Sisters of Westwinter: Chapter One

Piecemeal

"Wake up boys, it's cold as Maltha's Claws and you have the distinct honor of fishing gore from our distributary." General Vandruss' voice clawed into the dorm. His sudden shouting rocked the soldiers from their beds, one of whom, Pikeman Squire Kerrick Snow stood at attention. The chill of the morning air crept over his bony feet as the General passed through the room. Kerrick's eyelids hung thick with sleep. He fought the urge to reach up and pull the crusted goop from his eyes as the General passed by him.

"It's been eight months since the attack at Godspine, and things have only gotten worse since. Two nights ago, some whelps were spotted on the ridge by a hunting band and a scout team was sent to dispatch them. They ventured north to that nice pretty backdrop you can see out your windows and when they arrived, they were torn to pieces by a Matriarch." The General slid a wide green leaf from his pocket and placed it on the table beside him, as he continued, he emptied a handful of dried herbs from a nearby tin into the leaf and began to roll it. "She wasn't hungry. She tore the scout crew limb from limb and then deposited them in the springs, to drift down river and wind up here." He rolled the leaf tight against itself and struck a bundle of tinder that he held to his grizzled face. The flame caught the leaf that he'd pinched between his lips and he took a long, deep breath. The aroma of the herbs immediately seeped into the dorms.

"She is attempting to poison Godspine's water supply. You know that river flows straight to the city. So, today, you're going to fish those scouts and their chunks out of the water and set up a downriver filtration system." The General blew a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling. "You're going to get it done in six hours. Better dress warm and don't come back until the job is done."

The soldiers saluted, their fists tight in front of their jaw, elbows turned outward toward the wall with their first two fingers pointed to the left. A salute known in every corner of Athella, and Kerrick hadn't gotten used to the way he'd needed to bend his arm to salute correctly. As the General exited the room he paused nearby Kerrick and his bunkmate Hesch. The medals on the General's coat jingled as he placed a finger beneath Windvar's elbow and lifted it a finger span.

"Don't let that fall, soldier. Every bit of you matters to Athella."

"Sir." Kerrick replied, and the General passed by the bunk in a cloud of greenleaf smoke with a satisfied look on his face.

The General stepped out into the brisk winter morning and let the shoddy door bang against the frame behind him. The soldiers scrambled to gather their uniforms, most of which folded and placed atop the storage drawers at the edge of each bed. Kerrick gathered his uniform and slipped it over his sleeping clothes, the beige suit wrapped tight across his chest. Thick linen pads designed to insulate his joints rubbed against his elbows as he slipped his pants on over his loose boxers. He slid the matching linen pants to his waist and cinched them tight against his skin. A old breeze blew into the dorm as he slid his bare feet into leather boots and laced them while his skin prickled with goosebumps. The other boys moved on to their coats and armaments in the next room while he finished tying the frail laces on his own shoes. He caught up with them and took his place beside Hesch, who as usual, had gotten dressed and was standing at attention for further instruction.

"Morning, Snow." Hesch said, his salute unwavering.

Kerrick dragged his heavy fur lined coat from the wooden locker, his initials and identification number scrawled into a ceramic plate affixed to the top. He slipped his arms into the coat and immediately felt the shivers ease. "Morning, Kherris."

The crunch of ice and snow outside of the armament hall caught Kerrick's ear and he whipped around to face the double doors that led to the training field on the other end of the hall, slinging his pike and crossbow quickly around his back. He raised his arm in a salute just before the doors burst open and General Vandruss returned, the woody, lavender stench of stale greenleaf carried through the hall on a chilly wind.

"Soldiers, as I mentioned previously," the General began, followed by a larger, and more intimidating pair behind him. Two men, both of them well built. The kind of men who found their strength of body in the dense forest that choked the base of the surrounding mountains. These men may have served in the military at some point, but their hunched shoulders and overgrown beards suggested that it had been years, perhaps many, since they'd worn a Athellan Uniform. "We will be heading west to the mouth of the river. I said you'd be collecting body parts, but you will also be constructing a water filter. King Harama, on a visit from Karka has been gracious enough to send us some machinery that will keep the rot of death from washing downriver, in the event this happens again."

"It will." One of the men following the General responded.

The man who spoke sported a long shiny braid of blonde hair, streaked with dried mud and blood from days prior. Kerrick looked over him, and silently observed the scars that dotted the man's half bare chest. His arms held a long leather coat that would have dusted the floor had it not been sloppily bundled around his arm.

"And we will prepare for such an event." The General continued, and shot the blonde man a sour look. "We will have seven hours until sundown, as they travel at night you are expected to be back in six. Any of you who have not returned to the compound by sundown will be discharged and assumed dead." The General slipped another roll of green leaf from his pocket and lit it, the sound of his final word echoed briefly against the hollow walls.

"We gon' escort ye." The second man gurgled. He was a sight to behold. His skin covered in boils and sores, collected most densely around the rim of his helmet and collar of his breastplate. Intermingled beneath the smell of the stale herbs, the stench of his unwashed body permeated the air even through the fresh green leaf. Kerrick shivered as the man coughed a wad of phlegm and blood onto the ground. "Apologies, suits." He hacked and braced himself against one of the other lockers.

"Your orders are as follows," The General took over. "You will be sent in two parties, one to push ahead and begin the retrieval, while the other brings the wagon with the filtration equipment to the site. We currently have most of the bodies trapped in a net but it won't hold for long. These men..." He gestured behind himself. "Will be your escorts. Right side lockers, you will be with Ginu."

The man covered in sores stepped back and raised his arms. The men ordered onto his team squirmed and shared fearful looks with one another. Each of their lockers were paired off based on their bunks. Hesch took a step toward Ginu as the owner of the right side of their bunk and nodded at Kerrick. "Watch your back, Snow."

He nodded as his companion stepped to the side of the blemish covered man. The General took a long puff of his green leaf and exhaled.

"Left side, you're with the Huntmaster."

The blonde man grinned. "Let's be about it then. I'm buildin' an appetite." He slipped into his coat and spun toward the doors, not waiting for any of the soldiers who shambled behind him. He kicked the door open with an iron boot and stepped out into the practice grounds, snow crunching beneath each step.

