The Last Hope

There weren't always dragons in the valley.

I. The Stranger by the Fire

Silence fell over the room as the last notes of the Bard's harp died away. Every eye in the Tavern of Twilight Moon turned toward the stranger.

He stood in the center of the room beside the great stone fireplace with his back to everyone. No one could say when he had come in. No one remembered the door opening. Outside, the night of the full moon had been swallowed by clouds, and the wind moaned through the shutters like something trying to get in. Inside, the fire crackled softly, and with every pop of the logs the silence grew heavier, the way the air grows heavy before a storm.

"There weren't always dragons in the valley," he said.

He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. It was barely more than a whisper, yet it reached every corner of the room, as if the words had been breathed into each listener's ear.

He lowered himself into the high-backed chair facing the hearth, took his staff, and laid it carefully across his lap, the way a man might handle something that could bite. Then he gestured with one hand. The fire leapt out of the fireplace like an obedient hound, curled through the air, and settled into the bowl of a pipe in his mouth. The pipe had not been there a moment before. It had simply appeared.

The patrons stared in disbelief. A tankard slipped from a farmer's fingers, rolled across the floorboards, and came to rest against the old man's boot. No one went to pick it up.

The room was well lit by the fire, yet the man in the chair sat shrouded in darkness, as though the light itself were afraid to touch him. Now and then the flames glittered off his face, the wet shine of an eye perhaps, or the edge of a smile, but none of his features could be seen.

"There weren't always dragons in the valley," he said again, and this time his voice was forbidding, as cold as the silence around him. "That valley was once filled with life."

II. The Valley That Sang

"Trees older than any kingdom. Deer that would eat from your hand. The Fey. And the Moon Elves." He drew on the pipe, and the ember glowed red. "I remember those days clearly. The valley came to life at sunset. The Moon Elves played their harps and flutes and danced through the twilight hours. The Fey came out with their silver light and joined them, and together they celebrated the Goddess Luna. People came from miles upon miles for the festivals of Luna, to dance with the Moon Elves, worship their goddess, and give her all the praise and glory."

His lip curled. When he spoke again, it was a sneer.

"Oh, how I remember."

As the words left his lips, the smoke from his pipe turned an ebony black. It did not rise toward the rafters the way smoke should. It poured down, thick and slow, pooling around the chair and climbing his body until it engulfed him. When it thinned, the man in the chair looked as if he had been set on fire and someone had put him out too late. All that remained was a burnt-out husk, sitting upright, still smoking, still breathing.

The room was dead silent. Somewhere behind the bar, a glass cracked all on its own.

III. Three Heroes, One Invitation

From the far corner, a chair scraped across the floor. A massive man in plate armor rose to his feet, and his shadow fell across three tables.

"What happened to the Moon Elves?"

The question broke the spell. Whispers ran through the tavern like wind through dry grass. The man in the chair did not answer. He only smoked, pumping out that ebony smoke, as patient as a gravestone. The giant started across the room toward him.

Behind the bar, the barkeep's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his teeth. He wiped his sweating palms on his apron. "Sir, we don't want any trouble here."

The giant stopped and looked at him. Up close, the barkeep could see the dents hammered into his breastplate, each one a story that someone had not lived to finish.

"There will be no trouble," the giant said. "I am Annex Dragonband of Zion." He nodded toward the corner, where a hard-eyed ranger, a young priest clutching his holy symbol, and a halfling who had quietly moved closer to the door sat watching. "Those are my traveling companions. A wizard invited us here to end the dragon menace in this valley."

On the opposite side of the bar, another man stood. He was tall and lean, with the pointed ears and moss-green cloak of the elven forests, and a longbow of pale, gleaming wood across his back.

"I am Draken Silverleaf of Elden," he said. "My companions and I were also invited here to end the dragons' threat in this valley."

A third man rose from a table in the middle of the room, so close to the old man that the black smoke curled around his boots. His hair was a golden mane, and the spear in his hand was so finely made it seemed less a weapon than a work of art.

"I am Leon Lionheart of Zenith. My companions and I were invited too, to end the threat of these dragons."

The three men looked at one another across the tavern. Hands drifted toward hilts. Companions shifted in their seats. Three champions from three kingdoms, each sizing up the others, and each wondering the same thing: Why am I not the only one?

IV. How Lucky, or How Odd

Then the Bard began to laugh.

It started as a gasp, a sharp, broken intake of breath, and then it spilled out of him, high and wild, the laugh of a lunatic. The three heroes turned toward him. The Bard smiled an eerie smile, far too wide for his face, and spoke in a mischievous voice.

"Luna, the Goddess of the Moon, has blessed us tonight," he said, "or Darkarn, the God of Darkness, has cursed us. Look around you! We are in the company of the greatest heroes from the greatest kingdoms in the land, all gathered in one little tavern, in one little valley, to clear away the threat of dragons." He plucked a single string, and the note hung in the air far longer than it should have. "How lucky," he said mellowly. "Or how odd it be."

None of the heroes knew how to answer him.

Not knowing what else to say, Annex turned to the other two. "You said a wizard invited you here to end the dragon threat?"

Every eye in the tavern, except those of the shadowed figure by the fire, turned to Draken and Leon for an explanation. The two men looked at each other to see who would speak first. After a long, tense contest of stares, Leon answered.

"The wizard came before our King and asked for my companions and me by name. He said the dragon threat must be ended before it became a plague and spread throughout the land."

Draken slowly shook his head as Leon recounted the story. "That is precisely what happened to my companions and me," he said. "The wizard came before our elders and asked for me by name."

"And what did this wizard look like?" Annex asked.

Leon opened his mouth, then closed it. A strange look crossed his face. "I... cannot recall."

Draken frowned. "Nor can I."

