The Harpy’s Treasure

Chapter One

The Harpy’s Treasure

Dusk has nearly fallen as Trosen waits patiently for the head of the Harpy clan. The scrag was late as usual, but that didn’t surprise him.

Fanish was not the brightest of her kind – not many harpies were – but she was the strongest and hence their scrag, their leader.

Running his claws over the rocky ground, Trosen works on the rough edge of one as he waits. Too much longer and his patience will run out.

His sharp ears perk as he hears the flap of wings, seven harpies by the sound of it. He had requested this meeting, and although Fanish couldn’t say no, as her clan was allowed to nest here on his whim, he had been cordial in his request.

Dragons ruled many of the lands of this world and in doing so they maintained the balance between the races.

Most of the other races were prone to greed, power, and dominance, often leading to wars and all manner of evils.

Dragons were made from something else entirely and were not handicapped by such faults, which made them reasonable rulers.

Besides, they were big and scary, and few could stand against them. Fear had its uses as well.

Trosen watches as Fanish comes into view. The forest they nest in is full of tall spindly trees, easy for them to maneuver in but not so for Trosen. His much larger bulk required more open space, so they were meeting on a small rise, clear of the forest’s edge.

As the harpies land, their feathered wings folding neatly behind their scrawny backs, Fanish walk/hops forward, the others fanning out behind her.

They are all female, and their hides are a range of reds, yellows, and greens. Fanish is a striking red, her deeper red hair braided and bundled at the nape of her neck.

“Scrag, I thought you may have forgotten our meeting,” Trosen rumbles, blowing several gusts of smoke from his nostrils.

“Noooo, Fanissssh would never forget sssuch a meeting with the great Dragon of our lands. We were only …delayed for several moments,” she squawks, her eyes darting nervously behind her.

“Delayed? By what?” Trosen asks, highly suspicious of her obvious agitation.

“What have you called ussss here for dragon? Our roosssting season is soon upon uss and we need to prepare.” Her obvious avoidance of the question has Trosen narrowing his eyes.

Harpies were notorious liars, and Trosen never took their word at face value. They were also quick to pick a fight with anyone they came across, so he was sure that if they had been delayed it was the scrag’s fault.

Trosen gives his body a violent shake, causing his great silvery black scales to ripple over his body. The sound they produced was not unlike a landslide of shale down a mountainside.

Fanish and her troupe squawk as they flare their wings in agitation, each looking to their leader for guidance.

Trosen did not come for a fight, in fact, he had come to put a stop to them. There have been rumors that harpies have been terrorizing the southern borders, borders that just happened to flank Fanish’s territory.

“Do not test me harpy! I’m here on grievances put forth by the human settlement south of here. They claim that travelers have been put upon by members of your clan!” Trosen doesn’t bother with subtlety, Fanish would just drag it out anyways and he was tired of their rank smell.

“Liesss! Deception! My clan has been nothing but peaceful with those human dogs! Fanish is outraged!” She stomps a taloned foot, her small bare breasts heaving with her overdramatic outrage.

If Trosen wasn’t sure before, he was more than certain now that Fanish and her clan were responsible for these incursions. Especially with the sly looks the rest of her group were giving each other.

Harpies were not overly magical on their own, but a flock collectively could pose a threat to many of the more magically inclined races, such as the elves and dwarves.

But humans were even less magically prone. It was rare to find even a basic healer among them. Which meant they were often targeted by the less…civil races such as the harpies, trolls, and orcs that roamed these lands.

Most, for fear of the dragons that ruled these lands, abided by the rules laid out. But there were many times that these laws had to be…reinforced.

Often, Trosen had only to meet with the leaders of these races in order to remind them it was best to play nice. But on other occasions, it took fire, fang, and talon to remind those involved who ruled these lands, and why.

He was hoping this was not one of those times. As unsavory as it was to deal with harpies, Fanish had proven to be reasonable in the past.

An unfamiliar noise has Trosen cocking his head, his great ears perking forward.

The collective ruffling of feathers by the harpies and the uncertain looks passed between them have him narrowing his eyes again.

Fanish’s eyes go wide before she schools her features. The sharp claws on her hand fiddle with one of her long braids.

“Asss I sssay, we have not been bothering with the human clan,” she pauses for a moment, tapping her bottom lip with that same sharp claw.

“We have not done these things, but we are willing to be nice. For two rotations we are willing to hunt and provide meat to the humansss. Fair…yesss?” Her sudden capitulation and their odd behavior to the strange sound have all Trosen’s senses flaring.

He bares his fangs at the flock, a familiar heat building at his center. The scrag and her followers jostle against each other, feathers flying in their nervousness at the great dragon’s anger.

“WHAT ARE YOU HIDING?” His roar vibrates the air around them, but the harpies know better than to flee as that would only spark his anger and the flames threatening to erupt from him.

Instead, they kneel to the last of them, their wings spread out awkwardly in their desire to placate the dragon.

From her prone position on the ground Fanish dares to utter, “Wha…what sound?”

If, at that moment, the strange sound hadn’t been repeated, this flock of harpies would have been nothing but a smoldering heap of burnt feathers and charred bones.

Fortunately for them, the sound was repeated. This time much louder and more insistent. It was distinctly that of a young child, and not of harpy descent, Trosen was sure of that.

