Chapter 1 (Feel free to comment)
The day was new with a cool mist clinging to the land like a thick, woolen blanket. The sun had barely risen in the east to burn off the shimmering silver clouds that rested among the trees. Despite the apparent serenity that seemingly promised to show its favor, something wasn’t right. The land was uneasy and the birds had yet to start their sunrise symphony. Even the creatures that walked or crawled remained huddled in their beds when they would have otherwise been greeting the morning. The cold silence was broken by the sound of hooves pounding on the earth.
A rough group of horsemen galloped at breakneck speed through the forest, urging their mounts forward with no regard to their safety or that of their horses. They rode as if hell was on their heels, ready to swallow them whole. If a horse broke a leg during their frenzied rush, the rider would be left behind. Their business was of the utmost importance and they did not dare to slow down. Especially when the entourage that followed them was more than capable of taking their lives should they fail. It was not easy to see where they were going. Their target was ahead of them, hidden in the fog. The only clue they had to the quarry’s whereabouts was the faltering beat of massive wings echoing in the air.
Each rider was equipped with a sword and bow. Quivers were secured to their saddles and occasionally one of them would set an arrow flying into the sky ahead of them, specially tipped to pierce through tough hide. The horses were exhausted, foam flecking their mouth and skin, but their riders laid their crops to their flesh and never let them rest. One rider launched another arrow through the air and was rewarded with an agonized shriek. He shouted in triumph and the group cheered with hoarse, throaty shouts. The sound of snapping trees and something large colliding with the ground slowed them for a moment.
Just ahead, the mist had begun to thin. The riders slowed almost to a walk as they arrived upon the scene of shattered forest and the prone body of a dragon. The exhausted men began to dismount as they surveyed the area around them while one man, obviously the leader due to his size and stature, stepped forward to examine the creature. She was large, almost forty feet long. Her body was covered with emerald green scales that faded to a deeper green, almost black, toward her legs, tail and wingtips. Her feet supported impressive claws and her mouth gaped to show sharp, serrated teeth as long as knives. A simple diadem of woven gold rested on her head, held in place by delicate chains that attached to her curving black horns.
Though she was still, she was not dead. Not yet anyway. One wing lay crumpled beneath her and several arrows stuck out along her sides, the fatal one just behind her left front leg. Her sides rose as she took in rattling gasps and a bright amber eye watched the man as he came nearer. There was no kindness or mercy in his face, only emptiness. He stopped a few feet away from her head just as the second group of horsemen arrived. Their leader did not bother to get off his horse. He sat there, glaring down at the dragon with cold, calculating malice.
“So, this is how it ends for the line of Sath'hara. I almost pity you. You could have had a more dignifying end, you know, but instead you chose to flee like the coward you are.”
It was never wise to call a dragon a coward, especially with all the teeth, but he had her at a disadvantage. The dragon switched her not so benevolent stare from the rider in front of her to the man in elegant robes of crimson. Her slit-eyed gaze, like that of a cat, narrowed in and a low hiss escaped her jaws. Every man there felt a chill race down their spine, a primitive response to the sound of an angry apex predator.
“I expected a better greeting from you, High Chancellor Malthar. More along the lines of one speaking to someone above his rank. Couldn’t come up with anything better or is it too early in the morning for you?” the dragon responded in a deep, cultured voice.
The High Chancellor glowered like a squat toad before motioning to his personal guards. They dismounted and surrounded the wounded dragon, lances pointed inward. “You are in no position to be so bold with words, Your Majesty. Your mate lies dead in your chambers and those who support you have either been wiped out or have fled for their lives. Rest assured even they will be hunted down. Your line has ended and with no heir to your throne it will be me who sits upon it come evening.”
The emerald dragon’s gaze narrowed to slits and she struggled for breath. “Well, at the very least you have addressed me properly, but my line will not end with me. There will be others to challenge you, those who know that a human can never rule on the dragon throne.”
The man’s face turned blotchy and red in anger, making the dragon queen chuckle until a wracking cough had her spitting blood onto the dirt. “Forget to take your medicine this morning? You should be careful. You might keel over before your plan is complete.”
“Finish this,” High Chancellor Malthar growled, wiping sweat from his brow. He would be more comfortable when he was back in the cool marble halls of the palace. “Remember, I want Queen Sath'mera’s death to be a secret. Make it look like she has fled the country.”
Her strength failing as her sides rose slower with each breath, the dying queen couldn’t even lift her head to defend herself. A man was pushed forward, trembling as he held his sword in front of him. Sath'mera gazed at him calmly. Her end was near and there was no way to persuade the Fates for a little more time. The leader of the horsemen put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up.
“Get it over with, Vilard. I want to be home before lunch.”
The man named Vilard approached the failing queen with trepidation, but he could not back down without being killed himself, and he had a family to think about. Sath'mera watched him for a moment before closing her eyes. Vilard almost thought that she had passed away on her own and that he would be spared the grisly task, but her eyes flicked open again, piercing him where he stood. Before he could swing his sword, a soft breath washed over him and he was lost in the image of another time and place.
An cream colored egg lay nestled in a bed of heated sand hidden in a cavern. “Find him, Vilard, son of Vilhan. Find him and set him in his rightful place.” Queen Sath'mera’s voice floated through his mind though her mouth never moved. It ended so quickly that he wasn’t even sure it had happened, but the next moment his sword swung down and the dragon finally breathed her last. Vilard backed away, glancing at the men standing around the dead queen and passing around the gold coins that was their payment. When no one seemed to have heard or seen the vision, he relaxed.
The High Chancellor frowned. Something bothered him, but he had no time to think about it. He had to return to the palace to set everything straight before anyone started an uprising. “Clean this up,” he said before turning his horse and leaving the matter to the lackeys he had hired. His guards left with him as the horsemen readied their tools, leaving Vilard sick behind a tree as dark, almost black blood slowly soaked the ground. When they were finished, there was almost no trace that the reigning dragon Queen of Sathraea had been murdered before the sun had blessed the land with its rays.