Keepers Code

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Only a few years ago, the land was free and the people lived well together. Now, those Dragons, or whatever they call themselves, were everywhere, seizing all that was once important to the folk that lived there. Karl tried to ease himself back against the fence post and took a long, thoughtful draw from his wooden pipe. The smoke caught in a small breeze and drifted down the hillside, fading into nothing over the sunlit pines. Stately firs blanketed the slopes, with buttons of crimson and gold announcing the turn of the season. The old man peered out through the chill air from his quiet place in the hills. From up here, he was almost convinced that the Valley remain unmolested, that it was the same home where he raised his children, and theirs. His eyes followed the rushing water that cut through the basin, foaming and dancing under the sun. He almost felt at peace, until he saw it: A low black tower, squatting on the edge of the water, with its garish yellow-green banner waving. It couldn’t be seen from his spot, but he knew the twisting serpent figure stamped on the canvas, knew the raucous din ringing out from inside those walls.

He turned and spat noisily. “Bastards.”

Well, so much for a moment of rest. Nothing like the reminder of one’s oppression to keep him busy. He tapped out the pipe on his bootheel and slipped it into his rough woolen coat, pulled on his gloves, and started back up along the fence. Crunching through the fallen leaves up the slope, his breath was coming harder and harder. He had been at this for too long, and still, not enough had been done. He grunted to himself as he came into a small clearing. Talan was there, squatting beside an upright stone and brushing away dry leaves from its base. The boy wasn’t a boy anymore, not for some time, he realized. Talan stood and turned to him, smiling.

“All’s ready here,” Talan strode over, his mop of golden hair bobbing with every step, “Quick enough rest, was it? For the better, we have much to be done today.”

“Aye, much to be done.” Karl gave him a pat on the arm and moved past him towards the stone. The boy had some vigor, and had taken eagerly to his duties from the moment Karl took him under so many years ago. He understood less than Karl did himself, but that didn’t diminish his work any.

The grass around the stone was clear of sticks and debris and sheered short. The stone itself was pale as bone, standing upright as if it had grown for the earth itself. Karl bent down onto one aching knee and brushed off some dirt from a small groove that was worked into the base of the stone. There were carvings worked onto its otherwise smooth face, but as fine and delicate as it looked, no tool he knew of could mark it. Karl opened his pack at his side and pulled from a small pouch a sleek black gemstone. It was about the length of his finger and a rough triangle shape. Small rays of light that broke in through the trees above revealed the precious stones’ translucence. Gently, Karl placed the gem in the groove. It slid into place without a sound, and the air suddenly felt heavier. The leaves around them looked greener. Talan let out a deep sigh from behind Karl. He realized he had been holding his breath, too. He’d seen his share of what happens when the black stones were mishandled, been around for the explosive consequences. To this day he didn’t fully understand his work, but he knew well enough that the power of the stones was not to be trifled with. Talan came up and offered his hand, and Karl grimaced as he took it. He had been doing this for far too long. They moved away from the two stones.

“Used to be, we’d mine the stones as we needed them.” Always a good opportunity for a lesson, Karl thought. “Once a year, I’d find the vein and tap it. Get about a half a barrel from a day’s work. Then, we’d make our way around the ridge. I’d take on the setting and placing, and your mother would run ahead and keep the next standing clear of critters and the like. That was some time before those Dragons come on over. Well, since then, we’ve only got as many left as we’ve got, I suppose.” Their supply was thin and dwindling. Those bastard soldiers had made it damn clear that they were the only ones who get to have their hands on the black gems. And they knew nothing of what it meant, aside from the price it would fetch from the merchants.

“She used to help you? Like I am now?” Karl looked over at Talan. His brow was furrowed, confused. “Why’d she stop?”

“Wasn’t her neglect, but mine that let the stones fall and be forgotten. Your mother did her best to take care of this place, to keep the Valley, in her own way. But without me, the gems couldn’t be mined. She hadn’t yet learned the trade, and I failed in teaching her. I failed in many things.”

