Wielder of Magic and Rider of Fire

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The Elders say that dragons had arisen in a far away wild land and traveled over vast forests, rolling plains, and lands dotted blue with lakes. They traversed the kingdoms of men, and from the shores of the Unending Terra, flew across the sea. Their journey was not easy, for that great expanse of water was often angry, full of violent storms. Finally, they reached land, descending from mountains capped in clouds. Below lay the verdant Valley, lush, and full of life. Here, from the foothills, rives flowed into endless meadows and tall forests stretched as far as the eye could see. This Valley lay in the heart of the Realm, a world where magic abounded. Upon the dragons’ backs, sat the Fire Riders, noble warriors of men, whose skill and strength in battle were surpassed by none living. Some Elders even say that these were no ordinary men, that they were the spirits of dragons themselves, trapped in human form. Steed and soldier perched in the rocky outcroppings of the mountainsides, surveying the Valley below, looking for what would earn them their promised gold. Exzaeless, a king corrupt with greed, had sent them, wanting the magic that was rumored to be here.

For in this Valley dwelled another people. Some called them sorceresses; others called them witches. To all, they were whispers of legend. These were the Fae, women who possessed immense magical abilities beyond the natural order of the world and over whom an even more powerful Queen ruled. Many desired the abilities that these women were rumored to hold, but none more than Exzaeless. He needed their magic to expand his reign, ruling with absolute power. He had promised the Fire Riders a dragon’s weight in gold and duchies in his kingdom, if they could return from their journey with the whereabouts of these women.

So the Fire Riders set out, searching the Unending Terra for the sorceresses, but to no avail. One day, a feeling that their leader could not explain, compelled him to lead his men to the shore and strike out over water. This was a perilous endeavor, for few people that set out across that sea returned alive. The Fire Riders traveled across that great expanse, being battered by high winds, pelted by rain, and struck by lightning. They rested on the few rocky sea-stacks they could find. The men begged their leader, Liraan, to turn back before they perished, but that unexplained feeling compelled him to stay the course. Eventually they made it to dry land, both rider and dragon exhausted. Up ahead, rose mountains with their tops lost in the clouds. With the last of their strength, beast and rider scaled the peaks. Their eyes were met with a sight to behold. An oasis lay before them, a magical paradise.

The Fire Riders camped on the mountain slopes, refreshing themselves and regaining their strength. After three days, the men knew they were being watched. They spotted an owl perched high on a large cliff further up the mountain. For two more days it continued to watch them, not moving from its place. Liraan, disturbed by this strange behavior, climbed the cliff alone. For what was a single owl against the might of a Fire Rider? He reached the top; the owl watched him intently but still did not move. Liraan knew this was no ordinary bird.

He turned to take in the sights, and, sensing a trap, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword said, “You can see everything from up here.”

“I can see more than you Fire Rider,” a voice answered back.

He spun around, drawing his blade. The owl was gone and in its place stood a woman, clothed in flowing light blue fabric as if she were part of the sky. She had golden slippers on her feet and a delicate golden crown wreathed her head. The wind tussled her long locks and the sun shone about her like a glow. She was beautiful and Liraan, take aback, lowered his sword a little.

“You come unarmed, sorceress?”

“I am never unarmed.” The woman smiled faintly as she held out her arms for Liraan to see. Strange markings covered them. Encircling her elbow and stretching down the topside of her forearm where swirls and spirals. On the underside were intricate motifs, much more detailed than the ones on top. But on her fingers, from the first knuckles of the fist down to the tips, were there most unusual characters of all. They were slashed symbols, rough and unrefined, like ancient lettering.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Queen.”

“Do you have a name?”

“I do, Fire Rider, as do you. And I know why you have come.”

Liraan smiled slightly and glanced down to her arms. “Is that what the king has paid me to find?”

