Chapter 1: Red Ancient

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. They arrived 12 years ago, around the same time people started losing their ability to use magic. That’s why everyone hates them. They blame them; claim they sucked the magic out of the land and the water and the air… and the people. A bunch of political lies if you ask me.

No one would ever ask me, though.

“Maid!” An officer slams his fist on the bar. “Another round, before my beard grows lower than my neckline.” He puckers his lips in a kiss that makes his red moustache twitch, and the group of dragon hunters surrounding him breaks into raucous laughter. They’re drunk, have been for the better part of the evening. The annoyance that always pricks my throat when I have to serve this kind of man needles it now.

I eye his wiry red beard. It’s thin, yet he lets it grow like all the unmarried men in the Valley. The longer and fuller the better, so they say. Lowering my voice to a drawl, I reach for the beer stein. “I don’t think we have to worry about your beard, hunter. Looks like it will be a while before it starts coming in.”

This sends his friends into a howl. He scowls, his hand automatically going to his jawline. I touched a nerve. I pour the beer quickly and pass it to him, and lucky for me, the group is already onto the next subject—silky-haired Rowena who has just sauntered in.

“Hey, boys,” she says to a chorus of whistles.

Trailed by a couple friends, Rowena slinks over to the dragon hunters’ table and makes herself at home. They’ll be eating out of the palm of her hand in a minute. I’ve watched her do it more nights than not since I took over running this place. Her curvy figure and cinched waist are her smokescreen, her mind her true weapon. She is a master manipulator. We used to go to school together. She used to be a witch.

“Thank gods,” I mutter under my breath.

Women like Rowena have always been better than women like me at dealing with men. I’ve been told I’m too quick to anger, to slow to think. But the reality is, all I do is think. I’m not educated, but the bar maid at the Valley’s main crossroads knows a whole lot more than the scholars do. More about people anyway.

“Hey, you.”

I look up as Rowena leans over the bar. “What’s a girl got to do to get some beer around here?” I glance over at the group of men, now entertained by the girls Rowena brought with her.

I pour a dark beer—the kind she likes—and slide it across the bar to her. “This one’s on me.”

She takes a sip. “You know I don’t take charity."

“It’s not charity. It’s a thank you for distracting those… those…”

“Dragon pellets?” she supplies.

“Dragon pellets,” I laugh. “Anyway, thanks.”

She narrows her eyes at dragon hunters. “They’re bothering you.”

I sigh, tucking a piece of light brown hair behind my ear. “No more than usual.”

“If I could still, I’d—” She mimics making a globe of magical energy with her hands and then chucking it in their direction. “You know.”

“I know.”

We’re silent for a few moments, and Rowena sips her beer. “So what is bothering you?”

She reads people, always has. There’s no point in lying to her, but the reality is I don’t know what to say. How do I explain that I’ve become convinced that every system we live under is a lie? Every day I hear more stories, more suffering. The elves in Woodard are running out of water. The miners in the Northstone Cliffs were planning a strike until a “mining accident” took out their leadership. People of all types across the Valley are struggling to feed their families.

Meanwhile the dragon hunters are killing dragons in record numbers, magic shows no sign of returning, and the High Council has just built a brand-new capitol of pure marble inlaid with gold and gems. Where did all the money come from?

Maybe it’s all just hearsay. Bar stories.

But it all feels so terribly… convenient.

“Gertie? I think I lost you.” Rowena arches a perfect black eyebrow.

“No. I was just thinking, sorry.” I look down the bar at the dragon hunters, and the one with the red beard locks my gaze with a sneer. I just can’t make myself believe that the dragons are what drained the magic out of the Valley. Some people have too much power to gain from girls like me and Rowena losing ours.

The door flies open and curly-headed Carrie-Ann throws herself inside. “Dragon! Dragon!”

Rowena and I sigh, but the hunters are on their feet in an instant. They’re obviously not from around here.

Rowena steadies Carrie-Ann with a hand on her shoulder. “Where did you see it, Carrie-Ann?”

I’m already reaching under the bar for the dragon spray. It’s made of citrus and hops, and the dragons hate it.

Carrie-Ann’s eyes are wild. “Right outside! In the air, above the bar! That monster is going to blast us with fire and destroy everything. Gertie, the bar—it’s in danger. Get everyone out. Are those hunters? We need to find out if they have a cannon!”

Rowena smiles, her black cherry lipstick glimmering in the half-light. “I hardly think a dragon cannon is necessary for a threat like this, honey. Gertie has the citrus spray, and that always works.”

I nod. “Rowena is right. I’ll just take this out there and—"

Carrie-Ann shakes her head. “You don’t understand. This is a Red Ancient, and it’s here. Now!”

I blink a few times. A Red Ancient? That’s… quite the exaggeration. Even for Carrie-Ann.

Through the window, a sudden blaze of yellow-orange light throws flickering shadows on the wall.

“Is that… fire?” Only Ancients produce fire. A zing of fear zips through me.

The dragon hunters start shouting orders to the bar patrons, but I can’t make out what they’re saying through the ringing in my ears. A Red Ancient? Here? Why? Those aren’t cat-sized pests that ruin your vegetable garden. They’re massive. Powerful. Intelligent.

Rowena throws her head back and laughs. “I’ll be damned.”

I’m not laughing.

Before I can figure out what to do, the glass windows blow inward with a sound like thunder, and a column of fire shoots into the bar. Everyone screams and hits the floor.

“Rowena, run!” I push her toward the door.

The hunters run toward the exit. Except red-beard. He beelines straight for me, grabbing me by the back of my shirt to haul me over the bar. “What are you doing?!” I shout. I try to shove him off, and when that doesn’t work I start to rip off my shirt. His massive hand closes around the back of my neck. “Let me go!”

The next blaze of fire comes through the front door, the heat forcing my eyes closed. It’s coupled with another thunderclap. A roar, I realize. That sound is a roar.

As red-beard marches toward the door, Rowena leaps forward and slams her palm into his chest. He staggers back, but he doesn’t drop me. Struggling is a brute strength battle that I’m losing.

“Shouldn’t you be out there with your friends?” Rowena asks him. “Red Ancient sounds like a great shot at glory... and gold.” Her arms are tense at her sides, her stance wide as her heels scrape the now-blackened floor.

“Get out of my way,” he growls. He pushes past her, and she throws a lightning-fast punch… but he’s prepared this time. With one hand, he catches her fist, twists it, and the resulting crack fills my throat with nausea.

“Damn it!” Rowena lurches back, her arm hanging limp. Even now she tries to free me with a kick at the hunter’s groin, but he shoves her slender form away and drags me toward the door.

I don’t think of myself as a fearful person, but right now I’m sick with it. “Let me go! What are you doing with me? I’m not good for fighting dragons! What use am I to you out there?”

He looks down at me with the same sneer he’s been wearing all night.

“Bait.”