Ruin of Dragons Read online

  Ruin of Dragons © 2018 Clay Kronke. All Rights Reserved.

  Logo & Jacket design by Clay Kronke • www.fiveeighteenstudios.com

  HIGH NOON

  The violet sun, in its halo of bright lavender afternoon, beat fiercely down on the narrow gully that was Main Street, striking a harsh contrast between the bleach white cobbled pavement and the dark green shadows under the covered walk lining the storefronts on either side of the street. The spire of the courthouse bell tower stood silent watch over the small town of Turic, which sat nestled at the foot of the Kur Mountains looming in the distance.

  "Why is the sky purple?"

  Petra Ryath looked up at her older sister, who was suddenly standing over her shoulder peering down at her work. "It's my painting, Viv," Petra said. "The sky's whatever color I want it to be." She looked down to her palette, loaded her brush with pigment and started adding more viridian to the shadows under the walk, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she concentrated. Tall and willowy, she sat on a stool that was perhaps a bit too short, her left elbow resting on her knee as she bent close to the canvas.

  "Well you're making a mess," Viv said as she walked from the front room to the kitchen.

  "I'm making art," Petra protested.

  "I don't mean—" Viv shook her head and let out a sigh as she disappeared into the other room. "Look at the floor!"

  Petra looked down. "Oh," she said, noticing the myriad of paint drips spotting the wood planking around her feet. "I'm making a mess."

  The clock chimed and she looked up, for the first time noticing the hour. She quickly stood up, threw her palette down on the table next to the easel, dumped her brushes in the cup of water on the stand, and closed up her box of supplies. "I'll clean it up when I get back," she said on her way to the front door.

  "Back?" her sister called from the other room.

  "I almost forgot I had plans," Petra said, grabbing a leather bag off the hook and throwing it over her shoulder.

  Viv poked her head into the room. "Fine. As long as you're out, stop by the outfitters and pick up my tools, huh?"

  "Sure," Petra said.

  "Where are you going anyway?"

  "I told Rowan I'd have lunch with him," she said as she opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

  "Again?" Viv asked. "You need to give that boy some space, he's probably got work to do."

  "Not listening!" Petra shut the door behind her and stepped down to the street, shaking her head as she went. Her sister was right, of course. Petra had been spending a good deal of time with Rowan lately, but she didn't care. Rowan had been her best friend since childhood, and Viv hadn't been overly concerned before. Of course, Viv also hadn't been running a household before. That was still something they were both adjusting to.

  It had only been a few months since their mother had passed, and while Petra had initially spent a lot of time either in isolation or with Rowan, she felt like things were just starting to even back out. She was no longer actively avoiding being at home, and while Viv had expressed concern that all her time spent with Rowan was merely a distraction from dealing with her grief, the truth was that Petra had never really felt as close to their mother as Viv had. The fact that she wasn't Petra's biological mother didn't really have any bearing, as the woman had raised her alongside Viv for as long as she could remember.

  It was, unfortunately, more complicated than that. Petra had always felt a sense of detachment, even in the midst of a loving home environment. The feeling of not truly belonging, even though there was no other logical place for her to be, was something that had existed in the back of her mind for years, and that pervasive self-doubt was something she had struggled to make any kind of sense out of. And while Viv might have been at least partially right that Petra had been spending more time with Rowan to avoid dealing with that confusion, it certainly wasn't anything she was willing to admit to anyone.

  In any case, Rowan never made it seem like she was interrupting anything important, so she had never given it much thought beyond the present. She relaxed a little, and reminded herself to try and cut Viv a bit of slack. Taking care of an eighteen-year-old stepsister who wasn't good at anything but painting was likely more stressful than she let on.

  From their small cottage it was only a couple of blocks south to the outfitters, and she walked quickly, pulling the tie out of her hair and letting it fall down around her shoulders, shielding her eyes from the midday glare. She stepped out onto High Street, the east to west thoroughfare through the center of town, and crossed over to the south side, stepping between hitching posts and ducking up into the shade of the covered walk. She pulled open the door to the outfitters, the bell alerting the attention of the shopkeep, who looked up from his ledger.