Kerrick followed close behind the group of men, his heart thudded against his chest. The General rotated to address Ginu and the others as he and his company stepped out into the rigid winter morning. Once they'd all made it outside, the Huntmaster led them to the edge of the training grounds with excited steps. The soldiers lined themselves in rank and followed. Locked in unison as they were trained while the hunter danced in the snowfall. From the other side of the dormitory, Kerrick heard the second company organize themselves under the General's loud instruction to load equipment onto a wagon.

"Now boys," The Huntmaster began as soon as they'd crossed out of the compound gate. "Out 'ere, you ain't soldiers. Yer prey." He rested a twitching hand on the handle of a broadsword he'd kept at his hip. Large flakes of snow gathered on his braid and face, and he breathed a thick cloud of frosted breath before he continued. "I don respect this institution. Bein' honest. So, as sure as there are two moons, I won't be giving orders. Out 'ere I'm sure you've heard the rumors ought my Hunting Band. Hailing from Godspine, I'm the one and only Klauven. Some call me The Bloody, but ye don't have to."

"Sir," One of the soldiers spoke. A short man, two years Windvar's junior, he raised a shaking hand and looked towards the hunter with fear in his eyes. "Are the legends true? That this valley is a Dragon's nest?"

Klauven grinned. "Where is yer home, boy?" The hunter squatted in the snow and picked up a handful, squeezing it in his hand as he waited for a reply.

With chattering teeth, the boy replied. "Bastrion, sir. I wanted to join the defense, protect the immigrants as they moved north."

The Huntmaster arced his hand back and threw the half melted bundle of snow at the boy's face. The cold splatter of ice and water echoed in the quiet field and from the wet mush, a rock fell onto the ground. Shortly behind it, a drop of blood that dripped from a fresh wound.

"I suggest ye go home, boy. Ye will die 'ere as sure as our two moons echo." He stood and wiped the water from his hand as the boy remained still, eyes unmoving from the stone on the ground. "What's yer name?" Klauven approached the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hiendor, sir."

Klauven snapped with the fingers on his free hand. "Breath of dragons, boy, I'm no sir." He turned away from the rest of the company and began marching on his own to the west.

Hiendor and some of the other soldiers glanced back and forth at one another, waiting for orders.

"Go." A larger boy spoke from behind them. A mop of black hair hid his eyes, and he took the first step forward to lead the company towards Klauven who had made it a fair distance without turning back to see if he was being followed.

Kerrick marched obediently forward behind a small group who remained in lock step with one another. The further they went from the compound, the more at ease the majority of the group became with the Huntmaster in the lead. Kerrick remained rigid at the side of three other boys. The countryside beyond the compound fence was littered with tall pine trees, many of which covered in snow. To the north, the forest expanded to the base of a tall mountain range. Beyond that was further than he'd ever travelled. The snow weighed down the branches of the trees and each of them erupted from the earth like vibrant green needles.

Few words were spoken on the march, Klauven whistled to himself as they passed through a field that hadn't seen crops since before Kerrick had been born. As they pushed to the opposite end of the abandoned farm land, some of the soldiers whispered amongst themselves about the Hunter's demeanor. How he twitched and shook, how his head swiveled back and forth along the treeline. Almost as if he were expecting something. One of the soldiers, a boy born into wealth, whispered near enough that Kerrick could hear.

"My father sent me a letter recently from Godspine. He said that a massive golden dragon attacked them eight months ago. That the city would have been doomed if it weren't for Klauven and his hunting band. They had to engage the emergency defenses, do you know what those do?"

The boys that huddled together to listen all shook their heads.

"They skewer the glittering things." Klauven interrupted. "Meant to fire when the dragon is first spotted, they are ballistas on rope and anchored to the foundation of fortresses or castles. 'At dragon circled the city to attack 'fore the guards made their way to the turret." Klauven slipped a small axe from a side sheathe, and for a brief moment Kerrick noticed the number of knives and axes strapped to his thighs and shins that had been hidden by the oversized coat. Fifteen blades or more were hidden on the legs of the man.

"Far too small to hurt a dragon." Kerrick thought.

The Huntmaster spun a knife in his hand as he continued. "Guards waited till the dragon had eyes on the turret and ran. Back when Athella designed those turrets with the purpose of putting down the snakes quick. Ye boys familiar with the body of a dragon?"

The boys grumbled amongst themselves, quietly issuing ideas and theories. Kerrick spoke up.

"Dragon's bodies are different dependent on their nest location."

Some of the other boys looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"Sure is. Two Stars, Pikeman, ye may find yourself a learned man when you leave the force." Klauven sneered. "Forest, Mountain, River, Ocean, Cave, Plains, Swamp, Desert, dragons are in union with their birthplace. Broods rarely, if ever mate with a dragon from another family. So they are predictable, not to mention, their bodies are usually giveaways for their home nest and what Brood family they came from."

"Sounds like a different person." Kerrick noted that the Huntmaster's accent and speech patterns shifted as he spoke, leaving behind the thick stunted sentences frequently used in the north and slowly adopting a more refined, educated demeanor.

"Cave dragons have lots of legs, how many legs will tell you which cave. Ocean dragons have fins instead of wings, so on. Dragon that came down o'er Godspine was a Stoneborn, adolescent, my guess 'tween sixty and a hundred years. Dragons whose nests are in the mountains have developed a fearsome flame, much hotter than any we can make. White hot, melts steel in moments. you saw Ginu." Klauven slid the knife into his pocket as the group approached the forest wall. Their destination still two hours into the woods themselves. "This lass, golden scales and torn wings, was a fighter. She likely wound up sparring with her siblings or managed to survive an attack from another band some months before, when she turned away and we fired, she kicked the first ballista out of her wing. No good for flying, she crashed and tried to start a fire to keep the guards away. They surrounded her and in a panic, she..." Klauven paused. "She killed a lot of soldiers. Lit them up as soon as they got close. She was on the verge of passing out from blood loss. So, we did what we do best. We sliced her throat."

Most of the company surrounded him as he finished, but a few stayed back including Kerrick. While the boys cheered, Klauven shivered. He nodded and grinned.

