Prologue

There weren't always dragons in the Valley, but as the tides dance to the music of the moon, and the land is puppeted by the strings of the seasons; change transpires, and thus the valley was empty no more.

The Valley of Endless Colour it was named, or more commonly known as, the Valley of Gems. A sweeping landscape that wrapped the terrain like a giant green blanket, flourishing and abundant with blade, tree, flower and stream. Protecting the valley on both sides, ran a mountainous rocky cliff face that stretched as far as the eye could see, cradling it like a mother holds her babe with both arms. It was within these cliff faces, and the cavernous undergrounds which lay beneath, there lie treasure beyond wild imagination. Gems in every colour of a rainbow were scattered there -Rhodolites in rich raspberry and rose, Aquamarine's that bore the lightest blues of the shoreline, and the deepest hues of the ocean. There were Emeralds so vividly verdant, it was as if the very forest grew inside of them and, there were even Padparadschas' of which frozen sunsets sparkled within their eternal crystal casing. As such, the Valley of Gems had been mined for almost a century, pilfered of its natural resources to satisfy enterprising gentlefolk who ran trade in every marketplace in the kingdom. Lords sported various stones in the rings on their fingers, or in the hilts of their swords, and the ladies bestowed them upon their swan-like necks and hung them from their ears. Royalty demanded the rarest and most precious of the gems to sew into garments and inlay them in crowns, that is...until the dragons arrived.

Prism Drakes they were called, for they too like the gems shone with scales of many colours. Those who had witnessed the beasts would tell stories of how red they were, or blue or green or purple or gold, even black some had said. Originally the drakes were thought to be different species because of their fluctuating colouring, until more and more accounts confirmed the species were unquestionably, the same. It was unclear as to when the drakes arrived, but they'd bred like wildfire, littering the landscape like rodents with such vile exigence that their numbers had become overwhelming. This eventually drove the traders from the mines after the workers had been eaten, instilling a fear of the place as the tale was told throughout the kingdom. All quarries had been abandoned after that, and the valley remained sentinel in its beauty, only now infested with the drakes. Many years had past, and the valley had remained much the same. Only those brave enough, and skilled in the art of the sword dared to enter.

*

"Twenty gold pieces you say?" Abriel's raised eyebrow complimented one of his legendary smirks.

"At's right, thir'ee if you get'a big one," Torik, a butcher of good standing in the marketplace at Whitehall, hacked away at the haunch of a large buck with an equally large cleaver.

"And what will you do with it once I'm paid?"

The big man snorted with laughter. He looked the striplings up and down. "You got'a survive to get paid." When the two boys said nothing he became serious again. "Eggs for potions, scales for armour, and heads for eatin'," he patted his bowl of a stomach, covered with a bloodied apron.

"Ugh," Abriel's features turned sour. "I don't believe the nobility so fond of the consumption of dragons."

"Sep't they ain't dragons. Dragons are big, an' they got wings on em'. I ain't never seen one me'self. These are drakes, small like- no ability ta' fly but six times your size at least," he ran his eyes over them both, "Aye. Asides, it's the eyes I wan't, should fetch'a prit'y penny with the Castle kitchens I expect. Serve em' up for delicacy in the Queen's feasts."

The boys both looked disgusted. "What about the scales?" Abriel inquired. "You don't know armour, you're not a blacksmith," he leaned importantly on the front of the butcher's stall.

"Aye, but Im'a businessmen. And I know'a good deal when I smell it... just like I smell a noble boy runnin' amuck in the streets." The two adolescents looked at each other, grinning. "Now piss off' for' I tell ya mother you've been goin' round with the riffraff again," he gestured to Henny with his knife, sunlight bouncing off the tip of the blade. The boys laughed and backed away. "Go on, if you ain't got coin - get!"

The boys left the butcher's stall, Abriel gingerly taking a green apple, and then a red one with a hand from two baskets in passing. He flung a copper piece with his thumb at the maid behind the stall adjacent, without looking. She missed the catch and frowned at him. He handed the red apple to Henny, and simultaneously bit into the green one. Fourteen they both were, and born a day apart. Abriel and Heinrich had been inseparable since they'd met; by circumstance as it were, having come from different worlds. Henny, as everyone was inclined to call him, was from the old part of town, and lowborn. Abriel, was highborn, and the only son of one of the most prestigious families in Whitehall; the Vassellic's. Lord Vassellic, they'd begun calling Abriel now, like his father who attended the King's court, except Abriel was insistent Henny not call him that. Henny was a bastard with no knowledge of his father, and his mother was a scullery maid, which is how the two boys came to meet. Henny's mother had worked for the Vassellic family before his birth. Lady Vassellic had been gentle and kind, hiding the maid's pregnancy and allowing for her to stay after Henny's birth. She'd also allowed for Henny to live in the maid's quarters, and his memories of growing up with Abriel and his sisters, roaming the large estate were fond. When Henny turned just seven years of age, Lord Vassellic promptly decided that enough was enough and that he could no longer have a baseborn boy running barefoot throughout his home. It was a matter of 'reputation,' Henny had remembered him saying, as he had Henny and his mother ushered out into the streets. Within the year that followed, Henny's mother had succumb to plague sickness, and he had lived on the streets in Whitehall ever since.

