Dragon Valley

Nature’s magic is always strongest in the dawning. The gatherers know it. The wraiths who hunt them know it.

A haunting song, melodic and melancholy at the same time, rose from the mist. The gatherers stopped to listen for answering songs, but only a few responded. The valley echoed with dragon songs once, now they were fewer and fewer. Soon, there would be none if they couldn’t halt the disease claiming the dragons, but gatherers with the gift of healing were nearly as rare as the dragons. The disease claimed the dragons, and the wraiths claimed the gatherers.

Dragon Valley at dawn was a place of life and magic normally. Earth magic was most powerful in the first hours with the pale golden veil of first sunlight. Many herbs only bloomed at night and closed tightly when the dew faded along with their vigorous arcane energy. Some ores could only be detected in the early morning hours.

The gatherers picking their way through the rocks knew time was short if they were to find the life-saving treasures. Wisp stones lit their way dimly, but they stepped carefully through shadows of the rocky gulch, knowing one misstep would send them tumbling.

“Dragon’s blood.” El’Rhyn whispered it softly as if she were afraid the mere mention would attract unwanted attention.

The group stopped, turning to stare at her. “Where?” asked the young man in front of them.

“I’m not sure,” she replied, “but I can smell it. It’s near.” She crouched down, weaving the wisp stone slowly before her, searching for the deep scarlet splotches she knew were close. Her head raised, like a hound casting for the scent of prey. “There.” She crawled slowly to her left. Her free hand swept in front of her until she touched the low-growing plant hidden in a rocky crevice. The nearly maroon flowers nestled deep within the nest of soft green leaves peeked out of the rough, gray rocks.

The other shin rei searched the area for more of the elusive herb. Murmured prayers of thanks were followed by a careful harvest as a measure of blooms were pinched free.

“I told you,” she crowed to the leader. “Told you I wouldn’t be a bother.”

“Yes, you told us.” He laughed and pushed the hood back from his face. “We don’t really worry about you being a bother nearly as much as what your mother would do if you got lost or hurt. Rampaging dragons would be little compared to her if you were harmed.”

She looked up from the cluster of blooms she was picking, rolling her eyes. “You make Mother sound like a she-troll. You just need to know how to handle her.”

The girl next to her giggled as she ran her hand over a stone. “I’m not sure anyone has ever considered handling the commander before,” Sabel replied. “We’ll leave that to you.”

El’Rhyn smiled again. They had been friends for as long as she could remember, but Sabel still held a healthy respect for her mother as did most people. Probably with cause. Her mother was a formidable warrior and broached little foolishness. Still, it was she who had played hide and seek with the girls and taught them to ride as well as trained them for the games. Sometimes she was just Mamma. “Perhaps. What are you looking for, Sabel?” She continued searching in the near dark for the dragon’s blood. It had a sharp metallic smell that reminded her of blood in some ways, but the deep, almost maroon blooms were what gave it the name. The scent grew stronger as she edged toward an embankment.

There, between the boulders grew several clusters. She set the wisp stone down and scrambled over the rocks. The pale moonlight reflected blue off her herb knife. The dragon blood was strongest now, just as the sun was about to rise. The air was filled with the scent of other precious herbs also. Sister Katran would be elated with this gathering. She held the fragile plants down while she cut the blooms free. Gatherers seldom harvested all they found, nor did they uproot the plants if they could avoid it.

She smelled the air again. Of course, the snare root would have to give up some plants entirely since it was all of value.

She paused cutting and looked around for the others. They had fanned out and she had left her lamp above. There was something else in the air, acrid like soaked ashes. She climbed back up the rocks, which was much harder than it was going down. If she was right, they had to leave immediately—or hide. She released the wisp from the lamp and hooked it to a low-hanging tree limb so she might find it later. Every instinct wanted to scream a warning, but she didn’t dare if they didn’t know the gatherers were nearby. She followed Sabel’s scent. She always rinsed her hair in lilac water, which irritated some of the others who hunted herbs by scent, but now El’Rhyn was thankful for it.

The gatherers were further away than she realized, but the scent was getting stronger. So was the other smell. The one she had nightmares about.

The sharp rocks cut through her soft boots. She twisted an ankle and went down to her knees. Her breath came in gasps now. Her hands tore on the thorny limbs she pulled herself back up with. Her friends weren’t far away now, but she still didn’t dare shout a warning. There she could see their lamps nearing the top of a hill. Her legs cramped, but she forced herself to run faster.

“Down!” she whispered harshly as she drew near. “Put your lamps out. Get down!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Marcen snapped.

“Wraiths. I smell their war birds. Maybe they haven’t seen us yet. We have to go down the gully.”