The Lady and the Dragon
By Zezii Kaa'Teirn [Author Info]The tiny town of Acrara lay nestled within a deep valley, rolling hills of verdant green surrounding it on all sides. The villagers there were quite poor, making their living off of the land and the slow, muddy-brown river that wound around the small town in a wide circle. Almost every morning one could see them working the vast fields, their backs hunched over as they toiled under the hot sun. For many years their lives had gone on this way. The peacefulness of their labors probably would have continued if not for the dragon.
Taireth, the town’s leader, was the first to see it, his old gray eyes widening in bewilderment as he spotted the giant shape against the azure sky. Flapping its great leathery wings, the huge beast circled over the fields where terrified villagers scattered wildly. Cold reptilian eyes surveyed the frightened people below, and then its powerful, scaled jaws opened wide, exposing a mouthful of jagged yellow teeth. A sharp sizzling sound erupted from the slavering mouth, and a roaring blast a flame burst out, slamming down to the earth. Wheat and fleeing villagers were instantly charred to black. A searing wind, fetid with the thick odor of death, carried the shrill shrieks of agony as the gargantuan monster settled to the ground, its clawed feet sinking deep into the soft ground. The dragon's thick serpentine neck swung above the screaming peasants as it searched with inhuman eyes that sparkled with cruel malice.
Taireth was stumbling away as fast as his old bones would carry him when a massive four-fingered hand grabbed the back of his tunic. The curved talons sank deep into his soft flesh. The once-strong leader of the village was flipped over like a rag doll abandoned by a child. His head smacked the hard dirt as the thick odor of brimstone assaulted his nostrils. Taireth's eyes widened in absolute horror as he stared numbly into the smoking face of Death.
The flickering light from the fires reflected off of crimson scales and pointed ebony spikes that traveled down the mammoth body, the long spiked tail lashing. Taireth stared up into gigantic green-brown eyes the size of dinner platters, watching helplessly as the beaked mouth opened once more.
Then the dragon spoke.
"Heed my words, human," hissed the winged creature in a deep, raspy voice, "I am Firewing and from this day forth you and your people shall serve me."
The dragon paused, wisps of gray smoke curling up from the fist-sized nostrils, the evil snake eyes boring into those of Acrara’s quivering leader. The pebbly mouth seemed to smile viciously, the black tongue flicking out. The red dragon’s next words chilled Taireth’s heart.
"Or you will die."
* * *
The cool wind howled through the trees. It was the only sound in the forest besides the steady chirping of crickets. Antok Nelgrif held his breath, every muscle within his lean body tensed. Ahead of him, the golden moonlight illuminated the large cottage in a warm glow. There it was -- the prize: Inside of the cabin, at least according to a thief with loose lips, was a treasure chest of jewelry and expensive silks. Antok knew very little about the woman that lived there -- except that her rich husband, Lord Evens, gave her the cottage in the woods. The hardened thief barely believed that a middle-aged woman would live by herself in the forest where bandits and man-eating monsters routinely hid.
"The rumors must be true," Antok thought to himself, wondering why the woman's wealthy family had banished her to this fancy but forlorn home in the woods.
He half-expected hounds to come racing around the side of the cottage when he stepped into the front yard. Nothing moved in the bleak darkness, the chilly wind blowing the black hair off of his narrow face. Keeping low to the ground, Antok dashed to the nearest window and peered inside. He couldn’t make anything out, so he pressed his slender hands against the glass, squinting as he pulled out his leather pouch. He imagined the multitude of glittering jewels that would soon be his.
There was a soft, sudden rustle behind him and he felt a sharp blade poking into his back. Slowly, Antok turned his head, the razor point digging into his spine. Raising his hands to show that he was unarmed, the thief dropped his pouch and turned slowly around. Yellow moonlight outlined the tall, delicate figure and its fiery copper-colored. The person was obviously female with the thin, graceful body and pointed ears of an elf. A drow, he realized grimly, though like none he had ever seen before. This dark elf, though very lithe, had the height and muscles of a human, with dusty gray skin and intense emerald eyes that gleamed with a feral savageness. The elf-creature was in a loose dress and carried an antique sword in one hand.
"Please, I’m just lost," Antok tried to explain, staring at the bizarre elf that leered at him with pitch-black lips curled down into an angry frown.
She raised the sword swiftly as the moonlight flashed off its dull metallic surface. The thief screamed pitifully and collapsed to his knees, wondering if he was doomed. The sword brushed up against his cheek. Its metal was cold against his bare skin.
The strange dark elf remained poised over the cowering burglar when suddenly a feminine voice cried out from the doorway of the dark cottage.
"Ania, stop!" cried a woman whose auburn hair was tied back in a bun. Her wrinkled face was pinched in anger.
The drow whirled around to face the woman, her scarlet hair whipping around her head like a red waterfall. Antok did not hesitate for even a moment; he leapt up and ran off into the black safety of the woods, not daring to look back.
Sara watched from the doorway as the would-be thief disappeared into the thick forest and then shifted her gaze to her daughter. Ania, her grandfather’s old sword still in hand, faced her.
