Mind not the numbering on the pages, some of them are getting ready for publication, I need to edit the rest. I will upload the story bit by bit, so please, take the journey with me.
Chapter 1: Fire-Start.
Spoiler
She was drowning herself in a pewter mug of domestic ale, brought to her by a pretty, shapely barmaid. At least before She’d turned in for the night and was replaced by a surly looking man who she quickly identified as the rather portly owner. Feeling displeased with this turn of events, she retreated to the quiet sanctity of her mind, though did allow herself to fall back onto her old habit of picturing far more than just how the Lass decorated her bedroom. She wouldn’t have gotten on that well with Her, but it was still fun to dream.
She took a long swill, causing the amber liquid to become disturbed, almost clouded, inside the filthy, time-scarred vessel. She’d been on the road for far too long to let the simple matter of clouded ale bother her. It didn’t change the the flavor much, so she wasn’t going to complain. Besides, she smirked to herself, what if she’d inadvertently insulted the Barmaids dishwashing skills? That’s ruin her chances of finding out if Her talents lay elsewhere.
1
She traced her fingertips along the rough wood, feeling the dents, scrapes, cuts, all of the imperfections in the warped wood. Her mind turned down a dark path again, and she laughed morbidly. She felt a connection with the countertop. Abused. Worn. As though she’d taken one to many years of beatings she did nothing to earn.
She shook herself. She was road-weary, exhausted, and in need of a good bath. Her eyes
swiveled around the dingy room, a habit she’d developed years earlier, and one that’d saved her hide more than a few times. She almost wished somebody would pick a fight with her. It would certainly break the relentless monotony she faced thus far.
She was young, but already an accomplished warrior, if only a little untrained. Her long, vibrantly red hair, normally neatly pushed back over her head, and tied in a sleek, well-groomed ponytail, was messy, a few stray strands hanging over her sharply angled face, over which she traced her steady fingers, feeling the taut smoothness of her pale, freckled skin broken only by a few fading scars.
Calypso was gorgeous, and she knew it. Unkempt though she was, she still knew she had more of a chance with most women than all the men in the bar. Even if she, herself, was a woman. Though, that wasn’t saying much, as her fellow patrons were mostly grizzled, spitting, ornery older gents. Not elderly, but they were no spring hares. She tried to ignore the leering barman. Much less inviting than the Busty Barmaid. That brought her to an even more troubling line of thought.
She was the last of a noble, dying line. This distressed her. The bronze dragons were the most regal of all colors, strong, clever, and fierce.
2
And she was proud. Even now, she loathed having to disguise her exotic features by tarnishing them with dirt.
She took another swill of her drink, glaring contemptuously at the hefty barman who had been eyeing her distrustfully. She’d hoped the man had more sense than he did teeth. If not, Calypso was going to be in for another long night.
Her wards, a pair of brothers, decided--though, Calypso herself had no say in the matter--to meet up with her in another town. Without their usual cheer, she was feeling very cynical.
“Room please,” she growled out, in a tone implying that ‘no,’ was probably not the best, nor the wisest answer.
“We don’t serve yer kind here,” the man spat unpleasantly. He cracked a toothless sneer, and squinted at her, as if trying to determine her worth. Calypso wondered if this was a common practise, of if the man simply always looked unpleasant.
“What the hell do you mean, “yer kind,”?” Calypso stood swiftly, overturning her chair, and rather violently slamming her fists on the dingy counter, the barman was not impressed. She started to remember why she’d stopped drinking in the first place. An angry snarl ripped from her chest, she only just managed to bar it behind her too-sharp teeth.
“Yer kind, ye fool. De’ya not know yer own scales, dragon?”
The room went quiet. All eyes slowly fixed themselves on Calypso. She felt fire crackling at her fingertips. She was ready to slaughter the man for his insolence. Her gaze flicked to the watching men. Better to leave the cur alone, she decided.
3
Calypso was quiet for a while. The only sounds were the scrapes of chair legs against the dark, scuffed wood floor, and the hissing flicker of the candle lights, which gave off an unpleasant greasy smell. Her head swam.
“Sir, you must be mistaken. The last dragon had to have died out years ago, it’s practically common knowledge-”
“Lies.” The man interrupted. “I’ve seen ‘em with me own eyes. And I’ll be damned if yer not one o’ the rot-breath scoundrels. Lost me only daughter, an’ me beloved to yer kind,” He finished his poor excuse for a sentence with a nasty, spiteful grin. Calypso looked at him incredulously. She didn’t know much about what humans found attractive, but she doubted this portly, almost butcher like man, had ever known a woman intimately. At least not of her own will.