“These,” said the sorceress, twisting her arms as she examined them. “No. These are our ordinary magic. The Protangae are protective enchantments.” She touched the swirls and spirals on her elbow and topside of her arm. “The Leuyen are the spells of light and life.” She touched the intricate motifs on the underside. “The Craedagh are spells of darkness and death.” She touched her fingers. Liraan raised his sword a little at the word “death.”

“Then what magic is it that the king wants? What magic do you have that the dark wizards with whom he communes do not?”

“It is the Mae-Enu that he desires, the power to consecrate ground as magical. Those that come to such ground will be renewed with energy, life, and magic. With that power, he could expand his dominions, reigning in cruelty over all. But you already know this; I feel it. And I know that you are troubled by the king’s demands. I see the nobility in your heart, Liraan. Why do you ask me?”

“I wanted to know what I have suspected. He has offered us gold, titles, and lands in exchange for you.”

“If you go back to your king and tell him the truth, you will bring war down upon us and yourselves.”

“We have dragons, sorceress. We are ready for war.”

“Call him then. Call you dragon.”

Liraan shouted into the wind for his steed, Sograhl. A huge dragon responded, flying to the cliff. His wings were stretched, spanning the length of ten men laid end-to-end, and his long tail trailed behind. He came to perch on the cliff next Liraan and stretched his neck out, bringing his massive head near the sorceress. A low growl emitted from deep within Sograhl’s belly, and his lips pulled back to bare sharp teeth. The sorceress reached up and touched the dragon’s nose as a puff of smoke emitted from it. A shudder swept over the dragons’ body; he closed his eyes and began to purr. Her eyes met Liraan’s gaze.

“He will not respond to you Fire Rider, not as long as my magic is over him. And as for your men…” She trailed off and twisted her hand around. The markings on her fingers began to glow red as a pulse of light was shot from the palm of her hand. It hit a massive boulder above the encampment, sending it tumbling down the mountainside. Liraan yelled, but it was no use; he could not be heard over the rumbling of rolling rock. But just before it reached the camp, it suddenly stopped moving, frozen in place. The men who would have been crushed beneath it, scrambled out of the way. The sorceress smiled. She clenched her fist and the boulder exploded into thousands of pieces, raining down chunks of stone onto Liraan’s men. There was now a great commotion in the camp as the other Fire Riders readied themselves and their dragons for an attack.

“Go back to your king, Fire Rider.”

“He is not our king.”

“He is if you choose to do his will. Go back and tell him you did not find us. Forgo your promised gold, titles, and lands. Let the winter pass you by.”

“And what then, sorceress.”

“You did not find us by accident, and it takes magic to ride such mighty creatures. There must be traces of it in your blood. You must be worthy if you passed the spells at our boarder.” She paused, “If you say he is not your king, then you could have a Queen. Your kind is nomadic, is it not? You move between lands, taking in young men to train, but never settling down.”

Liraan laughed. “I do not even know your name, sorceress. You are beautiful, yes; your magic is terrifying, the small of it that I have seen, but we were offered gold.”

“Is gold the only way you measure the world? But if you insist, we have it, silver and precious gems too. We have no men here, so there could be titles, if you desired such. But what we have is magic and would teach it to you, if you should choose a different life.”

Liraan smiled, “You haven’t told me you name.”

“Naileen, Queen of all.” She laughed and with that she motioned to the expanse below. “You decide.” The beautiful woman began to step backwards towards the edge of the cliff.

“There’s a ledge there, your Majesty.”

“So, there is.” Off it she stepped, but did not immediately fall. For a moment she hovered in mid air, then plunged. The Fire Rider dropped his sword and in a few steps was to the edge of the cliff where she had fallen. Over it he looked, but saw no woman, no body below, only an owl flying off to the horizon.

Liraan climbed down from the cliff and re-joined his men, now fully prepared for battle. Liraan knew they were all out-matched by just one of these women, and by all accounts, there were many sorceresses. He told them his fears that they could be annihilated if they chose to wage war. He told them of the king’s desire for unlimited power and of the Queen’s offer to him. This seemed to intrigue the men most of all: riches, lands, and mysterious, powerful women.

