Emerging into the pale grayness of the pre-dawn, one scaled paw studded with deadly talons rattled out a warning staccato. Indigo scales glinted even in the feeble light. All about, a heavy silence thickened the air. Not so much as a lap of seawater against the stones on the shore below could be heard.
And then, from out of the dark void, the beasts head swept forward. The size of two field oxen and rimmed in hard indigo scales and juts of deadly spines was the skull. The horns stabbing out from the temples were small, no longer than Rhianas forearm, but weapons she respected. Tusks at the corner of the mouth were but short picks spiking to the sides. Twas a rampant, young and wild, many decades of growth still required to reach the elder maximas size and docility.
But no less dangerous to a mans mortality.
Thrusting back her shoulders and lifting her chin, Rhiana declared, I am come! Let us begin this dance of will and strength.
The beast tilted its head, for a moment seeming to wonder at her words.
Rhiana did know they could speak the mortal tongue no more than she could read their beastly thoughts. Yet, Amandine had told her the maxima had such ability.
Focusing on the pattern of ridged scales between the eyes, shaped like an inverted cross, she readied her aim.
A hiss of sage-tainted smoke billowed from the nostrils in a creepy fog. So sweet, their breath. Intoxicating, should one lose focus and succumb. Smoke dulled her senses, but she knew it had the same effect on her opponent.
The beast drew up tall, its head rising as it stretched up its long neck.
Rhiana anticipated its next move.
Defiant in her stance, she merely smiled as the creatures head lunged and the jaws opened wide. Deadly maws targeted her feeble size. A filigree of amber flame danced upon the air. One moment it formed a wisp of steam at the corners of the dragons tusk-pointed jaw, the next, it formed a rippling cacophony of heat and fire and evil that encompassed Rhianas body.
Heat, smothering, yet intoxicatingly dreamy, wavered images of the world before her. Amber wall of stone on fire. Distorted crystal sky. A frenzied blotch of scale and fang behind the wall of flame.
Standing amidst the fire Rhiana could not breathe. Her lungs expanded, then sealed up. Her chest felt bloated, stopped up. Her senses began to shut down. But she did not fear.
Fire. Twas her vitae.
As the last tendril of flame extinguished, Rhiana confidently raised her crossbow and sighted in her mark. The dragon, its head still lowered as if to attack, held its wide gold eyes at a level to her shoulders. Inverted cross in sight above the top of her boltperfect.
She released the trigger. The heavy steel bolt hissed through the sky and landed the target. There, in the center of the beasts skull, right between the eyesthe kill spot, a direct entrance to the brain through a fine seam in the skull. Cursed by Heaven for its fall from grace.
Impact forced the creature up onto its powerful hind legs. The belly of soft, semipermeable violet scales glittered as the first beams of sunlight broke the horizon. Great pellicle wings scooped the air, the force of wind pushing Rhiana back a few steps. She marked her position. Fire did no harm, but a slap from a wildly flailing wing could push her over the edge.
And then, it tumbled. Over the side of the cliff it soared with little grace. Once an elegant beast of flight, now it crashed upon the stones and boulders below with a bone- and scale-crunching sound that sifted up dust and caused the seabirds to cry out the death of its winged compatriot.
A quick death, that.
Rhiana, still standing her ground, waited for the calamity to settle. Breaths huffing, a smile formed.
Swiping a palm across her face she nodded, and then propped the crossbow against her shoulder. Tis not a good day to be a dragon.
CHAPTER TWO
The beast had landed the shore; its upper half, including the neck and skull, had plunged into the sea. No bones or scales to claim this day; the tide would carry away the carcass before nightfall.
From within the blackness of the cave opening another heartbeat yet pulsed, but she did not sense the second had been wakened by the attack.
A second? Truly, there was another.
Was it the mate? The fallen dragon was female, evident in its bright coloring. It was the male that protected the eggs, and which was in need of dull gray scales. Never had Rhiana seen a dragon egg. Or a male, for that matter.
Topside, after a perilous climb up the cliff face, Rhiana rushed across the open meadow to the forest and retrieved the thick wool cloak shed secreted behind the twisted trunk of a burned-out oak stump. Swinging the cloak around her shoulders, she then followed the purlieu of the forest a league back to the battlement walls.
The sun dashed a gold line across the horizon and even from a distance Rhiana heard a rooster crow the morn. Beads of dew danced at grass-tip blades like faery finery. The morning smelled fresh and salted with the slightest tang of sage.