She kept an indulgent smirk at bay, better not to rub him the wrong way. She was trying to get out of a fight. Not cause one.
She amused herself with the thought that only moments before, she was wishing some drunk patron would have a go at her. Now she was using the most of her verbal training to get herself out of the mess.
She looked around the room, the bar patrons were acting as though they didn’t care, but Calypso could see the keen intent in their all to rigid postures, and their quiet, controlled conversation. She guessed it wasn’t a prospering village.
Calypso sighed. She knew the man’s game. Get the pack a taste for blood and they’d hunt for you all on their own, with deadly purpose. She knew that what humans lacked in physical
4
prowess, they more than made up for in extremely annoying tenacity.
The only trouble then would be to wrest the prey-and the prize- from the boozing hounds. She took a deep breath and her body tensed, preparing to run, if necessary.
“I think you need to get your eyes seen to, old man. You must be senile if you think I’m a dragon. I’m no more a dragon than you are a fae spirit.” The man snorted offensively in
response. Calypso was acutely aware of the slowly encroaching mob. “Besides, look. Kings armor,” she nodded brusquely to the breastplate, worn though it was, she wore on her broad chest.
“Bah, don’t mean nothin’ boys,” he addressed the eager crowd now. “They dragons be crafty. Bet she looted it from some poor job she’d hard-boiled in it on’y heart-beats before. Jus’ look at the scorch marks! That’d be the work of a dragon if I’ve ever seen it.”
Calypso could have laughed. He certainly had one thing right. A soldier decided to attack her in her home range. Take both her hoard and her head. It was a simple matter of cooking the life out of him and tossing the charred, useless human over the waterfall. Not that they really had a use anyway, except maybe mobile snack-boxes. She’d taken the armor as her own human body was scaleless and vulnerable. But it was useful when stealth was important. Nobody noticed a roaming warrior, even if she wasn’t the standard issue masculine figure. Nobody aside from the women that is. Not that she minded much.
“Now now, gentlemen, let’s not be hasty here. He’s obviously had more than a few rounds tonight…” Her usual commanding, confident air fled her, and instinctual panic threatened to consume her rationality. She didn’t want to run yet. She was tired enough without having to
5
flee with a blood thirsty mob at her heels.
She saw no other option however, with the familiar rasp of swords being drawn from unseen sheaths. She steeled herself, leg muscles coiled, and struck her fingers against the countertop, as if lighting a match, then slashed them over top of it.
It erupted into a writhing mass of flames, going ablaze like dry scrub. The bartender
stumbled back with fear. Calypso took her opportunity, charged across the flame, and crashed through the door behind him into the chilled air of the quiet village streets. It wasn’t long before she had men snapping at her heels.
Nobles paid a hefty sum to any man that could slay a dragon. Calypso remembered as she ran, stories of a time when man respected--nay-- revered dragons.
But now? They were hunted like game. For their scales, and their blood, and their hearts, and out of the fear that dragons were sky-demons.
Her breastplate was cast aside, trampled under the haste of men to catch her, her black cloak billowed behind her like a pair of beating wings. Her footsteps echoed mockingly back through the all too familiar streets. She often found herself trapped in the cramped streets of the cobbled villages.
Sneering at the blatant displays of wealth they obviously didn’t have, she knocked over an iron wrought post. The wood of a decent sized cottage caught fire. She couldn’t risk flying out, they could have artillery, and the streets were too closely packed to transform.
She could draw their attention away from her escape. She’d have to get out on foot. She grinned. She could still do enough damage to distract them, let the village come alive in chaos
6
like an overturned nest of ants.
She could hear their frenzied shouts. One of them discovered her little gift. It wasn’t her fault their flimsy stick houses went up like kindling. She heard somebody shout to get the dogs into position, Calypso responded with a few swears, and pushed herself to go a little faster.
There were dried, knotted trees overhead, their finger-like branches seeming to reach for
the sky, as if to block all chance of escape. She shivered with dread.
Laughing at the audacity of humans, and to rid herself of the uncomfortable, chilling feeling, she tried to find her way out of the narrow, winding streets.
