Daughter of the Dragon

Chapter 8: The Warning (UPDATED)

Valant sat by Darya's side, holding her hand in his, listening to the young woman tell the elders about the stele they had found buried in the river.

Truth be told, Valant was only half listening. He was lost inside his own head, trying to take in everything that had happened—and failing miserably. How could you wake up expecting another day of tedious work and end up with this? The stone in the river. The Shadow. Dragons and knights. Rijek, a witch-hunter. The First Alderman, a thief. It was utterly incomprehensible.

Who was Rijek anyway? Where did he come from? Why had he ended up a witch-hunter? Why had he settled here of all places? Why did he care about the child found wandering alone in the woods? What other secrets did the old smith have? Valant was desperate to ask him a thousand questions.

"What about you, Valant? Do you have anything to add?" the Exemplar said after Darya was done.

Valant took a deep breath. "Not much. Only that the stele wasn't hot—it was cold and slippery, like a trout. I put my hand against it, but it was like the stone didn't want to be touched."

"Curious," the priest said. "To you, it was cold and slippery. To Darya, it was so hot she couldn't touch it. Curious indeed."

"The Stelmond stele," Daran interrupted. "That's... it's just an old story!"

"It's more than a story, Daran. There are records of it in the temple journals," Harress said. "It stood on the top of Old Green, where the great oak now stands. The villagers removed it more than three hundred years ago. But no record of where it was taken exists—I don't think anyone was supposed to find it."

"Surely the villagers would have remembered where they put it—if it was real," Daran said. It was more a question than a statement.

Harress shook his head. "Unpleasant things are quickly forgotten, my friend. Old men have been known to take their secrets with them into the grave."

"That's not important right now," Rijek said. "What's important is that the stele was broken."

"Broken? The villagers wouldn't have dared. Breaking it... how is that even possible?" the Exemplar said.

"The silver beech," Darya said. "It fell into the river. It hit the buried stele with enough force to push it out of the riverbed. It must have broken then."

"No," Rijek said without delay. "The steles are virtually indestructible. They were warded using high magic by the custodians of the Gold Order. They were supposed to last forever, unless—"

"Don't start with those old legends, Rijek," Daran said. "You don't even believe them yourself."

"The Shadow is breaking free," Rijek finished. "The Dark Coming is not something to believe in or not. It's what's written," he added.

The room became deathly quiet. Harress was stroking his beard, lost in his own thoughts. Daran looked like he wanted to say something but had misplaced his voice. The Shadow? The Shadow wasn't real. The Shadow was a myth from a long-lost age, from before the Highland Kingdom, a story older than the Gods themselves. Only little children believed in the Shadow.

"We are touched by the divine, yes?" Darya's soft voice cut through the silence. "Like the heroes of old?"

"Yes," Rijek confirmed, voice equally soft.

"So we have... powers now?"

"Possibly. Probably," Rijek said. "Though I've no idea what kind of powers you might have. We've only got old stories to go by. This is something that only happens in times of dire need."