The Valley of Plenty: Rise of the Amadan

There weren’t always dragons in the valley, nor had there been anything more than whispers of their existence for an age. The great beasts of old had become mere myths that were told to children in the dark hours of the night to fill them with wonder and to fuel their imaginations.

Generations had grown up without knowing the fear of those great beasts. We were safe in our forgotten isolation.

Or so we thought. . .

****

Yet, there were some who still feared the fire and fury of the past. A line of warriors who held onto the traditions of old. Throughout the centuries, they had never abandoned the oath that was once sworn to protect each new king who had reigned over our valley. The people of Gleänn had been without ruler for centuries, but the Clan of Amadän had never wavered from their vow of honor.

In the early morning hours when the dew of the previous night still clung to the leaves and blades of grass, the Amadän Watchmen would train in the warrior ways of their forefathers. And in the still and silent hours of the night when the stars shimmered like diamonds in the surface of the water that flowed through our quiet valley, they would keep their post in the ancient watchtowers that still stood in the hills that protected our lands.

Though there were none still living who had seen any sign of dragon or foe, the eyes of the Amadän warriors had remained ever fixed toward the westward plains that lay beyond the mountainous border of our isolated and forgotten village.

In the kingdom of our fore-bearers, the Clan of the Amadän had been the most respected and feared of all the great warriors. But that era had passed long ago, and they had become but a remnant of the traditions of old. The ways of the once great and mysterious line of Watchmen known only as the Amadän had become as foreign to us as the ancient evil from which they had sworn to protect us.

There were few remaining who still viewed them with the respect they deserved, and though there had been a time when their name had filled all with reverence, the Clan of Amadän had become known to many as nothing more than a clan of fools, and like their ancient traditions, the Amadän were a dying line as their numbers had dwindled throughout the generations.

Now, there was only one left. . .

****

Yet, I had never been among those who believed the Amadän to be fools. I come from the Clan of the Fèrelîth. Before the dragons had plundered our kingdom, our people had been those to whom the Amadän had sworn oaths to protect, the rightful heirs of the throne of Gleänn.

I had grown up hearing the stories of how the Fèrelîth and the Amadän had once fought side-by-side in the great battles against the fearsome beasts that had plagued our valley and plundered our riches.

Long ago, our kingdom had been the greatest in the world, and our enemies had been great and numerous in number as it was not only the winged creatures of legend who had thirsted for our wealth. In all the stories that I was told, there had always been a Fèrelîth and an Amadän at the center, defeating their enemy and staking their claim on the glory.

I cannot remember a time when I was not fascinated with our rich past, and whenever I had a moment of freedom, I would explore the abandoned watchtowers and imagine the olden days of gold and glory.

But there was one who had always held my fascination the most. Though we had been born under the same winter moon, he had always seemed to me as a relic of the past come to life.

He was his father's only son just as I was my father's only daughter, and I cannot remember a time when he had not filled my dreams.

Mine were not the dreams of other girls. I dreamed not of marriage or harvest, nor of sons or daughters. I dreamed of dragons and battles that ravaged our land, and in every dream, he was by my side, sword in hand and bow at the ready.

There was a time that I had dismissed my dreams as the manifestations of the stories that were told to me under the light of the moon when the flames of the fire flickered and bounced off the walls as though they were dragon's breath.

But I no longer dismiss the value of my dreams. . .

The stories of our forefathers spoke of the dangers of wealth and riches, and even the youngest child knew that dragons were drawn to the hordes of shining metals and shimmering jewels that once filled our valley when the great kings of old had dug deep within the earth.

But it had been many generations since the veins of gold and piles of jewels had been plundered. The last battle of the Amadän had been fought so long ago that not even the oldest and wisest among us would have dared to believe we would ever see our enemies of old again.