"I shouldn’t have let him get away," she replied in a voice that was fierce and so typical of her father’s species.
"Come, Ania," Sara said gently, trying to comfort her child and refusing to think about the consequences of letting the man escape. Surely he would warn the townspeople of the drow that dwelled within the cabin and then the villagers would come to lynch Ania.
After she had led her child back to her room, careful of the sword and her daughter’s inborn lust for blood, Sara sat back down near the crackling fireplace. She closed her eyes, remembering that day eighteen years ago when she had first married Marn Evens. She recalled walking alone in the woods heedless of the guards' warnings that a dark elf had been prowling about…
* * *
She had been by herself, the warm spring sunshine against her back. Sara was young and not particularly looking forward to her new life. True, she did not really love Marn, an old man who cared little for anything save his numerous possessions, but at least this fate was better than the desolate existence that she had known before.
"Yes, and know you will live a loveless life," a small voice insistently whispered.
Pausing, she lifted her eyes toward the overhead sun, enjoying its heat upon her face and trying hard to think about the deep loneliness that lurked within, until she heard the soft snap behind her. Clutching the diamond necklace that Marn had given her on their wedding day, she whirled around.
There, hiding amidst the thick shadows of the trees, stood a slim man in a black-velvet hood, his flaming crimson eyes staring at her with a mixture of hate and lust. A shock of brilliant white hair contrasting sharply with his midnight skin. It was a drow. Jagged scars ran along his angular face and he leered at the woman. Sara didn’t have time to react before the dark warrior knocked her to the ground.
The drow towered over her, his red eyes greedily playing over her green-clothed body and pale skin. Sara felt no fear when their gazes locked, only an odd heat that spread through her loins. He scowled and his hand momentary went to the katana at his side. The dark elf considered killing her; yet he had never seen such delicious femininity before. Locks of scarlet hair fell over her flawless face, her large green eyes full of desire.
Sara had never seen such a strong man and she felt drawn to him, even as he stooped and uttered strange words in a foreign tongue. His ebon hands gently caressed her body. That night they became one...
Marn did not discover the truth until he saw it in the dark gray skin of his wife's newborn child. He was enraged by the thought of his wife’s infidelity, that his matrimony to her had been violated by a drow elf. He forbade his servants to speak of the scandal and they were bound by his orders, lest they lose their lives or livelihoods.
The unfaithful woman and her inhuman babe were given a cottage in the woods, out of sight and forgotten. From that day on, Ania had been a living reminder of Sara's deed.
* * *
Their worst fears were took shape several days later, after Antok bragged about his "battle with a dark elf" after a few drinks at a local tavern.
"’Tis not true," a barmaid sneered as she handed one of the customers a steaming bowl of stew.
"It is!" Antok retorted, "the drow elf’s as real as the dragon in Acrara!" The barmaid just shook her braided head and moved away to refill some drinks, ignoring Antok and his ranting.
But several bounty hunters overheard the drunken thief and realized how much money a drow elf’s head would bring.
"Do you think he lies?" asked one of the bounty hunters, a husky brute of a man, as he leaned forward across the dirty wooden table.
"Possibly" said a tall woman with straw-colored hair and a wood elf's heritage. "Still, what if he speaks the truth? Many a mage would fill our moneybags for a dark elf’s ear."
The group thought about their prospects in silence as the tavern's revelry raged on. They stood up, resolute, and left their mugs of ale behind. It did not take long for the bounty hunters to round up and anger a mob of villagers. They set off to kill Ania.
* * *
"Mother," Ania said softly, pushing aside the curtains and looking at the wide line of yellow torches approaching their house. Sara gazed up from her sewing and saw the raw terror in her daughter’s eyes. The dreaded day had come.
"Ania," the woman ordered, trying to make her voice calm, "you must get away!"
"But-,"
"Now!" she screamed.
Ania’s deep green eyes widened, and she nodded faster and faster, the orange-scarlet glow of the fireplace illuminating her gray face. Her long dress swirled around her fragile body as she turned and fled, like a nimble gazelle. She took one last fleeting glance at her mother, who had walked over to the window and was peeking through the curtains.
Ania ran -- just as the front door violently burst inward.
* * *
The young half drow did not look behind her; she simply pumped her legs as fast as possible, silently praying to all of the gods that her mother was safe. Her breath came out in ragged gasps as she surged through the words, seeing everything as though it were daylight with her dark elven eyes.
Ania did not know where to go; she had no money, no weapons, nothing besides the housedress that she always wore. The sharp brambles tore deep into her skin, drawing angry red welts across her legs as she moved through the heavy underbrush, heart hammering within her chest.
Finally, exhausted and bleeding from several oozing scratches, Ania collapsed limply to her knees below a bush, supporting her body with her hands as she panted. She did not know how long she had been running, or how far she had run. Her body ached all over and she wanted so desperately to just lie down and sleep forever. The fast panting of her lungs gave way to slow, shallow breaths and then slumber fell heavily upon her.
Ania’s awoke to the voices of women and smelled the strong odor of smoke. Groaning, she stood up and craned her head toward the sound, noticing the first pink rays of dawn stretching through the trees.
