Safe Haven

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. At least, there wasn’t supposed to be. A rising dread crept up Nhial’s spine as she surveyed the scene. There was little doubt about what had caused the deep gouges in the earth, when accompanied by the still smouldering blackened patches of the tough, hardy grassland. The bleak landscape was dotted with small, windblown shrubs; the insistent, biting wind that was funnelled through the valley didn’t allow for anything to grow more than a few feet up from the barren earth. As desolate as the valley was, with boulders scattered around as if thrown by some gleeful giant centuries ago and the only colours as far as the eye could see a dreary grey and brown topped with snow-capped peaks, it was supposed to be safe from dragons. Nhial pulled her woolskin cloak tighter around her shoulders and hefted her spear, knowing that the six-foot length of aged oak with a sharpened flint held to the end with dried sinew would be of little use if a dragon was still around. Scanning the sky, Nhial held her breath, as if any small sound she made might betray her. The wind whistled in her ears, and as much as she strained her senses she couldn’t hear the tell-tale sound of beating wings or catch the scent of reptilian stink. After a few moments, she breathed out, half assured that she wasn’t facing imminent death.

Stepping out from behind a horse sized boulder that she had been her impromptu hiding place, Nhial cautiously walked towards the burnt patch of grassland. From the amount of fresh dirt torn up from the ground, and the wispy trials of white smoke still rising into the air, it was likely that this had been merely an overnight resting spot for the beast. Judging that it could not have left more than a few hours ago, Nhial shuddered to think about what would have happened if she had stumbled onto it unprepared.

Closer in to the New Capital, dragons were under the tight rein of the Khalzacian’s who controlled the entirety of the continent, and unprovoked violence from dragons was not common. The dragons did the brutal bidding of their masters, no more and no less. However, further away from the heart of the Khalzacian empire, the dragons were known for their callousness. Dragons burnt and devoured people indiscriminately, only their whim deciding any humans fate that were stupid enough to come to their attention.

Taking in as much detail of the dragons resting spot as she could, Nhial gave a final glance to the still empty sky, and started jogging back the way she came. Although she had been out hunting for increasingly scarce game to help feed the village, the village council needed to know about this unprecedented encroach into their safe haven as soon as possible.

As with everyone who lived in the valley, running through the rugged wasteland bought a primal joy to Nhial, and soon the fresh air in her lungs started to thaw the icy ball of fear that had inhabited her stomach since she had spotted the charred earth. Maybe the dragon had become lost during the night, gained its bearings in the morning and had left the valley? Surely the dragon wouldn’t still be around. Nhial picked up her pace, her easy stride eating the miles in front of her in a well-practiced rhythm. Ever since the not-quite human Khalzacian’s had burst through the Rift three generations ago, they had controlled the continent with an iron fist, indiscriminately killing those who stood in the way of their utopia with practiced ease. Nhial had heard the stories from the day she was born, the incredible strength and superior tactics of the invaders meant that they had nearly overrun humanity within weeks of arriving. A human resistance born of desperation had slowed the advance, the resurgence causing hundreds of thousands to be slaughtered over the next decade.

The tipping point had been the Turning of the dragons. From their home in the huge mountain range that divided the continent, they had flown down and pushed the war over the brink. Nhial had heard dozens of theories why the dragons had left their aloof and mostly peaceful ways and sided against humanity, but it didn’t matter. The dragon’s decision had sealed humanities fate, and humans had been pushed out of their rich and fertile lands to the outer reaches of the continent, where in desolate places like the Valley, they were left alone by both species.

Nhial legs pounded the hard earth, the crisp morning air stinging her eyes, and she increased her pace, eager to tell the village council of what she had discovered as soon as possible and to be reassured that it was an anomaly, something that wouldn’t change the life that had been hastily scrapped together by a desperate people. The village council was made of remnants of those who had fought in the war. Made up of both men and women, now in the twilight of their lives, the village council helped guide Nhial’s village to survive the bleak conditions, and worked with the other villages that dotted the valley to maintain peace and order. Nhial crested a small rise, giving her a view of the village she called home. With wood a treasured rarity in the Valley, all the houses were built from stone that had painstakingly been cut free from the earth and dragged together to form house walls. The hardy grass made a reasonable substitute for thatch roofing, and all the buildings were low to the ground to escape the notice of the biting wind. Carefully placed walls shielded the meagre crops that struggled to keep up with the hunger that was a constant in all the villager’s life’s.

From her vantage point Nhial could see people scurrying around between the buildings and her heart caught in her throat. Everyone seemed to be running to the centre of the village where there was already a small gathering. Something was wrong.