A Time For Dragons

Chapter One -- Madara

Fuck the King. Madara pursed her lips, holding her tongue as a guard spat on her. Her fingers went to the close shorn quarter of her scalp and traced over the branded "A" there. Bearing the mark of the adulteress was the price she paid to enter the city. It was why she lived outside of the walls and only came into the fetid rotting carcass that was Queen's Vigil when she absolutely had to.

The unwashed masses closed in around her as they made their way to the Tournament Market. The Vigil was big enough to boast its own tourney grounds within the walls. Not so long ago those grounds were called Dragon's Roost and if lucky enough one could catch a glimpse of the last dragon in all the world, Rexxas. Once. Now the greatest sight to be had in that spot was watching some perfumed knight getting unseated at the joust.

As she crossed into the market square she slowed, her lips parting as the dragon skull came into view. Madara swallowed and her lips twisted, no matter how many times she saw it the sight of the bleached bone of the massive majestic beast would always overwhelm her. As she stood there at the edge of the square, she recalled being a child and hearing the low thud of the creature's massive wings overhead as it soared above casting a great shadow over everything as it approached. To think such a thing reduced to bleach bone hurt her heart almost as much as the sight of the man in the cage beside it.

The worst kept secret in all the realm was that the Prisoner Prince was to die at the end of the tournament. Common people had short memories and the thousand-year peace under the Caeraxan Dynasty seemed like a fever dream with the current state of the world. Beyond that, the Mummers Dragons which once sprouted up in rebellion like mushrooms after rain stopped two years before.

She tried not to look at the Three-Day-King, Vhaeryn had grown into a man in captivity though he didn't seem as stunted as one might expect. He was tall, with features as sharp as a razor, skin paler than a cask of cream and hair that fell in loose white gold curls to his shoulders. Most importantly of all he had eyes as blue as the heart of flame, dragon's eyes as they were once called. Eyes of Vaeln, the fallen place beyond the sea.

It was that inescapable azure that drew her in. Before she knew it she stood before the large iron cage with her basket in hand. She smoothed her simple gray linen kirtle, the slimy cold wetness there turned her lips. All she'd managed to do was smear the guard's saliva. Their gazes locked and she felt herself drifting away as they both reached their hand out.

The instant their fingers brushed visions flashed through Madara's mind almost too fast to comprehend. Bloody hands, a pitched battle, that deadly thud of dragon wings, a shadow spreading over the capital, towers crumbled, and the city gates burned with dragon fire as the people screamed and ran engulfed in flames.

Madara jumped back, dropping her basket of herbs into the muck, her heart fluttering as every iota of her being screamed out to run. Her swallow deafened her as with trembling hands she forced herself to look away.

Ill omens.

Shaking her head, she knelt and picked up the scattered herbs. No one paid her much attention aside from the prince. No one like to look on the condemned, which was why so few paid the once royal much attention.

No matter how uneasy she was, once she stood again, she retrieved the water skin from her basket. Careful not to touch him a second time, she held it out through the bars.

"Water to slake your thirst," she said though it took her two tries to find her voice and when she did it betrayed the calm she tried to exude.

The guards didn't seem to care, they were far more taken by a female contortionist, who judging by the tattoo at the small of her back, worked at the local brothel.