Illusions of Power

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. I try to remind myself of this on days that feel most bleak. This morning the streets are filled with the exhaust of their fiery breath, seeping in through the cracks in the windows and doors, stifling me awake. Dressing quickly, I push through the smoke out onto the street to go to work at the metal yard, only to become caked in the ash of my neighbors home. The dragons must have come after they missed their seasonal tax payment. Unable to provide after their taphouse was burned for kicking out a rowdy soldier. The soldier called for the dragons that same night.

There was a time when our people lived in peace. I must look back to a happy past in order to even fathom a better future. There’s hardly anyone alive anymore that can recall the time before, only a few elders. They were only children when it happened, the day we call the Cataclysm.

The Valley was never a perfect place, no one claimed it to be. But to be from the Valley is to be proud of where you come from. We inhabit the largest oasis in the Great Divide, the harsh mountain range that separates the north and the south of our continent. The Divide boasts some of the coldest temperatures on the land, and the highest winds. Despite any condition, trade between the north and the south is a necessity, and the Valley is what makes that possible. All trade that passes through the Divide stops in the Valley. Our people, ancient mountain people that came down into the Valley when time stretched longer and development happened slower, settled here and built a city of harmony. By cultivating the water supplies that run down the mountains and employing their enchanters to charm the Valley against flooding, they were able to build a prosperous city, welcome to all travelers. Most of the Valley citizens owned inns and taverns, or made them out of their living rooms.

For thousands of years, people that passed through the Valley recognized the unspoken principles of travelers and tradesmen. You don’t seek trouble where it is unnecessary. You respect your hosts. You take what you are given. There were bouts of thievery and petty crimes here and there, but that was the nature of the city. Albeit lively in the nights with all the drinking and singing, the Valley was a peaceful place. To have made it to the Valley was to have succeeded in a treacherous and unpromising journey, coming from either direction. We were known for being a place of rest and celebration. Until the dragons descended.

They came down from the mountains, emerging from underneath the thick clouds that conceal the peaks. It was one of the last days of winter, the promise of spring near as the wind in the air. The first dragon they sent was their biggest, dwarfing the colossal mountain faces in comparison. Flying over the Valley, the dragon blackened the gray sky completely, only for a moment, before disappearing around the opposite mountain. The people turned their heads upwards in confusion at this sudden darkening in the middle of the day. Only a few were looking up at the time and saw what it was. Without a moment for reaction, a barrage of smaller dragons cascaded into the Valley from all surrounding peaks. Unleashing a rain of their fluid fire around the perimeter of the Valley, the Cataclysm began.

They burned the city from the outside in, driving people to the middle. Once all the people were either forced into the city center or consumed by the fire, five soldiers came down on the backs of their smallest dragons, about the size of well-bred horses. They demanded to speak to our leader, but we did not have one, we only had elders who we turned to for council. Most of which perished in the initial attack. The soldiers saw this as our weakness to be used against us, and claimed that they would be implementing order to the Valley. From that point forward, we were to adhere to their rules, follow their new trade regulations, and pay taxes as humble civilians now under the control of a power much stronger than us. To this day, we do not even know what they call themselves. Our people did not have an army of our own. And the soldiers had dragons.

Easily recognizable in their tight black clothing and heavy boots, the soldiers have been patrolling the city ever since. Stealing from us, beating us for sport, and summoning their dragons to destroy our homes and businesses any chance they get. Our people have been mistreated far too long, it’s about time we rally and do something about it.

Not that our people have not tried, oh, they have. Our lack of military skills in our ancestry shows obviously in the face of an organized army. And the soldiers are not even the same species as us, with smooth curves at the tips of their ears, where ours come in to a point. They cannot be killed by any regular weaponry in their clothing fitted from dragon skin, not to mention they are fire resistant. They added the addition of tight-fitting masked helmets to their garb a few years ago, after an unlucky Valley citizen struck a fatal blow to a soldier’s head with an argonite stone during an altercation in a taphouse. Within the hour, the soldier was carried away, a dragon summoned, and the Valley citizen burned on the pillar at the city center. Things have felt hopeless for us for as long as we can remember.

Which is why I decided to find work at the metal shop. Most young women around my age choose to work in the taverns or the inns, because the money is always good for us there. Travelers pay to hear our stories about other travelers, the women of the Valley are known for their exceptional storytelling craft. I thought this would be the path for me as well, until I heard about the promise of a large argonite import. The only material that can kill a dragon, and, as far as we know, the soldiers.

Argonite is a rare stone sourced from a comet that passes over the Great Divide only once every 127 years. The comet sheds bits of itself ranging from the size of a fist to the size of a barrel. The comet passes only over the Divide, so the Valley is one of the only places on the continent that sources the material. We used to have collectors that would venture into the mountains to cull the dropped argonite. The expeditions were dangerous and honorable, considering the severe colds of the mountains. But since the dragons came, all expeditions and sales of argonite have been banned. It has been 125 years since the last time the comet passed.