They agreed to depart the Valley and return to the king. At his castle, they spoke before Exzaeless as to how they traveled far and wide and were unable to locate the sorceresses. The king became angry and banished the Fire Riders from his kingdom, for Fire Riders were never known to fail a task. He ordered them to never to return to his lands, risking death if they did. The Fire Riders wintered over in exile, far from Exzaeless’s reach. The next spring came, they packed what possessions they had, and took with them the young men whom they were training. There were many riders that set off back to the Valley, for only a handful had gone before.

When they arrived, Liraan knelt before the Queen and offered his hand in marriage, his sword in battle, and his steed to rule the sky. She accepted his proposal, and Liraan bid his men to do the same. The women took for themselves husbands of the Fire Riders who were of age to marry. They called this union the Great Convergence. The Fire Riders were bestowed titles and riches beyond measure. The sorceresses were gifted dragon eggs, and soon, they too were dominating the skies on their own wings of fire. The sorceresses taught the men magic and how to commune with dragons. Together, they grew the boarders of the Realm, and for a thousand years, their descendants reigned.

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“This is how the Elders say our people came to be: wielders of magic and riders of fire. Do you like this story, sweetheart?” An older woman sat at an ornate desk lit with candlelight. The candles glowed with flame, but wicks did not burn and wax did not melt, for it was lit with magic fire. The older woman was clothed in a dark purple gown with golden trim. On her lap sat a little girl, clad in a deep green frock.

“I love this story, Grandma.” The girl’s speech was almost incoherent; her were eyes were fluttering as she fought off sleep.

“Now, the generations of Queens as are written since the Great Convergence.” The woman gently opened the heavy binding of an enormous volume, its pages thick and discolored by age. She wrapped her arms around the girl and gave a little squeeze, the woman’s arms covered by the same markings that the first Queen bore. She began to read the ancient text. “Naileen, whose egg hatched Bellade, birthed three sons and two daughters, the eldest daughter being Datmee. In keeping with the ways of her mother’s people, Datmee became Queen when her mother relinquished the throne. Datmee traveled beyond the Realm to the dragons’ ancestral home and took eggs from their nests, one hatching Pathlem, Datmee’s steed. And Datmee birthed…”

The old woman paused, looking away from the book and back down to the girl. She was done, head upon her grandmother’s chest, fast asleep.

“Oh sweetheart. Well, I will skip to more recent generations. And Eselle, who rode Howthod, birthed two daughters, Bevaine and Jancee. Bevaine, who rode Rosegath, being the elder of the two daughters, ascended the throne upon her mother’s death. But since Bevaine only begot three sons, the throne, upon Bevaine’s early death, passed to Jancee, who rode Kidlae. And Jancee birthed four daughters, the oldest being Tereth. And Tereth, who rode Vandgrey, birthed a son and a daughter, the daughter being Mirith.”

“That’s you darling.” The little girl’s head straightened up as she heard her name. The old woman squeezed her again in a little hug. “Tomorrow, I will relinquish the throne to your mother. She will be Her Majesty the Queen and I, Her Excellency the Emeritus. And you, my sweet little Miri, you will become Her Royalty, Princess Mirith, heir to the throne and to the Realm. One day, you will ride upon a dragon of your own and wield magic not of this world. One day my dear, you will be Queen.”

