Lost Legacies Slayer's Story

Chapter One

Beginning of Sorrow

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. In fact, before the death of the last slayer, most of the villagers had never even seen a dragon. Their rise to power, their reign of tyranny, and their subsequent extortion from the villages in Athyorn valley have been a relatively recent occurrence in the grand scheme of things.

For hundreds of years, the slayers had taken the upper hand in this seemingly eternal conflict. Having perfected their craft, they drove even the most fearsome dragons into hiding. But alas, men are mortal, and dragons are patient foes. Men became proud, complacent, and careless. There is not much that can be done about it now. There were no more slayers… and there never would be.

Daylinn gently closed her journal, put up her quill and ink, and quietly made her way back to her makeshift bed. She fell on top of the coverings, laying her head down upon her pillow, and she brushed her amber-brown hair out of her face. She closed her eyes, which were sparkling brown as well, hoping that had been quiet enough not to wake her parents. Her parents were sleeping in a neighboring tent. The whole village was traveling together to one place, as were many other villages throughout Athyorn Valley. They had been summoned by the newly pronounced lord, Kaltez, to appear for some great ceremony. The lords had unlimited and unquestioned authority over the lands given to them by the king. The fiefdom of Kaltez was one of the largest in the kingdom, encompassing all of Athyorn valley and part of the dark forest to the West.

Daylinn knew that whatever this ceremony was, it would not be good for the people. The Dragons in general had no sympathy, mercy, or goodwill toward any who were under their rule, and Kaltez was among the worst of them.

As Daylinn lay there trying to sleep, her thoughts drifted to the great slayers from times past. They lived long before her birth, but she had read much about them. If only she could have been born in another age. She was only seventeen years old, missing the time of the slayers by half a century.

She hated the dragons. She hated their insatiable desire to own all things valuable, whether actual or sentimental. She hated that they devoured herd after herd and field after field from the poor farm folk of the valley. Most of all, she hated ever having to look upon their ugly, terrifying faces.

She had seen dragons from far away many times before, specifically the ugly Vyrbec. He had never cared to get too close to any human throughout his governing of Athyorn valley. He was a dark green dragon and was particularly fat. Due to his recent and mysterious disappearance, Kaltez had been named lord of Athyorn Valley. Daylinn had only seen him once. It was about 5 months prior when he had been made overseer of the region. He was a slender, black wyrm, and he was very young as dragons go. His snout was pointed and his yellowish eyes revealed a sharp and malicious wit. He produced a very different aura than his predecessor had and he ruled the region in a very different way.

Vyrbec, the previous governor of the valley, was said to be somewhat wary of men. This was said to be the reason why he kept them far off, yet under a smothering rule. It was said that he had once encountered a slayer in combat and survived. However, few believed the veracity of this tale, along with many other of his claims to former glory. He had frequently boasted of a time when he was young and ferocious, and he often made gaudy claims of having been extraordinarily gifted in spell-work.

Kaltez on the other hand had no fear of humans. He instead ruled by putting the fear of dragons into the hearts of men. He made more than a few edicts and requests, solely for the purpose of striking fear in any rebellious onlookers. On the day he had been named lord, he devoured thirteen men in front of everyone for what he labeled anti-dragon propaganda. This was known to be a false charge for at least the majority of those who had been eaten. He then went on to perform some spell-work that had caused a thick fog to cover Athyorn valley. It had lasted a full week, and it had put a great deal of fear in many. Who knows what he might do this time?

By a horrible turn of luck, Daylinn’s family was going to play some part in this ceremony. Kaltez desired some treasure that had been in Daylinn’s family for years. That was not out of the ordinary for dragons, but what was strange about this time was that Kaltez desired her whole family to hand deliver this treasure in front of the entire Valley. Whatever this treasure was, she had never seen it. It was with them now in a steel chest. This put her family in a precarious position. Getting that close to a dragon, was never a safe or enjoyable experience.