Why did they always have to build such complicated cities? She felt like a rat, running through all the sooty,gutter-like side streets to avoid being seen. They almost taunted her, pretending they weren’t as grimy as they were. If she could just lose them for long enough--and get out of the mongrels den--she could transform and escape in the inky blackness of the night.
The loud echo of her own footsteps seemed to magnify in the quiet. Perhaps she’d shaken them off her trail? Their orders were just muffled cries in the distance. She couldn’t even hear the braying of dogs. She felt a little better now, she berated herself for even worrying about them in the first place. Human and dogs alike, none of them could match the splendor of a Bronze dragon.
She was hardly even paying attention to where she was going now. She eased herself into a pleasant trot, going down back alleys, avoiding windows. She’d seen older men, obviously well past their prime, evacuating the women and children from their homes. Still, she didn’t want to take any chances.
7
She froze. She had the oddest sensation of being watched. A low hoot, a musical tone, directed her attention to a set of enormous amber eyes. The familiar sound calmed her. The faint rustle of wings made her realize: It was only an owl. It’s wide eyes narrowed at her, and it flew off. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear the slight disturbance of air. It was a big one.
Snapping out of her stupor, she continued to trot along at her own pace. Something about
the owl’s gaze unsettled her. It was knowing, almost. Intelligent. She heard a deep, wild howl punctured the night air. Shuddering, she turned down the path, and found herself staring at a dead end.
She heard the quiet sounds of intentionally muffled footfalls. They’d nearly caught her! Calypso would not stand for that. She grinned wolfishly and looked up.
She dug her sharp, black claws into a wall, hearing the men fan out behind her. The dark stone was no match for her, and she quickly scaled it, much to the displeasure of the shouting men on the ground below, so she had to give them some credit. They always made it so easy to escape.
She lept from slanting rooftop to slanting roof top. She managed, only just, to keep her balance. She could see across the whole city, and as long as she avoided the fire and stayed more in the middle, they wouldn’t be able to see her unless they knew she was there.
She supposed the village was-what was the human word for it again?-Charming. Picturesque, at least when you weren’t looking too closely at it’s grease laden stone. The wood was white, and well crafted, and hanging gardens prevailed over many of the windows. Sill, she found it homely, and aesthetically unappetizing.
8
It’s closely built houses, and maze-like streets certainly made it easy for her to lose them, easy for her to wrest herself from their clutches.
As she lept, one of the shingles gave. She slammed down hard on the roof, smashing through several, and slid down the roof about a tail-and-a-half before she caught herself, one leg dangling precariously off of the edge. She scrambled back up, kicking loose a few more shingles,
before swearing heatedly, and continuing on.
Something about her human form did please her. The magic coursing through It’s veins allowed her to accomplish feats few others could, and she did love to impress. She could provide a brief layer of air between her feet, and the roof, silencing the sound like--Like the frills on an owls flight feathers. Though, she thought bitterly, they couldn’t help her keep her balance.
The low, trilling hoot sounded again. She thought of the eyes. Was it watching her? She decided, on a whim, to follow it. After all, owls were considered good luck to dragons.
It lead her along another trail, angling towards the woodlands just outside the village. She could follow it easily by sensing the changes in air pressure as it beat its wings. She was grateful for the assistance. Looking back over her shoulder, Calypso realized that the men had been harrying her into a scattered net of archers and pikemen.
It flew off, leaving her at the edge of the clustered houses, to where they thinned out. She had to push the limits of her form to make the jumps. She slowed now, listening for the men. She could hear nothing more than the sounds of the fire smouldering to a halt. She stood at the edge of the village, on the rooftop. Calypso swore aloud. They were waiting for her here as well.
They didn’t seem to notice her, not yet at least. Not even after her rather obscene choice
9
of swear. She could see the entrance to the woods just a few wingspans away. She could make it. Without alerting them? Unlikely, but she could make it nonetheless. Once she got in, she could confuse them. Shake them off her tail, find a clearing, and fly off. She could see the crossbowmen patrolling the streets. If she took off now, she’d be a living pincushion. She may have been able to take off fast, but not that fast. Besides, it would take her a few moments to find
her feet when she did transform. And the fact that she’d crush the house beneath her draconic form. She didn’t want to be picking splinters out of her belly for the next few moons.
She backed up a few steps, and cleared them in one bone jarring leap. Rolling with the shock, softened by the lush grass, she headed for the dense woods.