We had become content in the bounty of the ground, thinking ourselves free of the weight of the world beyond the walls of our valley of fertile soil and flowing water. The line of the Fèrelîth had gone the way of the Amadän, and for generations, the people of the Gleänn had been without ruler or enemy. We were equals, farmers and family, living together in our valley of plenty, and despite the warnings that the Amadän continued to sound throughout the ages, no one listened.

But in my dreams, the valley was always full of war, of death and destruction. The Amadän and I fought side-by-side amongst the rubble as our fore-bearers had.

Never had I imagined that those dreams were visions of my future because though I had always respected and admired the last of the Amadän, I had also believed as the rest of our people. . .

He was a remnant of an era that had left us long ago.

A figment of the dreams of a young girl given to wild fantasy.

I was as foolish as the rest. . .

So sure were we that we would remain safe from that ancient evil that we ignored all warnings of their return. We had forgotten and dismissed the wisdom of the Amadän—the wisdom of the ages.

For only they had remembered that evil was always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for its time, and its time had finally come. . .

****

It was late in the evening on the last day of fall when our destiny was at last revealed to us. The sun held itself high in the sky, resisting the darkness and holding the moon and stars at bay until the last of the harvest was collected. Men and women stood side-by-side in the fields, their baskets filled with grains and vegetables. Fishermen lined the stream that flowed down the mountainside and into the lush riverbed of the valley.

Its surface shimmered like sapphires as the algae-covered rocks shone brightly in the last light of the day, and as the men pulled their nets from the crystalline water for the last time, laughter and triumphant cries filled the otherwise still evening air. It had been a lush and successful season once again, and none but the lone remaining Amadän felt fear or doubt that the coming year would be anything less than one of celebration.

I watched him from the bridge that crossed over to the center of the marketplace as he loyally stood at his post. I had spent many of my evenings watching him from that bridge, and he had watched me from his post. When I'd been old enough to join the others in the fields, I rarely found myself out in the evenings, and he had all but faded from my dreams for many years. Then, his father died suddenly on the eve of the last harvest, and my own father helped him bury his father in the hills of memory that had served as the final resting place for the Amadän and Fèrelîth throughout the eons.

I'd been overwhelmed with grief on that night, but I did not understand why. When I tried to close my eyes, he was again by my side, but we were no longer victorious as we had always been before in my dreams. I awoke with tears in my eyes and fear in my heart, and I ran to the bridge in my nightclothes, and as I looked to the western sky, I saw him at his post, the moon shining high behind him.

Even in his grief, he had not abandoned his post, but he stood less tall that night, and through the darkness and the distance, I felt his desperation. He was the last of his kind. No longer was he of the Clan of the Amadän, but he was now the only Amadän. It pulled at my chest as though it was my own father who had passed on, and I found myself reaching out to him with my arm extended in front of me.

When I finally laid my head upon my pillow once more, the dreams returned. He reached out to me and touched the pendant upon my breast and spoke of the ancient Fèrelîth women. When I awoke, I reached for my pendant, and when I looked upon it, it was glowing faintly, and I knew that our futures would be forever entwined.

****

Two full harvests had passed since his father's death, and still he remained at his post, unyielding. I walked to the edge of the pier as the sun slowly lost its battle to the darkness, and as was often the case in the early evening hours, I found myself gazing up at him, wondering what thoughts weighed upon his soul. After a long moment had passed, he shifted his body with intention, and his gaze met mine. I could feel his eyes piercing my soul with the same pain that an arrow might pierce the skin. Not for the first time, I wondered if he could read my thoughts or if he had somehow seen my dreams.

The air was still warm with the golden sun, but it ran through me like the watery currents on a winter's night, and I shivered. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, and I rubbed my arms with my hands in an attempt to warm myself. For the first time, I was dreading the fall of night and the beginning of our yearly festivities. I was the eldest maiden and as such, it was my duty to select one of the unmarried men to dance. Each year, I selected a new partner for the dance, for it was tradition that those who shared the same dance twice would marry before the next harvest, and there was only one to whom I could see joining myself, but that man never came down from his tower to join in the celebration.