“What was in the box?” she wondered as she finally began drifting into unconsciousness. Was it a spell-worked trinket? Or possibly an heirloom from her grandfather who was said to have been a collector of dragon artifacts? Or maybe she was ancient royalty, and inside the chained box was her lofty crown that Kaltez wanted to claim as his own. She laughed aloud at her last thought as she drifted to sleep. She would find out soon enough. It would be presented before the entire valley in a week’s time. She rolled onto her side to make herself a little more comfortable. Her makeshift bed barely separated her from the hard ground beneath. Then she slept.

A loud bang brought her back to consciousness, followed by shushing and whispers from outside of her tent. Upon further listening, she could distinguish the voices of her mother, father, and oldest brother. What she felt as the words began to reach her consciousness turned her stomach.

“Do you think she knows?” asked Symone, her older brother.

“I don’t think that she suspects,” said her father quietly. “If she did, we would know. She would act quite differently, or she would have run off.”

“Why does he even want your father’s chest?” asked Daylinn’s mother. “Does it have something to do with Daylinn?”

Her father spoke again with an edge in his voice. “I really don’t know what it is or why he wants it. The chest is unable to be opened. I tried to open it for years after my father left it with me. I have not been able to remove a single chain, and not from lack of trying. All I know is that he did not want anyone to have it, except for Daylinn. She was to have it at the end of the year for her eighteenth birthday.”

“I bet the old man didn’t leave anything for me, did he?” Symone asked bitterly.

“No…” His father replied, “and that is probably for the best. Look at the amount of trouble that one item from your grandfather has gotten us into.”

“What did he have against me?” Symone asked. “He never treated me like he did Daylinn.”

“He was a lunatic,” said his mother. “Be happy he saw nothing of his lunacy within you.”

“Besides,” said his father. “You are not alone in obtaining that old man’s disapproval. He disliked me long before you were born. I never lived up to his standards. He treated the whole family on my mother’s side as if they had the plague. My mother and brother were all he cared about, and look what happened to them both, they died together. If my brother was still alive, then I am sure the chest would be his to worry about instead of ours, but we must deal with the hand we have been dealt. That is why we are forced to…”

Daylinn heard shifting as the flap of the tent opened slowly. She did her best to feign sleep. She deepened her breathing and tried to appear as if she were deeply asleep. She could feel the penetrating stares of her parents coming from the open flap. They cut into her deeply and she found it quite difficult not to give herself away.

They were keeping something from her, something big, and whatever it was, it did not sound pleasant. Her family had always been unloving toward her. She was the middle child. Symone was her senior by nearly four years and her younger brother Jakks was only eleven. He was fast asleep across from her in the tent.

Daylinn was always treated as a liability. No matter how good Daylinn became at her father’s trade, she could never work in it. He was a blacksmith, and no customer wanted to leave their weapons, armor, or tools in the hands of a woman to repair. Maybe an occasional pot or mug would be given to her to repair, but that kind of work paid next to nothing.

Daylinn was an exceptional blacksmith. She crafted her own sword that lay sheathed on the floor by her side. She called it Averyll. Averyll had become much more than a sword to her over the years. She had practiced daily with Averyll and it had quickly become her dearest companion. She was forced to train in secret, for it was not a fitting skill for a woman.

Daylinn now knew her feelings of being out of place in her family were completely justified. They were having conversations behind her back, keeping secrets from her, and even sneaking around in the night together. Symone had known about her training and never said a word to her parents. That had given her a small measure of comradery with him. But he too had always looked at her as being less than he was.

After what felt like an eternity the flap of the tent closed. Daylinn heard her parent’s footsteps return to their previous places outside the tent. Her father spoke again in an even more hushed tone, Daylinn listened intently.

“That is why we are forced to sacrifice Daylinn. She must not find out that she is to be sacrificed to Kaltez. If she knew, she would likely run off. Then the entire village and beyond would be at risk.”

A moment of silence followed. Daylinn did everything she could not to gasp.

“Symone, keep watch outside of her tent. Make sure that she does not leave her tent for any reason. If she attempts to come out, tell her that you heard something in the night and were only watching to see if it returned. Don’t leave her side and call out for us if anything gets out of hand. You understand the importance of making sure we get Daylinn to Kaltez, don’t you?”

