Daughter of the Dragon

Chapter 1: The Orphan (UPDATED)

Valant flinched at the sound of metal striking stone. He had been daydreaming as he worked, visiting distant lands, fighting foul monsters, saving damsels in distress—even riding a mighty dragon across the sky—and his scythe had hit something hidden in the long grass, chipping the blade. The damage wasn't too bad, but it was yet another task added to an already long list of things to do before bedtime.

He shook the last vestiges of adventure from his mind and poked at the offending rock with bare toes. The stone was colder than the warm earth around it and surprisingly smooth. Valant gave it a good shove with his foot, but it didn't budge. A big one, then. They would dig it out later, or if it was too large, just leave it in place. Nothing special about it; the soil around the village was full of stones, large and small.

Valant stretched the weary muscles in his arms and back. As the blacksmith's apprentice, he was used to hard labor. Pumping the bellows all night to keep the furnace going. Beating lumps of steel into weapons and pieces of armor. But those tasks had a purpose. Something to show for your labors at the end of the day. Endlessly swinging the scythe back and forth—or clearing rocks—was just mind-numbingly boring—and terribly hot.

The fiery orb of the late summer sun burned so brightly that it was nearly impossible to work during the mid-day hours. Yet here he was, slaving away in the fields for the third day in a row. Valant looked up at the azure sky. Not a single cloud in sight, only a wispy column of what might be smoke rising far to the southeast.

Yesterday, there had been a breeze, but today, there was no respite from the oppressive heat. Valant had pulled off his shirt hours ago, but the effect was minimal. His unruly black hair was soaked. Sweat ran down into his eyes, stinging. Trying to wipe it away only made things worse. Chest and back were equally slick with perspiration, and his breeches felt like he'd gone swimming in the river.

Valant scanned the field, trying to find Darya or one of the other girls, but they weren't around. Maybe they'd gone after more water. Valant hoped so. He was dying for a drink fresh from the village well. He closed his eyes, feeling the cool water in his mouth, on his face, running through sweat-soaked hair and down his back. But when he opened his eyes, there was only the sun, burning relentlessly from high above.

Over the past few weeks, the village of Stelmond had experienced several rainstorms, followed by long rows of warm, sunny days. Highly unusual weather in the Highlands this late in summer. The grass was growing like weeds as a result. It was a boon for the village—the livestock would not go hungry this winter—but it meant more work for everyone.

The weeks before harvest time were usually a time for much-needed relaxation. This year, however, Valant was out in the fields hacking at straws for half the day, then worked with metals until late in the evening.

The three-day Midsummer festival was the last time Valant had more than Godsday off. The food, the music, the dancing, the travelers, and the village girls all dressed up with ribbons in their hair. Valant smiled to himself—village life wasn't all bad.

Spread across the green field, other villagers were doing their part, though none had cut as much grass as Valant. "Haran," Valant called, loud enough for the closest man to hear but not as loud as to alert the others.

Haran's strawberry blond head came up, and he lowered his scythe to the ground before wiping his face with a soaked sleeve. Valant's friend had kept his shirt on despite the heat. The Traverses all had fair skin and didn't like the kiss of the sun too much. Valant, on the other hand, never got sunburned. Instead, he got deeply tanned, which wasn't very fashionable but much better than getting all red and miserable.

"What?" Haran called back, voice weary.

"Have you seen Darya?"

"Not for a while," Haran replied, trying in vain to wipe the sweat from his ruddy face. Valant fought the urge to do the same. "She probably decided it was too hot and went swimming. Can't say I blame her."