The men cried out in shock. Her form suddenly appeared, melting into the shadows as quickly as she came. The gnarled trees seemed to open their arms in a sanctuary-like embrace, beckoning her. She redoubled her efforts, charging into the darkness. She could see far better than humans anyway. She felt confident. At least before they released the real dogs upon her.
She could hear their loping strides, catching up to her with ease. How could she be so stupid? She wanted to escape the humans, but now she found herself trapped by vicious mutts.
She took aim, and launched a fireball at one of them. It missed, hardly singeing its fur. Calypso felt as though the forest terrain was growing harder to navigate. Was her hearing getting sharper? The men sounded louder.
Brambles tore greedily at her clothes, branches whipped her at every pass, and it seemed to get harder to lift her feet. She threw another fireball, this time it hit something.
She groaned. How could she be so stupid? It was Autumn, for Fyre’s sake. The forest lit
10
up, temporary robbing her of sight. She stumbled, head first, as a maw of fire opened up around her, snapping at her sensitive mortal skin. She let out a cry of fear, and scrambled through the wave of flame.
It roared up, the cry of the all-devouring beast was unmistakable. Several of the dogs took themselves out in the first attack. They plunged headfirst into the inferno, unable to rid
themselves of the clinging globs of fire.
It held off the dogs, but the men were smarter. They dodged around the leaping beast she’d conjured. Her vision was spotty at best, and her lungs cried for the air her fire was stealing from her.
She heard them closing in. Stumbled down an embankment. Landed hard on her chest. She tried to get up, but didn’t watch where she was placing her unsteady feet. Her foot landed in the sharp teeth of a bear trap. She howled in rage and pain as it snapped shut, the cruel, greedy jaws of death.
The men surrounded her within minutes. She fell over, laying like an animal waiting to be beaten. One of them loosed an arrow into her side. She snarled, flame kinding at her lips, set in a cruel, hateful grimace.
The men advanced slowly, relishing the end of the hunt. The dogs seemed to grin with pleasure. A spear jabbed forth, and broke at the small of her back. She lashed back, but missed, her claws sailing through empty air.
She didn’t wish to die this way. She could feel herself slipping away. A rock whistled through the air, and struck her temple. She swore with as much force as she could manage. Her
11
conscious was fading. She could hardly make heads or tails of anything that wasn’t pain. Shuddering waves of it rolled down her body. Her muscles tensed with each one, causing blood to drip from her wounds.
A man stepped forward, stomping down hard on Calypso’s back. She felt something break. Red filled her vision, and it hurt to breathe in. She lashed out again, this time her claws
met with his flesh, rending his leg. The offending man let out a cry of pain, and lept back. Calypso’s success was met with a kick to the head. She groaned.
Calypso blinked blearily, confusion evident. Some of the dogs started to look nervous. Two even turned tail and fled. The men took no notice of it. They were far too absorbed in their dragon-baiting. Calypso noticed. She saw gleaming eyes from the brush, watching curiously.
Calypso let out a roar that would make her grandsire proud. The men just laughed, pelting her with rocks and jeers. She felt tears welling up. She clenched her fists, nails digging into the flesh on her palm. She would not cry. Now she was fighting a war on two fronts, and she was losing both. A single tear escaped, rushing down to the musty forest ground. More followed.
“Look! Dragons tears boys, think we can get a good price off the market?”
“I thought she-dragons were supposed to be tougher than that. Let’s see how much we can make this one scream, eh boys?”
She struggled to attack her tormentors, but her claws found no more purchase than empty air. She howled again, hating these foul beasts with a burning passion. She remembered her fire. She gathered the strength at her lips, ready to barrage them with flame. Another man kicked her in the head, forcing her to release the magic.
12
The jeers and taunts started to fade. She couldn’t hear as well, blood filling her ears. Exhaustion waved over her.
She prayed for a quick death, but knew it wouldn’t come. The men were determined to make her suffer first.
A lone wolf appeared. At first, the men didn’t see it. One nocked an arrow, aiming it for
Calypso, who no longer had any strength. She was crying freely now, something a warrior was sworn to never do.
It let out a deep, rich growl. The wolf was clearly displeased. The man froze. Every eye turned to look. The dogs fled. Their wild kin seemed to form by the scores from the darkness and shadows. The man with the bow loosed his arrow into the proud beast. All hell broke loose.