  "Afternoon Petra," the older man said, smiling warmly behind a thin beard and a thick set of glasses. She walked over to the counter, noticing the shop was empty save for a lone customer talking with the clerk at the far end of the room. She glanced across a varied selection of sidearms, bladed weapons, threshers and hunting lures, finally stopping on an innocuous looking display of handtools and carpentry supplies behind the shopkeep himself. "Finished your sister's order this morning," he continued. "Give me just a moment and I'll get it for you." Closing the ledger and shelving it under the counter, he shuffled off toward the back.

  Voices drew her attention, and she turned toward the back of the shop, noticing the other customer perusing the weapons rack. It was a woman unlike anyone she had ever seen. She was short like a dwarf, barely shoulder high to the clerk, slightly stocky and muscular, with a round face framed by wavy fox colored hair, her features youthful and bright. But what the woman was wearing surprised Petra the most. Eschewing feminine dress for more practical attire was commonplace in a rural community like this, but hers was the outfit of a warrior, all dark leather with metallic torso plates bordered by armored sections across the arms and shoulders, matched with high riding boots and thick forearm bracers.

  Petra frowned, looking down at her own linen shirt, canvas breeches cut off below the knee and dusty brown half boots. She didn't exactly cut the most ladylike figure herself, but this person seemed geared for battle. Standing in front of the bladed rifles, the woman had selected a particularly deadly looking long-caliber halfaxe, which combined the close-combat offensive functionality of a poleaxe with the long-range defense of a pulse rifle. It almost seemed too big for her, but she handled it with a speed and deftness that belied her size, bringing it to bear against an imaginary opponent, a wicked gleam in her eye that made Petra very glad she was not on the receiving end.

  Her curiosity was soundly piqued. The woman was a traveler, certainly, as there were no warriors encamped anywhere near Turic. Most of the civilization that lied this far north was comprised of independent settlements not affiliated with any of the larger city-states to the south. What purpose might have brought her here Petra couldn't imagine.

  She looked back up to find she had caught the woman’s attention.

  Petra stood frozen as the short warrior seemed to appraise her, a curious grin spreading across her face. Petra fumbled, trying to think of something to say, but opted instead to turn back to the counter and wait for the shopkeep. She made the pretense of studying the selection of tools in front of her, but she still had a nagging feeling she was being stared at. She fidgeted with her hair, looking toward the door, suddenly very impatient.

  Startled by a loud clatter, Petra spun to see the large bladed weapon plunked roughly up onto the counter. The dwarf had appeared at her right shoulder, pulling a small pouch from a compartment on her belt. "Should still have some local her
e somewhere," she muttered to herself. Looking up at Petra suddenly, she asked, "What's currency in these parts? Still crowns?"

  "Um," Petra stammered. "No, crescents."

  "Oh! Good, I still have some of those," the woman said, digging for another pouch on the opposite side of her belt.

  The warrior's accent was definitely not local, but Petra couldn't place it. She was even more confused now, but her curiosity got the better of her. "What was that grin about, a minute ago?" Petra asked.

  A mischievous look crossed the other woman's face as she backhanded Petra playfully across the upper arm. "Don't worry about it, stick," she said. "You just reminded me of someone I know."

  Petra opened her mouth, but was saved from her awkwardness by the shopkeep, who chose that moment to step back to the counter. "Here you are," he said, sliding a wooden box across to her. "Tell your sister I'll stop by around midday tomorrow to pick up any disused she may still have."

  "Right," Petra said, taking the box and quickly sliding it into her shoulder bag. "Thanks." As she stepped back from the counter, the shopkeep turned his attention to the dwarf. "Would you like the standard round to go with that, Miss…?"

