An Alkhemy of Dragons

Tristig Forge

Kanueth, settled on the southwest edge of the expansive continent of Deinovash, was a grand nation with a grand history. But for all its influence and splendor (and not to mention the opulence to be found within its borders) it harbored a dark truth.

The worst of this was perhaps not the truth itself, but that no one saw the truth as dark— rather a means to an end, a gateway into success and riches beyond what any nation could have predicted.

Through a crippling feat of alkhemy and hidden remnants of magic in the land, the terrible, magnificent dragons had been rounded up and locked away in a corner of the vast, hollowed mountains that had fast become known as Dragon's Deep, where they'd been kept for a sum of time approaching forty years, to be abused and drained time and again for the special flame they produced.

The wealthy upper class had gone so far as to auction them off as if they were pets to be controlled, or charming pieces to add to a menagerie.

Ola saw red at the thought of it.

She shifted the crate in her hold, hiking it up to get a better grip. It was unwieldy, especially while she was weary from a good brawl and still reeling from Gaspar's bit of news.

Though she wondered how good of a brawl it had been when the ring of finger-shaped bruises on her neck started throbbing.

Ban had nearly gotten the better of her. It would have been the natural way of things; large, brutish ogres devoured malnourished human girls on most food chains, anyhow. She chalked it up to years of hard labor in the mines and an occasional bout of good luck.

Ola neared the crossing between the Venalier Mines and Tristig Forge. After years and years of making the trip, it was still enough to stop her in her tracks. It was not so much a bridge as a hazard to her well-being. She'd seen it that way since she was young. An old childhood foe of hers, as it was.

The path across was a natural stone crossing made of long, connected stone arches that bridged the gap made by a massive canyon inside the mountains. The narrow crossing was insubstantial in Ola's mind, surrounded on either side by an all-encompassing blackness that she had never seen the bottom of. She wasn't convinced it had one.

Some time ago, as a child, there were other young orphans in the mines who had been cruel to outsiders (even though they would have been considered outsiders to the rest of the world).

To them, Ola had been one the moment she appeared from nowhere in particular, as far as they could tell, and they had taken it upon themselves to frighten and intimidate her, often seeking Ola out only to regale her with tales of ancient things that lurked in the very cavern. Something more terrible than a dragon.

Something far more twisted. Inky and writhing, feeding off the dark and the misery that resonated in the mountains. And if it reared its mighty head and caught sight of its prey... Well. The prey was never to be seen again.

The children had never given a name to this creature they'd conjured, being limited with their words, but the unknown had been altogether more terrifying. The story had stuck with Ola much longer than it should have. Stories always stuck with her, especially the ones her dragons would tell. Their stories were much different, told in stranger tempos and rhythms than other creatures. But Ola had been raised with them, and it was the orphan children's story that was the oddity.

That was a long time ago, Ola told herself often. Yet childhood fears had a way of lingering, somehow, carving out a permanent place in the mind to fester. Regardless, she pushed it further back, because she knew it was irrational. The stone was sturdy and unfailing. Her feet had passed over it hundreds of times and she had never fallen, and the abyss had never touched her.