“I understand” Symone replied solemnly.

Daylinn held back sobs as her heart rate began to climb. She was in a panic. She was to be sacrificed to “lord” Kaltez. Why? Why her? How could he possibly even know her name, let alone have a reason for which she must be killed? It did not make any sense. Her mind was clouded by confusion and overwhelmed by fear. She felt utterly abandoned.

Daylinn’s mind was flooded with questions. What could she do other than accept her lot as a sacrifice? Should she flee, leaving her family and village to suffer? Should she question her parents as to why she was chosen? Or should she go silently to be killed?

If no one stood against the dragons, there would only be more outrageous commands, with greater threats. Kaltez was much different than Vyrbec, and the next dragon might be even worse.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hushed question asked by Symone. “If grandpa had chosen Jakks or me, instead of Daylinn, would it be one of us being sacrificed instead?”

“Let our minds not dwell upon such things,” his father replied. “We must trust Brom. Brom’s favor has gone to the dragons for a time. Resisting him in this will not get that favor back. Men like your grandfather bring these things upon themselves by resisting Brom’s will. Your grandfather is to blame for this whole mess. He should have known he was putting her life in danger when he left her this chest. If I would only have known I would have never let him come that last visit or I would have sent Daylinn off with him.”

There was a short period of silence, and then she heard a slight rustling followed by a gentle thud. She assumed this was Symone taking a seat outside of her tent. She heard two sets of footsteps trailing Eastward toward her parent’s tent. Daylinn was more confused than ever. She had barely remembered her grandfather. However, the memories she did have were fond ones. She was a small child when he disappeared. He was now believed to be long dead. Daylinn couldn’t even picture what he looked like. What was the connection here? What had her grandfather gotten her into? What irony it was! The only person who cared for her had also signed the warrant for her death. This was all too much for her to digest, but the curiosity that now filled her was much more motivating than the hopelessness which she had nearly succumbed to moments before. She was now determined that she would not go quietly to her death. She would not let the dragons win without a fight. She did not know what one person could do against so great a threat, but she knew what she needed to do first. Get far away from here.

Daylinn waited a few minutes after her parents left and then she quietly got out of bed. She dressed slowly and strapped Averyll to her side. She crept to the other side of the tent and gently kissed Jakk’s forehead. She would miss him at least. She put on her darkest traveling cloak and silently gathered a few things into her bag that held her journal and writing supplies. Then she pulled out a small knife, and carefully cut a new opening in the backside of the tent. She had to cut very slowly so as not to disturb the stillness of the night and alert Symone. When the hole was large enough, she crawled through the opening as quietly as she could manage.

She couldn’t leave without rations and a few other things. Also, she could not force the mysterious chest from her mind. All of these things were housed in the supply tent across a clearing to the north, which was directly in front of her and her parents’ tent. If the dragons wanted whatever was in the chest, it would be in her best interest if they didn’t get it. She crept silently around to the front of the tent, doing her best to keep in the shadows. She would have to cross in view of Symone in order to reach the supply tent. The moon was full, which would make it very difficult for her to cross without being seen. If Symone looked in her direction as she crossed, he would surely notice her.

The safest route would be to sneak around her parent's tent along the side to avoid the direction which Symone was surely facing. This would be less obvious than going around her tent. Her only other option would be wading through the many outlying tents of the other villagers, attempting a large circle around to the rear of the supply tent. The problem with that would be the various lookouts, dogs, and other possible disturbances that could cause more problems. Symone would surely investigate any disturbance in the night, and it was very possible that everyone in her village knew that she was to be sacrificed to Kaltez.

She crept until Symone was clearly visible to her The pounding sound within her chest was all that she could hear. All other sounds of the night were drowned out by it. She was sure that Symone would look up as soon as she left the shadows. She thought about making some kind of distraction but ultimately decided against it. That would not likely leave her enough time to search the tent. She watched Symone for a few moments. He seemed to be deep in thought and not paying close attention to his surroundings. She had to try now.