Annex said nothing, but his grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. He had been trying to picture the wizard's face for three days now. Every time he reached for it, the memory slipped away like water through his fingers.

That was when the harp began to play.

The Bard's hands had not moved toward the strings. The music simply began, and he sang along with it in a voice that was eerie and sweet:

The finest sword of the land,
The wielder is a Dragonband.
The deadliest bow from the elven belief,
The shooter is a Silverleaf.
The sharpest spear, a magnificent work of art,
The holder is a Lionheart.

As the last note faded, the three weapons answered. Annex's sword hummed in its scabbard. A thread of silver light ran along the curve of Draken's bow. The blade of Leon's spear gave off a thin, cold glow, like moonlight on frost. All three men stared at the weapons they had carried for years. Not one of them had ever seen them do that before.

V. Be Careful What You Ask For

Out of the silence, the deadly voice by the fire spoke again.

"There weren't always dragons in the valley!"

Annex's patience snapped. He spun toward the hearth. "Why do you keep saying that, old man?"

It was the Bard who answered, soft and sinister. "Be careful what you ask for."

Annex turned on him, his eyes burning with mortal rage. "What do you know that I don't know?"

The only reply was a laugh, low and menacing, that seemed to come from the Bard's throat and from the walls of the tavern at the same time.

Draken stepped forward and placed himself between the giant and the Bard. "Enough. This wizard gathered us here for one reason: the dragons. I say we join together. We ride for the valley at first light, all of us, and we end this threat before it spreads throughout the land."

Leon nodded his agreement. Before Annex could reply, the old man began to speak again.

"The Moon Elves sang that grotesque song all night long," he hissed. "And the Fey with their lutes and harps, playing that dreadful noise from dusk until dawn. Oh, how I remember. Their loving words to their Moon Goddess."

VI. The Song of Luna

Without invitation and without warning, the harp began to play again. The Bard's fingers danced across the strings as if by magic, and he did not miss a single note. He sang the song of the Moon Elves, and for one moment, just one, the dark tavern felt as if it were filled with moonlight:

Luna, you brighten the skies,
Like you brighten our eyes.
You light the dark,
Like you light our heart.
With the radiance of the moon,
You make our spirits bloom.
Luna, you bless us from afar,
You are our Night Star.
Luna, Luna, Luna.

At every "Luna," the old man flinched. The fire in the hearth shrank back from him. The black smoke recoiled. And from deep inside the chair came a sound like a growl rolling up from the bottom of a well.

Then the music ended, and the room was left in confusion once again.

VII. The One Who Invited You

Annex was on the edge of rage. "Who are you, Bard?"

The Bard threw back his head and laughed like a madman until the laughter rang off the rafters. When he finally stopped, he fixed Annex with a vicious, unblinking stare. For the first time, the heroes noticed his eyes. They were not grey. They were silver, the color of the inside of a moonbeam.

Deadly and quiet, he answered, "I am the one who invited you here."

Annex's mouth fell open. Leon's knuckles went white around his spear. Draken's fingers found an arrow without his ever deciding to reach for it.

Then, from the fireplace, the words came once more.

"There weren't always dragons in the valley."

Confused, the heroes looked back toward the old man. And on cue, as if the two of them had rehearsed this moment for a very long time, the Bard, who was the wizard, spoke.

"The reason I called you here," he said, "is the same reason the Moon Elves are no longer in the valley."

Annex could barely breathe the words. "What happened to the Moon Elves?"

Laughter burst from the Bard. "Let me show you."

VIII. There Weren't Always Dragons

As the words left his mouth, the old man by the fireplace began to change.

It started with a sound, a deep crack like river ice splitting in spring. The chair beneath him splintered into kindling. The staff across his lap twisted, lengthened, and became a tail, black and barbed, that swept three tables across the floor. His back arched and kept arching, and his shoulders burst upward into wings that tore through the rafters as easily as paper. Scales rippled across his skin like a tide of cooling iron. His neck stretched toward the ceiling, and the face that had hidden in shadow all night was finally revealed: a long, horned skull with eyes the color of molten gold.

The fire in the hearth did not fight him. It bowed. Every flame in the room bent toward the dragon and flowed into his open jaws, until the only light left in the Tavern of Twilight Moon was the glow burning in the back of his throat.

Patrons screamed and stampeded for the door. The barkeep dove behind the bar. The halfling was already gone.

The dragon lowered his enormous head until one golden eye, as large as a war shield, was level with Annex Dragonband. Smoke leaked between his teeth when he spoke, and his voice was the same whisper as before, only now it shook the floor.

"There weren't always dragons in the valley," he said. "I brought them. And my children are hungry."

Behind the heroes, the Bard pulled back his hood. His ears came to long, elegant points, and his silver eyes were shining with tears.

"You asked what happened to the Moon Elves, Annex Dragonband," he said. "He happened. I am all that is left of them."

He raised his harp.

"The sword, the bow, and the spear were forged by my people beneath the full moon. They are the only weapons in all the land that can pierce his hide. For three hundred years, I have searched for hands worthy to hold them. And every year, on the night of Luna's festival, he comes back to this valley to sit by the fire and remember what he destroyed." The Bard's smile returned, sad and terrible. "So this year, I made sure he would have company."

Then the Bard struck a single chord.

The three weapons blazed silver in the dark. Three heroes from three kingdoms stood shoulder to shoulder for the first time. And high above the shattered roof of the Tavern of Twilight Moon, the clouds tore apart, and Luna opened her eye.

"Tonight," the last of the Moon Elves whispered, "we learn whether Luna has blessed us, or Darkarn has cursed us."

The dragon smiled with every one of his teeth.

The last hope had come to the valley.

Now it only had to survive the night.

Written By Dr. George Shannon Ferguson