"Uncertain event, given that they missed every vital organ in the damned thing. Those ballista are meant to hook into a dragon's torso. Not its wings. Each turret station, you'll come to discover, is set up with four. Two for a primary shot and two for a secondary. The primary shot is meant to hit them in the chest. The secondary to hit them in the head when they've stopped moving, to ensure a quick death."

One of the soldier's raised his hand. "Aren't dragon scales and horns useful for things?"

"Course they are." Klauven laughed and waved the other boys to calm down as he stepped over a bundle of shrubs and flowers. "Can't harvest em safely if the dragon's in a panic, though can you?"

The soldiers quieted as he continued. "So, your military builds ballistas and other assault weapons to take down the things. My companies lay traps and snares and poisons. We get the reward, you get to be safe."

Klauven's eyes dodged through the forest as he spoke, searching for something.

"So why are you and your partner here?" Kerrick spoke up.

"Cause the Matriarch 'at did this likely knows we will be heading down to the river hold and fishing scout soup out of the drink. Myself and Ginu came to make sure some of you make it back."

The soldiers looked at one another, suddenly realizing what their orders had been.

"So the General wants us to walk into actively patrolled dragon territory to do this and left us with one hunter and a bunch of barely capable adults to fight off a dragon?" Kerrick shot back, and gripped his pike tighter.

"Sounds to me like your General understands that there's power in numbers." He snickered. "Or at least hope."

Kerrick gritted his teeth and pushed forward, following Klauven deeper into the woods as wildlife scurried away from them. The soldiers fell quiet for a while as they continued through, the cold had begun to creep in through their coats and they bundled up together. Still, the two companions beside him who remained silent since they left the compound remained in lockstep with him, the only three that hadn't broken formation when Kaluven slowed.

"Do you hear that, boys?"

In the distance, a branch cracked. Klauven reached to his back, beneath his long coat and produced a crossbow, a bolt loaded as he gestured for them all to be silent.

Another crack echoed through the woods and the deer and foxes that had just run from the company came scurrying back in a panic. Klauven aimed his crossbow toward the noise and signaled for them to ready their arms. They obeyed and waited.

Then, another branch broke in the forest a hundred steps in front of them, and a low growl spread through the burdened branches that shook the snow from them, and rattled the chill bones of the boys. Only then, did Windvar's companions break formation.

--

The Court of Ice

The long winter night shoved a bitter cold wind into the cell Emry had been locked within, through a singular window carved from the bricks of stone that decorated her prison cell. She laid on her back, eyes lazily focused on the ceiling where melted snowfall dripped through the cracks of the mortar. Her joints ached in pulses in step with the rhythm of the water droplets as they crashed against the barren floor. She rolled to her side and turned her attention through the bars and out to the empty cell across the hall. The grime wreathed iron bars split the moonlight into shafts of their own that illuminated the prison floor.

She was brought to the complex by Ginu sometime after she had been knocked unconscious. Her recollection was hazy, but she remembered her first meeting the Hunters and the General.

The frigid snowfall of the harsh season once comforted her, but this winter was different. It had been eight months since she and Balshenai flew over the city. Godspine, they called it. The events of that night had grown foggy between days earmarked by meals of half cold porridge and the occasional interrogation. If she were lucky, she'd be beaten and her blood would warm her skin. She remembered with blistering accuracy the look of fear on Balshenai's face as the blonde man swung his ax down hard upon the Golden Dragon's neck. Her blood erupted from the wound and covered each of them. The man whose face melted into his helmet, a man she later identified as Ginu, bound her wrists with iron chains and pummeled her into the ground. His heavy, iron laden fists crushed down on her until she blacked out. Further in the forest as she lost consciousness, Balshenai roared in pain and fury.

When she awoke, she found herself in a poorly maintained lawn surrounded by a tall stone wall. Affixed to the west end of the courtyard wall was a small shack with a red and green banner which sported a symbol, a golden bird clutching two spears, the same symbol decorated buildings all across the city. On the opposite side of her stood three men. Ginu, the fat man stood just behind the blonde man with the braid. On his opposite side stood a tall, muscular balding man in thick metal plate armor and a decorated overcoat. At his side he held two swords, both of which shined from a careful polish. The third man many seasons senior to the others, pinched a bundle of rolled green herbs between his lips. The aroma wafted through the courtyard and mixed the thick stench of body odor and excrement with the scent of herbs she recognized. Willow Heart, a plant that grew beneath the boughs of willow trees and was commonly used in a number of medicinal recipes. Intermingled was the scent of Flurryfluster, a weed by all accounts, but one her father used to smoke frequently. One he forbid her to touch.

She struggled to stand before them, and found her hands and legs bound. The blonde man approached her with a grin on his face.

"Brave of ye' to make a way through 'er city on wings, lass." He flipped a knife in his hand and caught it by the blade. His thick accent made words barely distinguishable. Thicker than any of the merchants or travelers she met on their way through the forest.

"Real brave, 'eh?" He repeated and knelt beside her. "Been looking 'er ye' some time, girl." He widened his grin and revealed a grizzled row of rotten brown teeth, many of them chipped.

She turned to face him, "You know, Lambs Head Flower boiled in water releases a sap, useful for cleaning your teeth."

He closed his mouth immediately and kicked her in the stomach.

"Speak when spoken to." He'd told her.

The older man approached from behind. "What is your name?" He took a long pull from the green leaf wrap and blew the smoke down toward her while the blonde man backed away.

"Emry, of the River." She replied. The memory of Jokull's final breath and the sight of her bloodless father vivid in her mind. "What did you do to my friend?"

"Ye' broodling?" The fat man replied. "Klauven diced 'er up proper." He pulled a satchel from his hip and reached within to reveal a handful of glittering, golden scales. "Ye' magic is no good now, witch."

Emry shoved off the ground and to her feet. "Why!?" Spittle flew from her mouth as she looked the older man in the eye. The blonde man, she assumed was Klauven, took four quick steps forward and rocketed his fist into her abdomen and sent her reeling back onto the patchy lawn.

"Stand when you are asked to stand." The older man spoke over his minions. "I am General Vandruss, and I apologize for these Hunters. They are rather excited to be in the presence of someone as precious as you." He tossed his half smoked bundle of green leaf to the side and gestured for Klauven to back away. He took a step closer to her and knelt. She saw a kindness in his eyes that reminded her of her father, but the words he whispered into her ear were no such thing.