She left the comfort of the shadows, slowly walking toward the supply tent. Leaves and sticks littered the area. She did her best to muffle her footsteps, paying close attention to where she was placing her feet. She was sure that Symone could hear the heavy beating of her heart. She was nearly halfway across now. She dared to glance up in the direction of Symone. He had not noticed her.

At that moment Daylinn’s foot made contact with a heavy stone. This sent her barreling toward the ground. She had only looked up for a moment, but that was all that it took. Her heart seemed to stop and all things slowed down as she fell. She made a split-second decision to bring her arms to her sides instead of holding them out to soften the impact. She hit the ground. She was forced to stifle a cry of pain as she made an impact. She dared not even take a breath. She laid where she fell, as stiff as stone.

Symone was on his feet in an instant. He strained his eyes, probing the darkness for any sign of movement. He drew his sword but came no closer. After a few moments of Daylinn lying motionless on the ground, Symone returned to his seat, but his sword remained in his hand and he was noticeably more alert.

A few minutes went by before Daylinn felt safe enough to make a move. She began to crawl slowly toward the supply tent. She dared not to rise again to her feet until he reached the shaded side of the supply tent. It took many minutes to do so. She rose and crept toward the back, opposite Symone. Once again, she carved her own entrance with her small knife. This time only a straight slit across the bottom seam, through which she could crawl her way through.

She made her way into the tent and felt her way around in the darkness. She came first to some large leather bags filled with food rations. She filled a bag with various dried portions of meat, apples, and vegetables. She then grabbed a lantern, a waterskin, one of two bows that hung near the main entrance, and a quiver stuffed with homemade feathered arrows. Not all threats were best met in close combat, and she would need to hunt for food soon. Then she walked toward a small makeshift iron table in the corner next to a dozen large rolled-up scrolls. She grabbed a map of Athyorn valley and surrounding areas from off the table, along with a lodestone that held it to the iron table. She packed all of these things in her bag and secured it to her back.

Lastly, she made her way to the concealed iron chest that was wrapped in bundles of cloth and set between barrels and crates. Piled on top of the chest were other various lengths of cloth for spare bedding and patchwork on tents or clothes. It was hidden, so as to not draw the attention of any who would wander in for supplies. However, Daylinn had been present upon its concealment. She pulled it out from its somewhat secure cubby and unwrapped the outer cloths. The chest was only a foot and a half long, and about half that in width and height. It would not have been more than twenty pounds if it were not for it being covered in locks and chains of various make and sizes. This made it a bit cumbersome, and she did not delight in the idea of lugging it with her wherever she went.

The locks, however, were of no ordinary craftmanship. They would not be able to be removed without a forge and a great amount of noise and effort. If her father had really spent years trying to open them, then she had little hope of lightening her load this night. She knew well that this chest was a work of art. These locks had no equal in all the valley. It was likely that the locks themselves would draw the covetous eye of a dragon.

She had never dared to touch it before now. Symone had been in charge of hauling it as they traveled. They had only a single mule and no wagon to their name. The mule carried much of their supplies upon its back, so much so, that it could not even bear the weight of Jakks along with it. They were not prepared to make long journeys, but if Symone could carry the chest for so long, so could she.

Her fingers met the cool metal of the chest for the first time and the cloths fell to the floor of the tent. Then three things happened. First, a loud clanking noise sounded from one of the locks. Second, the corresponding lock opened and fell from the chest dragging the connected chain along with it. Third, a strong funnel of wind burst forth from the chest. It circled around Daylinn, blowing her cloak and hair. Then it began to grow in stature and velocity as it began to swirl around the entire tent. Daylinn’s jaw dropped as she stared gaping up at the swirling winds. This was definitely some kind of spell. She had never seen such spell-working up close. It was terrifying. How could the lock come free so easily, when so much effort had been devoted to that cause beforehand?