My mother was among a brave few that decided to venture out anyway in search of more argonite, in hopes to arm themselves as the beginning of an insurgence. Her and five other Valley citizens. They left early one summer morning a few years ago and never returned. I only hope that the mountains claimed them and not the soldiers. Or perhaps they found shelter in another oasis, or in the caves of mountain dwellers, and decided to stay away. The choice of a different life completely their own. I can only hope this is true, but in my heart I know my mother would not choose to leave me behind.

So I decided to seek a different life for myself. One active against this colonial power that has terrorized our Valley too long. Emerging from the thick fog of ash that has swamped the streets this morning, I turn into the metal yard at the eastern edge of the city.

“Isamar, you’re here early today,” my mentor, Belkys, greets me at the gate. She is sharpening a sword with the soldiers’ insignia carved into the handle. A dragon in flight.

“Woke up to smoke, I had to get out of there quick,” I reply.

“Not your own house I hope?”

“No, my neighbors, the Alanzars, the dragons must have come before dawn.”

“Damn shame. Their taphouse was burned only a few days ago. Didn’t even give them a chance to catch their breath.”

“Like the soldiers ever would.”

“I know that’s right.”

I shed my ash-covered coat and hang it on the gate, heading to my work station in the back. Most of our work in the yard consists of sharpening weapons for the soldiers. Some of us make metal cups and plates for the taverns, but the craft has died down. Little do the soldiers know, our employment as their weapon makers will come as useful to us when the time comes for us to make our own. And that time is coming up fast.

Belkys approaches my station, polishing the sword with a stained cloth. Her long black hair swinging behind her in a thick braid. The silver of the blade in her brown hands glows against the gray yard, pitted up against the gray sky. With all the smoke, we haven’t seen sunlight in years. She sits on a stool next to me and leans in.

“I’ve received word that the traders are arriving tonight with the stone. Said it should be enough to fashion at least a few hundred weapons. We’re to let them through the Cave Gate, just east of here at the foot of the mountain. If we can do this swiftly and stash the stone before sunrise, it should be seamless. No noise, no trouble,” Belkys scans the yard with her eyes while speaking to me. It’s important to use subterfuge when talking about the argonite.

“Only thing is, we have to time it correctly. From monitoring the comings and goings of the gate for a few weeks, I know the dragon that patrols the entrance usually retreats back up the mountain about six hours after dusk, and doesn’t return until about an hour before dawn. This gives us a small window of time to bring them in. But we have to be quick. You still up for the challenge?” Belkys looks me straight in the eye.

“Yes, I’m ready,” I say, looking back at her.

I stay at the metal yard all day into the night. Working late and eating dinner with the other smiths. We are all on edge, but trying not to act like it. Only four of us will go to the Gate to bring in the traders, but everyone knows what will be happening. After drinking coffee for hours, our first lookout finally returns to the yard.

“Just saw the dragon go up the mountain,” he says, “it’s time.”

Silent and swift, the four of us file out of the yard through the back fence. There is a short distance to the city wall from here, and the space stretched in front of us gapes completely black. A good sign. We cross the grassy area quickly and scale the short wall that marks the edge of the city. In single file, we jog across the meadow space to the foot of the mountain. Even in the darkness, we can see the open mouth of the eastern Cave Gate yawning over us. With a cursory exchange of glances, we head into the cave.

The traders are to meet us on the other end with the supply, where a hefty iron gate closes off the entrance at the other end of the cave. Working in the metal yard, Belkys has been able to craft keys that open every gate in the city. Until now, it has been far too dangerous to use any. But this time, we must choose bravery.

Inside the cave, the complete blackness closes us in. It would be too risky to light any torches, so we push through the darkness. As we advance, the air in the cave gets colder, and the silence becomes consuming. Pressing on, I start to notice myself feeling slightly disoriented. The sound of the other metalsmith's footsteps begin to fade out, and I get the sinking feeling that suddenly I am completely alone.

“Belkys?” I whisper into the void.

A squeeze on my forearm brings me back into my body. The sound of the others’ footsteps becomes obvious in front of me and behind me again. What just happened?

Their footsteps fade out again. This time more abruptly and I am completely swallowed by silence. Even the feeling of my own body holding me inside the cave fades out. I feel nothingness.

I knew this day would come.

“Who said that?” I say out loud.

“Shut up, no one said anything,” Belkys replies in an angry hush.

“I know I heard someone say--”

From the pinhole that is the end of the cave in the direction we came, blazing fire erupts towards us. For a moment everything is illuminated and the heat of the dragon's breath singes our clothes and hair. A flash of our terrified faces, and then darkness again. Then, the sound of a dragon bounding towards us through the cave, shaking the walls and filling the space with its acrid smell.

“Run for the gate!” Belkys yells. But my body feels as though it’s filled with stone. My head starts to spin and I begin to feel an intense pressure closing me in.

Finally, someone that can hear me.

It feels like the voice is coming from the back of my head, inside of me. I collapse to the ground. The footsteps of the dragon knocking stones loose from the cave walls, steady approaching, vibrating my body. I hear someone yell, but it seems far away and muffled. I try to stand, but my knees buckle beneath me. And then, nothing but silence and darkness.