Before Boltanger

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley,” huffed Ben.

“A fat lot of good that does for us now!” exclaimed Mads. “Run!!”

They sprinted across open, rocky ground, not able to outrun the shadow of the beast as it passed above them, blocking out the sun. They dove behind rocks just in time as it dove. It’s eyes were like horrible searchlights and it let out a massive shriek as it climbed again into the air, frustrated that its prey vanished so suddenly.

“What do we do?” Ben demanded. His barrel chest was heaving from the exertion of running on stubby legs, trying to keep up with his much taller companion.

“Shut up!” hissed Mads. “Shut up, Ben! We have to stay here until it leaves!” They cowered in the shadows as it circled in the sky. It gave a weird illusion of being in a sort of dance with the sun, circling and bobbing in a polite death waltz.

“Do you have any powder left?” whispered Ben.

“No! I used it all on that gremlock we saw in the woods. And dammit I wish you’d just taken it out with your staff. Now we’re stuck here!” Mads pulled her cloak tighter around her and made herself as small as possible, which was hard, considering that Mads was over six feet tall. She was a Forest Reaper, a female warrior born to a tribe of cunning and skilled mages that had dwelt there for centuries. She and Ben were an odd pair and often got second glances and occasional outright guffaws wherever they went. He was ⅓ her size and often mistaken for a dwarf. Which was stupid; everyone knew the dwarves had died out long ago. He was fully human, and a ferocious fighter at that. What he lacked in size he made up for in speed and determination. His favorite weapon was his jigsaw staff, enchanted by Mads herself. It could change shape into whatever he needed it to be in a fight. And unfortunately, it wasn’t going to work against a creature this size and feral.

The dragon dove again and opened its massive maw. Ben saw straight into the dark cavern of its oral cavity, and his eyes widened in terror as he saw an orange glow sliding up it.

“It’s going to blast!” he screamed.

They ran again, scrambling over boulders and weeds just in time as the titan volleyed the rocks with flames. The place where they had been hiding only seconds ago was a mass of charred and partially melted rubble.

That could have been us, he thought frantically. That could have been us!

“We have to do something!” he yelled.

“I know!” Mads yelled back. She pulled a bow and arrow from her back and took aim. She volleyed the creature but the arrows just bounced off its hide.

“If you can lure it down I can try to kill it with my jig,” He said. He knew it probably wouldn’t work but it was all they had.

She nodded at him and stepped out from the rock. He thought, this is how it ends. We’re done for.

She muttered a few words and boulders levitated into the air. She shoved her hands forward forcefully and the boulders flew at the dragon, knocking it off course. It let out an angry shriek and circled, coming to rest on the ground a few feet from where they were.

“It’s on the ground, Ben, do something before it roasts us!” She flung more rocks at it and it twisted its head at her, cocking it to one side as if it couldn’t believe how stupid she was.

“Hey ugly!” Ben yelled.

It swung its head around and let out a snort. A puny human was taunting it and perhaps this was its version of a laugh. It threw its head back and blew a stream of fire into the sky then brought its head down, glaring at him as they squared off. I’m going to die, thought Ben. This is it. He muttered a prayer to Abbeth, then pulled out his jigsaw blade, willing it into the most lethal form he could imagine. It shimmered and he could feel it rearranging itself into the image he held in his mind’s eye. The dragon roared, and he could feel its oven-like breath, searing his eyebrows and skin.

Suddenly the air above the dragon’s head wavered and then Mads appeared.

“Took you long enough!” yelled Ben, scrambling back behind some boulders.

She ignored him and raised her spear in the air, attempting to plunge it into the nape of the dragon’s neck. It was pointless; it just glanced off, clattering to the ground beneath it. The dragon unfolded its massive wings and shook itself, knocking Mads off balance. She tumbled to the ground next to it and rolled quickly out of the way as it pushed off, raising dust from the ground. Mads quickly ducked and ran to where Ben crouched and they watched it take off into the sky.

“Why didn’t it attack?” asked Ben.

“I don’t know. It’s like it just got bored or something.” answered Mads.

“Oh no. It’s just turning around…”

They watched in horror as it made a slow circle in the sky and then dove straight at them. There would be no time to run and their weapons would be ineffective against a direct onslaught from the beast. From their vantage point they could see its deadly inhale as it prepared to unleash its caustic vapor and flame directly into their faces.

“Ben there’s something I-”

“Mads-”

The beast dove at them and opened its mouth and-

Nothing. They waited. And nothing. It hovered there, mouth gaped open, hanging like a thundercloud mere feet above them, and then it began to shake. They looked at each other and Ben shook his head in confusion. They watched as the dragon trembled then collapsed to the earth. Great puffs of dirt rose up into the late afternoon air. The creature lay there, still and unmoving, wings oddly splayed and no sign of breath or life stirring its carcass.

“What the-??” exclaimed Ben.

“By Cathraine…”, whispered Mads. They ducked behind the boulder for several minutes, barely daring to breathe. When the creature did not move, they slowly crept from their hiding place and approached.

“What happened to it?” demanded Ben.

Mads shrugged and they walked up to it. Prodded it with their weapons. Touched it with their hands. Nothing. It was like a great Goddess had batted it down from the sky, as if it had been no more than a mere fly in the grand design of the Web.

A horrid metallic-like squeal sounded from somewhere inside the beast. Both Mads and Ben jumped back, reflexively bringing up their weapons. The squealing continued, high pitched and painful to their ears, so much so that they were forced to cover them. They watched in dread as the dragon started to tremble again. It began to twitch, flopping its tail and wings and head with no rhyme or reason. It shuddered, and then again collapsed, and smoke started rising from it, like steam from a hot bath.

