Through Burning Stars and Falling Ashes

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, but I dared to hope once whispers began to spread throughout every village buried deep in the Blood Mountains. There were always whispers. Most of which were bollocks, but when the dragon slayers started to migrate in a certain direction, it was hard not to take notice. I’d follow them, discreetly of course, all over these mountains, from peaks to hollows, from cities to the sea, and still I found none. Not a beat of a wing hidden in the grey skies. Not a single roar echoed in the night, splitting the stars that secretly spelled out our names that were lost to heroes whose own names were now sung, while ours vanished into oblivion. Today the dragons were in the Valley, but yesterday they were in the fjords of Hespia. Tomorrow they would be in the Iron caves or the Emerald forests. I’m not sure why I even bothered, but it was easier than accepting the truth, I suppose. So I dragged my tired body over the foothills of the Blood Mountains, trails stretching out for ages in every direction, spreading like veins that pulsed life into these endless woods. I managed to avoid other travelers by taking one of the longer, rougher paths along the ridge of the mountains, but my aching bones rejoiced when I finally caught sight of the flickering candles burning in the windows of the village below, smoke billowing from their chimneys, blackening the already darkened sky.

The smell of ash melding into the cold night air washed over me, crawling deep into my lungs, scratching at something deep inside me that never slumbered, only heeled under my grip. I exhaled softly, swallowing the rumbling in my chest, the ache in my back, its bones shifting under my cloak. Tonight, I would keep my distance.

As I walked under the creaking wooden sign, swinging in the night breeze above the front gates, it read Cadmunfaire. Another village, another hive of slayers and slayer lovers, looking to carve a new hide and their names into the songs of bards and minstrels. Pathetic. Too many names had already fallen into obscurity after the last dragon was killed years ago. Or what was thought to be the last dragon. Now they named their towns and villages after the ones who had vanquished the beasts of lore, leaving little glory to be claimed for the slayers that remained. Still, they hunted, still they combed the endless mountains for any sign of winged monsters to conquer. I couldn’t fault them too much for their pointless endeavors. I was the same.

The mists coming off the mountains moistened the ground under my feet, the mud squishing beneath my booted heels. It swept through every crevice of the village, weaving through dark corners and settled just above the ground, muffling the thumping of feet and hooves. The streets were wide enough to stick to the shadows. My cloak pulled low over my face, my sleeves pulled down, my gloved hands covered. It wasn’t the amber color of my skin I was worried about, but lines of scales that rose under the hot light of burning torches, my body’s answer to a call, or a faint echo of one.

Very few people littered the streets at this hour, the moon’s glow blurring the grains of grey clouds, trying their hardest to wink out her beaming face. The stars, however, did not shine. They never shined. Not under all that grey that poisoned these lands like the similar hues of steel scaled armor that now filled this little village. They were here. The buzz of curiosity and awe radiated out of every window, around every fireplace. The slayers were passing through. Stories wrapped in falsehoods would be shared in every tavern tonight. Every inn would be chattering about the beast warriors and they would croon and blather on nonsense; of how they slayed this dragon or that dragon, deep in the Blood caverns or the Citrus glens. But I was there, and I knew what bollocks it all was. They hadn’t seen a dragon in years. And neither had I. My heart ached, yearning for something I never had but knew it belonged to be me all the same.

I had to find a safe place for the night. Anywhere but inside one of those loathsome taverns filled to the brim with dragon hating vitriol. My lungs burned thinking about having to sit beside them, feigning interest in any of their lies. I’d sleep outside if I had to, like I’ve done so many times before. I never grew cold, not with the ember that kindled through my very bones.

I turned into a narrow alley between the Queen’s Veil Inn and the masonry, where a rack of horses stood parked. I halted, the marble grey color of their trappers a beacon of hostility. The horses shifted slightly at my sudden presence, but didn’t make a sound. Checking to see if there was anyone behind me, I stepped forward, my hands outstretched to soothe them as I approached one. She was a beautiful buckskin with a creamy white stripe running up her muzzle. I cooed to her softly as I ran my gloved hand across her healthy coat.

