Dragonfear

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. And when there were, it was never many. They usually kept to the mountain ridge on their travels, as it was the best way to survive the dragonslayers. With a sigh, Azbarruka refocused his aim on the clearing below. At the very least, they’ll scare the deer in my direction.

It had been a long time since anybody was truly afraid of dragons. There were always the children's stories and the legends where they were beasts of great wrath and power. The stories went all the way back to the beginning, when the Blood God discovered them as serpents corrupted by evil. Through the ages, dragons had been many things… enemies, heroes, faithful servants, and terrible masters. But even those myths and legends strained credulity with what dragons were in the present age. Sure, they were dangerous, but they weren’t perilous. Their power was nothing like the tales of old.

As beasts, they were formidable, strong, and dangerous, but not unable to be overcome. Azbarruka’s grandfather always enjoyed telling the old tales to him when he was a young boy, and they garnered such wonder and excitement that his dreams were filled with heroic deeds in the great wars of past ages. But magic was just that, a dream. There were true believers out there who hoped that dragons would one day begin to speak again, and that magic would return to the world. As Azbarruka waited for his prey, he thought, did magic every really exist?

Dragons were good business, and the old legends only made the business more profitable. Even in the days of his grandfather’s grandfather, dragons were larger than they were now. So, dragonslayers were much more necessary. Once great men, revered for their bravery and courage to fight and kill the great fire serpents, dragonslayers had devolved into just another guild of mercenaries looking to peddle fear into profit. All they were doing, though, was slowly killing off the dragon population and driving themselves out of work. Just leave them alone…

Then the dragon roars began in earnest, and Azbarruka realized that there were many more in the valley than even he had thought. In response, the wildlife of the valley panicked. He knew the hunt was over, but he was piqued by what was happening. He climbed up to the canopy of the forest in order to get a better view and avoid the coming stampede of deer, rabbits, bears, and all the other life of the valley. His eyes widened as much as his mouth when he met the sky. Hundreds of dragons, of all hues and colors, were flying into the valley. This is not normal…

Their roars were as constant as the honking of migrating geese, and when mingled with the noises of fear from the forest animals below, the cacophony was nerve-rattling. Why are they coming here? Where are they coming from?

Azbarruka turned his eyes to the north and froze. He had never known much fear in his life, for he was a hunter and a warrior, even if a young one. The son of a blacksmith, Azbarruka was introduced to weaponry at a very young age, and the forging of iron into steel honed his muscles into living steel. He had no enemies, but he also had no friends, thanks to a bloated arrogance. But fear was a thing he had never truly felt… until now. The old legends used to speak of dragonfear, an aura exuded by every dragon that was capable of freezing a man, or an animal, in its tracks. Most thought that it was an inherent magical trait of dragons, having been corrupted by the evil of Tohuwahun back in the Beginning of Days. But, depsite the faith so many in this world had put into the dusty old books from ages past, the world of today was not that world. There was no magic left in the land, if there had been any to begin with. The fear of so many dragons, though, was proving very real in this moment.

Yet, through the fright of so many predators surrounding him, a small chuckle escaped Azbarruka’s mouth as he thought about the world being full of magic… The only magic the world held would be that which would one day see him leave the valley to become a blacksmith and a knight in one of the great cities. The magic of this world lay in battle and recognition. This was his seventeenth year, and he decided that it would be his last as the village’s apprentice blacksmith. Let the people have their faith in the fairy tales of gods and goddesses long dead, Azbarruka would focus on his own fame and fortune.

The pitch change in the roars of the beasts flying overhead brought him out of his reverie, and he focused again on what he saw to the north. The sky was red… not the red that signaled an approaching stormfront, but the red of blood. Suddenly, the fear that drove him into his thoughts and dreams returned as feverishly as the fear in the dragons’ roars. The tingling sensation was something new for Azbarruka, as was the uncontrollable beating of his heart. All was made worse when he looked above and spied a snow white dragon begin to dive like a hawk after a field mouse.

“Bloody hell!” Azbarruka took one step and plummeted. But it was not the ground that broke his fall.

The dragon had swooped in quickly and caught the falling boy, but that was where the gentleness ended. Dipping its wing to just above the ground, its prize rolled quickly off and landed with a thump. The dragon itself landed with a skid and stood still and quiet.

