Ileon's Promise

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. In days past, they never flew beyond the Spine. What drove them from their nesting grounds far beyond the mountain range that encircled Endibar Valley was never clear, but that hardly mattered now. Those days were an old memory kept by skeletons long in their graves. With the dragons came the winds of war, casting a shadow of fear and loathing across the realm for generations. “Blood and fire,” Gran always said. “It’s all they ever bring.”

Ruairi shaded his eyes with a flattened palm and surveyed the sky. Clear. Not a cloud in the sky. The sun hung high above him, halfway along its journey towards the western branch of the Spine. Noon, he reckoned. I’ve still got time.

Checking the road ahead and behind him, Ruairi trotted down the ditch and into the long grass bordering the roadside before turning north. He whistled softly, hands tucked deep inside his pockets, while he trekked down the worn trail towards the mass of charred stone.

Ruidon Fortress, or at least what remained of it after the war ended six generations past, loomed just off the roadside like a scab that refused to heal. Once the pride of the Valley, nothing remained but a blackened husk, its outer walls crumbled to gravel. The inner fortress fared no better, only three walls left intact, identifying where the great hall once stood. The upper floors and ceiling had caved in long ago, scattering stone and petrified wood.

The trail shifted from tall grass to loose gravel, ending abruptly where the ruins began. Even after a century, nothing grew where the dragon’s fire touched, the earth scorched and scarred too deeply.

Ruairi brushed his fingers against the broad pillars that marked the old gatehouse, bringing them back stained and gritty. He glanced up at the open sky, the remnants of ancient rafters hanging above him like old bones. The further he went within the ruins, the more it smelled like char and ash. Another testament to the power of Vrothtarian’s fire. Ruairi couldn’t help but wonder just how powerful the stench had been following the attack.

Taking a shallow breath, he moved back towards the old great hall, stepping lightly over the loose stones and debris, and followed the path he’d cleared for himself. No one came here anymore. He didn’t need to worry about prying eyes or unwanted visitors. Here within these ruined walls, Ruairi could be alone. He could be himself, more than just poor Imelda’s bastard or grandson to the village madwoman. No one pitied him here or called him names. No one flicked his ears or pulled his white-blond hair. Here, within the sanctum of days long past, he could be free. He was home.

A smile touched his lips as he entered the hall. His eyes tracked up to the vacant ceiling, following the scorch marks up to the very top of the walls. Ruairi breathed in deeply and stepped into the center of the room, walking circles as he drank it all in. Beneath the dust and decay, stories of ages past whispered to him. Tales of heroes, both man and dragon alike, called out amidst the blackened stones and shattered murals.

Ruairi knew the stories. Everyone in the Valley knew of Ileon the Great and his promise that ended the war between dragon and man. A half-breed from the Oakshield Forest turned war hero; it was the greatest underdog tale Endibar had ever known. But no one knew Ileon’s name until he started fighting the dragons on his own and winning. Armed with his father’s Elven armor and weapons, Ileon tapped into old magic, allowing him to withstand the flames long enough to hit his foe where they were weakest. And when he showed the rest of the Valley how to do it, the tide of the war quickly turned. Humanity had a fighting chance, and the dragons threw everything they could at Ileon.

On the foothills of the Spine, Ileon battled the monolithic Dreigir Scale-breaker, Scourge of the North and the greatest among his kind. The battle lasted for six days until Ileon defeated Dreigir, emerging drenched in the dragon’s blood and called for it to end. It was after that battle that he sued for peace, the bloodshed and loss on both sides greater than those of the first three years of the war combined. And on the top of Mount Iluhir, he alone met with Imrith the Red, king of dragons.

For three days and three nights, Ileon and Imrith debated the terms of their agreement and forged Ileon’s Promise. History claimed that the pact contained three vows that cemented the peace between the two races. First, neither race would attack the other without provocation. Dragons would not hunt man’s livestock and man would not seek to kill dragons for sport or any other gain. Second, dragons would remain in the northern half of the Valley, laying claim to the uninhabited lands along the Spine and bordering the Oakshield. Man would remain in the southern half of the Valley where the lands were more suited to farming the trade. His final promise, however, remained shrouded in mystery. Ileon never spoke of it, claiming he did what he had to in order to keep the peace.

Whatever Ileon’s third promise entailed, it served its purpose. The war ended, each race retiring to their respective halves of the Valley. And after a century, neither man nor dragon had violated the agreement.

Not that tension had died down, however. If anything, the fear and hatred of their scaled neighbors rooted deeper than ever before. But for now, humans were content to hold the peace.

A pigeon fluttered from the rafters, startling Ruairi from his thoughts. He followed its flight east, curious of the bird’s choice in resting here. In all the years he’d come here, he’d never seen wildlife set foot within the ruins. Something about the stench of dragons left behind, he guessed. He shrugged to himself. Maybe things were changing.

The faint toll of the village bells drifted through the soot-stained walls, reminding Ruairi of his task. He glanced up at the sun and cursed. Time always seemed to move faster inside these walls. “I can’t be late again. Gran will skin me for sure this time.”

Skidding through the gravel and leaping over charred stones, Ruairi bolted down his chosen path and made his way out of the ruins. A shadow passed above him, but he ignored it, focusing on his footing to avoid breaking an ankle as he ran pell-mell through the debris. He didn’t have time to check for birds or clouds this time. He needed to get home.

The wind picked up, shaking the stones and shooting dust clouds throughout the decrepit halls. A gust battered against Ruairi, his shirt fluttering against his chest and slowing him down. Leaping over a broken column, Ruairi shot through the old gates and looked towards town. Gasping, he skid to a stop and slid through the gravel, falling onto his backside. His heart shot into his throat, beating hard, and he scrambled backwards until his back touched stone. Air battered him back as the massive creature landed in the field before him, the ground shaking with a heavy thud as its bulk settled upon the earth.

Ruairi froze, blood pounding in his ears. Every bone in his body screamed to run, to dive back into the ruins, into the shadows. But as the dragon moved towards him, he realized he had no chance at escape. Stones didn’t save the people hiding inside Ruidon fortress, either.

His breath caught in his chest as the serpentine head glided towards him, its blue-black scales glinting in the mid-day sun. Liquid amber eyes regarded him critically, the beast’s head bobbing slightly from side to side as it seemed to assess him. Ruairi could feel the heat of its breath, smell the sulfur burning in its chest. His eyes locked on the massive jaws, the pointed teeth, and imagined what his last moments would feel like as the dragon ground him up and gobbled him down.

The dragon lowered its head further, coming inches from Ruairi’s face before it parted its jaws. “Oh gods, don’t eat me!” Ruairi shrieked. “I don’t want to die like this!”

The head paused, staring blankly with its brilliant eyes, then snorted as it retreated. A strange rumble echoed from deep in the dragon’s chest. Laughter, Ruairi recognized. Gods, the thing was laughing at him! As if being eaten just before his sixteenth birthday wasn’t humiliating enough, now it mocked him.

You humans are all the same.

Ruairi froze, disturbed now by the lyrical voice that echoed in his mind. He shook his head and looked back at the dragon’s eye. “Did you…”

The eye rolled. Yes, yes, little human. You can wrap your tiny brain around it later. Now it’s time for you to fulfill your final promise.