To introduce you to this ancient kingdom, I wrote Dragonslayer. This is largely unedited, and not intended to be 'good' in any way, but to to introduce you to this new part of Farenar.
I hope you enjoy.
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The road from Meanvr was almost deserted,
with just one lone figure and his horse travelling west on the banks of Dark
River. The water was as black as its name suggested, throwing up not a single
reflection despite the sun’s bright light shining down upon its surface.
Somehow life still dwelt within the black water. Fish occasionally broke the
surface, only to be swooped upon by opportunistic kingfishers.
Upriver was the small village of
Hyven, a tiny outpost about halfway between the distant cities of Meanvr and
Tsona. The coming of the lone man had already been noticed. The charred wooden
gates were thrown open, and half a dozen armed guards stood on the side of the
road, their pikes raised to the sky. A guard of honour for the approaching
hero.
Anton regarded this all with
bright eyes, wrapping his horse’s reigns tighter between his fingers. The old
mare had a habit of bolting around strangers. He didn’t want a scene like the
one at the Meanvr markets.
Chuckling slightly at the memory,
Anton watched as the captain of the guard strode out from the village walls. They
met where the narrow trail that led to the village splintered away from the
main road. “Your sword is most welcome here, Knight of Aegia,” the captain said
in greeting.
“Is your mayor ready to see me?”
Anton said brusquely.
“He is, my lord. He is in the
village hall.”
“Good. Take me there please, and
find someone to stable old Greta here. She could use a rest and some food,”
Anton replied. He looked up to the sky, but there was no sign of the menace
that had drawn his presence. The air was quiet and still, with barely even a
bird soaring overhead. The metallic ring of a blacksmith’s hammer rang out
through the air, drowning out the distant sound of cattle and other livestock.
Anton passed Greta’s reigns over
to a guard as he passed the wooden walls that surrounded the village. The walls
bore the scars of the recent conflicts that had plagued Hyven. Here and there
the wood had been charred and scorched, in some places whole planks of wood
were missing. Remarkably, the damage seemed restricted to the outer walls only.
Not a single building within had been touched by the flames.
The village hall was easy to
find, being the largest building right in the centre of the village. The
cobbled piazza that surrounded the hall was full as what seemed like most of
the village had turned up to witness the arrival of this legendary hero. Unlike
the usual celebrations that normally heralded Anton’s arrival, Hyven was taken
by a nervous silence. Only a few haggard cries and isolated outbreaks of
applause followed him.
Inside the village hall was the
large audience chamber, where the mayor and his aides were waiting for Anton.
Dressed in the traditional red velvet robe of the Aegian landowners, the mayor
of Hyven rose to greet his guest.
“Welcome, Anton, the greatest
dragon slayer east of the Snowcaps,” the mayor cried, spreading his arms wide.
Anton blanched and stumbled. “I’m
sorry? Did you call me dragon’s layer?”
The mayor spluttered, almost
falling from his stand in shock. “Why, no, good sir. Dragon slayer, is that not
what you are?” he replied, putting particular emphasis on his words.
“Slayer, right, yes.” Anton
cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back. “That is why I have come.
Shall we discuss the terms of my services, and then you can point me in the
direction of the beast?”
The mayor quickly recovered his
composure as he offered Anton forty gold aurels and two barrels of the
village’s finest wine, with half to be paid once the dragon was killed. It was
a rich sum for such a small village. Their need was great indeed if they were
willing to make such an offer. Anton didn’t even attempt to negotiate the fee
upwards, accepting the deal with barely a moment of thought.
As a contract was written up
detailing the accepted terms, the mayor came down from his raised dais and
shook Anton’s hand. “We are glad you managed to make it here so soon,” he said,
losing much of his formality and pomp as he guided the dragonslayer back
outside. “Ever since the dragon came our village has ground to a halt. No one
uses the main road anymore. If someone wants to get from Meanvr to Alanat
they’ll take the road to Tsona, adding several days to their journey. There is
no trade anymore, and with no trade we have no money coming in to the village.
We had no choice but to turn to a slayer.”
“This dragon will be gone in a
week, I can promise you that.”
“I hope you’re right. You’re our
last hope.”
“I have never failed before. I
don’t intend on starting that now.”
***
For what remained of the
afternoon, Anton lingered around the village, waiting for the dragon to show
itself. Though there were some muttered protests that he wasn’t making any
progress in slaying the beast, these whispers quickly stopped once he explained
his logic. It was better for the dragon to come to them, rather than risk being
ambushed by hunting for its lair.
That night he stayed in a room
above the small tavern, his bed and meals provided for at no cost. The tavern
was deserted, not even the barroom had any patrons. The rest of the village stayed
within their homes, cowed by the presence of the dragon. He shared several
stories with Ivar the tavernkeeper, keeping a guarded tongue as he told of his
past exploits. He didn’t want just anyone learning his most precious secrets
after all.
His room was rustic and basic,
but after several weeks of travelling on the road it felt luxurious to Anton.
He revelled in being able to soak in a tub of hot water for a while, letting
the exertions of his travels fade away. This village had already made him rich.