"They've killed your dragon, child."

Emry balled her fists as Klauven and his fat friend shivered with glee behind him. "You are cowards." She spit in his face.

The General calmly wiped the spit from his forehead and nodded. "You are right, we were afraid. If we didn't take action immediately, we would be eradicated. On the other side of these walls are hundreds of people who could lose their homes, their families and their lives at any minute. Are you prepared to be guilty of being the cause?"

Emry growled under her breath. "Your people took my home. I am not concerned what happens to yours." She drove her feet into the dirt and pushed herself away from the General, who did not strike her or lash out at her. Instead, he did something she did not expect. He stood and slipped another bundle of green leaf from his pocket and turned away from them to light it. Emry noted that he didn't use flint or tinder to do so.

"Well, my friends." He turned to address the hunters. "You heard the girl. She doesn't care about what happens to these people, even though House Bramble graciously provided her land to grow up on and to live, just as they provide the land for these people. I suppose we are left with no choice but to be unconcerned about her safety as well." He waved a hand to the side and walked away. As he passed by Klauven, he leaned to the side and just above a whisper told him, "Don't let her die."

Klauven nodded and slipped his hands into a pair of thick leather gloves. On each knuckle, a stud had been pushed through. They were blunt, but protruded from the end of his fists as he lumbered toward her. She screamed and pushed herself away, struggling through her bonds as The General passed by Ginu and left her to the will of the two Hunters. As soon as Ginu slipped his own hands into similar leather gloves, Klauven knelt and placed a hand on her ankle.

"It isn't worth it, child." He spoke without his accent and raised his fist. He slammed it against her side and the metal studs crashed against her ribs. She howled as Ginu approached from behind and joined in. Each strike sent a shock through her as they pummeled her once more, into unconsciousness.

In her cell, Emry jerked as a phantom pain shot through her body as if Klauven was once again beside her. She remembered each strike. First on her ribs as he prodded her to tell him where she met Balshenai. She cried out and fought but didn't answer. He easily overpowered her and struck her pain down into her throat beside his partner. Then, they'd asked her where she found the medallion and what happened to her father. Neither she chose to answer as Ginu's fist cracked one of her ribs. Klauven came down on her jaw, and she felt a snap followed by immediate, searing pain that shot through her face.

The first was the worst of the beatings she'd received since being imprisoned by far. She stared out of her cell into the empty one across the hall and stretched her fingers out to the waste pail, which she propped up. Beneath the leaky wooden bucket, she kept a treasure. As Ginu grew excited about the beatings, she noticed his satchel still open, and with each heave of his large belly, she waited. With each strike the sack shook at his waist until one of Balshenai's scales fell from within. Then another. She quickly snatched them, in an attempt to feign escape. She clutched them tight to her chest as the men abused her, and tucked them safely into her tunic. When the men finally had enough, and she coughed up blood, they took her to the shack and sent her inside where she was processed and installed in the cell. Through the investigation and theft of her belongings by the guards, she managed to keep the scales a secret. When they took her father's journal, she hid them in her tunic. When they took her tunic and sent her to the bath room, she'd hidden them in her hair.

She correctly assumed the prison guards were more concerned about the shape of her body than the potential of a heathen from the woods hiding contraband, and as she left the bath room she passed near them, knowing their minds were focused elsewhere as she slipped the scales back into her frock. Then, she was led to the cell where she'd hidden the scales ever since.

She dreamed of ways she could use them, for eight months she'd considered possibilities between beatings and cold meals, she'd wondered if she could reveal Jokull's Ridge to them and as the guards turned to one another in glee, she fantasized slashing their throats with Balshenai's parting gift. But she didn't, she'd never moved them from the waste pail unless it was time for her to clean her quarters, when she'd taken them once more and hidden them within her hair.

As her fingers traced the edges of the scales, she remembered Balshenai's last words to her.

"Seek Westwinter." She repeated in her cell and listened to the echo. "When I escape." She answered herself, and released the pail to cover the scales once more. Then, she rolled over and closed her eyes, curled tightly into a ball just as she had in the courtyard beneath the flurry of strikes from the Hunters, and began to weep.

--

Snow & Blood

The rank of Pikemen scattered as hot breath spilled from the gaping throat of the dragon, still hidden within the tall pines. The ferocious roar vibrated Kerrick’s lungs and sent a cold spike through his spine. Others felt it too, he noticed, as a band of fellow soldiers stepped back. Klauven screamed into the forest, guttural and violent. Spittle flecked from his lips and dashed into the disturbed piles of snow on the ground. He raised his crossbow with one arm and charged forward, with no command issued to the soldiers.

Most of them backpedaled further, making distance between themselves and the thrashing of the dragon. Kerrick’s legs refused to move, despite how badly he wanted to be in the backline with his pike forward, waiting. He couldn’t summon the strength to move at all. He remained where he had been when the roar had first vibrated through him, legs locked in place, pike pointed into the darkness.

A boy two years his junior approached, by the name of Heindor he wore a long black mop of tangled dirty hair that often fell into his eyes. He was a strong boy, stronger than Kerrick had been, but he was notorious in their camp for the stickiness of his fingers.

“Snow, we should go help him.” He whispered. His pike rigid before him, certain. Much unlike Kerrick’s own, which bobbed in the cold air between the sounds of Klauven’s screams and grunts. Heindor didn’t move until Kerrick twitched. He knew that his squamate was right. To remain in the cold and let Klauven die wouldn’t do any of them any good. They were forced with two options, both of them spelled death. Either they pursued and fell to the dragon immediately suffering fewer losses, but ultimately having a chance to win the fight, or they fled and left Klauven to die. The Dragon wouldn’t stop if it knew there were more mortals that wormed their way through its woods. It would take to the skies and it would continue to hunt them down, they would wind up in the river just like the scout regiment they were sent to collect.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Klauven lived after they abandoned him, and it didn’t seem like he was the forgiving type.