The wolves stormed the men, scattering them like fallen leaves. Blood filled the air, and the animals ravaged the idiot men. A large shadow detached itself from a wolf, vaguely humanoid looking. It knelt beside her, breaking the trap. Calypso was fading. She saw a face hovering over her. Her final thought was a pleasant one. A goddess has come to take her to the ether.
She took a long swill, causing the amber liquid to become disturbed, almost clouded, inside the filthy, time-scarred vessel. She’d been on the road for far too long to let the simple matter of clouded ale bother her. It didn’t change the the flavor much, so she wasn’t going to complain. Besides, she smirked to herself, what if she’d inadvertently insulted the Barmaids dishwashing skills? That’s ruin her chances of finding out if Her talents lay elsewhere.
1
She traced her fingertips along the rough wood, feeling the dents, scrapes, cuts, all of the imperfections in the warped wood. Her mind turned down a dark path again, and she laughed morbidly. She felt a connection with the countertop. Abused. Worn. As though she’d taken one to many years of beatings she did nothing to earn.
She shook herself. She was road-weary, exhausted, and in need of a good bath. Her eyes
swiveled around the dingy room, a habit she’d developed years earlier, and one that’d saved her hide more than a few times. She almost wished somebody would pick a fight with her. It would certainly break the relentless monotony she faced thus far.
She was young, but already an accomplished warrior, if only a little untrained. Her long, vibrantly red hair, normally neatly pushed back over her head, and tied in a sleek, well-groomed ponytail, was messy, a few stray strands hanging over her sharply angled face, over which she traced her steady fingers, feeling the taut smoothness of her pale, freckled skin broken only by a few fading scars.
Calypso was gorgeous, and she knew it. Unkempt though she was, she still knew she had more of a chance with most women than all the men in the bar. Even if she, herself, was a woman. Though, that wasn’t saying much, as her fellow patrons were mostly grizzled, spitting, ornery older gents. Not elderly, but they were no spring hares. She tried to ignore the leering barman. Much less inviting than the Busty Barmaid. That brought her to an even more troubling line of thought.
She was the last of a noble, dying line. This distressed her. The bronze dragons were the most regal of all colors, strong, clever, and fierce.
2
And she was proud. Even now, she loathed having to disguise her exotic features by tarnishing them with dirt.
She took another swill of her drink, glaring contemptuously at the hefty barman who had been eyeing her distrustfully. She’d hoped the man had more sense than he did teeth. If not, Calypso was going to be in for another long night.
Her wards, a pair of brothers, decided--though, Calypso herself had no say in the matter--to meet up with her in another town. Without their usual cheer, she was feeling very cynical.
“Room please,” she growled out, in a tone implying that ‘no,’ was probably not the best, nor the wisest answer.
“We don’t serve yer kind here,” the man spat unpleasantly. He cracked a toothless sneer, and squinted at her, as if trying to determine her worth. Calypso wondered if this was a common practise, of if the man simply always looked unpleasant.
“What the hell do you mean, “yer kind,”?” Calypso stood swiftly, overturning her chair, and rather violently slamming her fists on the dingy counter, the barman was not impressed. She started to remember why she’d stopped drinking in the first place. An angry snarl ripped from her chest, she only just managed to bar it behind her too-sharp teeth.
“Yer kind, ye fool. De’ya not know yer own scales, dragon?”
The room went quiet. All eyes slowly fixed themselves on Calypso. She felt fire crackling at her fingertips. She was ready to slaughter the man for his insolence. Her gaze flicked to the watching men. Better to leave the cur alone, she decided.
3
Calypso was quiet for a while. The only sounds were the scrapes of chair legs against the dark, scuffed wood floor, and the hissing flicker of the candle lights, which gave off an unpleasant greasy smell. Her head swam.
“Sir, you must be mistaken. The last dragon had to have died out years ago, it’s practically common knowledge-”
“Lies.” The man interrupted. “I’ve seen ‘em with me own eyes. And I’ll be damned if yer not one o’ the rot-breath scoundrels. Lost me only daughter, an’ me beloved to yer kind,” He finished his poor excuse for a sentence with a nasty, spiteful grin. Calypso looked at him incredulously. She didn’t know much about what humans found attractive, but she doubted this portly, almost butcher like man, had ever known a woman intimately. At least not of her own will.
She kept an indulgent smirk at bay, better not to rub him the wrong way. She was trying to get out of a fight. Not cause one.
