Daughter of the Dragon

Chapter 12: The Templar (UPDATED)

Valant chewed his lip, trying to figure out what he should do. His first instinct had been to go back to Stelmond. He was an excellent swordsman. Even Rijek reluctantly admitted that. He could help save the village while the girls would be safe in the cave.

But how to convince the girls? It felt like they didn't listen to him at all. Not that he blamed them. He wasn't exactly the leader type. Darya and Meika seemed to know what to say or do, adroitly taking the lead. It was Meika who sent Valant back into the burning cottage. Jumping into a burning building to rescue Darya felt incredible. But Valant should have thought of it himself—or better yet, should have noticed his best friend was missing. He hadn't. Meika had. Valant hadn't been afraid, though. Not one bit. The courageous but dimwitted follower. That was Valant's role in the group.

Harress's vision had come true. Not just in a vague, prophetic sense. It had literally come true. Darya, surrounded by fire, Valant untouched by it. When he pulled away the burning curtain, the flames had vanished—and he hadn't felt a thing. When he stepped into the main room, he'd felt the heat of the burning cottage all right, but it hadn't been much worse than a typical day's work in the smithy.

Darya, too, had seemed fine, which was kind of strange. She was under the big table when Valant found her, away from the bulk of the flames, but the cabin's interior had been a veritable inferno. Darya's clothes had been smoldering—that had stopped as soon as Valant grabbed her arm—yet there was not a single mark on her, not one hair singed.

Darya should have been badly burned—so should Valant, for that matter—but she wasn't. She had some cuts, bruises, and a bump on her head, but no sign she had been in the middle of a raging fire. The only explanation Valant could come up with was magic—or the powers the elders had talked about. If that was what it was, Darya's powers were very different from Valant's. He smothered flames. Darya was untouched by them—though it obviously didn't extend to her clothes. The dragonbone bow seemed fine, however. But perhaps the bones of a fire-breathing dragon were impervious to flames?

Rijek's gift to Valant, the adamantine sword, lay in Valant's lap, a reminder of all that transpired during the day of madness. He ran his fingers over the scabbard, then gripped the hilt. It was a long, heavy blade, which fit Valant nicely. He was tall and strong enough to wield it properly.

It was a princely gift indeed. Adamantine wasn't inherently magical but was nearly unbreakable—which was fortunate since it couldn't be melted down or repaired—and extremely valuable. If people knew what he was carrying, he could get into trouble. Thieves might try and steal it, or brigands pry it out of Valant's dead hands. Not that there were any around Stelmond, but who knew what awaited down the road? Fortunately, the scabbard was plain leather and wood, and the hilt lacked the gold and gemstones the rich and powerful used to adorn their weapons. As long as he didn't draw it in public, no one would know what the sword was made of.

Darya and Meika were arguing—quarreling, really—about what to do. Meika wanted to go looking for her mother. Darya was all about her not going back. Meika was the daughter of the dragon and all that. It sounded like Darya meant it, although Valant wasn't sure why she was so confident. All they had was the word of one of the attackers. Maybe Darya had misunderstood what he said? Or perhaps he had been lying? But why show up at a little cottage in the backwoods and present such an outlandish lie?

"Please," Darya begged.

The blonde girl gripped Meika's hand with hers to stop the healer's daughter from storming into the woods. Meika tried to pull free, but Darya held her in a vice. Valant wondered how strong his friend had become. Stronger than he was? A slender girl of sixteen, stronger than the blacksmith's apprentice. The idea was both exciting and a bit scary at the same time.