"I must have been asleep longer than I thought," Ania realized, stumbling up. She was hungry, and the image of her mother’s face kept appearing in her mind. Quickly, she decided to sneak up to the nearby village and steal some food.
She made her way through the trees silently and then hid behind an ancient oak. There was no one in the village, save for a few chickens that pecked at the brown earth in search of food. Unused tools were piled against the houses.
Ania’s eyes spotted a tattered cloak hanging among other clothes on a thin wire, and she crept toward it, holding her breath, lest she be caught. She did not know why drow elves were so despised by the humans, or why they would hunt her like some beast.
Pulling the cloak off of the wire, her nose wrinkled at its musty smell. Ania glanced about before slipping it on.
"What are you doing?" asked a voice behind her.
Startled, the young dark elf whirled and saw a russet-haired man glaring at her, large patches of greasy filth smeared on his gaunt visage. He narrowed his gray eyes coldly when he saw her gray face and pointed ears. Ania didn’t know what to do; she was terrified.
Just before the man moved forward, a scratchy hiss resounded and they both looked up at the giant red dragon that stepped slowly from behind a hut, its plated wings folded at its side.
"Why aren’t you working, mortal?" it rumbled.
It's forked tongue flicking out as it noticed Ania, who gaped in shock. The dragon's horned head lowered, and the monster studied her with lizard eyes, its hot breath, redolent of decayed meat and smoke, washing across her numb face.
"A drow, I see. I have no need for your gray meat save as an offering to the eternal hunger within," the red-scaled brute thundered, glowering at her balefully. Ania’s agile mind was already working, thinking up a plan to save herself. She had no weapon, except for her wits.
Feigning innocent amazement, she walked forward as might a babe before unicorn. The dragon bared its foot-long yellow teeth in amusement.
"A dragon! What an honor it is to behold such noble creature!"
The dragon hissed proudly, puffing out its armored chest. "Not just any dragon," he stated, "but Firewing, the most powerful of all dragonkind!"
Ania ignored the human behind her, whose face had blanched at the sight of Firewing.
"True," she said slowly, her voice tinged with a hint of feigned doubt. Firewing frowned. His broad pupils narrowed into slits and his spiked tail twitched slightly.
"I sense your doubt, drow," the monster said, unfolding its wings to block the morning sun.
"Well, I do not want to insult the great Firewing, but-,"
"But what?" roared the dragon, its black claws tearing deep into the earth.
She sighed.
"My people are a magical race, and though I am only a half drow, I have heard the legends of dark elven wizards who could transform into any creature imaginable," Ania told the hulking giant. She stepped sideways toward one of the pile of tools, discreetly moving a pitch fork with her right foot. The dragon, whose scales could easily turn away human-made weapons, paid little mind to her motions. Coils of black smoke erupted from its slit-like nostrils as he considered her challenge.
"No mortal can defeat the magic of a dragon! Not even the powerful transmutations of an elder drow can match what we can will with our minds alone" Firewing argued, tendrils of inky smoke and flames drifting from his mouth.
"I do not wish to anger such a magnificent being as your self, great one, but I have seen the scrolls on which were writ the tales of the dark elven mages," replied Ania.
The dragon considered this, then boasted: "I will turn into anything you name!"
Ania grinned within and pretended to think for a while. "How about an ogre? The legends say that the ogre's form is a challenging shape," she said sweetly.
With a guttural grunt, Firewing transformed himself into a hideous ogre, smiling with pride at his victory.
"What about a tiger?"
The ogre form melted into the distinctive black and orange shape as the dragon chanted, its cat eyes glittering. Ania challenged Firewing to turn into a variety of mythical creatures until the monster grew tired of the game.
"Your people are no match for the magic of my immortal race; I am simply better than you dark elven wizards," he bluntly declared, eyeing her hungrily.
Ania swallowed dryly.
"Well, there is definitely one shape that drow can do that you cannot."
"What?" Firewing furiously demanded.
The half elf searched for something, anything.
"A raccoon," she answered.
"That’s it?" The red monster howled with laughter, "I will show you once and for all and then I taste the blood that drips from your heart!"
With that, he shrank and melted into a brown-furred raccoon. Ania slammed her foot on the teeth pitchfork's teeth and the handle shot up into her hands. The creature's new body was still rippling into its furry form when Ania speared him. Firewing shrieked in agony and writhed, crimson blood pooling on the ground below. Then, with a sickening gurgle, he grew limp. Ania dropped the pitchfork as the body violently turned back into its original form, except for a gaping wound above the heart.
The villagers of Acrara, who had been the monster’s slaves, stopped working and huddled around the prone corpse in shock. After awhile, Taireth spoke.
"Where is she? Where is the drow that saved this village?"
But no one knew, for Ania had already disappeared.
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Copyright © 1999 by Zezii Kaa'Teirn. This material may be distributed only subject to the terms and conditions set forth in the Open Publication License, v.04 1998 or later (the latest version is presently available at http://www.opencontent.org/openpub/).
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