  "Voss," the woman supplied. "And yes. Don't bother wrapping it," she grinned, dropping the pouch of coins down in front of him and waiting patiently as he turned to rummage through a cabinet behind him. Petra shook her head and turned for the door, getting her mind back on task as she stepped outside.

  With the sun approaching its highest, she stuck to the shade of the covered walk as she continued down the lane. Reaching the corner block at Town Center about to turn left onto Main Street, she stopped suddenly. Across the street she could see a figure standing in the covered belfry of the courthouse.

  Her brow creased. Curious, she thought. The bell was seldom rung, and even then, only in emergency, otherwise it remained silent. This person didn't look interested in using it, but only stood there, watching intently toward the forest outside of town to the south.

  Petra looked in that direction. Turic sat just above tree level at the foot of the Kur Mountains, and Main Street sloped downward as it approached the edge of the forest. This made the bell tower the perfect vantage point to watch for someone coming into town, as there were no roads in or out that didn't connect to Main Street at the south edge.

  Unmoving, the figure stood in shadow, but Petra could see sharp features in the silhouette and long, straight hair blowing back in the breeze. Very curious, she thought. The figure, like the woman at the outfitters, was also oddly out of place in this normally sleepy town. It was of course not unheard of to have strangers pass through, but as they were backed up against a mountain off the normal trade and travel routes, it was not exactly common either.

  The fact that this one seemed to be expecting more company made Petra uneasy, and she reminded herself that she still had things to do. She stepped away from the rail to resume her course, still looking across the street, and nearly collided with a man coming up the walk. "I'm terribly sorry, I—" she started, but her words tumbled to a halt as she looked up at the towering stranger.

  Petra was used to being among the tallest in town, but the figure before her stood a head taller still. Lean limbs were shrouded in a simple but long gray hooded cloak, and thin fingers wrapped around an equally tall metallic staff. Petra noticed her back straightening and her chin lifting involuntarily as she took a step backward.

  "Pardon me," came a soft voice from under the hood. The face there was deep in shadow, but Petra got a sense of long features and piercing eyes before their owner turned and disappeared into the cavernous interior of the Corner Tavern.

  She stood unmoving for a moment, wide eyed. This was getting too strange. Forcing her feet to move, she set off once again, making her way determinedly down Main Street toward the edge of town. As her pace quickened, she let the word play across her thoughts, the word that had almost burst out of her mouth at the sight of the tall stranger.

  Wizard.

  She had heard stories from travelers. True, they weren't actually wizards, but that was the archetype they seemed to fill: strangers with no agenda or affiliation, appearing out of nowhere to help in dire situations. Unusually tall and out of the ordinary, and possessed of even odder abilities, they were rumored to be impervious to fire, able to read minds and alter thoughts, even control the very elements. Petra didn't know their proper name, but even in the lore of her own people were tales of these extraordinary individuals, sage, worldly and often very powerful.

  She shook her head and smiled. Don't be an idiot, she thought. Just because the man was tall and carried a staff didn't make him a wizard. Might as well be one myself, she thought with a laugh.

  • • •

  Mira Valric stood silently in the covered spire of the courthouse bell tower, facing the south end of town and the forest beyond. She noticed the slight figure peering up at her from the Corner Tavern overhang, but the moment was gone almost before it began, and Mira watched as the young woman continued on, making her way south along the main street.

  Her team of four had arrived a mere fifteen minutes prior, setting down just outside of town and dispersing without ceremony. The others had opted to take in what little local color they could, but Mira had decided to take the watch, choosing this spot for its unobstructed view of the surrounding countryside, and for the simple fact that it allowed her a moment of solitude.

  She had surveyed as she entered town, learning most of what she needed to know in a few short glances. The buildings were old and faded, leaning slightly against each other. All were squat and few stood taller than a single story. A covered walk ran much of the length of the storefronts on both sides of the street, and water troughs and hitching posts stood at regular intervals. Other than the occasional horse, there seemed to be no sign of vehicular traffic, though the cobbled street suggested the possibility of wagons or carriages.