Kerrick moved, barely a finger’s width, and Heindor nodded.The mop-headed thief charged forward without looking back. His pike raised as he screamed and others followed. A chorus of fearful shouts rang from the other soldiers that had surrounded them, most of which charged forward and into the sounds of the dragon’s anger. A pair of them collided with Kerrick and sent him stumbling forward to keep from collapsing into the snow. Then, he continued. With intention he placed one foot in front of the next and before he knew it, he was marching with just over half the platoon as the rest remained safely outside the trees, pikes at the ready.

“The Capital won’t abandon us. So We won’t abandon one another!” Heindor shouted, his pike raised above his head as they marched quickly through the underbrush. Their impromptu leader turned back to face them briefly, his greasy black bangs slapped the side of his leather mail. Kerrick watched his eyes bounce across the faces of the other soldiers. Most of them followed with terror widening their eyes and teeth gritted tight. The few who did not express their fear, stared onward almost as if they were unconcerned they were marching to their death.

“What can we do it help him?” Kerrick whispered to Heindor.

“We are part of the land as sure as any one else!” Heindor responded by shouting once more to the troupe. “What did you join the military for, men?” He continued with a cocky look on his face.

When none of the soldiers replied, Heindor paused and turned to face them.

“Today, you joined to fight!”

A few of the soldiers cheered and stepped in line with the boy as the squad broke through into a clearing littered with felled trees and splashed with blood. In the center stood Klauven, hands wrapped around two hand axes, less than a step from the snout of a sprawling violet dragon.

“You are going to die.” Kerrick thought, and came to a halt in the rear of the group as they set their sights on the Huntmaster and his prey.

Klauven spun an ax deftly in his hand with a flick of his wrist, and quickly shot the weapon spinning from his palm as he ducked beneath a lunge from one of the dragon’s connected limbs. He crouched beneath the gaunt arm and slashed upward with his second ax, rending open the flesh of the beast. I howled and slammed down upon him. Heindor winced, watching the Huntmaster dodge nimbly beneath the dragon as he leapt onto its shoulder. The serpentine body groaned as Klauven stepped across the splintered spines that protruded from the Dragon’s back and towards its tail, hidden somewhere deep within the forest. In response to his steps, the dragon pushed against the earth with each of its legs on the left side, four in total that lined its elongated ribcage like a large centipede, and shoved itself onto its back. Klauven stepped over the trunk of the dragon as it swiped with its other limbs, and dodged beneath each of the swings, slashing wildly at the scaled wrists of the dragon. It roared in frustration as he dodged it and stood atop the beast’s belly.

The pale, pinkish skin of the dragon’s underside was littered with scars and stones that had been embedded into its flesh. Large patches of scales had been chipped away and broken, and far more had been worn down from constant grinding against the earth. The dragon’s limbs were short, segmented by large carapace like shields that covered the tops of its arms and shoulders, similarly to the large banded sheets of scales that appeared to shield its back. Each segment was attached by a collection of sinewy ligaments that stretched and pushed and allowed the dragon to squeeze down, Kerrick assumed, to fit through smaller spaces.

“This beast,” Klauven began after dodging a particularly close swipe at his neck. “Is a cave dweller. Little snake rests in mountainsides and feeds on night dwellers, birds and the like.” He spun behind one of the four limbs on the dragon’s side, one which moved sluggishly and clumsily. He spun the hand ax in his hand and slashed at the tendons on the leg, and the dragon’s claws on the leg went limp.

“Cave snakes, as ye’ see, don’t have wings. Can’t take to the skies.” Klauven slashed twice more, ensuring a full cut through the tendon before he jumped off of the dragon’s belly and to the opposite side. It rolled, pushing with the plating that covered its backside, the large purple clumps of scales dug into the ground and exposed the taught muscles and ligaments that were exposed beneath as it rolled back to its feet. Klauven stepped to the side and with a carefree swing slashed through another of the legs. His eyes never left Kerrick’s squad as he danced around the dragon as if he knew he wasn’t in danger.

The beast howled in pain as deep crimson blood burst from the new wound. It yawned its jaw wide and black spittle flew from the depths of its jaw. Klauven took a step around its legs and slipped a folding spear from beneath his coat. A long metal contraption that had been rigged with springs to bounce open as soon as it was drawn. He swung the folded weapon and the springs tripped, shooting it outward and strengthening the long pole handle.

“Not so fast, lad.” Klauven spun the spear in his hand and rammed it through the dragon’s cheek, preventing it from closing its mouth. The metal spear tip burst through the opposite side of the dragon’s cheek and carried with it tender, pink flesh that it had ripped free from the gums and tongue of the dragon. He gestured to the gaping mouth as the dragon began to whimper.

“Cave dragons have a special bite.” He hooked his finger around a drool covered muscle against the dragon’s cheek and pulled it outward, revealing a long singular claw that had previously been folded up within the dragon’s cheek.

“For trapping prey.” Heindor assumed aloud, and Klauven raised a finger.

“Close.” He gripped down tight on the claw, draped in spittle and wrapped tight with muscle he pulled, bracing his own weight against the steel spear that lodged between the two vertical jaws. With a grunt and a great pull, the bone that held the mouthed claw in place cracked and Klauven pried it free from its joint, as if he’d broken the meat from the leg of a crab. He twisted and tugged as the dragon attempted to slash at him with its claws to no avail, until he tore the inner claw from the dragon’s mouth.

A waterfall of blood poured from the wound and the dragon reeled back, whimpering as Klauven tossed the claw to Heindor.

“Take a closer look.”

The boy spun the mandible around in his hands a few times, awe filled gasps echoed beneath the sounds of the dragon that had begun begging. Klauven turned away from them to face the beast, and reached into its throat. The boys stared, shocked, as the Huntmaster stretched his arm into the dragon’s mouth and down into its throat.

The dragon whined, louder than before, and tears began to form in the corners of its eyes as Klauven reached whatever he’d been looking for, and pulled, hard. As soon as he did so the dragon’s body fell limp. It collapsed to the ground, eyes unblinking as Klauven withdrew what appeared to be a large misshapen pearl from within. The surface of which reflected light in an unusual pattern, dodging waves of purple and blue light shone from the surface of the pearl as he held it out to the winter sun with a grin on his face. The stone itself barely able to rest comfortably in his hand, arrested the attention of the troops. All of them save for Kerrick, whose eyes remained on the Dragon.