Abriel was not one to have his favourite toys taken from him, and indeed he rebelled against his father's wishes and continued to visit his friend, slipping from the Vassellic's estate or purposefully losing his hired escorts in the city. He'd take food from the kitchens and the occasional pouch of silver, and give these things to young Henny as they aged. Now that the boys were older, their comradery had blossomed deep into a brotherhood. They were both of similar heights, but where Abriel was properly lean with muscle, Henny was wiry thin. He'd spent half his life starving, while Abriel had the opportunity to be trained in sword fighting, as one day he would become a knight. Abriel's hair was a soft brown, and his eyes matched the stern and unyielding brown of Lord Vassellic's. Henny was very fair, with the blue eyes of his mother. His blonde hair was often mussed and dirty from the streets, and he'd taken to bathing in the Vassellic's water fountain, the centrepiece of their estate's expansive gardens after dark. Abriel always gave him the signal when the guards had their change over, the soft churring of a nightjar. They had been playing at this game for years, and none had been the wiser.

"I want you to come with me," Abriel was saying to Henny as they moved easily through the hustle and bustle of Whitehall's markets.

"Your father will never allow it. I'll be thrown in the stocks."

"Not if he doesn't recognise you he won't," replied Abriel confidently. "And don't be silly, my father doesn't bother with the stocks, he likes to hang people."

"That does not inspire confidence. And what do you mean he won't recognise me?" Henny asked.

"His Royal Highness has funded the entire expedition. So that means there will be a lot of people in the entourage travelling to the valley. Father's been given command over it, and so his caravan will be heavily guarded, and I'll be riding up front with him," he said proudly. "But they'll be loads of foreman, guards, serving boys and cooks, workmen and the miners of course. Besides, he hasn't lain eyes on you since we were seven- you'll be a complete stranger to him."

"So you want me to be a slave?"

"Well you wouldn't be a slave exactly, most of the miners are farmers anyway, well... until harvest is upon us. And you're getting paid! Anyway, its just until we can sneak you away so you and I can go find one of these drakes and kill it. Then we take it back to the market place and sell it to that fat butcher for gold. I bet we could cut off a few scales and sell them to an armorer for a profit too."

"What do you want with gold? Your family has plenty of it."

"The golds not for me numbskull. It's for you. I just want to kill one of the damn things."

"Why?"

"Why? Henny, when word gets out I slew a dragon; I'll be the most sort after champion at the next tourney. A very fine position to be in, especially at my age. They'll sing songs of my triumphant battle, and maidens will swoon everywhere I step. I'll be the youngest knight in Whitehall, and I'll be known as 'Abriel the Dragon Slayer.'"

Henny had to laugh at his overconfident friend. "Except they aren't dragons, they're drakes. You heard Torik."

"Who cares? Torik doesn't discriminate, and so we shan't either. I'll make a name for myself, and you'll be rich enough to buy yourself better dwellings than your... erm...current residence."

"Aren't you worried that we might actually, you know die fighting one?"

"Die? I'm a Vassellic. It's my destiny to be great. And you're my right hand, so its your destiny too. We're both bright enough not to run into a pack of the scaly bastards. Its the nests the females will be guarding, so we'll strike one when she's vulnerable."

The thought of living in an actual home and sleeping in an actual bed sounded wonderful to Henny, and as his friend spoke merrily about their coming adventure, he began to believe that perhaps Abriel was right. Perhaps they could indeed pull this off. Lord Vassellic was leading the first company to enter the Valley of Gems in almost two decades. The entire kingdom was talking about it. Abriel had explained that the King had personally requested his father to carry out the task of mining the valley for its priceless gems again. When whispers of the industrious cause began to spread throughout Oldtown, folk had been reluctant to offer their strong arms and backs in fear of the drakes, however, the promise of protection and coin lured them in one by one until an entire entourage of men willing to risk the valley's undesirable inhabitants had signed up. Even Torik the butcher was making a go of it with his 'WANTED: DRAKE HUNTERS' signs, enticing adventurers and freelancers alike. Overall, it was a business opportunity for the Vassellics, whereby they could trade a certain percentage of the mined gems to foreign buyers, just as the crown had been buying their jewels from across the sea for the last two decades. "A once in a lifetime opportunity," Lord Vassllic had told his son, who was as eager as he was to travel to the valley. Henny did like the prospect of bettering his fortunes, and the chance to witness, let alone slay an exotic beast.