It would be a simple matter to collect the remainder of his fee.
Anton rose with the sun the next
morning. Ivar was already awake by the time he descended into the barroom,
looking so alert Anton wasn’t even sure he had slept. A quick fried breakfast
was provided, before the slayer emerged into the village. Few were awake, but
the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the village square. It was a
pleasing aroma, and Anton knew he would need to visit the little bakery later,
but for now he had work to do.
He spent most of the morning
patrolling the village walls, keeping his eyes focussed on the miles of
farmland and wilderness that stretched out in every direction. Partly he hunted
for signs of the dragon, but he also studied the lay of the land, learning the
location of every contour and ridge. A small forest to the east interested him
greatly. He could use that to his advantage.
The dragon, he was told, usually
flew over once a week. Normally it didn’t bother too much with the village,
just giving a few swoops and deafening roars, and instead preferring to chase
down any brave travellers on the road. Only an ill-advised volley of arrows had
drawn the dragon’s wrath last time it had passed by. If this was right, then
the dragon should show itself again the next day.
The mayor threw a festival that
evening, celebrating what was surely to be the end of the months-long reign of
terror from the dragon. It was not a huge gathering, with only about two dozen
people descending upon the village hall, but it was a merry feast. Though many
drinks were thrust in his hands, Anton refused them all. He would need his wits
about him if he were to succeed in his plan, and a hangover was not the way to
go. Instead he watched the villagers dance from the shadows, staying close to
the food-laden tables.
“You aren’t from around here, are
you?”
Yet another woman held out a
drink for Anton, which he politely took but never once raised to his lips. “How
could you tell?”
The woman smoothed her skirt
before taking the spare seat next to Anton. “I have travelled, you know. I can
recognise an Alvanan accent, especially one as strong as yours.”
“I have lived in Aegia for most
of my life, but you’re right, I was born in Tembul.” Anton was impressed with
this woman. While it was true his enunciation was often considered posh by
Aegian standards, it was usually dismissed as being the result of a wealthy
upbringing. This woman, whose name he was to learn was Arianne, had heard what
most others were too ignorant to realise.
The usual questions quickly
followed; why had he come this far from his homeland, and did he prefer life in
Aegia? Anton’s answers were evasive, not wanting to reveal too much about his
past, but Arianne was satisfied when he said he stayed in Aegia for the
adventure his profession gave him. That, and love. Given his job it was tough,
knowing that his love was out there alone, but he coped. The time they spent
together made it all worthwhile.
Anton smirked as the group of
young women that had been lingering around him started to disperse at the
realisation that he was spoken for. There had been a time when barroom flings
had been a perk of such a glamourous profession like a dragonslayer, but those
days were behind him now.
Gradually the evening petered
out, and after a few drunken speeches from the mayor, Anton returned to the
tavern. The moon was full, and from somewhere over the moors, a wolf howled.
Now there was a job he was glad he didn’t have. Keeping werewolves away from
the villages and towns was none of his concern. Only the brave and foolhardy stood
up to a werewolf.
Anton paused before pushing open
the tavern door, the back of his neck prickling as though he was being watched.
Slowly he glanced back to the alley between the bakery and butchery. Something
moved in the shadows there. His hand moved to his sword.
The figure stepped out into the
light. Anton relaxed when he saw the rust-red fur of an ailur, one of the
bestial creatures that lived to the far south-east of Aegia. It was rare that
any came this far north, and they were usually only employed as messengers.
Aegians tended to distrust them, but Anton felt no fear as the creature
beckoned to him. This one was familiar to him.
The ailur’s black eyes were wide
as he slowly crept forward, his long fluffy tail twitching behind him. He
nervously pawed at the white markings on his face, his nose twitching at all
the unfamiliar scents. “Deryn sent me,” he whispered, flinching at the sound of
a door closing. “She said she’s ready.”
Anton nodded, patting the ailur
on the shoulder. “Good. I thought she might be. Go back and stay safe with her,
and I’ll catch up with you when I can.”
The ailur squeaked out an
affirmation in his native language before scurrying back into the shadows.
Anton waited for a few moments until he could no longer hear the messenger’s
gentle footfalls. Ailur typically went without shoes, their feet were
ill-adapted to the human concept of footwear.
Once he was sure the ailur had
made it out the village safely, Anton return to his room. He would need a good
night’s sleep. Tomorrow was when the real work would begin.
***
The next day was as perfect a day
for dragonslaying that Anton could ask for. The sky was completely clear, and
there was barely a breeze to speak of. There would be nowhere for the dragon to
hide in the air. As he stood on the main road with Greta by his side, Anton
looked back towards Hyven. The villagers had ignored his request for them all
to stay within the safety of the walls. That could make things more difficult,
but he could improvise.
Ulric, the captain of the guard,
had come forward to stand with the dragonslayer. In silence they waited.
Several times Anton resisted the urge to look through Greta’s packs to ensure
that he had everything he needed. He knew it was all there, but the tension was
starting to get to him. He wasn’t used to such an audience.