“What. Have. You. Done scrag?” Trosen growls through his bared fangs, his fury barely in check.

The lies that she’s about to spew play across her face. But before she can utter her next word, a harpy in the back of the group holds up a wrapped bundle.

“Here...here, my…my lord,” her hands are shaking so badly Trosen worries that her talons may inadvertently slash whatever is in that bundle.

Fanish hisses at her sister, her own fangs bared. “Bardin, NO!” She all but screams.

“I’m not getting cooked for a human babe, no matter how shiny she is!” Bardin screams back.

Fanish’s fists are clenched, and her breathing is coming in heavy pants. The look she gives Bardin promises retribution, but Bardin’s fear of Trosen seems to trump her scrags ire.

Bardin hefts the bundle against her chest and hops to Trosen, giving Fanish a wide berth.

“We were tracking the humming for some time. It called to usss, telling usss to find it,” her green skin pales as she stops within snapping distance of the dragon’s maw.

She swallows thickly before continuing. “The human male jussst left the babe. Carried it to a dead willow tree and laid it there. It was sleeping so soundly. We were only taking what was left behind!” Her words come out in a rush, not entirely making sense to Trosen.

Humans did not usually abandon their children. What in the world would make someone do such a thing? Perhaps it was diseased? On the brink of death? The harpy did mention it had been sleeping soundly. And why, even now, did it not make more noise beyond those first few mumbles?

Trosen’s first reaction was to dismiss Bardin’s tale as a lie, but her eyes did not have the usual sly look her kind got when telling lies.

“Let me see the child,” he rumbles, stretching out his neck to within several inches of the small bundle.

Fanish lets out a loud hiss, taking several steps towards Bardin when Trosen suddenly sweeps his head around, snapping his jaws so close to Fanish’s face that several of her braids are neatly severed.

Her face pales and she drops to her knees, lowering her eyes in submission.

Trosen swings his head back to Bardin. She blinks several times before quickly pulling the wrapping away.

The small frame revealed is a human child and a girl from the look of her. Dark hair curls around her sleeping face. She can’t be more than two or three summers old.

Trosen studies the little body, looking for any defect, but the child is the picture of health. Except for her continued slumber.

“Why does she still sleep?” Trosen asks, not really expecting an answer.

“Her breath stinks of the kaba root,” Bardin mumbles.

Trosen did not have much knowledge of plants and their properties but even he knew the potent effects of the kaba root. It could cause this kind of deep slumber, and at the wrong dosage, even death.

“Pleassse, my lord,” Fanish mumbles from her still prone position. “She is oursss, we found this shiny, she hums for usss!”

Trosen considers her words. Harpies had a particular talent for sensing magic in objects and people. They did not care for gold or gems but coveted magical items.

“Are you saying this child…this human child is magical?” Trosen asks disbelievingly. Fanish’s hesitation and the worried look she casts his way are answer enough.

“She is no treasure to tuck away, she is a living being!” A very rare one apparently, Trosen thinks.

“Her hum isss ssstronger than anything we have felt! We mussst have her.” Fanish pleads.

“What would harpies know of raising a youngling such as this? How would she live? In a tree? In a nest? Do you see wings on her back?” His voice gets louder with each question. It was ridiculous that they would even be considering such a thing.

“Her own kind will killsss her, we know thisss, we seen it! We can’t let this shiny die, she can’t go back to them!” Her screech of anger surprises Trosen. It was rare to see such passion in her kind.

Trosen reaches out to pluck the still-sleeping child from Bardin, careful to keep his talons well away from the babe’s delicate skin.

Bardin’s eyes widen at his sudden move, and she hurriedly retreats into the flock.

Curling his foot against his chest, he holds the babe securely. “I will investigate this matter and speak with the human village. But for now, I will take this child with me.”

“WHAT? What doesss a dragon know of caring for a human child?” Shrieking, Fanish leaps to her feet, her wings flaring out behind her.

Narrowing his eyes, he pins Fanish with a look. She pales before backing up a step. “You forget yourself harpy. Be grateful I don’t burn you here and now for this outrage.”

“Take your people home. I will let you know of the outcome,” Trosen says generously.

Scowling, Fanish looks like she’s about to argue, but better sense must prevail as she only nods before turning back to her sisters.

Trosen watches them go before looking down at his little charge. “What am I to do with you?” He whispers.

The kaba root bothered him. What if she had been given too much? When would she wake? A great sigh gusts from his nostrils, billowing smoke over the small clearing.

He would have to visit Pavana, he hated visiting her den, but it was his best option. The lone troll lived deep in the swamp, and he was pretty sure she was mostly insane. But she was brilliant with all manners of potions and the like.

His thoughts return to the human village. He was not sure how he was going to deal with this situation, but his priority was to this tiny creature. If she was truly as magical as Fanish suggested, then perhaps she would not be safe with her own kind.

Humans were distrustful of magic, even in their own kind. The few that he was aware of, as slight as their skills had been, had been outcasts or persecuted, often seeking refuge with other races.

Another sigh escapes Trosen. “How can such a small package carry so much chaos in her wake?”

A pained look crosses the little girl’s face, and she emits a soft groan.

Growling, Trosen flexes his wings. There was no helping it, he would head to Pavana’s den now. Come what may, he was now a caretaker of a small human girl child, at least for the foreseeable future.

To be continued…