As she walked, she pulled the leather tie from her bound hair and shook it over her shoulder. True, dragons flame did little harm to her flesh and hair. But she hadnt yet discovered a fabric that could withstand the heat, be it dragon flame or a simple hearth fire. The thin cambric tunic she wore beneath the scaled leather armor had burned away during her flaming, proving the wool cloak a necessity.
This armor was remarkable. Fashioned by her stepfather Paul, the leather cuirass was more a tunic that covered chest, back and the tops of her shoulders and arms. Secured at the backs of her arms and down her torso with leather straps, the thin strips were stitched through with fine mail wire to allow malleable strength that couldnt be burned away. As for the mail chausses, Rhiana had made them herself, utilizing double rings instead of the usual single ring method. Rarely did she wear but hose beneath themheavier chamois braies were unnecessaryfor the thick mail protected verily, even ones modesty.
Rhiana felt she might wear merely the armor, baring more flesh than any maiden should, for it would save on damaged clothing. But she must be cautious. Should she be spied in such attire, surely there would be a price to pay.
All in St. Rénan knew of her industry. They had seen her tromping about in the armor and wielding her dagger. Shes an odd one, theyd mutter to themselves. Always has been. Why, some had mistaken her for a boy when younger, for her antics and attraction to all things muddy or slimy, and her frequent play with makeshift weapons.
Yet, all in St. Rénan believed the real slayer who had been visiting the village two years earlier had taken down the dragon. A dragon Rhiana had slain. At the time, she hadnt felt the need to correct perceptions, for shed been so excited, the elation of the kill had far outweighed any glory the villagers might have bestowed. Instead, shed gladly stood back while Amandine had collected his dragons purse from the hoard council as payment for his kill.
Praise and acknowledgment mattered very little to Rhiana, only that her loved ones were kept safe. For without family, what had one left?
The village walls were sixty feet high and fashioned from massive bricks shaped from the same ocher limestone that frilled the seashore. Four towers set at each direction of the compass punctuated the battlement walls, with wide parapet walks stretching between them all. The walls completely closed in the village, for it was small, yet growing, though none had chosen to build outside the walls for the dangers were real.
Avoiding the drawbridge that crossed to St. Rénans barbican and main entrance gates, Rhiana skipped along the curtain wall to the north entrance, close to where the artillery stored dusty trebuchets and long-forgotten cannonballs. It was rarely used, for siege and battle were nonexistent.
A narrow plank, no wider than two fists, stretched across the dry, yet deep, moat, attracting only the most deft and balanced.
Steadying herself with but one outstretched arm, Rhiana danced across the wobbly plank. The scaled armor clicked softly and her mail chausses chinged. The sound of mail in motion made her smile. It signified all things chivalrous and adventurous to her. Halfway across she lunged into a bounce. The plank wobbled, digging up plumes of dry earth at either end. Lifting one foot out before her, Rhiana performed another bounce, landed her foot and skipped quickly to ground and the thick iron door.
She glanced back at the expanse of moat shed crossed. A satisfied nod followed. Every opportunity to danger must be met.
Rudolph manned the barbican in the early morn, but his watch didnt start until prime, so Rhiana had coerced him to guard this door. Rudolph was a lifelong friend and fellow cohort in todays mission, for twas his brother Jean Claude who had been snatched from his very boots.
A double rap to the thick iron door with the heel of her crossbow, was followed by Rudolphs husky, Who goes there?
The lanky young man always tried to lower his voice and speak slowly, as Rhiana had suggested would make him sound more imposing.
Fire chaser, Rhiana replied, the previously decided password. It was a nickname only Rudolph and Paul used, yet Rudolph was not privy to her most exotic secrets, as was her stepfather.
A blinking eyeball peered through the squint hole. The door opened and an arm lashed out to grip her by the wrist and tug her inside the battlement walls. Slammed against the closing door, Rhiana smirked at Rudolphs theatrics.
With a scatter of blonde hair poking out from beneath his tight leather skullcap, he glared his best glare at her, then, with a sniff and a nod, stepped back, assuming modest nonchalance. My lady.
Rudolph. She chuckled and tugged unconsciously at the wool cloak. He did not know what she woreor did not wearbeneath. Do you not recognize my voice, that you must every time treat me as a possible intruder?