After an hour of waiting the
first roar could be heard. The dragon came into view a few moments later,
appearing from behind the hills in the west.
“She’s a female,” Anton cried
out, marvelling at the copper scales of the dragon as she flew overhead. “Note
the lack of horns, and the streamlined, slender body. Males are more thickset,
more powerful but slower and less agile in flight.”
“I don’t care much about
identifying the creature. It’s a menace, and deserves to die. Male or female
doesn’t bother me,” Ulric replied tersely. He had raised his sword as though in
futile defiance to the dragon as she started to circle over Hyven.
Anton continued to study the
dragon. He estimated her to be about thirteen feet in height, with a wingspan
of at least three times that. Her colouring was primarily copper, but he could
also see some darker stripes along her back.
“How do you intend on killing it?
Magic?” Ulric asked, tearing Anton’s attention away from the dragon.
“With this,” he replied, pulling
his bow from Greta’s back. He carefully selected a single arrow from his
quiver, ignoring the incredulous look that was spreading across Ulric’s face.
“We have fired hundreds of arrows
at the beast. Its scale is too tough to pierce,” the captain of the guard said.
“But you didn’t have this arrow. It’s enchanted. Now excuse
me, I don’t want to miss this shot,” Anton said, notching arrow to bowstring.
He watched the dragon. She seemed content to just circle around the village,
occasionally flying as far out as the small forest that encroached towards the
main road and Dark River in the east. Perfect. If the dragon fell there the
trees would prevent her from taking to wing again.
Waiting for the perfect moment,
Anton unleashed his arrow. He lost the small shaft into the sun, but the
dragon’s shriek told him all he had to know. He had found his mark.
The dragon plummeted to the
ground, smashing through the trees with a deafening crash. She did not rise
again.
“Did… did you kill it?” Ulric
asked in a hushed whisper.
“I’m going to find out. Stay here
with Greta. Do not let anyone approach.”
Handing the captain of the guard
his bow, Anton stalked off towards the forest, his sword raised in front of
him. A downed dragon was just as dangerous as a flying one. Tooth and claw were
every bit as deadly as flame.
***
The mayor and a few other brave
souls joined Ulric in his vigil with Greta. The horse, thoroughly unconcerned
by everything around her, had taken to eating the lush grass around her hooves.
“Is the creature dead?” the mayor
asked.
A horrific shriek erupted from
the forest, sending bird and beast scattering from the trees. The mayor
blanched, and everyone but him and Ulric fled to the village at the sound. Only
the horse showed an incredible indifference to the dragon’s roars.
“If the slayer fails…” Ulric
said, but his words died in his throat. He knew well enough that Hyven would
not survive if the dragon was not killed now.
Trees shook as the dragon roared
one last time, a pained noise that was suddenly cut off. The silence that
followed was agonising to both men. They waited… and waited… and waited.
Anton emerged from the trees,
staggering forward and using his sword for balance. His leather armour was
coated in red.
Ulric rushed forward, the mayor
close on his heels and showing good fortitude for a politician more used to
sitting behind desks than physical activity. They were stopped at the forest’s
edge by a sharp word from the dragonslayer.
“Don’t go in there.”
“Why not? I wish to see the
dragon defeated,” the mayor demanded, trying to push past the slayer, but Anton
held his sword out to block him.
“A dragon lies dead within these
trees. Her blood spills over the ground. A curse has fallen upon this forest.
None should enter for… a year should be safe,” Anton warned. The mayor
immediately backed away, staring at the branches of the nearest tree as though
fearing it would reach out and grab him.
Anton spread his arms wide. “But
come, now is the time for another celebration, is it not? Hyven is freed from
the dragon’s wrath. You can live free of fear again.”
***
The celebrations ran until the
small hours of the morning. This time there was no fear amongst the villagers
of Hyven, and only the young children remained behind in their homes. Drink and
food were plentiful once again. The frivolous nature of the evening wasn’t even
diminished by the realisation that the cause of their celebration was missing.
Anton the dragonslayer hadn’t been seen since he had claimed the remainder of
his prize. Though many drinks were raised in his honour, no one thought to go
searching for him. He had probably already moved on, the common excuse was. On
his way to his next dragon to slay.
***
It was easy to slink out of the
village unseen. Anton didn’t look back once as he led Greta out towards the
main road. The poor horse was laden with the two barrels of wine he had won for
his services, as well as his normal equipment, but she bore it all without
complaint. The moon lit their way, the distant howl of wolves the only concern,
but even the werewolves wouldn’t dare approach him now.
“Karrax? Karrax, are you there?”
he called out as he approached the small forest.
The ailur poked his furred head
out from the foliage. “Here, my master. Deryn is waiting for you. She grows a
little impatient.”
Leaving Greta in the capable
hands of Karrax, Anton cautiously picked his way through the thick trees,
towards the clearing in the middle of the forest. Deryn was there, waiting for
him.
“Did the plan work, my love?” the
copper dragoness asked, a sly grin spreading across her scaled muzzle.
Anton raised the bulging sack of
gold tied securely to his hip. “It worked perfectly.”
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