Dragon Bound - The Saga of Flames and Frost

Chapter 1

"Only the woman

Most accomplished in all arts

Shall be bound to the dragon."

-- The Magistrar's Creed

Illara pulled hard at the forged iron links which chained her, arms spread, to the pair of massive stone pillars on the wind-swept plateau. Her long, dark hair streamed like a banner behind her. A distant part of her mind noted that, draped as she was in a thin, silken crimson dress, she should be shivering in the chill dusk air. After all, winter had barely released its icy grip on the lands and tonight there was not even the cool shimmer of the moon to add a shadow of warmth. The very stars were hidden by thick, billowing clouds, as if what were about to transpire were secret and forbidden.

Her eyes traced down, down, down the twisting dirt track to where the finest warriors from all corners of the three kingdoms were hastily retreating to the massive keep. The men and women were claiming that their speed was for the ceremony, of course. The giving of thanks. The tall, golden spiral candles being lit. The burning of purple sage in pewter braziers. All in hope that their noble sacrifice would be accepted. That, with its completion, would come a bountiful planting season and a lush harvest for all.

She was that sacrifice.

She looked down at her body. Her skin was as pale as new fallen snow, carefully kept from the ravages of the sun by her ever-ambitious mother. This culmination had always been her mother's plan for her, from the moment Illara had been born, and Illara had no doubt that even now the woman was thrilling with being the center of attention. Persephana the Mother of the Chosen. Persephana the Birther of the Dragon Bound.

Illara chuckled. Her mother had almost been chosen for this very purpose just over twenty years ago. Almost – but she had fallen short. Persephana had been learned enough. Wise enough. Even skilled enough with sword and bow. But, on the final testing, another woman had proven herself to be the epitome of sensuality.

The judgement had rung bitter in her mother's mouth every day since.

Through Illara, Persephana was finally finding her redemption.

Illara tossed back her hair and examined her outfit again. The deep crimson silks looked almost like blood in the fading sunset. The shimmering fabric hugged her curves. She smiled. Her mother had taught her well how to make the most of her body's shape. How to draw a man into doing whatever she wished of him. How to turn the strongest of warriors into a pawn for her desires.

Illara had been born with many of the necessary dragon bound traits already in place. Her mind was quick to pick up the finer points of astronomy and language. Her empathy was fine tuned; she could sense nuances in a negotiator's hesitation. Her natural coordination meant that learning the technique of bow and shield came to her as easily as riding a horse.

But it was the sensual arts where her mother had focused her strongest efforts. The one area where Persephana had failed.

So Illara had trained. She had learned the art of massage from the Dwarf of Erion. The subtle use of fragrances from Gilia. Countless exercises and techniques from talented women and men all up and down the Kingdom. At every step she practiced ... practiced ...

And then came the tests.

After all those years of study, of crawling from her bed before dawn and collapsing onto her pillow long past dark, the goal had at last been reached. At last – at long last - she earned her reward.

She was the sacrifice.

Her eyes shone with pride as she looked out over the stretch of land before her. The dense forests of pine and birch. The curling river with its schools of trout. The far distant reaches where the thundering ocean crashed onto rocky shores. The massive capital was a mere shadow at this distance, but she knew it was there. And she knew that all within it were calling her name. Praising her talents. Praying with everything they held dear that their offering would be accepted.

Illara smiled.

She had no doubt that it would be.

She looked over her shoulder into the dark, rocky stretches of the Negamor Range. The jagged spikes and plummeting chasms were wreathed in dense mists. The rugged landscape formed the easternmost border of the three kingdoms and was as good as a solid wall. None had ever found a path through to another side. Most said that the mountains simply went on forever, until the end of the Earth. Illara could believe that. For from her plateau there was no sign of them stopping. They simply went on and on and –

Was that motion?

She furrowed her brow in confusion, trying to make out the shape. It would not be the dragon. Not yet. There were a good four hours until midnight, until when he would swoop down from the highest clouds and claim her. He would snap the iron links as if they were the thinnest embroidery threads and carry her away into his mountain lair. He would bind her to him and complete the sacrifice.

It was what would save their kingdom for the coming year.

But no, this was not a massive, flame-filled beast on wings of fury. It was something smaller, much smaller, and it was making its way through the narrowest of mountain passes at the pace of an ant.

It was coming toward her.

For the first time in months – perhaps in years – a trickle of nervous concern shimmered through her. This wasn't part of the plan. Her mother had laid out every step of her progress with the careful precision of a master architect. Which guild-master to seduce. Which banker to whisper into the ear of. Which shade of orange to wear to the banquet to catch the eye of the King. All of that careful planning – every minute decision – had led her exactly where she'd wanted to be.

And now some itinerant preacher in the wilds was going to screw it all up?

For surely that was what he had to be. No sane person ventured into the mountains. The dragons held a tight control over their domain. The Hallorans to the south and the Baronians to the north rotated with her own kingdom for the yearly sacrifice. They selected the most talented – the most skilled – of the women. They offered her to be bound to the dragon.

They prayed that the committee had chosen wisely.

For the alternative could spell doom for all three kingdoms.

There was a glint of light on metal as the last tiny sliver of the sun slipped below the horizon, and Illara shook her head in disbelief.

No.

It could not be.

It was a knight.