He could no longer feel his bow on his back, and so Azbarruka drew his sword to face off with the dragon. Eyes flitting about, his mind quickly took in the scene; the bow lay towards the end of the clearing, broken in two, the arrows were strewn about, and the only quick exit to the edge of the woods was blocked by the dragon. Fierce, ice blue eyes stared back at Azbarruka, and they spoke of a lethality far greater than animal instinct. But behind those eyes, he saw a careful, calculating mind. There was an agedness to this dragon that Azbarruka did not expect, like peering into the wisdom of his grandfather, but facing the strength and stoicism of his father.

A chill ran down his spine as he tried to stare down his opponent. Dragonslayers are mostly imbeciles, he thought, how could they possibly take down creatures such as this? No sooner had Azbarruka finished the thought when the dragon reared up tall and mighty and let out an ear-piercing roar. Yet, through the roar, he heard, too, a thought in his mind. Speak not of the slayers! When the glade once again fell quiet, save for the continuing din of the other dragons above, Azbarruka raised his sword to the ready, waiting for the inevitable strike from the beast before him. Its eyes were full of rage and malice.

This was the first real challenge of Azbarruka’s life, and the familiar feeling of violence crept through the fear. He clenched his jaw, letting the courage flow through him, and he gave himself over to his arrogance.

“You wish to challenge me, fell beast? I have not yet named my sword, but perhaps I shall call it Rebosharrvai, the Dragonlance,” he threatened with a curl of his lip and gave the dragon an insolent sneer.

The dragon again reared back its head, and as the temperature of forest clearing dropped sharply, the fear that was dissolving within Azbarruka consumed him like a flood. The roar was deafening… and from the beast’s mouth there erupted a smoky, blue-white flame that froze everything it touched. In moments, the trees and the grass all about him were frozen solid, white and glistening in the sunshine. His breath came out in large puffs of moisture that instantly froze and jingled like broken glass on the ice at his feet. Azbarruka realized that dragonfear was real, and all the stories of the dragonslayers that had traveled through the valley over the years were nothing but piss and wind. None of those characters would have had the gumption to face down a monster such as this, and Azbarruka wasn’t sure how he’d fare either.

Repositioning his sword, Azbarruka now held it in front of him with both hands, blade parallel to the ground. It was no defense against the cold-fire breath of the white dragon, but it was all he could come up with. Those fierce, ice blue eyes bore into his soul, and Azbarruka knew that his death would be quick. But, just as swift as he predicted his death to be, so was the change in the dragon’s demeanor. It was instant… The beast’s eyes went from him to his sword. Azbarruka began to slowly wave the sword from side-to-side, seeing if the dragon would follow it. He stopped when he noticed the dragon staring at him once again, and it was almost like being stared down by his father after doing something stupid. Unbelievably, Azbarruka could feel his cheeks turning red and growing warm from the embarrassment.

Then the dragon walked up to Azbarruka, never breaking eye contact. His heart raced with fear, and he could feel his grip on the sword lessening as his hands became clammy. But the dragon continued its approach until it was nose-to-nose with the young warrior. Its great white bulk was a testament to the pure strength of the beast, and the dragonfear was overwhelming. But a snort broke Azbarruka of the near-blinding fear, and he watched the dragon lift its head above him, exposing its throat. The flesh there was soft, and it was a direct line to its brain. It was daring Azbarruka to kill it.

“But why?” he asked the dragon.

All he received was another snort, he could feel the impatience of the dragon growing. Azbarruka reaffirmed his grip on the sword and widened his stance to brace for the coming thrust. The confusion of emotions running through him was almost too much to bear, and it seemed that no number of deep breaths would calm him for this moment. He closed his eyes and struck… nothing. He pushed against the sword with all of his might, but the blade felt stuck.

Azbarruka opened his eyes to something he didn’t expect. The sword hung in the air, a hair’s breadth from striking the pristine, white scales of the dragon’s neck. The crosspiece of his sword glowed softly with a blue light, and the dragon remained motionless before him. He pulled the sword back and stared at it. Where grip met crossguard, Azbarruka’s sword held the family sigil. As the soft glow dimmed, the symbol that he had never really studied came into sharp focus. There was a deep-etched backwards ‘S’ inscribed in a diamond, inscribed in a circle, inscribed in an ellipse. The boy didn’t remember paying much attention to the symbol before, but he now understood that the dragon just had. That’s why the beast gave Azbarruka the chance to plunge the blade through its neck, because it knew that it wouldn’t be possible.

Azbarruka sighed in defeat. If the sword couldn’t kill the dragon, then he was as good as eaten. He put the point of the blade on the ground, rested his hands on the pommel, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. “Go on and take me, dragon,” his voice raspy and defeated.

He suddenly felt cool breath on the side of his face, the serpent’s mouth could not be any closer without eating him. From its throat came a low, deep growl. But as it continued, Azbarruka could swear that he heard the formation of sounds and words. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on the sounds.

“Hhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaa… Iiiiiiiiiiii… I’m not going to eat you, youngling,” said the dragon. The growling undertone was disconcerting to Azbarruka, but the words were a relief. “You are a Protector of the Sharvai, you are meant to save us, not to destroy us.”

The dragon pulled back and looked Azbarruka in the eyes, then it bowed its head in reverance and stepped back a couple of paces.

“Protector of the Sharvai? Who could I possibly protect you from?”

All his life, Azbarruka had relied on his arrogance to give him courage. But there was no amount of arrogance that could withstand the power of the beast that stood before him, nor the truth of what he always thought were fairy tales. Dragonslayers were frauds, dragons could speak, and magic was real. Does that mean…

“Yes, youngling, it does,” the dragon answered his thought before he could finish it. “The gods and goddesses are also real. All of them… The Hallathim, the Kuvalain, and the Adumatain. Thousands of years ago, they agreed to leave the world of Tulvai to its own devices. They also left magic to dwindle and die, as well as those that needed magic to survive.”

Azbarruka hadn’t realized that the glade had thawed, but as his eyes looked anywhere but at the dragon, he saw that the green had returned to the trees and plants. The air was once again warm, but the sky was now quiet. The dragon lifted its snout to the sky and snorted.

“The others know I have found you and await its portent.”

“How have dragons survived the death of magic?” he asked, willing to accept the dragon’s words at face value.

“We have all survived. Long ago, we learned how to survive in a world without magic. We became instinctual, docile, unable to communicate with any but our own. But we survived,” the dragon’s answer was full of regret and sadness. “All of the legends and myths are true. Tulvai was once a land of wonder, tragedy, and fierce loyalty. Men fought beside gods and demigods alike. But just as magic has forced us to live as lesser beings, so, too, has it taken the greatness of men. Magic reawakens across the land now, and the Gods are aware of it. That is why we dragons flee.”

“Who is after you?”

“Our old nemesis, the Blood Goddess and her Nosheveratu.”

“Vampires?” Azbarruka asked incredulously. “Forgive my demeanor, dragon, but-”

“Elbasa’aq is my name, youngling. And you do not believe in the creatures of old?”

“You ask a lot of me… I have seen no proof of the truth of the old myths. Sure, the Faithful preach it incessantly,” he answered with a roll of his eyes, “but they are bloody crackpots. According to them, the world should have ended numerous times already. Yet, civilization has continued on. Talking to dragons I can make peace with…” he continued with a nod of his head. “Because, well… here we are.”

“You have much to learn, youngling,” the voice came from behind him in a hiss.

Azbarruka spun with sword raised, but he could move no more. The man before him was as pale as the moon with long, flowing hair as black as the night. He had no eyebrows, which made his blood red eyes that much more startling. The whole of the man’s body was covered by a flowing black robe cinched at the waist by a golden belt made of rope. Only his hands were visible as he lifted them in greeting. They were as pale as his face and tipped with long fingernails of a deep purple.

“’Tis a good thing I’m not your enemy, young man, or you’d be dead…”

Released from his trance, Azbarruka let his sword fall to the ground. “You’re a… You’re a va-”

Smiling wryly, the strange man finished the boy’s thought, “A vampire. Yes…” Now his smile became bigger, exposing his fangs for Azbarruka to see. “I am one of the first of the Nosheveratu, known once as Handushavai. But that was eons ago. Since my act of betrayal, I have been known as Vomperrat, the Sundered Son.”

Azbarruka stared at Vomperrat in confusion and disbelief. A talking dragon… A mythical figure in the flesh… He felt his heart flutter and his body go numb. Through the noise of the blood rushing past his ears, he heard Elbasa’aq chanting behind him. The world slowed down, his eyes blinking slowly as though he were drunk on ale. Azbarruka watched through the haze as Vomperrat bit his own thumb. The vampire grabbed the boy gently by the back of the neck and brought the bloody thumb to his lips.

There was a taste of more than just copper, and as the world receded and unconsciousness took him, Azbarruka began to see things in his mind’s eye. It was like the fairy tales come to life, but he knew them mow to be true, they were not just stories.

In the final moments before the waking world disappeared, Azbarruka heard the solemn of Vomperrat, “Only the memories of the past can prepare you for the future. The Gods return to hunt for the Shard. And none shall be spared by them. We shall meet again, in three days time…”

Azbarruka had one last thought before the darkness took him, There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but now they have all come here… because the Gods have come to claim their lives.