Daylinn gasped. She had nearly forgotten about Symone. She remembered only a fraction of a second before he burst through the tent’s main entrance. Daylinn was frozen in surprise as her eyes met his. She was paralyzed by indecision, but Symone was also. He could not have expected to find Daylinn standing there with their grandfather’s chest and a spell-worked wind raging around the tent. His eyes moved from her up to the winds, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. Daylinn recovered a fraction of a second quicker than he did. She dropped the chest near the edge of the tent and drew Averyll while turning to face her brother, whose sword was already in his hand.

“You would take me to my death, brother?” she asked, trying unsuccessfully to sound calm. Tears filled her eyes. Her voice was fierce and raised to be heard above the sound of the wind, yet it cracked under the weight of the emotional baggage connected with her words. “I will not go easily.”

Symone looked horrified. He stared speechlessly at Daylinn. After a moment he found the strength to reply. “Not by choice!” The emotional tension brought tears to his eyes as well. “It is for the sake of the entire valley. Do you think this is what we want? It is not our will to have you killed.”

“It may not be what you desire, but that doesn’t make your part in it right.”

“It is not about right or wrong.” Symone said, as he slowly positioned himself between Daylinn and the entrance. The wind had grown louder. He was nearly yelling in order to be heard. “It’s about facts. If we refuse, the whole valley will suffer. Would you have hundreds or even thousands die in your place?”

“I would have no one die!” she yelled. “But if they are to die, I would have them die resisting the tyranny of the fiends who claim to govern us. Not die cowering obediently to their commands, with no regard to what is right or wrong.”

Symone stifled a half sob, half laugh. “Daylinn, you read too many storybooks. There is no resisting. There is no overcoming. There is only surviving. We must do what we must in order to protect our family, home, village...”

“While destroying a part of it?” Daylinn interrupted. The winds darkened above Daylinn’s head. They had become so fierce that the tent seemed as if it would come down around them. “Will you kill me, brother?” Daylinn asked.

“No,” he confessed. “I will not kill you, but I will deliver you back to your tent and ensure you finish this journey with us.”

“I think you will find that more difficult than you expect,” Daylinn said.

Symone likely expected her to meet him in combat, but Daylinn had other plans. Before he could make a move, she grabbed the chest and dropped out of sight behind a large pile of supplies in the center of the tent. She was completely out of his line of sight. She quickly made her way through the severed portion of the tent, through which she had first entered, into the open night air.

Daylinn struggled as she attempted to rise to her feet. This was because of her heavy pack that was strapped to her back, the heavier chest tucked under her arm, and Averyll that remained in her free hand. To her astonishment the winds that had been swirling around the top of the tent burst forth after her through the same hole that she had come, boosting her to her feet at the last second.

Surely this had given away her escape. She sheathed Averyll so that she would be better able to flee. She ran as fast as she could along the side of the tent toward the front exit, the winds trailing after her. She made it past the clearing and past her tent. She was hoping to get deep enough in the woods to find cover before Symone found her out, but the winds were not helping her cause.

Daylinn chanced a quick glance behind her. Symone was already in pursuit. He had nearly across the clearing himself. She clutched the chained box to her chest and ran as fast as she could away from the tents and into the woods. She knew this would leave Symone with two options. Going after her alone or going to rouse her parents. She knew which of those her prideful brother would choose.

Daylinn was right. Symone followed after her without a thought. This was exactly what Daylinn had wanted. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before Symone caught up to her. His legs were longer and he was well-conditioned for these things. She only hoped now to make it far enough away from the tents, that no one else would be drawn into the fight. She had trained hard with Averyll, but because of the secrecy, she had never faced a living opponent. Symone was a trained swordsman. He was a member of the village guard and strong from working also as a blacksmith. She had never faced Symone in any form of combat, but he too had never faced her.

The trees grew thicker and thicker as she ran further into the woods. That was far enough. Symone was gaining on her at such a rate that if she did not turn to face him now, he would surely tackle her to the ground from behind. She turned and rolled the chest away from her. It came to rest near the trunk of a large Oak. She drew Averyll with lightning speed and expert precision meeting her brother’s blade at just the right moment to avoid a deep cut to her upper shoulder.

Their weapons collided again and again, causing small sparks to fly into the dark night. The winds raged above them.