10 Years Later

Mirith landed hard, face-first in the mud. Tuli, Mirith’s dragon, chuffed at her irritably, little puffs of smoke emitting from his nostrils. He had been sunning himself on a large rock when Mirith woke him up for a feeding. A large tub of vegetables, fruit, and meat chunks lay in front of him. He had eagerly clambered down from his perch, claws on all four legs gouging the rock in his haste to get to breakfast. After the dragon ate, Mirith tried to saddle him, intent on ridding. She hoped to fly Tuli this morning; she and her best friend were going to travel to see a new hatching of dragons. It would be fun, a break from the castle and from her royal duties. It would only be a short flight, but a long ride on horseback. But Tuli had other ideas. After eating, he tried to crawl back up on the rock to keep sunning. Tuli loved the warm morning rays. Despite bearing some resemblance to lizards, dragons were not cold blooded. Tuli did not need to sun himself, but much like a cat, greatly enjoyed basking. Mirith got struggled up out of the mud and stumbled over to the saddle, which Tuli had also bucked off.

“Please, Tuli. I told you we have to go. I told you I promised to be there.” Tuli turned his back to Mirith and re-stretched his massive emerald-green body on to the rock. Dragons came in many beautiful colors, but Mirith particularly loved Tuli’s hue. He unfolded his wings and let them droop down, increasing the coverage area for sunshine. His wings were large, but would grown even larger by the time he was full-grown. He closed his eyes and began to purr, content to go back to sleep in the sun.

“Tuli!” He swished his tail in discontent. Dragons’ could understand human speech, but were unable to speak back. However, a rider could feel a dragon’s emotions and Mirith could tell that Tuli did not want to be disturbed.

Tuli was an adolescent dragon. While not fully grown, he was large and strong enough to carry a rider in flight. While he would not be mature for almost another ten years, Tuli was big for his size. Mirith could tell that he was going to be an exceptionally large male. Tuli was stubborn, difficult, and did not mind his rider. It did not help either that Mirith was quiet and meek, allowing Tuli to run roughshod over her. It was common for adolescent dragons to be this way, but Tuli was particularly problematic. He was standoffish, sometimes aggressive, and would find trouble wherever he went. Just last week, he had been involved in a fight with another adolescent dragon over a sunning spot. Tuli’s incisor and molar were knocked out in the scuffle. He had a whole mouth full of replacement teeth to rotate into place, and new ones had already begun to fill in.

“Fine, I will just go get another dragon!” Mirith yelled as she picked up the saddle and stalked off towards the stables. In a parting shot, she lobbed a clump of mud at Tuli, hitting him in the left haunch. Tuli let out an indignant screech, launched into the air, and flew off to a larger, sunnier rock, farther away from Mirith, where he proceeded to squabble with the rock’s current inhabitant.

Back at the stable, other riders and dragoneers, those who cared for and trained dragons, stared at her muddy clothes as they gave a little nod and murmured “Your Royalty” when she walked by. Mirith drew a bucket of water and cleaned her face. She wiped her arms and stared down at them, down at the same markings that her mother, grandmother, and aunts bore. These were the marks of magic. However, her marks were not as defined as theirs, her magic was not as strong. This was to be expected, as she was still a teenager, but she found it discouraging.

Earlier that morning, Mirith had had a disagreement with her mother and grandmother about her future as a monarch. The Queen and the Emeritus had voiced their worries about Mirith’s lackluster magical abilities; they felt her powers could be better. Yes, she bore the markings and used magic, used it better than most others. Everyone in the Realm was magical and bore similar markings, but none wielded stronger magic or bore more prominent markings than royal women. Her mother and grandmother thought Mirith needed an opportunity to test her magical abilities, a chance to experiment and learn. Mirith was worried what “opportunity” they were going to find for her. They also voiced concerns about her struggling relationship with Tuli. Mirith was mild-mannered and that could be tricky when trying to build a bond with a dragon. She could almost hear her mother’s words, “A dragon will always try to be the leader if the rider allows it, but will also revolt if the rider is too forceful. You must be dominant but not over-powering, in charge but not controlling. It is a balance.” Mirith stared down at her reflection in the bucket.

A familiar voice called her back to the present. “What happened to you, Miri?”