“Soldiers, this is the secret to every dragon attack, and every death at the hands of those snakes.” He tossed it gently into the air. “This is their power, locked up tight. You pull this, a dragon is useless.” He gestured back to the dragon as he led the group away from the clearing, abandoning his weapons inside of it.

The soldiers followed eagerly as he continued on, telling them about the pearl and the claw, but Kerrick couldn’t pull his eyes from the snow. The growing pool of crimson-violet blood and the dragon, who remained, unmoving, stared up at him with tears in its eyes.

Where Klauven had maimed the dragon, there were sickly green pustules, some of which had popped and spread across its skin. The blood mixed with the festering stink and dripped from the body onto the snow, melting it on contact. Kerrick took a brief walk around the side of the dragon, curiosity overwhelming him as Klauven and the troop grew distant on their way out of the woods. Down the dragon’s sides, hidden beneath the scales, there was a yellow-green rash that had spread across the dragons skin. Ligaments that held the scaled carapace along its back had been infected, parts of the muscle and sinew grown sickly green due to the rash. Against his better judgement, Kerrick approached and prodded one of the ailed tissues with his hunting knife. As the blade pierced the flesh, it deflated, a bubbling frothy stew of blood and sick spewed from the diseased tissue.

“This dragon was sick.” Kerrick, realizing that there was more to Klauven’s showing, peered into the woods where the dragon’s long body vanished into the trees. There, in the back, there was a metal mechanism hidden beneath a bundle of bushes. He approached it, and with each step, the Dragon’s whimpers grew more frustrated. They turned from fear to fury as Kerrick approached the mechanism and took a closer look at it.

He knelt to observe what appeared to be a small catapult, multiple levers attached to thin steel wires that all braided together. Those wires wrapped around the hind legs of the dragon, as well as having tangled themselves in anntanae-like limbs that protruded from the dragon’s hind, near the base of its tail. The machine appeared to have been wound tightly, the cords wrapped around trees to build tension. Nearby, a handful of trunks were scarred badly by what appeared to be whip marks.

“This wasn’t a lucky encounter, was it?” Kerrick placed his hand on the dragon’s tail and felt it heave a breath. “You were sick, and you were brought here for a show, weren’t you?”

The dragon didn’t make another noise.

Kerrick noted the painted stamp on the trap. The name “House Windvar” delicately aligned above a blue and white shield that stood behind a towering tree trunk. A family crest he was intimately familiar with. He turned away from the trap and back to meet the dragon’s head. When he did, he placed his hand on the spear and knelt beside the creature, its breath slowed, and eyes fluttering.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered to the dried bloody puncture in its mouth as he gripped the spear. He pulled until it gave way, and tore free from the weakened flesh. The dragon made no more noise.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Klauven replied, leaning against a nearby tree as he watched Kerrick struggle to slide the spear from the dragon’s jaw. “Got what was coming to it.”

Kerrick yanked the head of the spear through the dragon’s cheek and swung it out into the snow. “I’m sure the wire trap back there helped.”

Klauven sneered. “Suppose it did. Would have been a lot harder to take down if it was free.”

Kerrick pulled the lever at the base of the spear and released the springs, allowing the handle to fold once more into place. He kept a tight hold on it as Klauven paced around the Dragon’s head.

“You’re a good soldier, Snow.” The Huntmaster said. “Never abandon your weapons.” He winked at Kerrick and dug into his pack, to produce a small silver necklace with a pewter trinket affixed to it. A shield, painted white and blue. “Found this at the Windvar Estate, routine clean up for Vandruss, don’t ask me any details. I only do what I’m commanded to do.”

Kerrick caught it and gripped the necklace tight in his hand.

“How does he know?”

“Anyway, kid, we should get back. Don’t want to get separated. We have a job to do.” Klauven stepped away from the dragon and left Kerrick once more in the clearing, alone with the dragon. Before he followed, he took a last glance at the beast who had closed its eyes, and realized its chest no longer moved.

“So be it.” Kerrick whispered. Then, he followed his commanding officer back to the road with a heavy heart.

--

The Beggar

The hacked together row of lean-to apartments built against the southernmost retaining wall of Godspine withstood the harsh winters of Atla weakly on their best day, chipped pebbles and loose rocks wedged between large walls of mud made up the exterior of nine "complexes" that the civilians of Godspine less than lovingly refer to as "The Camps". Lodged against the wall and arcing outward in a semi circle, the nine buildings make up a neighborhood of their own populated by adults and children alike. Their beds stitched together with rotted thread and wrapped in soiled linen, the denizens of the Camps have persevered beneath roofs with holes, pipes that leak, and the worst of the Winter Freeze that creeps through Atla at the turn of every year.

Among the destitute and disparaged that cram themselves shoulder to shoulder on straw mats, lives a young woman. Three seasons into adulthood Sekhenna Fliss has long maintained that she would rather be there, or in the sprawling tunnel network beneath the city than in the wilderness of the Ferrous Woods.

The Camps, nestled between Wolfsbane District and the Herriman Company Lots were the dumping ground for the rest of the city's waste. When there were celebrations, like the three-day festival thrown by the visiting King Harama in the spring, the drained bottles and wine skins found themselves piled along the dirt streets and back alleys, the bones of animals sucked clean of meat littered the gutters alongside the remnants of paper decorations hastily torn down in anticipation for the new work week.

The dirty hands and feet of The Camp's denizens worked tirelessly to clean their neighborhood despite the sneers of the merchants from their balconies in the Wolfsbane District, and despite too, the upturned noses by the Herriman Company's workforce who, despite working for pebbles beneath their master's mountains, still looked down upon Sekhenna and her people as they swept and shoveled and mopped their streets.

Despite it all, Sekhenna did not pay the onlookers mind as she dragged a straw broom through piles of half melted snow stuffed to the dirty brim with dissolved paper mush and pheasant bones picked half clean. On either side of her stood others in the long list of unmentionables she considered friends, each of them silently attentive to their chores. Haim, a young boy half her age plucked a thigh-bone from the snow and bit down on a chunk of gutter water soaked meat. She thought to open her mouth and stop him before his mother slapped the food from his hand. The bone bounced on the muddy road and came to an unappealing stop with a splash into a dirty puddle.