She amused herself with the thought that only moments before, she was wishing some drunk patron would have a go at her. Now she was using the most of her verbal training to get herself out of the mess.
She looked around the room, the bar patrons were acting as though they didn’t care, but Calypso could see the keen intent in their all to rigid postures, and their quiet, controlled conversation. She guessed it wasn’t a prospering village.
Calypso sighed. She knew the man’s game. Get the pack a taste for blood and they’d hunt for you all on their own, with deadly purpose. She knew that what humans lacked in physical
4
prowess, they more than made up for in extremely annoying tenacity.
The only trouble then would be to wrest the prey-and the prize- from the boozing hounds. She took a deep breath and her body tensed, preparing to run, if necessary.
“I think you need to get your eyes seen to, old man. You must be senile if you think I’m a dragon. I’m no more a dragon than you are a fae spirit.” The man snorted offensively in
response. Calypso was acutely aware of the slowly encroaching mob. “Besides, look. Kings armor,” she nodded brusquely to the breastplate, worn though it was, she wore on her broad chest.
“Bah, don’t mean nothin’ boys,” he addressed the eager crowd now. “They dragons be crafty. Bet she looted it from some poor job she’d hard-boiled in it on’y heart-beats before. Jus’ look at the scorch marks! That’d be the work of a dragon if I’ve ever seen it.”
Calypso could have laughed. He certainly had one thing right. A soldier decided to attack her in her home range. Take both her hoard and her head. It was a simple matter of cooking the life out of him and tossing the charred, useless human over the waterfall. Not that they really had a use anyway, except maybe mobile snack-boxes. She’d taken the armor as her own human body was scaleless and vulnerable. But it was useful when stealth was important. Nobody noticed a roaming warrior, even if she wasn’t the standard issue masculine figure. Nobody aside from the women that is. Not that she minded much.
“Now now, gentlemen, let’s not be hasty here. He’s obviously had more than a few rounds tonight…” Her usual commanding, confident air fled her, and instinctual panic threatened to consume her rationality. She didn’t want to run yet. She was tired enough without having to
5
flee with a blood thirsty mob at her heels.
She saw no other option however, with the familiar rasp of swords being drawn from unseen sheaths. She steeled herself, leg muscles coiled, and struck her fingers against the countertop, as if lighting a match, then slashed them over top of it.
It erupted into a writhing mass of flames, going ablaze like dry scrub. The bartender
stumbled back with fear. Calypso took her opportunity, charged across the flame, and crashed through the door behind him into the chilled air of the quiet village streets. It wasn’t long before she had men snapping at her heels.
Nobles paid a hefty sum to any man that could slay a dragon. Calypso remembered as she ran, stories of a time when man respected--nay-- revered dragons.
But now? They were hunted like game. For their scales, and their blood, and their hearts, and out of the fear that dragons were sky-demons.
Her breastplate was cast aside, trampled under the haste of men to catch her, her black cloak billowed behind her like a pair of beating wings. Her footsteps echoed mockingly back through the all too familiar streets. She often found herself trapped in the cramped streets of the cobbled villages.
Sneering at the blatant displays of wealth they obviously didn’t have, she knocked over an iron wrought post. The wood of a decent sized cottage caught fire. She couldn’t risk flying out, they could have artillery, and the streets were too closely packed to transform.
She could draw their attention away from her escape. She’d have to get out on foot. She grinned. She could still do enough damage to distract them, let the village come alive in chaos
6
like an overturned nest of ants.
She could hear their frenzied shouts. One of them discovered her little gift. It wasn’t her fault their flimsy stick houses went up like kindling. She heard somebody shout to get the dogs into position, Calypso responded with a few swears, and pushed herself to go a little faster.
There were dried, knotted trees overhead, their finger-like branches seeming to reach for
the sky, as if to block all chance of escape. She shivered with dread.
Laughing at the audacity of humans, and to rid herself of the uncomfortable, chilling feeling, she tried to find her way out of the narrow, winding streets.
Why did they always have to build such complicated cities? She felt like a rat, running through all the sooty,gutter-like side streets to avoid being seen. They almost taunted her, pretending they weren’t as grimy as they were. If she could just lose them for long enough--and get out of the mongrels den--she could transform and escape in the inky blackness of the night.