I stared out across the vastness of the valley, taking in the faint salty smell that drifted on the breeze from the ocean to the west. It was our most successful crop for a generation, and the air was filled with cries of joy and anticipation for the coming feast. I knew that I should be helping the other women in the preparations, but I could not tear my eyes from the Amadän.

I finally pried my eyes from his shadowy figure and turned to cross the bridge to join in the preparations, but a sudden weight pressed upon my chest, and I glanced down at the pendant that rested against my bare skin. It seemed to glow slightly, and a sudden dread seized my heart. I clutched the pendant and turned my gaze to the distant horizon at the lip of the valley.

There was a black speck dancing across the sliver of sun that remained in the sky. I shifted my body back toward the sun and kept my eyes fixed to that spot, straining to see what I prayed was a bird flying in the distance.

A moment later, the speck grew, and I watched, frozen in fear as it continued to grow larger and larger against the sun, before splitting and becoming two large, fast-moving shadows. A loud horn rang out, and I looked up to the watchman. He had climbed to the top of his tower and stood on the roof with his horn in one hand and his bow in the other ready to fight and fulfill his destiny, but his gaze was not to the coming darkness, nor did his gaze drift to the marketplace where the crowds had gathered.

He stared through me. And I stared through him, standing in silent terror as the people ignored his warning once more. . .

****

He placed his horn to his mouth and gave one final warning, before returning his horn to his belt and pulling an arrow from the quiver on his back. I found my strength and ran toward the marketplace, calling out to the women and children, but it was no use. Their cries of laughter and joy turned to shouts of fear and confusion as the first dragon swooped low over the center of the village.

His great shadow passed over the market, leaving a trail of scorched earth and flames in his path, and I saw the still burning bodies of women who had become as mothers and sisters to me and children whom I had helped to raise. My legs failed me as I fell to my knees with tears streaming down my face, and the sound of wailing filled my ears. I turned my attention to the fields and streams that lined the valley. The men and women abandoned their baskets and nets and ran toward the old mines, but the flames followed them, and many were caught in the dragons' fiery fury. There was no time to give into grieving.

I scrambled to my feet as the second dragon swooped low over the watchtower, saying a silent prayer for Amadän as he fearlessly pulled his bow back and loosed his arrow. The great beast shrieked with rage as the arrow lodged in his breast, but he was not stopped so easily. The great dragon's throat filled with fire, and his wings billowed the air around Amadän in smokey waves that I was sure would swallow him whole, but still he stood his ground and pulled another arrow from his quiver. He loosed his arrow once more, finding his target, and I stood transfixed as the dragon fell into the river below the great watchtower and its guardian.

He called out to me and stretched his arm toward me in warning, but it was too late. The dragon's flames burst ahead of him as he crashed into the water with a great shriek. I tried to run, but I was caught in the wall of water that crashed over the bridge upon which I stood. I cried out in agony and scrambled to the eastern bank of the river as the scalding water rained down upon me.

I heard Amadän crying out to me once more, and I fell to the ground just in time to escape the fury of the first dragon as he swooped low and sent a flash of fire just over my head. I pushed myself to my feet and watched in awe as the dragon flew toward the Amadän. He stared down the great beast as he had the last, sending two arrows through the air simultaneously. One arrow pierced the dragon in the chest, and another stuck into his left wing. Still, he would not fall, and his anger blazed at Amadän. He shrieked with piercing volume and sent a flash of flames over the watchtower, engulfing it.

I cried out in great grief and fear, praying that Amadän would rise from the ashes of the watchtower, but the dragon turned and set his eyes upon me. I ran toward the abandoned mines that lay behind the eastern side of the village. Though they had long ago been forsaken as a source of gold and gems, within those mines lay tunnels that our forefathers had dug out of the rock to serve as hideouts for the women and children when intruding armies had sought our gold. We had preserved them and made them into storehouses for our harvest throughout the winter. I knew that was where the surviving villagers would go to escape the flames.

