Regent

by Brian Rathbone

  * * *

  Clouds hung low in the sky, and the light of a dozen herald globes lit the way as Chase and his men escorted farmers to their lands. The livestock were gone, much of Lowerton destroyed, but Chase was determined to get all the food, oil, salt, spices, and other goods they could into the hold. In fortnight since the dragons had arrived, the hold's stores dwindled far too rapidly. Crops continued to ripen under the eyes of the dragons during the day, and it seemed one male in particular had claimed this area as his territory. The people called him Reaver. Venturing out in the daylight meant risking being eaten.

  Bats flew overhead, attracted by the moths that gathered around the herald globes. Chase and his men were armed with spears, but it was truly little defense against a dragon attack. Only the darkness kept the monsters at bay. Many within Dragonhold would no longer use the hold's name, and Chase felt guilty for having come up with the name in the first place, as it now seemed grossly inappropriate. He couldn't have known things would work out this way, but that didn't stop him from tormenting himself about it.

  Climbing along the terraces that lined the valley was treacherous in daylight, and the group moved slowly. A yawn slipped past Chase's defenses; the guards on duty pretended not to notice. Double shifts had become the norm, and the number of people caught sleeping on duty was embarrassing, but they were all overtaxed and trying to adjust. This new life they lived was far less forgiving than what they had known for most of their lives, and the people of the Godfist were a hearty folk who knew their share of hard times. What lay ahead looked grim, and everyone knew it. Even Master Edling seemed to see the need for unity, in his own haughty way. Messengers had been arriving nightly since the dragons first arrived, requesting refuge for a large number of citizens from south of the Wall. Chase knew it was a game of resources; that much he had learned from the Zjhon invasion, if nothing else. Every additional body in the hold was an additional body to feed.

  "Knowing Edling," Morif had said to Chase, "he'll send us every person with a sniffle, cough, or rash in hopes that disease will wipe us out for him. Then he can just take Dragonhold for himself. He seems already to think it belongs to him. All his talk about Dragonhold belonging to the people of the Godfist sickened him."

  Such cold realizations made Chase feel ill. These were his countrymen, in many cases people he grew up with or attended lessons with, and he felt as if he were abandoning them. In truth, he knew the Masterhouse could hold a large number of people, as could the cold caves. What he didn't know was how well or poorly the Masterhouse and cold caves had been restocked with supplies after the siege. If Master Edling and the council had been lax in their planning, then turning people away could be sentencing them to starvation. Of course, accepting too many could assign the same fate. Chase sighed.

  The group had moved on, and he was no longer at his post. He hurried to catch up, and again the other guards pretended not to notice. Chase was their leader, their strength, and they all knew that double shifts for them meant triple shifts for him. Sleep had become something grabbed in the moments between crises, and tonight was little more than shepherding farmers with no signs of any threat. For Chase, it was an opportunity to survey the land and crops for himself, and if nothing else, escape from within that oppressive rock for a time. He'd never known himself to fear confinement, but living beneath a mountain of rock weighed upon his soul, and he longed for the freedom he'd once had.

  Ahead, the terrace walls had been damaged, and great care was required to climb past the broken section. The earthen works looked as if they might slide into the valley under the group's weight, but they held. Beyond lay a section of ripe corn, essentially cut off by the damage on one end and a sheer face on the other. Chase felt trapped with the treacherous section as their only means of escape. He cursed himself for a coward, and when the clouds parted, he felt a bit better. At least with the light of the near-full moon and the comets, the trek back would be less of an issue. The herald globes provided consistent light, but they cast shadows, making climbing dangerous.

  As a strong wind drifted down from the north, Chase looked to the skies. Dozens of comets cast their twinkling light across the sky, blotting out the stars so only the moon and comets could be seen. It was a strange sight to behold. For most of his life, in fact for thousands of years, there had been no comets in the skies. The prophecies had said they would come, and so they had. They also said Catrin would destroy the Zjhon and, in a way, she had, but what the prophecies said would come next made Chase quail. He had hoped it all to be fantasy, but the situation just kept getting worse with no signs things would improve any time soon. Perhaps he needed to accept the fact that it would get far worse before it got better--far worse indeed.

  The farmers had gotten ahead of him again, and Chase was about to close the distance when he noticed something strange in the corner of his vision: light, then darkness, then light. As he looked back to the sky, he saw a pattern as something large blotted out the comets, and whatever it was grew larger with every passing moment.

  "Get down," Chase said in a half whisper, half shout. A brief moment of pride filled him as the entire crew ducked down without another word. Many met his eyes, and he motioned to the sky, making his hands into the shape of flapping wings, now known as the sign for dragons above. When he turned his attention back to the sky, it was nearly too late. A blast of air pelted them as the massive wingtips came close to taking Chase's head off. He fell to his stomach and waited for the debris-filled wind to pass. When he stood, he braced himself and readied his spear. His men did the same without the need for command, and they waited for the attack to come. Instead what they heard was the snapping of trees and timbers followed by a mighty exhale.

  "The beast has gone down on his own, sir. Should we move in and finish it off?"

  "Bradley and Simms, with me. The rest of you, wait here."

  The sound of labored breathing echoed on the wind, and Chase knew the beast still had the potential to be very dangerous. A wounded dragon could be worlds more deadly than a hungry dragon. More cracks and snaps echoed through the valley as the beast thrashed, accompanied by mighty roars that ended as grunts.

  "We might be best off letting this one die on its own, sir. I'm no coward but I can't see risking lives if the beast truly is mortally wounded, sir," Bradley said.

  "I agree," Chase said, "but I want to get a closer look at what we're facing."

  Shouts from above rang out, and Chase looked up to see Morif leading a group of men down the stairs. There was no mistaking the towering presence that was Morif, and it brought a smile to Chase's face. There might be a bit of gray in the old soldier's beard, but he'd certainly lost none of his warrior spirit. As he rounded a bend and got his first glimpse of the downed dragon, he got an impression of size but little else, as most of the creature was engulfed in shadow. It was the size of a large male, and Chase's knew that even a swipe of its tail could be an end to anyone caught in its path. The valley was still, and the wounded dragon had gone quiet.

  "Stay where you are!" Chase shouted across the valley to Morif and his men. "I'm going in for a look. You stay here," he told Bradley and Simms. The men seemed uneasy about his order but didn't argue with him. Descending into the darkness, Chase tried not to think about what it would feel like to be crushed to death. When he reached an area where the terraces ran near a rooftop, he leaped across and shimmied down the side of the building, which had been constructed of whole tree trunks and offered a variety of hand- and footholds. When he peeked around the corner, he found himself face-to-face with a very alive dragon. His heart nearly stopped.

  It took his brain a moment to register that this was no feral dragon. The head was wider, and the eyes were more on the sides of the head. Color was hard to guess, but this dragon was clearly not the shiny black of a feral. Those huge eyes, flecked with green and gold, held Chase in thrall, and he knew. It was not like what Catrin had described when Kyrien showed pictures in her mind. Chase simply
knew: this was no ordinary dragon; this was Kyrien, Catrin's dragon.