“Good girl,” I said, slipping my hand along her body until my searching fingers found the satchel fastened to her saddle. They probably won’t be stupid enough to leave anything of value without someone looking after their horses, but I could get lucky. A copper or two. Enough to pay for a private room and a cup of stew, perhaps. Dreqing-damned, it had been ages since I’d slept on an actual bed. I bet those sheets would feel even softer if one of these pricks paid for it. The thought alone warmed the cockles of my heart as I dug deeper, praying to the hidden stars for one measly little…

I heard them a moment too late, and whirled as a hand gripped my shoulder and yanked me back. I led with my elbow, using all my momentum to slam into the first bit of flesh I made contact with. Unfortunately, it wasn’t flesh, but steel, grey-scaled armor. My bones would have ached if it weren't for my own natural armor, plated under the very surface of my skin. I went to strike again, swinging my other arm forward, hoping to smash their jaw with my vambrace fastened to my forearm, but they caught my armored arm with their own.

I panicked, shoving them with all my strength and hoping to flee, under the cover of mist and night. But they seized me by the cloak and yanked me back, swinging me around, away from the alley that led to the street, and nearly shoving me against the stone wall behind me. Everything went dark as my cloak was dragged over my face, ripped from my head and shoulders. I gasped, shoving them again in the dark and pulling my head free from the tangle of wool that blinded me. I whipped my disheveled hair from my face and looked up into a pair of dark eyes staring back at me behind loose strands of long, rust brown hair.

His stare danced over my face, shock and surprise flashing flints of gold into those dark brown eyes. I held his gaze, forcing steady breaths, my bare chest heaving, my neck muscles twitching with nerves. His lips pierced as he exhaled softly, taking in every inch of me. I managed to straighten my spine, pulled my shoulders back to stand as tall as I could, which was a couple of feet shorter than him. He did nothing but study me in silence, even as I raised a defiant chin. There was nothing to see. Not under the dull light of the moon. No fire gleamed near or hot enough to reveal any sign of scales. I took the silence to size him up as well. I didn’t recognize him from the packs of slayers I’d followed before. His face was young, despite the dark stubble that dusted his mouth and jawline. A splatter of freckles swept across his refined nose like constellations. His long hair, maybe longer than my own, was tied up partially, while the rest hung on his shoulders. His jaw flexed under my scrutinizing gaze and he cocked his head curiously. Those dark eyes with flecks of amber locked with my own shards of jade, burning with venom. His eyes flickered over my hair, a smokey silver shade, unusual for someone my age, a storm of ash and snow pouring down my cheeks and neck. Then his gaze found my bodice gridded with a steel breastplate fitted to my every curve.

A thick eyebrow spiked up as he took in the rest of my armored body. He was similarly suited, with vambraces covering his forearms, his shins plated in greaves, but he only wore banded mail, where that grey-scaled armor rested on his broad shoulders. I tried not to sneer at the things, the insult they bore. I must have not kept my lip from curling because his brows furrowed, his face hardening and finally, he spoke.

“Looking for something?”

I straightened again at the sharpness of his gruff voice. He rested a hand on his belt, waiting for my response. A dagger visibly rested at his hip. The hilts of two broadswords peeked over his shoulders, fastened to his back. He, in turn, looked down at my sword, strapped at my waist, but my dagger was tucked deep into the side of my boot. If I needed to, I could surprise him, if I played it just right. There was no way I was overpowering him, but if he thought he had every advantage because of that, he’d be wrong.

“Answer me,” he said. His gruff voice was not angry, but firm.

I swallowed a growl. “I was mistaken.”

A humorless smirk ticked at the corner of his mouth. “You most certainly were.”

I raised my hands, offering my empty palms for his inspection. I wasn’t drawing my weapon, and I’d stolen nothing. Maybe he’d let me leave, with no harm done.

“With your permission, I will take my leave of you, sir,” I nearly hissed the last word and went to step around him. But he stepped into my path, taking up the space between me and my escape with his broad frame. Well, it was worth a try.

He didn’t reach for his weapon, however. Instead, he reached up and dragged his knuckles along the ridge of his jaw and chin, evaluating me.

“What were you after, my lady?” My lady? Not this fake act of chivalry after he tore my cloak from my body and now kept me trapped between him and a good night’s sleep.

“Nothing,” I shot at him. “I was mistaken. As I said.”

He smiled a closed-lip smile, eyes falling to the ground. He wasn’t having any of it, but I wasn’t about to beg a slayer for clemency. I’d sooner burn him alive.

“You know,” he said, lifting his eyes to meet mine, “where I come from, stealing from the guard is a punishable offense.”

“Since when are slayers considered guards?” I snapped. “And anyway, I didn’t steal anything. Search me if you like.”

His jaw tightened, but relaxed as he surveyed me again. At first I thought he might search me, the way his eyes combed over my entire body. My stomach churned as I tried to ignore the way his eyes lingered on certain parts of me, until I realized he wasn’t gawking at my body, but my armor.