“You cannot beat me,” Symone urged, as he nearly made contact with one of his blows. “You will be back in your bed shortly one way or another. Whether you will be resting your head honorably knowing that you are serving your village or whether you will be in great pain, bandaged and bound, will be up to you.”

“Honor?” Daylinn asked rhetorically. “YOU KNOW NOTHING OF HONOR!”

She dodged another sword thrust by Symone, while nearly piercing his side with one of her own.

“It is you who knows nothing of honor,” he replied. “You put your own life, above the lives of the entire village.”

“You do not care for the safety of the village as much as you would like everyone to think!” she cried as she rolled one of his sword’s strikes to the side with her own. She was able to get a few steps out of his blade’s reach. “You care only for the safety of your own skin!”

Symone’s anger became immediately apparent through the increased forcefulness of his blows. He was functioning strictly on the offensive now and he quickly gained the upper hand over Daylinn, she did everything she could just to block each strike. The winds raged more ferociously than ever. They changed direction and blew far behind Daylinn as if they were abandoning this awful scene. Neither combatant seemed to notice. Then Symone struck with such force, that though Daylinn threw Averyll up to block, the strike broke through tearing her leathers and making a deep cut in her arm. Warm red liquid surfaced and another strike followed. Daylinn threw up Averyll, using her now wounded arm as well to brace her blade for the impact. This time she was not cut, but she was forced to the ground from the blow.

From the ground, she now saw that the winds had traveled a distance away, turned, and were now speeding back toward the two of them. Symone was oblivious to this. He kicked Daylinn hard in the chest forcing her all the way to the flat of her back. He placed the point of his sword against her neck, causing a small amount of blood to pool to the surface.

“I was reluctant before, to give you to the dragons, but now it is taking great restraint for me not to end you myself.”

Daylinn tried to press herself as flat as she could against the ground, seeking to lessen the pressure of the blade against her neck. “This is merely the manifestation of what was always in your heart,” she choked. “You are a coward and you would rather kill your own sister than stand up and fight against the dragons.”

At that moment the winds hit Symone squarely in his center with a forcefulness that flung him through the air a great distance, slamming him hard against the large oak tree, at the base of which sat the iron chest. A cry of pain issued from Symone as he hit the ground. All of his breath left him. He tried to stand, but he quickly collapsed again into a heap on the ground.

“What are these winds?” Daylinn thought to herself as she returned to her feet. Had she caused them to attack Symone or were they protecting her of their own volition? The winds seemed to mirror the tempest that raged within her own heart. She slowly approached Symone, deep down she was genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. He appeared to be slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Symone, are you alright?” she asked.

For a moment there was only silence, and then Symone spoke in barely a whisper. “You are a monster…” His eyes closed and he remained very still apart from the occasionally strained breaths.

His clothing was torn from hitting the tree, and he was bleeding from several places, not the least of which was a large gash atop his head. His sword was lost mid-flight. He would be unable to pursue her any longer. The winds had returned to circling above Daylinn. They were quiet and moving in a slow rhythmic fashion.

“I do not know what kind of spell-working this is,” she said sincerely. “I did not mean for you to get hurt, and I will have great sorrow for what my departure may mean for you and Jakks. This may bring you little comfort, but I will do whatever I can to ensure that Kaltez is never able to make good on his threats.”

Daylinn cleaned and sheathed Averyll and then she ripped a length of cloth from her cloak and tied it around her arm as a tourniquet. She used another piece as a bandage after removing her leather sleeve and pouring some water over it out of the waterskin from her pack. She then retrieved the chest that was lying a few feet from her brother. His eyes opened slightly as she stood and walked away.

As Daylinn disappeared into the woods Symone was finally able to push forth a response. It was barely loud enough for Daylinn to hear, but she did hear it, and the words stung her heart.

“You will kill us all… you have killed us all…”

Daylinn didn’t know where she was going, or what she was going to do once she got there. She knew only one thing. If she was going to die, it would not be without cause. She would give the dragons a reason to kill her. A very good reason.