There was no outrunning the dragon, though, and he was soon upon me. I fell to the ground as his chest became a bright and fiery orange. As he opened his mouth, I curled as close to the earth as I could, anticipating a scorching pain and death, but the flames did not touch me. Instead, the fire created a ring around me. I stood with shaky legs and prepared to jump through the wall of flame when I felt the ground shake with such strength that I fell to my knees into the dust and ash that covered the once lush ground at my feet.

I again rose to my feet, feeling the beast's presence through the flames in front of me, and I slowly backed up as the beast pushed through the wall of fire. The flames seemed not to touch his thick and scaly skin as he stood amidst them without pain or fear, and I became mesmerized by his presence.

With every step he took, the ground shook as though a great roar had come from the earth beneath my feet, and I looked into eyes filled with such hatred that I felt cold despite the flames that threatened to claim me. I watched in horror as his throat filled with fire, but he did not unleash his wrath upon me, and I became aware of his own hesitation.

His glowing eyes stared at my chest, and I reached down and clutched the pendant that bore the crest of the Clan of Fèrelîth. His eyes flashed, and I saw fear rise within him as the pendant began to glow softly. I held my breath and lifted the pendant from my skin as the great beast stood before me.

He seemed as though a spell had come upon him, and I recalled the dream in which the Amadän had touched the pendant and set it aglow. And I suddenly understood that my dreams had not been mere figments of the imagination of a young girl who longed for adventure, but they had been visions. Visions of my future. And of my past. Of the great Fèrelîth dragon tamers of old.

A glimmer of hope rose within me, but as I stared into the dragon's eyes, I knew that I would not be able to tame him on that day. The spell was broken, and he raised his head and stepped forward once more, his strength returning.

My hope faded quickly as the heat returned to his chest, and I closed my eyes and held the image of my Amadän reaching his hand out to me in my mind as I prepared to meet him in the hills of memory.

But just before the flames burst forth to claim me, the dragon let out a mighty shriek, and I opened my eyes to see Amadän leap from the flames behind the beast and pull his sword across the dragon's chest with great strength and speed. The flames died within his chest, and the beast crashed to the ground with one final, ear-piercing shriek.

****

I walked with Amadän by my side through the smoke and steam that bathed our once lush and evergreen village, and one-by-one the villagers emerged from the shadows of the tunnels, weeping until we were surrounded by all those left alive. None among them would have thought that the last of the line of the Amadän would prove to be their savior, but he had fulfilled the oath of his forefathers, and he stood tall among us.

But he did not celebrate his victory on that day. . .

No longer was it a day of celebration, but it was a day of wailing as the grief over our losses overwhelmed us, and none that day held back from weeping.

None but the Amadän. . .

Instead, he warned of those who would follow the dragon scouts, and we heeded his warning and began preparations. No longer would we be peaceful harvesters. Our village lay in ruins, our most bountiful harvest with it. For centuries, we had been farmers. We had believed that without riches of gold and stone we were safe from the greed of the world.

But we learned that day that evil longs for more than just the treasure of the deep mines of the world. Our valley of plenty had become known to the evil that lurked in the world beyond our mountainous borders, and they would be coming to stake their claim in our bounty.

Our people would once again know the fury of fire. But no longer would the ancient wisdom of the line of Amadän go unheeded.

There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but no longer would any child grow up without knowing the fear of their fire.

For, we were no longer safe in our isolation. We were no longer forgotten, and we were no longer a land of plenty.

Hope fades quickly when one stands in the midst of the flames, and courage fails when those who would stand against evil are brought to their knees. Yet, hope can be rekindled when a leader will rise up from the ashes.

The Amadän had risen once more. Out of the ashes and flames that had threatened to consume him. So, we followed our fool, our Amadän.

And I was by his side. The Amadän and the Fèrelîth would fight together once more. It was my destiny. And his. Together, we would save the Gleänn people. Together, we would tame the dragons.