It was her best friend Eleema. Mirith had known her and her twin brother, Ritto, for years. The twins never used her royal title and rarely called her Mirith. Around them, Mirith could be herself, but perhaps, just not be herself covered in mud. They had grown up together in the castle: playing games, learning at school, and riding their dragons. Their mother was lady-in-waiting to the Queen and their father’s parents owned a farm in the pastures. Their grandfather’s dragon had clutched, the eggs recently hatching. It was there that Mirith and her friends had intended to fly this morning. Mirith turned to look at Eleema and Ritto.

“Never mind, I know what happened to you,” Eleema said.

“Can I borrow Marga?”

“Sure,” Eleema replied.

“Don’t you have Tuli or did he throw you off again?” Ritto already knew the answer to this; he was smiling, holding back a snicker.

“Shut up.” Mirith turned away from him to hide the slight blush in her checks. Though she grown up with Ritto, and used to think of him as only a friend, he was beginning to grown on her in a different way. Lately, she had begun to think that he was cute, but tried to not glance in his direction too often. Of course, she did not want Eleema to catch her looking. She cared too deeply for her friend and did not want it to be awkward that she liked her brother. Mirith already had enough complicated relationships in her life; she did not need another.

Thirty minutes later, three dragons were saddled: Eleema on Inriss, Ritto on Hanep, and Mirith on Marga. Marga had belonged to the twins’ older brother before he tragically lost his life. It happed a long time ago and the circumstances of his death were not openly discussed. In fact, Mirith did not really know how he died, but he left behind Marga, who had now become a sort of “family” dragon.

As they rose into the air, Mirith called to Tuli, still sunning himself. “Goodbye Tuli. See, I found another dragon to ride.”

One eye of Tuli’s popped open. Mirith could feel his jealously as he saw them leave. With a furious screech, he abandoned his spot on the rock, taking to the sky. He caught up with the others quickly, hissing at Marga and Mirith. Marga, a mature female, was going to have none of his misbehavior. She swung her long neck around and snapped at Tuli, sending him back to a subordinate position at her flank.

Flying was exhilarating; the wind whipped your hair, the crisp air rushed into your lungs, and the sun warmed your back. You could look down on the tiny world below, at the people and animals moving like ants. You could look to the horizon and see for miles. In the air, the possibilities were endless: you could travel anywhere and no one could stop you if you were atop a dragon. Flying was intoxicating and Mirith loved it. Arriving at the farm, the three riders dismounted and were greeted by an elderly man. The twins hugged him and he gave a slight bow to Mirith.

“Your Royalty.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She had known this man for years too, and had visited his farm on numerous occasions.

“I do, Princess Mirith. It is how I was raised.” Mirith just sighed and gave him a smile. “Your clothes, Miss…”

“Oh, I’m fine.” She scowled at Tuli.

“Ah, Tuli! I see he is getting to be a big boy.” The old man cracked a wide smile.

“He is getting to be a bad boy.” With a parting glare over her shoulder, Mirith walked off to the stable yard where five little dragon chicks were roughhousing with each other. The old man just shook his head as Tuli chuffed at Mirith’s back.

That evening, Mirith dinned with her family while her mother, the Queen, discussed the upcoming Armor Harvest. Mirith loved the Armor Harvest and had travelled to many of these since she was a little girl. Picking at her food on the plate, she became lost in a memory.

Off the coast of the Realm, lay a large island were many strange creatures dwelled, but only two were of importance to the Armor Harvest. There were the aquatic serpents, called “krakens,” that swam in the seas and came upon the sandy shore to nest. They had long snake-like bodies full of shimmery scales, large fins, and a sail down their back. They laid soft-shelled eggs in the sand. Once hatched, the leathery shells were harvest to make “soft” armor, a durable material that was used for light combat and hazardous activities. There were also the giant armored lizards, called “scalids” that lived in the grasslands. They had large bony plates running down their back, a spiked club at the tip of their tail, and a razor sharp beak. They too laid eggs, but these shells had rigid, jointed pieces all over. The individual scutes of shell could be soaked in hot water and softened enough to cut and mold. Once dried, they would harden again and become near impenetrable. These were used to make “hard” armor, the armor of battle. Her mother’s voice snapped Mirith back to the table.