The loud echo of her own footsteps seemed to magnify in the quiet. Perhaps she’d shaken them off her trail? Their orders were just muffled cries in the distance. She couldn’t even hear the braying of dogs. She felt a little better now, she berated herself for even worrying about them in the first place. Human and dogs alike, none of them could match the splendor of a Bronze dragon.
She was hardly even paying attention to where she was going now. She eased herself into a pleasant trot, going down back alleys, avoiding windows. She’d seen older men, obviously well past their prime, evacuating the women and children from their homes. Still, she didn’t want to take any chances.
7
She froze. She had the oddest sensation of being watched. A low hoot, a musical tone, directed her attention to a set of enormous amber eyes. The familiar sound calmed her. The faint rustle of wings made her realize: It was only an owl. It’s wide eyes narrowed at her, and it flew off. She couldn’t see it, but she could hear the slight disturbance of air. It was a big one.
Snapping out of her stupor, she continued to trot along at her own pace. Something about
the owl’s gaze unsettled her. It was knowing, almost. Intelligent. She heard a deep, wild howl punctured the night air. Shuddering, she turned down the path, and found herself staring at a dead end.
She heard the quiet sounds of intentionally muffled footfalls. They’d nearly caught her! Calypso would not stand for that. She grinned wolfishly and looked up.
She dug her sharp, black claws into a wall, hearing the men fan out behind her. The dark stone was no match for her, and she quickly scaled it, much to the displeasure of the shouting men on the ground below, so she had to give them some credit. They always made it so easy to escape.
She lept from slanting rooftop to slanting roof top. She managed, only just, to keep her balance. She could see across the whole city, and as long as she avoided the fire and stayed more in the middle, they wouldn’t be able to see her unless they knew she was there.
She supposed the village was-what was the human word for it again?-Charming. Picturesque, at least when you weren’t looking too closely at it’s grease laden stone. The wood was white, and well crafted, and hanging gardens prevailed over many of the windows. Sill, she found it homely, and aesthetically unappetizing.
8
It’s closely built houses, and maze-like streets certainly made it easy for her to lose them, easy for her to wrest herself from their clutches.
As she lept, one of the shingles gave. She slammed down hard on the roof, smashing through several, and slid down the roof about a tail-and-a-half before she caught herself, one leg dangling precariously off of the edge. She scrambled back up, kicking loose a few more shingles,
before swearing heatedly, and continuing on.
Something about her human form did please her. The magic coursing through It’s veins allowed her to accomplish feats few others could, and she did love to impress. She could provide a brief layer of air between her feet, and the roof, silencing the sound like--Like the frills on an owls flight feathers. Though, she thought bitterly, they couldn’t help her keep her balance.
The low, trilling hoot sounded again. She thought of the eyes. Was it watching her? She decided, on a whim, to follow it. After all, owls were considered good luck to dragons.
It lead her along another trail, angling towards the woodlands just outside the village. She could follow it easily by sensing the changes in air pressure as it beat its wings. She was grateful for the assistance. Looking back over her shoulder, Calypso realized that the men had been harrying her into a scattered net of archers and pikemen.
It flew off, leaving her at the edge of the clustered houses, to where they thinned out. She had to push the limits of her form to make the jumps. She slowed now, listening for the men. She could hear nothing more than the sounds of the fire smouldering to a halt. She stood at the edge of the village, on the rooftop. Calypso swore aloud. They were waiting for her here as well.
They didn’t seem to notice her, not yet at least. Not even after her rather obscene choice
9
of swear. She could see the entrance to the woods just a few wingspans away. She could make it. Without alerting them? Unlikely, but she could make it nonetheless. Once she got in, she could confuse them. Shake them off her tail, find a clearing, and fly off. She could see the crossbowmen patrolling the streets. If she took off now, she’d be a living pincushion. She may have been able to take off fast, but not that fast. Besides, it would take her a few moments to find
her feet when she did transform. And the fact that she’d crush the house beneath her draconic form. She didn’t want to be picking splinters out of her belly for the next few moons.
She backed up a few steps, and cleared them in one bone jarring leap. Rolling with the shock, softened by the lush grass, she headed for the dense woods.
The men cried out in shock. Her form suddenly appeared, melting into the shadows as quickly as she came. The gnarled trees seemed to open their arms in a sanctuary-like embrace, beckoning her. She redoubled her efforts, charging into the darkness. She could see far better than humans anyway. She felt confident. At least before they released the real dogs upon her.
