The Time of the Dragonlords

Litua

The white walls of Lithua loomed on the horizon, their imposing facade casting shadows on the land below. The trees bordering it were strong and majestic with hundreds of years of tradition built upon their leafy branches. Once they danced, alive with magic and the laughter of the fae, but now they stood still, retreated so deep into their inner selves that they had forgotten how everything once was. Armour clad riders with capes of crimson and gold trimmed cloth rode on white stallions, patrolling the land below in order to maintain the law. They were the knights of the realm, famed for their bravery and loyalty through all the lands in the five great kingdoms. 

The weak sun of early morn was a back light to the image, breaking through the white clouds in high heaven. The sky was overcast and, for fear of getting wet, I hurried on down the steep valley. I had come to be a maid to the king's ward, a job that I had been allocated when I had come of age and decided to not marry one of the village lads. They were kind, but I didn't want to stay in the tiny hamlet of Helstion for the rest of my life, so I was forced to move on. Without any surviving family, I was a drain on the central pool of resources and had long outstayed my welcome. Normally you could stay on, but no one really wanted to be around me for any period of time due to my . . . Gift. 

The earth was slippery, and bark and dead leaves crunched underfoot with each step. I thought about making a fire, but I didn't have time to make one the conventional way as I needed to get to Lithua quickly, and they weren't very portable at best. I would risk persecution from the patrols of men, but it was bitterly cold.

Ignis, I whispered and my eyes glowed slightly, casting a faint glow onto my hands that I held out before me. Suddenly, a little flame of fire was dancing on my fingertip, helping to light the way and warming up the cold dawn.

I had enough sense to put it out when the town was close and carefully hurried past the guards, and waitied as the security guard carried out a routine inspection of my bag, in order to check that I wasn't trying to smuggle weapons, poison or magical items. Magic had long been banned in King Helion Du Roy's lands, and although Helstion was in Celeana's lands, the area belonging to the neighbouring Queen, magic was still unwelcome. But in Helion's, it was punishable on pain of death, even though those born with it could hardly get rid of it when they had it.The laws have been in place for more than twenty years, having been enacted during the night of screams after the King's coronation.

The guard returned my bag and gruffly gestured for me to go on into Camelot, I smiled slightly as he hadn't found the magic book, my grimoire, that I'd concealed in a secret panel. I could heal and see into people's bodies without the need for extra training, similar to the way dragon-riders and dragonlords controlled and spoke to their beasts, but the rest of it didn't come quite as easily - the spell for fire for instance.

I looked in wonder at Camelot, the biggest city in the whole of the five lands of Britain.The upper quarter of the city was the portion closest to the castle where craft-men lived with their families. The lower quarter was closer to the edge of the city where the lower classes lived in slums. In the middle of the city was the castle where the royal family and the nobility lived, and where court was held. The central market was full of hustle and bustle, tradesmen yelling for others to come buy their wares, children running amok and the stamp and whinny of horses and carts as they forced their way through the narrow streets. Mud was everywhere, making me very self-conscious of where I stood, and I could hear the cat-calls of several young men outside a tavern called The Smoking fish, near the citadel. But something unusual hung in the air, with tension so thick that you could cut it. Although it was market day, many people were not looking around the stalls, but instead were milling towards the white stone of the castle.

I followed the steady stream as it was in the direction that I needed to go in, but the feeling made me tense. We broke into the large courtyard, cobbled in white stone. I looked round and couldn't see anything unusual, but then I saw a man, whom the crowd gathered around. He was standing next to a wooden pyre, wood stacked all around.  The man was grimy with fresh bruises blossoming, his eyes shining with tears that made tracks through the dirt on his face, as his shoulders sagged in defeat. His clothes were dirty and torn, bare rags, bloodstained from obvious torture that he had had to endure.