And So Was the Rise of Dragonkind

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Once there had been a time where the path of humankind had meant the destruction of such creatures. Now, where the two-legged beings wandered, dragons followed. There are scholars who would credit the ego of ‘man’ for bringing about the sacred union. With it came power, and that could be manipulated for anything within a person’s imaginings. Wealth. Status. Control. To conquer a beast of such vast, destructive power... well that could only corrupt. However, those – or those who truly know the ones – who have met with dragon-flesh understand the old tales, even with their now twisted wording and translations.

It was with the breaking of winter one year, when the East Mountains still burned hot, but after the fall of the first dragons, that Ailith found herself among a number called to the iron-stone fortress of her home city in the Valley of Varden. And it was there, where their leaders tasked those called with a mission. While their valley home had been rid of dragons – fire-drakes – for almost fifty years, there were still beasts aplenty in the mountains. And with the end of winter, they would wake from their hibernation and commence the hunting of the valley people’s cattle. Cattle certainly were easy pickings compared to wilder quarry. Their mission would be to cull the dragons of the western border mountains. Already there had been an attack. A whole village reduced to charcoal. More than two hundred beasts massacred and burned. Fifty of their people lost.

Hers were a fighting people, and with it came a culture of discipline, and control. It was what made a true adversary. Her people were not soldiers. True warriors owned their mind. They did not raise their sword or bow if there was another option. However, when it came to it, they did so willingly, and without mercy. And it was with that, that Ailith found herself preparing for the long journey. The company of warriors would set out at dawn the following day, and it would take five days to ride to the West Mountains. For nigh on a decade, Ailith had protected her homeland from human invaders, and beastly terrors alike. But this would be her first mission to kill a dragon. She had read extensively of them. Knew they were drawn to flame like moths, but resistant to even the hottest of flames.

Ailith had peers who had brought home trophies. Dragon heads, and claws. The skin was coveted. It made the strongest armour, and its resistance to fire made it worth the trouble of working with the material – at least for the most seasoned and skilled leather workers. The cost meant only those who had slain their own beast, or those of vast wealth, could afford such armour. Ailith would be travelling without such protection. Instead, she and many of the company would ride in a simple hardened leather garb with a thick, pure wool felt outer protection which helped guard from burns when the hunt commenced.

They rode horses, journeying at a steady trot, intermittently stopping to march on foot. A day behind them came the oxen pulled carts which would serve to return the remains of whatever beasts they caught. The roads were good. Dragon flesh had brought immense wealth to their territory, and theirs were the kind of rulers who did not horde such wealth. Not generosity so much as pride, and a good measure to ensure their subjects were content. Ailith was certainly satisfied.

“Here to find your fortune, warrior?” It was a bold young man who broke her reverie. His horse was tall, and upright. Black, and its bard was a picture of decadence. Dragon leather, embossed in brass fittings. The rider wore dragon armour too, of course. His sculpted features were framed by glossy auburn hair. He was handsome, in an irritating sort of way. Prettier than her.

“I am here to do my part, your grace,” she responded to the prince. “For the realm.”

“Well, that pleases me,” Prince Beron smiled winningly. “If you help me fell one of the beasts, I shall see to it that you and your horse are fitted with armour.” Ailith swallowed. Such a prize would only distract her. Although it was immensely tempting.

“You promised me the same thing,” a dark eyed Evelyn retorted from Ailith’s other side. “How many of our company have you promised such a thing?” Ailith smirked at her friend’s remark. “Or is it merely the women?”

“Alas, you think so little of me,” Beron feigned insult. All but a confirmation of the accusation. “Perhaps I merely seek the most skilled fighters to stand by my side.” Ailith grunted, looking up ahead. As much amusement that the prince brought, he was simply a charming diversion. And he should know better. Or he was inexperienced. His skin was clean, and she suspected his hands – although gloved – did not bear many scars. Callouses, of course, for he would have been well trained. But experience? She only knew of two occasions that the young man had attended missions of the territory. As the eldest son of their king, he could not be put in danger so often he might die, but he needed enough experience to be respected as a warrior. Ailith and the rest of the company were sitting the prince as much as they were hunting dragons.

There was a song Ailith tried to grasp, somewhere in old memory.

Iron flesh and stony scale,

Breath of hottest ice,

It was a song of dragons, and of dragon hunters. There was a line she couldn’t recall. Something of mind and soul…

To raise a sword, and shield,

Is to win the battle

but all is lost at the last.