It is my task, my lady, to protect the village from impostors and brigands.
When they were children hed once accused her of pressing him to always play the knight when he much preferred to be a minstrel or village fool. Mayhap their play battles had some influence in his chosen profession of guard, or so Rhiana liked to believe.
You serve Lord Guiscard well with your astute attention to detail.
Think you?
Indeed.
Pleased with the compliment, Rudolph bowed in affirmation. Then with a nervous tug of his cap, which never did cover his overlarge ears, he grew more serious. Any dragons? he wondered.
One less, thanks be to my trusty crossbow.
My lady, you are a gem! Eyes stretching up the battlement wall to her side, Rudolph said with less enthusiasm, If only you had been near when Jean Claude was taken.
Rudolph. She clamped a palm upon his shoulder. Wheat dust smoked out from his brown tunic; he spent his nights romancing the millers daughter in the shadows of the flour mill. Your brother was a benevolent man, ever eager to set aside what he was doing to aid, be it building or chopping or even singing during the villages frequents fêtes. There is no doubt, in my heart, Jean Claude sings with the angels this day.
You are ever kind. I justkeep wondering how awful it must feel to be snatched up in a dragons maw.
A thought Rhiana had had many a time. It was what had kept her alert and deft in the face of danger.
Rudolph stomped a boot upon the packed dirt ground. Forgive me, I am well and fine. No tears, no tears.
Sniffing, he resumed a defensive stance, arms crossed over his chest, and a guardlike frown upon his face. A familiar pose, for Rhiana had often pushed him to tears with her teasing. Because, most certainly, girls were better than boys.
Thank you, Rudolph. I continue to rely upon your discretion.
But wait! He blocked her leave with a dancing step to the right. You said one less. What does that mean? One less? Less than more? His voice warbled. Be there moredragons?
Shh, Rudolph, youll wake curious ears. They both looked down the aisle of houses that snaked along the battlement walls. But a strip of sunlight glowed upon the slate rooftops. I am not positive, but I think there is another.
Another, he panted out. Straining to keep his voice to a whisper, he muttered, Go back! Kill it, fire chaser! Do not let this day pass without banishing hells evil. It will continue to stalk our village!
Rudolph. Rhiana sighed.
Should she have remained? Walked deep into the darkness of the cave and explored, seeking the other dragon?
No, the other had slept surely. Else, would it not have flown out to avenge its mates death? She had sensed no immediate danger. And what if it had been male, protecting a newling? She did not kill indiscriminately.
I am on it, you can trust me.
Girls are better than boys, he tried with a teasing lilt to the statement.
She winked and gave him a quick hug, then strode past him and into the narrow back alleys twisting about behind St. Rénans strip of artillery and armory shops. The buildings were constructed of timber posts and beams, but overlaid by slate or fieldstone. A decades-old edict declared all buildings must be of stone and all roofs of slate or tile. Best defense for a village oft ravaged by flame.
A cock again crowed the morning and dogs yipped in response. The delicious smell of baking bread unearthed a ridiculous hunger in Rhianas belly. Dragon slaying was hard work and required a hearty meal. She must to home to catch the last bits of Odettes breakfast.
A twig rolled off an overhead rooftop and tapped her on the shoulder. Must be from a bird. But yetshe paused and searched the sky. One must never become complacent. So many noises in this village forged of stone and earth and as little wood as possible. She spied a dash of gray skirts.
Mother?
Rhiana skipped around and hid behind a tightly woven wattle arbor. Her mother made her way to the castle kitchen. Lydia walked a swift pace, and kept looking over her shoulder. As if she thought she was being followed. Strange.
Rhiana scanned the area. No one else out so early. Hmm
Her mother had been different the past fortnight. Avoiding Rhiana more than usual. She was most brisk with their conversations. Twas almost as if Rhiana had done something to affront Lydia. But she did not know how to ask if there was a problem.
Lydias dour gray skirts swept out of view and behind a wall of hornbeam.
Rhiana sighed. Something is amiss with her.
As she walked onward, the clangs of the armourers hammer sang out like a childhood lullaby. Truly, such racket was lullaby matter to her. Since she was very young, Rhiana had spent her days toddling about Paul Tassots legs, asking him questions about every step in the process of creating armor, playing with the old yellow mongrel that slept beneath the stone cooling tank, thriving in the atmosphere of the shop.