He lifted his chin, refocusing on my face. “Whatever name you give us, we are still part of the royal guard. We are responsible for keeping his majesty's subjects safe.”

“Safe from what, exactly?” My voice grew hot, along with my skin.

He squared his jaw, taking a step closer to me. I didn’t balk, even though I wanted to. I wanted to be as far away from this slayer as possible.

“From beasts others can’t begin to imagine, regardless of how much armor she wears.”

I sneered into his assured face. It was almost laughable. The only thing I had to fear was him. And for some reason, I didn’t keep that fact to myself.

“Really? Because all I feel is unsafe, standing in your glorious presence.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he said, “We’ll maybe, if you weren’t breaking the law, robbing me and my men’s horses, I would have been more inclined to assist you in whatever you needed, my lady.” A pointed address as sharp as the blades he carried.

“I don’t need your assistance. I just need you to get out of my way.” I tried stepping around him again, but he stepped with me, blocking my way. I moved quickly, doubling back in the other direction, jetting around him. I heard a baffled laugh burst from his chest as I evaded him, running for the street, but an arm snaked around my waist, seizing me up from the ground like I weighed nothing, even with the armor.

He twirled around, tossing me back toward the wall, where I was trapped. I’d had enough. I reached for my sword as I turned to face him.

He shot me a warning glare.

“Don’t,” was all he said.

I bared my teeth into his dumb, rugged face and drew my sword. He did too, so quickly, I nearly gasped. I took that adrenaline and swung. He blocked my attack, batting my sword away, but didn’t strike. I swung again, stepping to the side, but he saw me coming again. He never attacked, just continued to bat my sword away. I felt my cheeks burning red, he was so infuriating. I was fighting with his weapon, not my own. The fire clicking in my throat yearned to burst free, to incinerate this cocky bastard. But I’d never escape this village if I did.

I swung for his smiling face, but he ducked, then took the opening I so stupidly gave him, pointing his sword at my throat.

“Drop it,” he ordered.

I swallowed. Not from fear, but from fury. It would take him all night to cut through my hide with that blade, but I wouldn’t enjoy it, so I lowered my sword, jamming the tip into the mud where it stood erect from the ground. His grin was enough to make me see red. I needed to calm myself, before smoke really did start coming out of my nostrils.

“Impressive,” he said. “You’re not without skill, I’ll give you that, but I’m done playing these games.”

“Then arrest me,” I snapped, breathing heavily. “For whatever you think I stole.”

He lowered his sword from my neck, but kept it drawn at his side.

“We don’t leave anything of value in our satchels because of thieves like you. I am, however, intrigued by how you came upon a sword like that.” He pointed with his own to my sword, stuck in the ground. “Your breastplate as well. Who did you steal that from?”

I sneered at his stupidity.

“You think I stole this fitted armor? Do you even understand how armor is fitted?”

He cocked his head, his smile growing in sincerity.

“Or are you just as daft about women as you are about forging and think we all have the exact same tits?”

He snorted before stifling his laughter with the back of his hand. He took a moment to recover from that, shaking his head.

“That kind of work is expensive,” he said with a steady voice, but amusement still tugged at his mouth. “How does a thief afford a smithy to make her such fine armor and weapons?”

I stood tall as I spoke. “I made them.”

His eyes widen a fraction of a second, before settling into a glowering stare of skepticism.

“You expect me to believe that a thief running about the night in this little village made such armor? That you are, in fact, an exceptional blacksmith?”

“Believe what you want. But no one wields a hammer and flame like I do.” Arrogant, I know, but it was the truth. Fire was as much a part of me as breathing. Wielding it was second nature, even in the form of a forge.

He dipped his chin, running his eyes over me, studying my armor, my sword sticking up out of the earth, before his gaze lingered on my bare neck. I moved to cover myself with my cloak before I remembered he still had it in his left hand, his right holding his sword.

I held out my hand. “Give that back,” I ordered him.

His eyes shot back up to my face, his own face unreadable, even as he raised his sword to my neck. My jaw snapped shut as I sucked in a breath. I tried not to let any fear show, not wanting to give him a slightest bit of satisfaction, but I started to waver as my throat bobbed, its point dangerously close to my skin.

He pointed the blade at my chest and I fought back a gasp as the tip of his sword snagged on the leather cord around my neck.

“What’s that you got there?” he asked.