"Haim you know better." She whispered, and pulled her patchwork coat tighter around her chest. Haim sniffled once, and then with a longing look to the morsel submerged in the water, made his way back to his duties. The pair pushed piles of garbage along the stone gutter to the sound of the Herriman Yardmen shouting directions at one another in the distance. Across the dead end of the cobbled street that bridged the eastern side of The Camps stood a tall wrought iron fence, haphazardly fused beneath intense flames, the black bars protruded carelessly into the sky twice Sekhenna's height. Atop each of the metal rods a short stone spike had been mounted, wrapped tight around the end of each pole to prevent the miscreants from The Camps and other slums across Godspine from sneaking into the Yards.

Sekhenna pushed a soggy piece of underclothes from the gutter and paused to watch the goings-on in the yard. Attached to the fence line rested a long brick path that encircled a massive dirt lot. Where spaces for twenty or more homes could be built, instead held a staging ground for whatever the Foreman deemed appropriate for the day. On this particular day, the yardmen paced back and forth moving tree trunks into piles, awaiting their processing to be stripped of bark and cut down for building.

The Herriman Company, having been one of four conglomerates to overtake the industrial network of Godspine had their hands in what seemed like everything. The third largest of the merged conglomerates, Herriman established base level infrastructure for the city. Their round table oversaw the city planning as well as the procurement of necessary supplies. They were most frequently seen pushing wagons and handcarts around the city filled with timber and stone, or on occasion, ore from the nearby mines. The lot that stretched from their fence line to their warehouse complex was often littered with spare lumber and other waylaid resources. Most of which were shipped south to allied territories, like the Kingdom of Hiliod that spanned the central expanse of their continent.

While Herriman championed the basics of material collection for the Kingdom of Athella, they also had a company whose import was much more useful to Sekhenna and the others in The Camps, fish. If it had been any other day, Sekhenna would have been preparing for a trip through the Herriman Yard to gather some supplies for her people, but she had a much larger task before her.

She shoved a heap of snow into a broken grate and made her way past Haim and his mother, toward the square of The Camp where a couple stood, directing the flow of daily chores. Surrounding them were a handful of makeshift tents and canopies the sheltered a number of cots, repurposed from spare wood that they harvested from their homes. Upon the cots laid a number of people, the majority of which were not native to The Camps. One of the women in the center of the square paced back and forth, tending wounds and offering a large water skin to the wounded. Sekhenna approached from behind and the woman jumped.

"First Eyefall, Khenna." She gasped. "You are quiet. Are you finished with the barrier wall already?"

She shook her head, and offered the broom to the woman.

"Not in so many words. I've been summoned." The attendant didn't take her broom, so she laid it against the eroded fountain that stood in the center of the square, filled with medical supplies and left over food rather than water, the broom slapped against the stone plinth in the center and bounced into the fountain. Behind her, two children whimpered with hunger pangs.

"Ooh, are you meeting the officer again?" The woman giggled.

"Dhama, I don't know how many times I need to tell you, it isn't that kind of meeting." She plucked a bundle of venison jerky from the fountain as the woman turned on her heel and moved to an elderly man on a nearby cot, barely conscious. He reeked of alcohol.

"Be careful, sister. It is dangerous out there, you should be well aware of the risks. Do you remember the last time you went off cavorting where the Guardsmen were stationed?" Dhama knelt and began removing a bandage around the man's arm, revealing a deep infected burn wound beneath.

Sekhenna tossed the jerky bundle to a passing aid, who caught it and handed it off to the young siblings muttering about their hunger.

"The last time I was near the guards, it was because they were doing this." She gestured to the rows of cots that surrounded them. "I think you'll remember that I was helping you bring wounded to our home to keep them out of harms way."

Dhama turned and scratched her head, her eyes narrow. "Oh, I do remember. I also remember being left alone to organize their beds while my dear friend went missing for a while, and then a fire broke out near the Garrison."

Sekhenna blushed.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Dhama rolled her eyes and focused on wrapping the wound. "Whatever you are doing now, please be careful. You know security is tighter all over because of the King. If he catches you, I wager it will not be pleasant."

Sekhenna knelt to another person, a middle-aged woman with a deep gash on her cheek, and withdrew ointment from her pocket to coat the open wound. "I doubt it will be anything I couldn't find a way out of."

Her friend sighed to the drunk man and shook her head.

She wiped an excess of ointment from the woman's face and left the bundle of extra in her hand. Without further discussion, Sekhenna stepped away from the cots and made her way out of the Camps. Godspine had always unsettled her. The sharp stone edges of each building stretched fearsomely over the streets. At the edge of the stonework canopy stretched fearsome tines that dotted the tops of the buildings and hung from the edges, creating a messy nest of jagged points that were stationed to protect the city from the descent of dragons.

Their effectiveness, however, had yet to be seen. The city of Godspine still hummed with unrest from the recent dragon attack, eight months prior. An attack that put to stop King Harama's confounded celebration, and allowed Sekhenna to escape without being imprisoned.

She passed out of the Wolfsbane District and progressed northward, into the Jarl's Square. The core of the city shrouded by further defenses constructed since the recent attack. Along the walkways, Jarl Bennedent had commanded more spires to fill the streets and stretch above the overhanging gutters. Large metal plates had been fashioned and laid across the open gaps to shield the streets from overhead view. All along the market streets around the Jarl's Square had been outfitted with steel plates that overlaid the once decorated wooden doors. Windows all over the city had been shielded with metal barricades that slid open and closed. Through the open doorways, the citizens and shopkeepers had stocked crossbows marked with the symbol of Jarl Bennedent's House. A Golden Bird with two spears crossed behind it.

"It's like they are preparing for war." Sekhenna thought to herself as she passed by a fruit stall and slipped an apple from the edge and into her bag. As her fingers placed her snack safely in the burlap, they brushed against cold metal.

"Because they are." A twisted voice replied to her, terrible and familiar the woman spoke like sludge dripping through a drain grate. The sound of her voice like ground stone through running water. Sekhenna did not reply.

