THE SHADOWRIDER- THE FIGHT FOR FIRE (Book 1)

Chapter 1: A Brave Hero Is Born

Pain. Fear. Anguish. That's all she felt as she ran up to her dragon as he lay dying on the ground, his silver scales coated in blood. She felt an emotion run through her and one word came through her head. Redemption. She turned towards the culprit, her dark blue-black eyes changing to a white color. Her jet black hair changing to a snowy white. She shot dagger through his entire body with one glance and at once he could tell. He was going to die.

A young woman walked into the room and looked for a spot to sit. Her eyes traveled through the room as she heard people walking down the hallway, getting closer to the room she was currently in. She kept lifting her hand and whipping a small portion of her jet black hair from her face, as it kept getting in the way of her eyesight time and again. She saw two patted chairs sitting on the side of the room with a table in between, but ignored them, her eyes landing upon a small log in the corner of the room instead. Usually they used them to burn in the fireplace for warmth, but on occasion they would pull them out as chairs. The young woman sat on the stump, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the two other people. She looked at the table between the two chairs and noticed a dagger. Her eyes wandered up and down the blade, but she held back the urge to pick it up. “No, that's fathers.” she scolded herself.

The young woman noticed the smell of decaying fruit streaming throughout the house. Had father forgotten about the fruit?

She heard the steps getting closer and realized they were almost upon her. Her thoughts went silent as she watched two people walk in the room with her. One was an older woman, 40 summers old. Her hair was brown and she had tanned skin, showing she worked in the sun most of her days. The man seemed to be about 45 summers, with a rugged beard that looks as though it had been trimmed up with a blunt knife. He had no shirt on, revealing a large scar placed right above his right breast. His hair was a murky grey, and she had no resemblance to the man she called her father, unlike her mother.

The man smiled warmly at his daughter, while the woman watched with a loving, yet sad, look in her eyes.

“Zealot.” the man spoke with a rough voice. She looked up at him at the mention of her name, knowing he had something important to tell her. “I need you to go to the garden and get some berries. Your sister is ill and needs you to get three pounds of berries for the potion.”

“Father.” Zealot's velvety voice piped up. “I have no blade, and the only dagger we have is yours.”

Her father smiled at her fondly, as though he knew something she did not. He turned around and picked up the dagger from the table, his hands seeming to barely touch it for fear it could shatter. “You need a dagger, and I am getting to old to protect. On the other hand, at 15 summers, you should be able to handle the job.”

The man handed her the dagger as softly as possible. Zealot looked at it in wonder before finally wrapping her fingers around the hilt. A shock went through her body, sending her mind scrambling around trying to pick up the pieces to a broken puzzle. She let out a painful gasp and kneeled to the floor, holding her palms to her temples as though it would help ease the pain. Her mother watched in worry as her father came over to help her. She stuck up her hand signaling a clear message, stop. She let out a scream of pain, and it caught the attention of dragons and riders throughout the village they lived in. Finally, after what seemed like 40 summers, the dagger stopped making her feel pain.