I clutched at the small shard tied around my neck reflexively, not caring about his blade. My hand wrapped around it so quickly, he barely had time to lower his sword before I cut myself. I held it close to my chest, even as he sheathed his sword and stepped toward me, slowly, methodically. I found myself backing away from him until I hit something cold and hard behind me. He closed up the space between us, trapping me between his massive frame and the wall. Squeezing my fist tight around my necklace, I looked up at him, hoping to singe him with my eyes. Instead, he looked down at me, his mouth soft, his eyes gentle, and he lifted his hand to mine. I flinched at his touch, the calluses on his rough, sword-worn hand, but I didn’t fight him, even as he pulled my hand away from my chest and uncurled my fingers from my clenched fist. Pressing into my palm was a thin shard, smooth and dulled from years in my possession. He twirled it around in his fingers, inspecting the pale lilac color, the scaled texture of the hard shell. I tried not to growl as he held it up close. I half expected him to rip it from my neck, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked up at me, his brows drawn in a curious line, his lips pursed as his eyes met mine, and he said, “Do you know what you have here?”

My only piece of my past. My only piece of what I am and where I came from. I wasn’t sure if I should feign ignorance, or if that would make me even more suspicious, so I just went with my gut.

“Yes.”

His neck tensed. “How on earth does a lady come to possess a shard of a dragon egg?”

I swallowed. It was mine. It was my shield, my home, my shelter until I gained the strength to break it. But by the time I did, they were gone. Whoever they were, whoever left me there, my family. They were gone. From that moment, I knew I was alone, born to be slain. This shard of my eggshell was all I had left to remind me I didn’t come from nothing.

The slayer’s eyes burned into me, waiting, so I gave him something he would believe.

“My father gave it to me. When I was very young.”

“And where did your father get it?”

“I don’t know. I was too young to remember. He died shortly after.”

His hard face softened then, and he released the shard that fell back down to my chest. I clutched it, reassuring myself that it was there.

The slayer took a step back, eyes locked on me.

“What’s your name?” he asked after a long while.

There was no way in Culmosyian I was going to tell him my name. Even if he could say it in his tongue, I would rather die than hear it pass through his lips. I took a step back from the wall toward him, tucking the shard back under the low neck of my blouse. I continued moving forward, testing to see if he’d give up any ground, if he’d step back, but he didn’t and soon I was standing directly under his towering stature.

I looked up at him and smiled. “You can call me Ash.”

He didn’t move, his face still as he looked down at me, studying my jade green eyes, my amber skin, my steel locks.

“I’m Dagry.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Dagry?” I asked.

His hard face softened with a light smile, but the unmistakable signs of plotting flashed in his eyes.

“Perhaps not. Because you’re in luck, Ash.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“It just so happens, me and my men are in need of a blacksmith. We need a capable smithy to travel with us, able to repair cracks in our armor, hammer out dents, replace rivets, oil shields, and sharpen our blades. And it would appear that you, thief, are in need of some work.”

I tried not to scowl, not to bark a laugh into his miserable face. The very idea of working for them, sharpening their blades, traveling with them, side by side, made my scaled skin crawl. But they were hunting for dragons. If anyone could help me find my family, it would be the ones who hunted them to the brink of extinction. They were my only hope of finding another dragon.

He never tore his eyes away from me as I took a deep breath.

“I don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?”

Dagry shrugged a steel scaled shoulder. “The honest life of a smithy on the road, or the dishonest life of a thief in a prison cell. I know which one I’d choose, but it’s up to you.”

I exhaled that breath and nodded in agreement.

His brows shot up, as if he was expecting me to choose the cell. Daft prick.

“So we’re agreed?”

“Yes,” I practically hissed.

“Good,” he smiled as he handed me back my cloak.

I snatched it out of his grip and immediately pulled it over my shoulders, covering as much of me as possible.

Dagry grinned at me as if I had done something extremely amusing and then moved to unbuckle his baldric. I froze, taken aback by the action. But all he did was shrug off his two broadswords and hand them to me.

“I’ll need these sharpened and oiled by sunrise,” he smiled cheekily.

I had half a mind to run him through with his own swords.

He nodded toward the street, signaling for me to follow.

“I’ll get you set up in the Queen’s Veil, where you can use their storeroom to work. Then get some sleep. We leave at first light.”

I followed behind him, glaring a hole into his broad back, lugging his swords along. I’d be up at first light. Ready to move. I’d sharpen and oil this bastard’s swords, I’d repair their armor, I’d make them so damn impressed with my work they’d embrace me as their own by the end. And then, when they finally find them. When I finally find the dragons. I would reduce every single slayer, starting with this one, to ash.