said the tracks of the beast had a span almost as wide as the wagon.”

Philip felt the pressure of Ian’s skeptical regard and shifted to his own story of the dragon, “I trailed a wounded deer three winters ago, the arrow had taken it low on the neck.” Philip measured Ian’s belief and interest and continued, “I came upon the wounded deer while it rested, when it leaped and ran through the trees of the middle forest it was then that it was taken by a white dragon.”

Ian slightly narrowed his eyes, “Taken, How?”

Philip said in his best believe it or not tone, “The dragons will stay in trees on the thick lower branches, where the forest is thick and dark enough to choke the undergrowth, then set an ambush. This one had six legs with vicious claws longer than my fingers. It just swung down from the branch and grasped the doe with a bloody crunch.” Philip pantomimed this with his arm and hand and looked Ian straight in the eye, “It moved so fast I did not see it until it slowed lifting the deer to the trees. All that was left was a shower of blood.”

Margie who had listened to the story before teased Philip, “Something like that will really take the piss out of you to be sure.”

Philip ignored her then considered Ian again “You would be wise to fear a creature like that small tree dragon who can take a whole deer.”

Ian considered this and nodded respectfully, “Aye but what should scare us is not the pigs, wolves or dragons but what might hunt after them.”