The last lines spoke of how even with every dragon they felled, their doom was inevitable. But that song had been written long ago, when killing dragons had not been so commonplace. There used to be a time when their destruction by dragons was inescapable. For there had been only dragons in the beginning, so they would remain. Dragons were seen as the old children of gods. Before their warrior god showed a different path. And thank their god for such a path.

“Stay by my side, Evelyn,” Ailith reached out and the other woman grasped her hand. “Dearest friend, I will fight beside you,” she smiled. “May we both leave the mountains with our lives.” Evelyn squeezed Ailith’s hand. For three years they had fought together. Trusted one another with their lives. This would be the first dragon hunt for the both of them. Even in Evelyn’s smile, Ailith could see fear there. Fear she would only show to her. Fear that Ailith shared.

They caught the dragon’s trail early the following morning. A rotting, charred corpse of a bullock marked its passing. It was soon after that the company began their ascent into the West Mountains towards a peak known as Greshelven. They soaked their woollen outer coverings in the freezing water of a stream, weighing them down, but a small price for additional protection. Before midday, Ailith was sweating heavily, as surely all were. It was mot merely the soaring sun, and exertion, but something more… Something within the rocks breathed its warning.

She could not have foreseen the doom there. None could have. Had they known they would be facing not one or two, but five beasts, they would have brought far greater numbers. Five together was highly unusual for creatures who largely remained solitary or in breeding pairs. The company had cornered a beast, steely blue with a temperament to match, in a labyrinthine passage between the peak of Greshelven and its neighbour. Like a pack of wolves, the beasts seemed to work together to surround the company – answering the pained cries of its brethren. The group had scattered. Ailith and Evelyn pressed up beneath a rocky ledge as one of the beasts swooped overhead, before alighting on the cliff face high above them. It was immense, and black. As big as the grey whales that swam off the coast beyond their valley home. The stone grated and skittered beneath its claws. And Ailith heard the screams, as somewhere, their company began to be torn apart. She nocked an arrow upon her recurve bow, the draw weight heavy enough to carry the heavy arrows with their drake-iron tips into the softer parts of a dragon. An eye, or open mouth. The wings were a good target too, to set about destroying the delicate webbing.

Evelyn charged, spear raised as it slid into their path. Too soon. They had agreed to wait for Ailith to injure it. The beast was fast, despite its size. It swotted Evelyn away with the clatter of stone. Ailith loosed an arrow that glanced off the side of its face. She cursed. Her friend lay crumpled in the shale. The beast advanced. And for the first time in her life. She was frozen. The gaze of the dragon petrified her. Slowly, she urged her muscles to action. Focusing on her fingertips, first. Sucking in deep breaths, as she’d been trained.

Iron flesh and stony scale,

Breath of hottest ice,

The words came to her, as though carried by the unrelenting winds.

Mind akin, souls paired

All conquering dragonflesh

To raise a sword, and shield,

Is to win the battle

but all is lost at the last.

‘To raise a sword and shield’…. The words hung in her mind, a distraction that refused to let up. Gasping, Ailith dropped her bow like it was burning hot. A deep rippling growl went through her as she clamped her eyes shut. But this was different to the shrieking cries of before… Lower… Ailith sucked in another deep breath, willing her mind to still. Willing the dragon to go. Cursed would she be, for failing the god of warriors. To drop arms and surrender to death. Yet, to die without fighting for life was somehow the more terrifying option. To relinquish hope. Slowly, she looked up to meet the beast’s eyes. It would surely kill her now. And she wished to stare it down. It’s neck arced as it levelled ever closer. Eyes like a cat, colour of molten lead. Every scale was slate, blue grey and black, and hard. And it was magnificent. Despite its stench of death.

Mind akin, souls paired.

All conquering dragonflesh

Light split through the beast’s scales, chest swelling. Surely this would be her end. Burned to a cinder. Yet where the heat willed to burn, it was warm, and inviting. She stepped forward. It beckoned her. And where she should have met with steely scale, she was wrapped in all consuming warmth. With that, she took her first breath as dragonflesh. Her body... their body, impossibly light for its immense size. Lungs deep, filling with every inhale. And muscles, rippling down their back, supporting those immense bat-like wings. They took Evelyn’s limp body in their claws, and took to the sky. They knew, that most of the humans were dead. Prince Beron was no more. And so Dragonflesh was never the flesh of dragon alone. It was the fusion of human and dragon. In mind, in soul, in flesh.