She could hear their loping strides, catching up to her with ease. How could she be so stupid? She wanted to escape the humans, but now she found herself trapped by vicious mutts.
She took aim, and launched a fireball at one of them. It missed, hardly singeing its fur. Calypso felt as though the forest terrain was growing harder to navigate. Was her hearing getting sharper? The men sounded louder.
Brambles tore greedily at her clothes, branches whipped her at every pass, and it seemed to get harder to lift her feet. She threw another fireball, this time it hit something.
She groaned. How could she be so stupid? It was Autumn, for Fyre’s sake. The forest lit
10
up, temporary robbing her of sight. She stumbled, head first, as a maw of fire opened up around her, snapping at her sensitive mortal skin. She let out a cry of fear, and scrambled through the wave of flame.
It roared up, the cry of the all-devouring beast was unmistakable. Several of the dogs took themselves out in the first attack. They plunged headfirst into the inferno, unable to rid
themselves of the clinging globs of fire.
It held off the dogs, but the men were smarter. They dodged around the leaping beast she’d conjured. Her vision was spotty at best, and her lungs cried for the air her fire was stealing from her.
She heard them closing in. Stumbled down an embankment. Landed hard on her chest. She tried to get up, but didn’t watch where she was placing her unsteady feet. Her foot landed in the sharp teeth of a bear trap. She howled in rage and pain as it snapped shut, the cruel, greedy jaws of death.
The men surrounded her within minutes. She fell over, laying like an animal waiting to be beaten. One of them loosed an arrow into her side. She snarled, flame kinding at her lips, set in a cruel, hateful grimace.
The men advanced slowly, relishing the end of the hunt. The dogs seemed to grin with pleasure. A spear jabbed forth, and broke at the small of her back. She lashed back, but missed, her claws sailing through empty air.
She didn’t wish to die this way. She could feel herself slipping away. A rock whistled through the air, and struck her temple. She swore with as much force as she could manage. Her
11
conscious was fading. She could hardly make heads or tails of anything that wasn’t pain. Shuddering waves of it rolled down her body. Her muscles tensed with each one, causing blood to drip from her wounds.
A man stepped forward, stomping down hard on Calypso’s back. She felt something break. Red filled her vision, and it hurt to breathe in. She lashed out again, this time her claws
met with his flesh, rending his leg. The offending man let out a cry of pain, and lept back. Calypso’s success was met with a kick to the head. She groaned.
Calypso blinked blearily, confusion evident. Some of the dogs started to look nervous. Two even turned tail and fled. The men took no notice of it. They were far too absorbed in their dragon-baiting. Calypso noticed. She saw gleaming eyes from the brush, watching curiously.
Calypso let out a roar that would make her grandsire proud. The men just laughed, pelting her with rocks and jeers. She felt tears welling up. She clenched her fists, nails digging into the flesh on her palm. She would not cry. Now she was fighting a war on two fronts, and she was losing both. A single tear escaped, rushing down to the musty forest ground. More followed.
“Look! Dragons tears boys, think we can get a good price off the market?”
“I thought she-dragons were supposed to be tougher than that. Let’s see how much we can make this one scream, eh boys?”
She struggled to attack her tormentors, but her claws found no more purchase than empty air. She howled again, hating these foul beasts with a burning passion. She remembered her fire. She gathered the strength at her lips, ready to barrage them with flame. Another man kicked her in the head, forcing her to release the magic.
12
The jeers and taunts started to fade. She couldn’t hear as well, blood filling her ears. Exhaustion waved over her.
She prayed for a quick death, but knew it wouldn’t come. The men were determined to make her suffer first.
A lone wolf appeared. At first, the men didn’t see it. One nocked an arrow, aiming it for
Calypso, who no longer had any strength. She was crying freely now, something a warrior was sworn to never do.
It let out a deep, rich growl. The wolf was clearly displeased. The man froze. Every eye turned to look. The dogs fled. Their wild kin seemed to form by the scores from the darkness and shadows. The man with the bow loosed his arrow into the proud beast. All hell broke loose.
The wolves stormed the men, scattering them like fallen leaves. Blood filled the air, and the animals ravaged the idiot men. A large shadow detached itself from a wolf, vaguely humanoid looking. It knelt beside her, breaking the trap. Calypso was fading. She saw a face hovering over her. Her final thought was a pleasant one. A goddess has come to take her to the ether.
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6