  There was certainly no technology in evidence, and every detail in view, from the slightly rough ironwork and hand lettered signage, to the way every line and angle looked slightly off, gave every indication this was a pre-industrial society.

  It was hardly surprising, being an outlying community on a similarly outlying world, but it meant they had to tread a bit more carefully. Anything out of the ordinary held a greater chance of being noticed, and once noticed, being reacted to. And in a small town such as this, outsiders fell squarely into that category.

  She had loosened her braids, letting her hair fall down on the sides to cover the prominent points of her ears. She didn't know how many elves would have occasion to travel through an area such as this, but she would hazard to guess almost none. Outliers were not typically known for their inclusive tolerance, and though she would likely not be in town long enough to even be noticed, prejudice and hostility were nonetheless what she would rather avoid.

  Mira turned left and looked down High Street to see Voss exiting the outfitters carrying a brand new long-caliber halfaxe, her red hair blazing in the sun. She rested the weapon against her shoulder as she sauntered casually up the street, peering in shop windows and commenting absently to herself. The dwarf, it would seem, had no such similar reservations.

  Her thoughts were interrupted as a deep voice sounded over her earpiece communicator. "Castle to Kingsguard, report in."

  The captain was on the ground. Her pulse quickened, the formal call and response signaling the actual start of the operation. Mira gave her callsign. "Veil standing by," she said, her voice cool and measured.

  Gareth was next. "Lure standing by," his soft voice said. The wizard had, predictably, chosen to set up shop in the Corner Tavern, and was likely on his second or third drink already.

  Voss was last. "Wasp standing by," the dwarf said, her voice sounding irritated. "Wish you'd told me it was summer here."

  "Can't always be cold," the captain's voice came back. "Talk
to me Veil, where are my eyes?"

  "Standing watch, Castle," Mira said. "In view of the north face, no movement yet." Their target had been located less than a quarter mile south of town, just inside the northern fringe of the forest. "Target thermal levels are rising steadily; Emergence in ninety, moving out in thirty."

  "Copy that," he said. "Keep me apprised."

  "Acknowledged," Mira replied. She settled back and made herself comfortable, breathing deeply. There was a warm breeze blowing, and she could smell the ash and pine on the air. She had maybe half an hour before they would need to make their way to the extraction point, and Mira was content to sit and enjoy a moment of peace in this relatively untainted natural environment.

  It was the kind of moment, she noted uneasily, that she didn't get the opportunity to enjoy as often as she would like.

  • • •

  Lost in thought, Petra hadn't even noticed she'd reached the edge of town and was now on the East Road leading to Rowan's farm. After a few paces, she absently ducked into the cover of the trees, taking a more direct route through the edge of the forest.

  It was a well-trod walk, a path cut as children when there was more time to go exploring, and seemingly more freedom when wandering between town and farm. Petra had fond memories of chasing, hiding, using the woods as whatever arena she wanted them to be. She felt more comfortable out here than she did in her own home. There was something about being out in nature that called to her, gave her a sense of being that she didn't get anywhere else.

  At the moment, however, the familiar signs of wildlife usually prevalent inside the treeline were strangely absent. The more she walked, the more she became aware of this, looking up and around, listening for signs of birds, insects, or even the usual scuttling underfoot that would trail away from her footsteps as she made her way through the wooded underbrush, and finding nothing.

  Only silence.

  Her pace, which had already quickened, slowly graduated to a full run as she became sufficiently unsettled to the point of urgently wanting to be out into the open air again. She had veered from her usual path, having decided to take the most direct route, ducking under branches, haphazardly scrambling over brush and fallen logs, and generally abandoning any caution she might have otherwise employed while travelling through the forest. The inclusion of a shoulder bag carrying a box of heavy tools further hindered her usual nimble balance, so she was hardly surprised then, when an upthrust root grabbed her foot and sent her sprawling.