Dragon Trade

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The surrounding hills had once been so troublesome to move large carts through, dragon merchants often avoided Vredev Valley. It was only in the last few decades that Stone Callers from the North were able to carve a path through the mountainous terrain, opening trade routes to this quiet basin. Nowadays the market square in Vredev bustled with endless activity.

Ehren Dewr raised his hand to shield his eyes from the late summer sun. The momentary relief from the blinding rays grounded him, and he remembered what his task was. Scan the crowds. Be alert for suspicious characters. Truthfully, Ehren wasn’t entirely certain he’d know one if he were to see one. Be prepared and aware.

“Put your hand down, you fool.” Mantus’s graveled voice startled Ehren. He turned toward the man, dropping his hand immediately.

“My apologies, sir. The sun was–”

“The idea is discretion, Pup. Don’t let the enemy know your thoughts. If you stand there squinting with your hand up like that, you’re practically reminding them that they’re being watched. Remember, we are to be bland. A guardsman should blend into the scenery,” Mantus said, now scanning the crowd as well. Of course, once Ehren saw him demonstrate the cool ease and statue-esk like posture, it made sense to him. Though, Ehren wished he’d just say it. Mantus had a strange way of speaking, like every sentence was a lesson.

Sweat dripped from the great man’s temples and ran into his wiry black beard which tapered down his chin into a rough cone shape. The captain was stoic, and if he was suffering from the heat, Ehren couldn’t see it in his face.

“I haven’t noticed anything suspicious, sir. All seems to be as it should,” Ehren said.

“There is something about this day, Pup. Something that makes my bones ache. I have felt it since we arrived in the Valley. Be vigilant,” Mantus said, nodding, his face like marble. A trio of guardsmen walked toward them, and Mantus went out to meet them. In the absence of the captain, Ehren’s shoulders dropped, and he let out a sigh.

He was certain that Mantus’s meticulous preparations made it impossible for the day to be anything but perfect. Every royal event, encounter, and engagement on this journey had been executed with expert precision. In all the Southern kingdoms, Captain Mantus Tydorial was by far the greatest Royal Facilitator alive today. The captain was feared by many, respected by all, and seemed to have one singular and unwavering intent: protect the sovereign at all costs. He had long devoted his life to it. Ehren thought many times about how Mantus must have spent his time off-duty. Was he a swimmer, taking evening dips in the green pools of Alamar? Did he enjoy the street attractions of Caldeph in Glenn’Arin, like so many of the other guardsmen? Or was he a frequenter of the Colosseum? Ehren’s instinct said he likely just stayed indoors, concocting new and better strategies for protecting her majesty during her annual expedition.

As Ehren pondered, he was suddenly aware of a presence. She stood but six feet from him, glancing about the crowd as if she had lost a companion. Her dark, tight fitting jerkin covered an even darker tunic. She wore bracers of ashen leather and a hood that shaded the sun from her translucent pale face. A Northerner? This far South? The woman tilted her head as she gazed out and stopped when she saw Ehren looking at her. She stared straight into his eyes, unblinking. He felt a swell of embarrassment and a rush of heat in his face. By Tarahd, she was gorgeous. She grinned, and her hazel eyes charmed him, whispering some mischief, some silent message.

“Attention! Must I beat the sense back into you?” The order boomed from Mantus like a crack of unexpected thunder. Ehren jolted and nearly dropped his Pike. He turned sharply to his captain who was now marching toward him, his emotions no longer hidden behind a wall of professionalism. Ehren swallowed and dared a quick glance over his shoulder at the beautiful stranger, but she was gone. How had she disappeared so quickly?

“What has happened to your reason, boy?” The words came as a whisper, terrifying Ehren far more than shouting ever could. “Have your brains turned to steam and puffed from your ears? If you are unable to follow such simple commands, maybe you ought not to be a member of her majesty’s guard. You must always be prepared and aware, not gazing in a stupor at the wind.”

“Yes, cap–” Ehren said, but Mantus had turned abruptly and strode away, not waiting for a response. Ehren wouldn’t have been able to give one anyway. Shame had a way of quelling bravery.

* * *

Ehren had never seen a dragon trade before. Though he had been assigned to a regiment escorting the Sovereign on her annual trip before, this was his first time as a member of the royal guard, the Duchess’s closest and most loyal warriors. The entire unit was hand selected by the Mantus from a pool of twenty thousand guardsmen. Ehren Dewr had distinguished himself as a man of skill, honor, and bravery. At least, that’s what Mantus had told him upon his selection just seven weeks ago. Being only seventeen, the position felt unearned. Ehren initially refused, but Mantus had made it clear that this assignment was not to be rebuffed, and in fact, it was an honor that no man nor woman had refused in the history of the Kingdom of Dohles. How was a first-season guardsman supposed to say no?

The Duchess sat atop a lavish throne beneath a silken tent, streamers of tan and green twirled in the wind. Mantus stood at her side, leaning down gently as she lazily spoke to him. She was maybe eighty this season, but it was difficult to tell through the traditional painted faces of the Sovereign. Her majesty was wearing the face of Croana the Whisperer, a powder blue base tone with an inky black frown. She’s probably trying to intimidate them for a better sale price. It seemed to be working.