“I will not be traveling on the harvest this year. Mirith will go and lead in my place.”

Mirith’s fork clattered to the plate. She didn’t know what to say. It was a great honor to lead the Armor Harvest. It would be a long journey, and she would be the one of most powerful magic wielders there and the highest-ranking royal. This would be an opportunity to strengthen her magic and her bond with Tuli. She would not be alone of course; she would be with other riders, with her friends, and Wiln would accompany them. Wiln was Bevaine’s eldest son and master dragoneer and expert in combat. He was deadly with a blade and bow.

This journey would also test Mirith’s strength and endurance. Where they would travel was beyond the Realm, outside the consecrated magical ground. Inside their boarders, the water, food, and air were imbibed with magic. Drinking, eating, and breathing replenished it in you, thus allowing you to wield magic without expending your physical energy. But this was not so elsewhere. On unconsecrated ground, your magical power would only last as long as your body’s strength and energy. When you wore out physically, you wore out magically.

Mirith had once asked her mother why they did not consecrate all the ground. To which her mother replied, “Because when we claim it we will need to defended it, even with our lives. We only take what we need and we do not need the world.”

Using magic outside the Realm would tire Mirith, potentially making her vulnerable to attack, not that they were ever attacked. Only someone exceptionally foolish would target a group of magic wielding, dragon riders.

“Don’t worry Mirith, it will be fine. It always is.” Wiln shot her a smile as he said this. But Mirith did worry and spent that night awake in her bed. This harvest could be a success for Mirith, an opportunity to show her mother and grandmother that she was growing into a future monarch. Or it could be a failure, with her magic inadequate and Tuli disobedient. She hoped it would be the former.

That evening, after Wiln had gone to bed, his wife, Sherra, sat up awake. Wiln had told her what had transpired at the dinner table. She pondered the fact that the Queen would not be attending this year’s journey. It was common that, when the heir was old enough, the Queen would step back and allow her daughter the chance to shine. This was nothing new; no grave dangers met them on their passage. It would be like any other Armor Harvest. Except that this time, the heir, Princess Mirith, was not as strong in her magic as she could be, not as strong as heirs past. Sherra smirked and took from a desk a small scroll. Dipping her quill in ink, she began to write.

Sherra was not born of the Realm; she came from across the sea, from the Unending Terra and the kingdoms of men. Sometimes, people did come from the outside world to the Realm, mostly fishermen or families lost in the water. The people of the Realm had a belief that, if magic had allowed you to pass the protective spells that guarded their shores, then you were worthy to live in magic and would be permitted to stay. Having come from lands afar, Sherra’s upbringing and beliefs were much different then those of the people of the Realm. Wiln, being male, was ineligible to inherit the throne and it was known that this irritated Sherra greatly. She believed, as she was raised, that men were preferred over women to rule, and, if this would be the case, she would be a queen, and her son a crown prince. For this, and other things, Sherra was generally not liked by most of the royal family, simply tolerated, but she and Wiln have been married for many years. She rolled up the scroll, attached it to the leg an owl, and cast the bird out the window into the night sky. The owl traveled for days, sleeping in the sun and flying by night. Across the Realm it winged, over the sea, until it reached a high castle ledge in the Unending Terra. There, waiting in a tower, a squire untied the scroll and ferried it off to the king.

Exzaeless sat on his throne, looking the same as he did when he had exiled the Fire Riders. Now, a thousand years older, he had prolonged his existence by means of dark wizards stealing for him the life from his subjects. He had spent centuries in search of the sorceresses and their power, trying to find a way into their magic dwellings. With the Mae-Enu power, he would be able to consecrate his kingdom with magic, drawing on it for strength and new life, thus allowing him to reign over all the Unending Terra forever. He opened the scroll and read it with a smile. At last, he had found them and their dragons.