The Warrior

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But then again, there weren’t always monsters there either.

The Dragons, or Dragonavenators as was their formal title, were an occult brethren bred to exterminate the host of unnatural monsters that plagued our once fertile and prospering land. They were the reason why even a small portion of the human population had survived this long. At least that’s what I tried to remind myself as I watched in intensifying outrage as a young Dragonaventor ate the last of our village’s small supply of food.

I watched as neighbours and townspeople hurried to offer their meager supplies and belongings - placing them reverently at the warrior’s feet. My jaw clenched and the grip on my crudely carved tankard tightened, splinters scrapping against raw calluses.

“Food?” the tavern barkeep grunted, gesturing with his chin at the measly coin purse I hastily tucked back into the folds of my dusty tunic.

“Not today,” I replied, fighting the involuntary twist of my lips into what I’m sure was a bitter smile. I couldn’t afford food for two people, and the drink was a cheaper, albeit temporary, way to fill an empty stomach.

“Good thing,” he admitted in his gravelly baritone. “Not sure there’s anything left.” His gaze shifted to the Dragon. A corner of his mouth turned down.

My own eyes slid back to the young man, as I took a big gulp of the weak ale and attempted to ignore the gnawing ache in my stomach.

The bitter taste in my mouth wasn’t the ale.

“Do you know what brings him here?” I asked, straining for a neutral off-handedness I certainly didn’t feel. I knew I didn’t quite succeed when the barkeep's eyes snapped to mine and his assessing gaze lingered a moment too long.

“Heard he’s been tracking a sturga,” he confessed conspiratorially, voice lowering and eyebrows pulling together.

“This close to the valley?” I started, fear wrapping its cold hands around my throat and squeezing. Hard.

The barkeep grunted his affirmation and turned to a new customer; conversation forgotten as he seized the new opportunity for coin.

My thoughts darted to the young boy asleep on our shared straw mattress, in the ramshackle room we shared with a handful of other poor farmhands.

I hadn’t seen a sturga before but their 4 rows of jagged rotting fangs, long as a grown man’s forearm were infamous. I had seen the violent damage they could do…

The bar stool screeched jarringly as I abruptly pushed away from the bar, clenching my cloak, ale abandoned.

I dodged tables and laborers as I hustled through the space. I threw a scowl towards the Dragon as I passed, icy fear turning to a more comfortable hot rage towards the hunter who had chased an evil here, and accidentally caught his eye.

The dark swirling hues of grey inside his iris were like a storm. I stumbled.

The Dragon’s chin lifted.

“You don’t have anything to offer me?” he drawled, eyebrow raised.

I clenched my jaw so hard, I thought I might crack a tooth. “Nothing…” I said through gritted teeth, watching with gleeful satisfaction as his eyes narrowed. “…Worthy of you,” I finally finished.

I pasted a tight if not bland smile on my face, and forcibly lowered my head a fraction, in deference. The Dragon’s grin grew and his eyes trawled lazily from my own, down to my scuffed, worn boots and back.

“Clearly,” he agreed dismissively, waving a hand and turning back to those crowded around his seat.

I stiffened, inexplicably affronted. Maybe I should give him an offering in tribute to his service. My only possession of value, the blade sheaved in my boot.

I could give it to him, blade first. Into his neck. Forcefully. A pleasant chill ran up my spine and my smile became a touch more genuine.

***

A couple hours later I was glad I hadn’t. My shoes struggled to grip the icy patches of melted snow, as I sprinted through the clouds of swirling smoke and dancing firelight back to the inn. Voice raw and shrill with panic as I screamed for the Dragonavator. A familiar figure appeared through the hazy smoke and I rubbed the back of my hand across my face, trying to clear the dripping blood obscuring my vision.