The long awaited parade of oddities entered the large market square. The people who had once been rushing about parted like waves against the bows of a ship to make way for the head of the caravan.

Draped in banners of pearl and onyx, a carriage led the way, pulled by two lumbering reptiles. Their gray and violet scales flashed in the blistering sun. Each creature had dark green eyes deeply inset on the sides of their heads, rows of semi-sharp teeth–likely filed down–that matched two equally dull tusks that protruded from the front of their massive shoulders. A tall man in flamboyant purple robes with elaborate braided hair stood atop the carriage. He whirled a bone-white whip above his head that snapped with orbs of flame when he cracked it toward the lumbering monstrosities.

“What are those?” Ehren asked the nearest guardsman.

“Those are called Vettori. They’re dragonkin–bread for labor and the like. You know. They call them. Um–,” he searched for the word.

“Beasts of burden,” Ehren said, his eyes still wide, fixed upon the creatures.

“Yeah that’s right, lad. Beasts of burden. Not as dangerous as the other merchandise comin’ through today.” The guardsman continued prattling on, but Ehren had stopped listening. He was too distracted by what rode in after the Vettori.

Striding with a smooth and dangerous grace, came a dozen soldiers mounted on the backs of the famous Two-Legged Krilo beasts, their wings folded into curved arches that extended almost to the ground. The riders sat strapped into ornately decorated saddles. Even Ehren knew that these were the Riders of Nivitts. They fanned out as they entered the square, pikes raised high and each held a stony gaze that could rival even Mantus in seriousness.

The riders made a perimeter around the market. The Duchess's throne sat facing a stage, a row of her most trusted guardsmen stood in a semi-combat stance in front of her–an expected precaution for such an event. These weren’t her neighboring kingsmen after all. The people of the East–the Shoadan Tribes–had strange customs. Stranger in some ways than even the Northerners, though not nearly as mysterious. “One couldn’t be too careful in these times,” Mantus had said to Ehren once, “especially when dealing in dragons.”

Ehren’s attention snapped away from his wandering thoughts at the sound of low rumbling. It was the deep pulsating growl of a great beast, like the ancient pure of some terrible, gargantuan lion. Ehren’s skin grew cold even in the heat. An impossibly large creature had just entered the square. Seven of the Vettori pulled an enormous steel cage which carried the beast, and did so with some difficulty. It was hard for Ehren to make out what he was looking at–a tangled, undulating mass of scale and claw and chain and wing and shackle and fang, all similar shades of black and midnight blue. The sun shown across its form like a million sapphires on a desert mountain. But it was the raging red eye that pierced Ehren to his core. An eye the size of a shield, as crimson as blood, burning with the intensity of white hot iron. The crowd fell silent.

Ehren straightened his spine, tried to stop gawking, tried to remember what Mantus had told him. Don’t let the enemy know your thoughts. Ehren figured that every Southerner here was likely thinking the same thing anyways: thank Tarahd those chains are thick as tree stumps.

Each party took their places and presented their offers upon the stage. This process, Ehren knew from his briefings, would take the longest. Each group was supposed to read the terms in full, then negotiations would begin, articles would be redrafted, and contracts would be signed. This sort of thing was the part of royal guard duty Ehren found most tedious. Mantus often referred to the more boring aspects of guardsman life as a blessing. “Those who ask for excitement haven’t often tasted the pain of it,” he would say. Ehren peeled his eyes from the blue mountain and watched his captain survey the negotiations, eager to avoid the red eyes.

A strange look had made its way to Mantus’s face, his stoicism gone. For a moment, Ehren almost couldn’t believe the expression Mantus was making because he had never once in his seven weeks seen it upon his face: it was horror.

Ehren almost froze, transfixed by what he saw on his captain’s face, almost too stunned to follow the man’s gaze. As he did so, Ehren’s eyes stopped on a dark clothed figure standing at the base of the blue dragon’s cart. Her hands were pressed against the largest steel shackle which held the beast’s neck in place. The air around her seemed to darken. Without warning, there was a series of brilliant flashes, white and blue and white again, each emanating from where her hands pressed against the steel. All at once, the horror that plagued Mantus’s face covered Ehren’s. It was the Northerner girl, the stranger he had seen. Not just a Northerner though. She was a wizard.

The flashes of light were followed by a great crackling sound that reverberated throughout the square. Heads turned just in time to see the steel bonds holding the great dragon in place corrode into rust-colored sand and drift away in the wind. Immediately the sixty foot long tail of the creature snaked from beneath its coiled body. Its wings hesitantly began to unfold like the pedals of a flower opening in the light of dawn. The ruby eye blinked in surprise and then narrowed as its head raised in the air. The dragon opened its reptilian jaw to reveal teeth as black as night, and a faint blue light began to glow from the depths of its maw. Blue flames began to lick and sputter from between its teeth. Mantus turned to Ehren, his face as white as chalk. He managed to bellow only one word before the flames took him: Run!