"So we're in agreement then," Abriel said to him, winking at a group of town girls their age who giggled as they passed. Abriel liked to think he was in disguise when visiting Oldtown, where it was highly uncommon for one of noble birth to be seen. His version of 'dressing down' did little to hide his well kempt appearance, and his purposeful, decorous stride that one was so obviously taught. Henny himself was well spoken for a boy of low birth, but Abriel's education was now far superior to his own, having tutelage in the art of charisma, and he was always teaching Henny new words.

"Yes," Henny said simply.

"Right," Abriel threw the core of his apple over his shoulder into the crowd, and wiped his hands on his breeches. "First things first, lets get you out of these rags."

*

"Luthor Grogen?" Henny protested as Abriel ushered him along the line of miners waiting for provisions to be handed out, the line moving slowly as those who came with nothing, left holding sacks and dragging pick axes. He nodded, unfeigned. "Grogen? You can't be serious."

"What? It's a commoner's name," Abriel declared. "A name nobody else here has," he put an arm around Henny. "Which means nobody will ask any questions."

"Perfect," Henny said sarcastically. "So I'm a Grogen then."

"You are Luthor Grogen," Abriel said proudly, puffing out his chest. "Anyway, its the name I put down in the ledger so you can't change it." With that, Abriel smiled his most dazzling smile and left Henny with the other workers.

"I better be getting interest!" Henny yelled out to him above the noise, as Abriel walked in between two freelance swords, waving him off.

It was a six day journey to the valley, long and at times exhausting having travelled on foot but besides, Henny was want for nothing. Lord Vassellic had taken the liberty of ensuring the company and those employed were well fed with a breakfast of cheese, and raisin bread warmed up and dipped in honey. Supper consisted of black sausage and barley soup. They did not travel during the evenings, making camp before night fall and setting off in the cool, misty dawns that followed. Henny spent his evenings around the fire, feasting and laughing with the other workers. It seemed everyone was in agreement about the decision to enlist for the mines and the overall mood was a positive one. Aside from the opportunity for trade, rumour was that the Queen had tired of her current collection of jewels. Others whispered that the dowry was low, and the kingdom was going broke due to the nobility overspending. One man swore something rarer was hidden within the valley, and the mining of gems was a front. Abriel insisted that all this was simply gossip, and for Henny to ignore the simpletons, forgetting Henny himself was of a lower class than even the workmen, as well as he was disguised. On the fifth evening of the expedition, the clouds parted to a star-filled night, and a strange white light came up from the ground to pierce the sky in the far distance. It shot up in a stream for several minutes, spooking the camp as the Valley of Gems lay in it's direction.

"Lightening," one of the older men proclaimed.

"Lightening? Comin' from what storm? That right there, is a mages spell," another suggested.

"Must be one bloody big mage," a skinny man laughed, poking fun as he loped around with bandied legs, holding his arms like a barrel around an invisible body that dwarfed his own. The men laughed, already merry with drink. Some of the more suspicious ones were unconvinced, but said nothing. Henny was one of them. The next morning, Abriel paid him visit at midday when the entourage stopped to rest and water the oxen.

"Did you see the light show last night?"

Henny nodded, "What do you think caused it?"

"Unsure. But father says it came directly from the valley- a sign of good fortune, to light our way to prosperity."

Although the excitement could be felt the next day, the lush greenery of the valley ahead of them with the promise of riches, Henny was nervous. He chalked it down to inexperience. However, it was the smell of pure spring water that filled the air, soaking into his skin and the air around him that brought a smile to his face as the land gave way and like a mirage, The Valley of Endless Colour appeared before him. It was true, what they said of the place; it was breath-taking. Henny had never witnessed anything quite so beautiful, his eyes drawn immediately to the source of the Valley's life; a river that flowed straight through it's middle. The workers dropped their provisions, running ahead of the guards and dropping to their knees to scoop handfuls of the fresh, sparkling water into their mouths. Henny joined them, not able to remember a time when he'd tasted water this light, and clean. Birdsong filled the valley, and delicate rainbow insects danced upon the air. The afternoon sun cast a spell of light over the green sloping hills, the internal crags, and a magnificent waterfall that streamed from the top of the cliff face straight to the bottom.

"There's magic here," someone said in passing, and Henny felt there truly was.