With a glance over her shoulder to verify she had not been seen, she continued down the winding cobble street to the bustling square. People littered the amphitheater, busy about their day to day. Merchants in rows peddled wares they'd gathered from places far and near. Fruits and vegetables freshly imported by Herriman from the Copper leaf forests of Marrybell, far to the west. Children clamored around an aged man with a long silk cloth bundled tight around his head who stood before a table littered with trinkets constructed from wood and stone. The children excitedly plucked and fingered toy horses and dragons whose limbs and wings moved on small levers as the man bargained with their parents. Craftsmen on the other side of the square offered swords and daggers of average quality, weapons that had been crafted for decoration. Young soldiers scrutinized them, pretending to swing the weapons and testing their improper balance, boasting in their knowledge of combat. She stepped between a couple, a few years her senior, bickering about their allowance, and stepped behind the recruits, still playing soldier with the decorative weapons. The woman across from them grinning at her potential sale.

"When you hold it here," the thinnest of the three boys began, clutching the base of the sword between two fingers with the blade pointed toward him. "You can test the balance, you see?" He released the weapon with his offhand, and it tilted quickly down toward the handle, sliding off of his finger. Sekhenna reached a hand and caught it, whipping it back up to her side.

"You will hurt yourself." She replied, and handed the sword back to him, the point of the blade in his direction. He stuttered and reached for it. Moments before he placed his fingers on the metal she whipped it back and flipped it around in her hand, catching the dull blade with a careful grip.

"Never take a sword by the blade." She locked eyes with him, pulling his attention from the peddler. "You will lose a finger."

The recruit stared at her as she handed off the sword and took another from the display. The dull silver blade emerged from a pommel decorated in cheap golden filigree. The glittering paint used to disguise the ornamentation masked the true metal beneath. She took the blade into her hand and held it out over the corner of the table.

"By the way, balance of a blade matters quite a bit less than the craft of the steel." She smacked the broad side of the sword against a stone post that the cart was tied to. The metal immediately cracked across the width of the blade. "If you hit a steel plate, and your weapon a fake, you will be dead." She took her free hand and placed it on the table, pinching the cracked blade beneath her palm and the cart. With a forceful shove on the handle, the blade splintered into pieces as the pommel separated from its binding and the metal shards crumbled to the cobblestone. She held the broken tip of the sword in three fingers and waved it at the peddler, whose face had grown sour.

"Don't buy weapons from a market peddler. They will sell you playthings and decorations."

The woman scoffed. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. She is mocking you gentlemen. Each of these blades are fine Greyiron, blessed by Kharakhuzund Forge-Priests."

Sekhenna couldn't prevent the laugh that burst from her throat. Each of the boys remained silent.

"Tell me, then. What did you do to get them? Greyiron is not simply given out." She leveled her gaze at the peddler, who placed her hand on a small leather bag thatching at her side.

"We, well, my troupe and myself..." She paused. "We saved a derelict from the Glowing Forest."

Sekhenna tossed the broken blade onto the pile of fake weapons and crossed her arms. She caught one of the boys gaze drift to her forearms and his jaw dropped.

"So, you've been to the Glowing Forest, then?" She leaned forward. "You are doing a poor job convincing me. What was the derelict's name, what did he do?"

"We didn't ask." The woman stuttered.

"So, you saved an unnamed man, somewhere in the forest, that sprawls as far as the eye can see, and you were rewarded with an army's worth of weapons made from their unique and extremely valuable metal, and none of the details are returning to you?"

"Councilman Gar!" She blurted, cutting Sekhenna off. The boys shared looks with one another.

"Councilman Gar, wonderful. I do hope he's doing well." Sekhenna turned to face away from the table. The peddler no longer interested her.

"I bought a sword from her yesterday." One of the boys, shorter and rounder than the first, spoke up.

"What did she charge you?"

"Sixty Scales."

Sekhenna's eyes widened. "Sixty Scales could feed me for months. She slipped her hand into her bag and searched for her coin purse. As she did so, the peddler reached into her own pouch and withdrew a knife.

"Careful, lass." She growled. "I wouldn't make a scene."

Sekhenna saw the glint of the blade from the corner of her eye and paused briefly, then continued searching for her coin purse as if the peddler held out a forest squirrel rather than a knife. Outside of the market stalls, guards perked up at the noise.

"Found it." Sekhenna pulled her coin purse from the depths of her pouch and her finger brushed the same cold metal from before.

"Kill her, be done with it."

She lifted the coin purse as the peddler slashed with her knife, dicing open the leather pouch for her scales to fall onto the cobblestone. The hollow pop of the money against the ground drew the attention of other nearby stall-goers, who quieted as the guards approached.

Sekhenna lifted her other hand to her neck, and pulled her thick black hair away, and leaned in toward the peddler to expose her neck, just behind her ear.

"Do it, then." She spoke somberly as the boys took a step back. "Slice me open."

The peddler woman dropped the knife onto the replicas as the guards approached.

"A Ven'alhim..." She muttered.

"What is going on here, ladies?" The guard who spoke was a large man, just under Sekhenna's height but certainly heavier. She knelt to collect her money.

"I was just talking these boys out of wasting their hard-earned scales when this woman decided to threaten me." She stood and faced the guards, whose weapons were drawn and aimed at them. "I apologize for the scene, officer."

The guards looked at the boys, one of whom in the back waved them off with a flick of his wrist.

"Move along ma'am, she has a right to be here like anyone else."

Sekhenna nodded, and turned back to the peddler, leaning on the table with both hands. Her fingers wrapped around the woman's knife.

"I'm so sorry to cause you an issue, ma'am." She winked and stepped away.

"That mark, you're cursed." She spoke louder, wide-eyed.

"Aren't we all? Dragons are out to eat us." She stepped away from the table and dragged her hand along the pile of decorative weapons, the peddler's knife pinched between two fingers. With a spin she waved to the guards and her opposite hand slipped the knife into her bag. They nodded, oblivious, and returned to their posts. The woman immediately began to pack up her things and Sekhenna rubbed the mark on her neck absentmindedly as she rounded a corner and paused. She looked back to see the woman's eyes following her, fear still in them.

Then, she continued along to her rendezvous with a new trinket that would fetch a decent price in The Under Channels. Perhaps as much as Sixty Scales.