“I wish I knew her better.”

“So do I,” Karl reached up and clapped the lad on his shoulder, “So do I.”

Talan returned the gesture, smiling, “I’m here now, and you’ve taught me well.”

They both turned and looked to the stones. In the shadows of the newly placed gem, a small flicker of light glimmered, as if a flame were smoldering in its depths.

“Aye, I pray that I have.”

The village they called Hainesburry, after some long-ago hero who had saved the valley from such and such danger. If only there was such a figure now. Karl kept his head down, shuffling passed soldiers in garish yellow-green coats worn over black chainmail. They were everywhere, stumbling out of the former homes that had degenerated into drinking dens and milling about the streets outside the numerous smithies. Braying with laughter and drunken screaming, eyeing up and staring down every resident of the Valley that dared walk through their own streets. The most amount of traffic was at the village square, with people rushing in and out of the Half Moon Inn. The old tavern had stood there as long as the Valley had people, going by many names and many masters. And which now had been taken over as the seat of the company’s leader. Him and that witch of his. Karl glared up at the ugly banner hanging above the door. That hideous creature was stamped everywhere around his home, and seeing it only deepened his hatred. And his shame.

Muttering to himself, he rushed his way through the throng when he pitched over and tumbled forward, smacking his forehead against the broad paving stones of the square. His pack carried on tumbling and spilled its contents out across the lane, getting trampled by a passing soldier. He looked over dazedly at a pair of dirty black boots. Contrasting against the grime, and glimmering in the afternoon sunlight, were three gemstones he had forgotten to leave at his cottage. The soldier’s calloused fingers snatched them up as Karl weakly held up his arms in vain protest.

“You thievin’ old geezer,” The soldier pulled Karl up by the scruff of his neck with his free hand and pulled him close. His breath reeked with sour ale and his eyes were a mad fury. “That’s twelve lashings each for these pretty rocks. I don’t reckon you make it past the first ten!” Karl agreed.

The soldier threw him down and shoved the gems into his coat, stepping behind Karl and grabbing the collar of his coat. The man was brutish strong, but could not tear the fabric on his first pull. The square was still with onlookers. He spat to the side and pulled again, and Karl felt the stitching begin to give way.

“Peace, men. Peace.” A voice slithered to the struggle, “Is this how a Dragon conducts himself in the town square. A punishment met out before a trial.” The voice hissed in his ear as if it came from right beside him. The grip on his collar went slack and he turned his head to the voice. An ancient hooded woman was slowly making her way from the steps of the inn, twenty paces away. Karl found he could no longer turn away, much less stand himself up.

The soldier spluttered, “This scum’s been robbin’ us! See here!” and he procured the gems from his coat. The woman reached out a withered hand and plucked one of the gems up in her spidery fingers. Her eyes were shaded by her hood, but Karl could see her mouth turn into a sickly grin. The heart of the stone began to flutter with light.

“I just found them. That’s all.” Karl managed to squeeze out, hardly breathing. He was rooted to the spot by an unknown fear. “Meant to turn them in… to the refinery, of course.” He licked his lips nervously, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the woman, or the gem in her hand.

“You need not lie, Keeper,” The voice pressed in around him, but she remained where she stood, the gem a flickering lantern in her grip. He fell back as she spoke his title to the air, “I have known of your treasures, and the burden it must weigh upon your shoulders. Fret no more, for we shall relieve you.” Her head raised to look past him, and he followed over his shoulder to look to the high hills when a crack like thunder echoes out across the village. A great plume of orange and red exploded out from the ridge. The trees were alight, black smoke unfurled into the sky choking out the sun. He could only just make out the roof of his cottage consumed in flame.

“Talan, no.”

The hooded woman cackled behind him, as he sprang up from the ground and ran up the road. No one tried to stop him.