Lord Vassellic wasted no time in ordering the workers to set up camp, after sending out a small company of guards to scout the nearby crags. One of the King's advisors lead them, a thin, robed man who'd been sent to oversee the expedition. He had travelled with Abriel and his father, and Henny had felt slightly unnerved once catching the man's gaze. Upon the scouts return, they established what was deemed a safe and advantageous area to begin mining, a large open quarry abandoned long ago. Abriel had been right, Lord Vassellic didn't so much as glance at Henny as he moved through the camp barking orders to soldiers and waiting for his lodgings to be prepared once the company had settled in. It was after dark, long after the men had feasted, the fires burnt to embers and the camp fallen silent, that Henny awoke to the scent of smoke; and the sounds of screams.

His heart thumped against his chest, and he sat up in his bedroll under the open sky. The camp was under attack. Several yards in front of him, a big green monster clashed against the pavise shield of a guard as three other soldiers slashed at it with their longswords. To his right, a darker one, its purple scales glittering in the light of the flames as it spat fire and set a tent alight. The drakes were smaller than a horse, but longer with the edition of a meaty tale as long as their bodies covered in spikes running from their backs. Their vicious appearance made them seem deadlier then Henny would have anticipated. These were beasts that could not be tamed. He was frozen, staring in horror as another of the creatures in the colour of a turquoise, grabbed a fleeing miner in its teeth and shook the man vigorously, then pinned him down with its front claws as he screamed and began to eat him alive. Henny heard more screaming, and was shocked to discover it was coming from his own mouth. All around him was fire and chaos, and despite the men outnumbering the drakes, the drakes seemed to overpower them. Henny felt hands grab him underneath his armpits, and pull him to his feet.

"Get up! You're going to get yourself killed!" It was Abriel, still in his night clothes, brandishing a short-sword and steel buckler that was awash with blood. "Take this," he shoved the buckler over Henny's hand. Before he knew his legs were working, Henny was running with Abriel across the camp- servants, miners and guards fleeing and fighting in all directions, closed in by what Henny could see were more drakes. One drake reared up on its back legs, spitting a ball of fire at two soldiers who leaped out of the way, another solider climbing onto its back, and thrusting his sword deep into the creatures spine. It shrieked wildly, the sound frightening, and unfamiliar in Henny's ears. Abriel grabbed his free hand, and the boys ran together, dodging men and swords and flames. Henny kept himself from retching as they passed the body of a pageboy, younger than even they were, his dead eyes staring at nothing, and no-one. They ducked as a tail came sweeping through the air and knocked several men off their feet in a single blow.

"This way," Abriel pulled Henny in another direction as more drakes ran out of the trees into the open camp, their movements hungry.

"ABRIEL!" Henny looked across the camp, where Lord Vassellic, donning his armour ran at them with a handful of men. Abriel turned at once in response.

"Father!" he cried, and made to run toward him when a large yellow drake appeared as quick as lightening, snatching Abriel up with its teeth and flinging the boy away like a toy. His body smashed against a tree, and he lay still on the ground. Henny had never been so terrified. The drake turned its head toward him in a snake-like manner with a predatory glint in its eyes. Henny stumbled backwards, his knees weak. A roar from his left, and suddenly Lord Vassellic was in the air, crashing heavily shield-first into the beast. It directed its attention to the Lord and his men then, and Henny watched anxiously as the men stabbed and chopped and parried and fell as the drake struck back blow after blow. Another one of the vile creatures joined its brother and began to attack the men from behind. Henny ran towards Abriel and gasped at the state of him, limbs in awkward positions and blood running from his ear and mouth.

"Wake up!" Henny yelled at his friend tearfully, desiring to touch him but not wanting to damage him further. He looked back at the men fighting the drakes. Lord Vassellic was hacking off the head of the other drake at the neck with the combined help of two of his guards. Blood sprayed from it as the yellow one, also covered in wounds hissed vengefully. It had a solider pinned beneath it, crushing his skull into the ground. It reared up, knocking men aside and spat fire at them. Lord Vassellic rolled out of the way just in time, but failed to anticipate the beast's tail, which swung hard into his face, knocking him over. Henny watched on in horror as the creature stepped on the Lord's chest, and he cursed and grimaced in pain. As the drake pierced his mail he screamed, its claws pushing deep into his chest. Blood spilled over his mouth, and with a final grunt he pushed his sword up under the drake's chin, piercing it through the brain. The drake hissed then went slack, and its massive scaled body fell to the side of him. Henny hurriedly approached Lord Vassellic. The man was choking on his own blood. He was trying to say something as Henny bent down to rest on his knees.

"My son." he said.

And then he died, his face and eyes turned in the direction of where Abriel's body lay. Confused, and terrified, Henny took Vassellic's sword, heavy in his small, untrained hand. The camp burned all around him, drakes everywhere, and the bodies of men. Henny ran for his life into the valley beyond, and disappeared into the night.