The Dragons of Mahria Valley

Prologue

There weren't always dragons in the valley.

When there were, the inhabitants of Mahria slept soundly. They left their homes in the evenings, walked freely around the markets. Weapons gathered dust on the walls, laughter filled the air. It was a time of peace, tranquillity.

Until the Vanishing Season.

Once every decade or so, the dragons disappeared. One day they were soaring in the skies, the next they were gone. Nobody had ever seen them leave, and nobody ever knew where they went. They just... vanished.

There were signs, of course. The dragons grew rowdier, more aggressive towards each other. While they usually co-existed harmoniously, the bellowing roars and sickening swipes of raging claws before the Vanishing Season echoed through the valley. It wasn't unheard of for dragons to fight, but not like that.

Then there were the children. The dragons of Mahria Valley had always been fierce protectors of the youngest dwellers, watching over them as they grew, scaring off prowling wolves, even playing games with them. But when their disappearance loomed, the dragons would conceal the children, taking them to nearby caves and crevices, then guarding the entrance. The children were never afraid, but it filled the adults with fear as they recalled their own hide and seek adventures, and the horrors that followed.

Both these signs would cause any Mahrian concern. Village meetings would be held, hoarding of supplies would begin, and the candles in the blacksmith's forge would burn into the early hours. Tensions would run high, on the brink of chaos.

Sometimes, these measures were for nothing; the dragons would behave normally again, and the people of Mahria Valley would resume their day to day lives. It was the lilies that changed everything, that confirmed the fate they had come to dread.

Within one week of their departure, the dragons would collect lilies of the valley and lay them in intricate patterns along the paths that weaved their way around Mahria. A contradictory flower containing both poison and healing properties, it was a weapon against an enemy, and a medicine for a friend. The dragons' last defence against the dangers to come, a final piece of protection for those they would not be there to protect.

For one hundred days, no more, no less, the dragons were nowhere to be found. Decades ago, in the first Vanishing Season, search groups climbed the perilous pathways out of the valley, desperately searching for their protectors. Noone returned. Now the dwellers remained in Mahria, awaiting the inevitable onslaught, clutching swords in trembling hands.

You see, Mahria Valley held a secret. A powerful, wonderful secret of science and magic combined: Jupiter's Box. Named after the Roman god, the box could control the weather in the valley, bring rain during exceptionally dry summers, stop fierce gales in terribly cold winters. The Mahrians never used it as a weapon, but knew the devastation it could cause in the wrong hands. And the rest of the world did too.

The dragons kept the people of Mahria Valley safe from attacks, and Jupiter's Box remained tucked away, its whereabouts only known by a select few. When the dragons were gone, enemies would strike. Thousands of soldiers swarmed Mahria, weapons raised, greed in their eyes.

For one hundred days, blood seeped into the waters of the valley, the crimson river never clearing. The deafening clang of metal on metal, the hysterical shrieks of widowed spouses, the horrified cries of orphaned children; these sounds haunted the vale, echoing round the mountains, with any respite meaning the death of another friend.

Yet the Mahrians soldiered on, protecting their homes and preserving the power they possessed. And all the while, the children would sing, hoping their saviours would return:

O' dragons, my dragons,

Where else could you be?

There's monsters approaching,

Please come protect me.

-

O' dragons, my dragons,

Can you hear my song?

The swords kill the fighters,

Please don't be gone long.

-

O' dragons, my dragons,

Please won't you return?

Our parents are dying,

We watch our homes burn.

-

O' dragons, my dragons,

You can't dilly dally,

The waters run red here,

In Mahria Valley.