The Dragon's Mark--A Twisted Fairy Tale

Part 1: The Dragon Bride of Sithonia

Southern Greece

First Century, CE

From the tiny window embedded in the wall, barely more than an opening, she watched the sun climb high over the treetops. They were coming; she always knew she would see this day. Even now, they marched down from the ruins of Sparta—she could see the wisps of angry, black smoke billowing, marking where they had been. Every moment brought them closer. She winced, shifting the pin at the corner of her draped toga. It weighed on her shoulder like a yoke of stones. Her scalp crawled under the mound of "fashionable" curls the hairdresser had promised were "all the rage" in Constantinople. What did she care? Would she ever get used to the Roman style, or would she die before that happened? She took her mind off impending doom by focusing on the sound of the slave girl polishing the floorstones. Shush-shush; shush-shush.

The scrubbing stopped as the door banged open, and finally, she tore her eyes away from the otherwise peaceful scene just outside the walls of the stronghold to survey the man covered in battle-filth, staring at her through the haze of other men's blood dripping into his eyes."They are coming, sister," he grunted hoarsely.

She swallowed her fear like the headstrong Greek she was. "I know they are, Brophis," she declared. "Let them come; they cannot reach us."

"Damn you, woman!" Brophis lunged forward and grabbed her wrist before she could pull it away. "A horde of them have breached the outer walls already, and they're laying waste to the village we swore to protect! It's only a matter of time before they are breaking down this very door!" He pointed to the wooden slab standing open beside them. "I have a squadron waiting to escort you—"

"No!" Nadia pulled away from her brother's grasp. "I will not run; let them defend the city, take down as many Goths as they can, protect the main gate. I'll stay right here—"

"Then you'll die, don't you see that?" Brophis barked. "Don't you know who is leading the charge against us right now? Gabbaldur himself! You know what he's like," Brophis let his eyes wander away from his sister's face, down to the fist clenched at her side. "You know what he seeks, and what he'll do to get it."

Nadia swallowed down the fear gathering in her throat. The Goth clansman was not to be trifled with—the very fact that no one ever heard a firsthand account of the villages he conquered was reputation enough to cause anyone he invaded to yield under him. She squeezed her hand until the pointed spur on the edge of the silver dragon wing bit into the opposite finger. Nadia held out her hand and waited until her brother looked at it. "This, you mean?" The rays of the setting sun cut through the tiny window and glinted off the fiery stone. "Every firstborn woman in our family has received this ring, Brophis; there are ceremonies—"

"What good will ceremonies do against that pagan?" Brophis spat. "Hang the tradition! Why do you wear the Dragon, anyway? Is a Dragon supposed to come save us in our time of need?"Nadia scowled at her brother. "I am his Bride, his Ring-Bearer; he will come for me. And I'll not let Gabbaldur or any other person take it away from me, be he Goth or Roman or Persian!"Brophis shook his head, as the sounds of frantic horns raising the alarm notified him that the outer gate had been breached. He nodded to his sister.

"If he wants you, he'll have to go through me, first," he promised.

Nadia swung the door shut behind him, and she heard the scraping, thudding sounds of the guards outside barricading the door. It wouldn't stop a swarthy man like Gabbaldur for very long, but at least it would delay him long enough for others to come to her aid.

She waited for the noise to die down, but the battle raged inside the stronghold now. Nadia sank to her knees with a groan, and her servant ran to assist her. Nadia refused her touch and curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her head as if to shut out the terror happening around her.