“What is this?” whispered Mads. They approached again, only this time, Mads went straight to the creature’s maw. She muttered an incantation and a ball of light formed in her palms, which she sent into the creature’s mouth. It illuminated the inside of it and disappeared. She closed her eyes and was silent for several minutes.

“What do you see?” demanded Ben.

She held up a finger, brow furrowed. “It’s just not possible!” She muttered. “It can’t be!”

The ball of light floated back out and into her palms, which she mashed together. Yellow shards fell from her fingers and evaporated upon hitting the ground. She opened her eyes and walked forward, stepping over the sharp, curved teeth, straight into the creature's mouth.

“What are you doing!! Mads!! Are you crazy?? Mads!!” Ben yelled. He watched as his friend disappeared into the beast, and for the space of seconds entertained visions of her roasting inside of the behemoth’s belly. Then he heard her delicate, tinkling laughter.

“Oh Ben, my wee friend. You must see.”

He gingerly followed her, stepping into the dragon’s mouth and walking down the throat. And it was nothing like he expected. He expected a cavern of organic features, smells of rotted flesh from previous meals, even the decay of death already, given that the creature seemed to have expired. But there was none of this. Just a long corridor with odd pipes snaking down, all the way to a chamber that should have been a belly, but was nothing more than a room…A room? He tried to fathom what he was seeing and he could not.

“What is this?” he demanded.

Mads had been standing with her back to him, studying everything she could see. She turned and looked at him. Fear and bemusement warred on her narrow features.

“This isn't real. Someone made this.”

“You’re saying this is a construct? Someone built this thing?” He stood there, stumped. “Who?”

“We have to go to Boltanger. We have to see the Queen,” said Mads.

“No one sees the Queen anymore!”

“But we have to.” She stated. “Ben. This-” she waved her hands around, “This is crazy. It would be easier to believe that Cathraine herself had swiped it down out of the sky just for our benefit. But that’s not what happened! Someone had to have made this! And these attacks are becoming more frequent. Someone made this, Ben. And for what? And why did this break, and where are they getting the materials? How did it work? Is it powered by magic? It smells of something odd, something I cannot put my finger on, there are traces of something foreign here, something I have never encountered in all the threads and tangles of the Web.”

Ben looked up at her and knew she was right. All of these questions needed to be answered. Just..why did they have to be the ones to answer them, or get help, or whatever?

“We still have time, Mads. We could walk away from this whole thing, get a ship in Niven and spend the summer in the Sage Islands. There’s plenty of work there, for a thief and a con.”

“I’m more than a thief, and you are more than a con, and you know it, Ben Surly. You know it.” She turned on her heel and disappeared, headed back out of the beast. He sighed, dreading their inevitable encounter with the Queen in Boltanger. He muttered another prayer to Abbeth and followed her.

Far away in Boltanger the market was closing for the day. People were packing their wares and heading home with their purchases. In the castle, overlooking the bustling city, Queen Nanta sighed, sitting on her throne and drinking. Just drinking. Her ladies and staff had long ago started looking the other way when the Royal Sommelier brought out her choices for the day. Some whispered a few weeks ago when she demanded her footman go down the local pub and bring back the hard stuff the locals enjoyed but she silenced them with a glare. She was old. She knew this. Her hair, once gold as flax, was pure silver now, braided into an elaborate coiff that took hours in the mornings. She was tired of it. And she was bored. Her husband had passed ten years ago, leaving her to rule the kingdom alone, a role she had welcomed fully and completely. So completely that many wondered if the king’s demise had been natural at all. She sat, swirling the liquor in her glass and watching the sun go down as the musicians played softly in the background. It had been a long day of hearing grievances, going over the grain count, administering sentences for crimes committed, and visiting the dungeons, a thing she insisted on doing at least once a month. She had to at least remind her sister, every now and then, why she was being kept there in the first place.

“Your grace,” a breathless voice addressed her and she looked up. Her son’s nursemaid stood in front of her with a folded paper in her hand.

“Let me see,” Queen Nanta said. Nurse Joy handed her the paper, curtsied, and left quickly. The Queen unrolled the paper and studied the drawing and gasped. Damn, she muttered. Damn!!!

“Guards!” she called. The captain appeared with two of his men. She said nothing, only held up the paper. He paled and nodded and disappeared. Nothing more needed to be said. He would do what needed to be done..what could be done, with the resources they had.

Her hand dropped to her side and the paper floated to the ground as she took another drink. Anyone who happened to be in the room would see a child’s drawing on simple lined paper, done with a cone of lead or a molded pastel. But it wasn’t the fact that it was a child’s drawing. The drawing itself would never pass muster at the finest museum. It was who the child was, and what the drawing was. Nanta scooped it up and tucked it into her pocket to store in her personal study along with all the other ones. She took one last sip of her liquor and left the cup there on her throne, knowing it would be whisked away as soon as she left. She would go up to the east tower and kiss her son, Brughu, goodnight. She would thank him. She would tell him all was well because of him. And then she would go to sleep and tomorrow she would do it all over again.

Across the hall and up in the east tower, Brughu sat at his desk, feverishly drawing. It was never this bad, the visions, the dreams, but they were coming so fast now, he had to put them on paper. Nurse Joy bustled in, chirping at him like always..

“Broo, I gave your mum your picture and I didn’t look at it, like I promised-” she stopped and gasped. “Brughu,” she whispered. “Oh…”

Hundreds of hand-drawn pictures covered the wall. “What are these?” she asked, picking one up. Brughu stopped and turned. His eyes were unreadable.

“Hy..” he tried, and stopped. He pounded his fist against his forehead in frustration. Joy raised her hand. “It’s ok, it’s ok, Broo, try again. Take your time.”

“Hy..dra. Hydra.” he said. Then he turned away and continued drawing.

A hydra. They were doomed.