The dragon’s black nostrils flare, snarling, then he launches himself at Moira’s neck; tackling her to the mossy soil. He snaps at her face as she struggles against his body pressing against her chest. Her arm slips between his jaws and tiny white daggers pierce her skin; a glint of satisfaction dances in the creature’s eyes as blood drips from her arm. A second voice echoes over hers, startling the dragon off her chest. The bushes beside Eclipse shake until a child emerges from the leafy limbs.

“Don’t harm him, you big meanie!” She falls at the dragon’s feet; wrapping her arms around his neck. “If you lay one finger on Charcoal, I’ll—”

“If we harm him?” Eclipse snarls.

“He’s yours?” She hobbles to her feet clutching her arm to her chest. Blood dribbles from the stinging wounds encircling her forearm. Using her less dominant hand she grips the staff and points it at the beast.

“Don’t hurt him!”

“He attacked us!”

He roars but Charcoal disagrees and lunges; knocking the girl into the moss. Eclipse fends off the dragon, using his massive paws to swat at the snout. Charcoal slithers around the panther’s furry body until their both entangled and rolling through the forest debris. The girl pleads, shouting with teary eyes for them to stop. The roars swirl around them, a black mass rolls towards the child and Moira pulls her away before she’s knocked down. She knows Eclipse won’t kill him, he more about making a point than spilling blood. The roars end in a yelp and Eclipse stands panting but victorious. Charcoal lays on his belly covered in grass. He glares at Eclipse but submits, as the girl rushes to its side.

“You meanie.”

“A runt…” he growls.

“He isn’t!”

“Kid, I don’t know who you are or what your dragon’s problem is,” a stabbing pain shoots through her arm. She draws a breath, holding it until the pang subsides. She rips a corner of her cloak, making an impromptu bandage around her arm; “the village sent us to investigate dragon sightings.”

“It’s not Charcoal! You scared him. What else is he supposed to do?” But as she watches her bandage the wound her tone shifts to concern; “Charcoal bit you pretty hard, didn’t he?”

“What are you two doing out here?”

“Playing…”

“I see,” clasping her arm to her breast, “did you happen to play near some farmland and Charcoal ran off?”

“Don’t tell Daddy.”

“Great,” he grumbles, his tail flicking across the dirt.

“Just take your dragon and keep the little beast from the farmers.” Her head is a fog but she searches the clearing for the path to the village. If she’s lucky she’ll make it there before she passes out.

“You won’t make it to that village with your arm like that,”

“You must be referring to a different village.”

“Nope, believe me, I know it. Daddy caught me playing near that temple and grounded me for a week. Hey, my Mommy is a really good healer. Once I scraped my knees and—”

“Why do you want to help us?” Eclipse interjects.

“Well, if I tell Daddy I was helping you, maybe he won’t get mad at me for leaving without permission.”

“Your assistance requires us to lie for you?”

“Is that bad?”

“It’s how the world works,” Moira squeezes the sticky cloak encircling her arm.

“I refuse to follow this wild child to who knows where.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I only have so much blood...”

“Are you coming home with me or not?”

“Listen Twerp, we are not stray animals.”

“Eclipse, I don’t have another other option.”

“That’s a yes— right?” she squeals and Eclipse shudders at the pitch, “my name is Sara, and you met Charcoal. Follow me, I’ll be the leader!”

“This is too suspicious for my preference,” he whispers as Sara’s strawberry blond pigtails bounce. The child hums an upbeat tune while skipping along a hidden path. Her knobby knees peek from under her pale green dress and dry mud splash her knee-high lilac stockings and brown ankle boots. She didn’t appear threatening, but Eclipse’s instincts are rarely wrong. “Moira?” he nudges her leg, “your complexion is pale. Do you wish to rest?”

“I’m fine, you can stop worrying.”

“My duty is to worry—”

“Your duty is to ensure I arrive home alive.” Instead of giving up he changes the topic.

“I suppose, I will ignore the possibility of actual dragons in the location she is leading us to—”

“Why do you carry a pretty stick?” She can’t remember the last time a stranger interrupted him but the indignation on his face made her chuckle.

“It’s a staff; most Mages carry one.” But the humming stops as Sara stares at her. “You ever hear of a Mage?” Sara shakes her head, “not even a little?”

“Nope.”

“Well, Mages are people born with the ability to manipulate elemental properties. Eclipse is my Guardian who protects me. I guess in simple terms, we travel the continent training and help when we can. Every day is, sort of, an adventure for us.”

“Adventures! Did you hear that Charcoal? Tell us some, please?”

“Moira, for the love of the Gods, keep them child-appropriate.”

“I’m not a child! I’m eight years old! And a Dragon Tamer! Well in training… one day I’ll be the best one ever!”

“That explains fangs over here,” he growls when Charcoal meanders too close, “I thought Tamers abandoned the practice when overhunting caused the dragon population to dwindle.”

“I don’t know about that, but Daddy and the villagers raise them; it’s tradition. That’s why I got Charcoal. He’s only a baby still, but he’s a good boy.”

“He’s dangerous,” Moira motions to her arm, “look at the trouble he caused.”

“I know— but you scared him— and…and… I know what I’m doing!”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“You realise your mother will inquire about the circumstances of my injury before she heals me.”

“But I won’t get in a lot of trouble if you don’t tell Daddy I lost him.”

“I refuse to lie to any more fathers,”

“Don’t start with that again. There’s holes in this arm, but I can still use the other one.” He fakes a yawn at her threat before walking ahead; flicking his tail behind him.

“Is he mad at you?” she fidgets with the lace on her dress.

“Don’t worry he doesn’t stay like this for long.” Sara leads them onto a shady narrow path with taller and denser trees. Charcoal sniffs around the roots until he finds a discarded branch and parades to his owner with his prize.

“Not now Charcoal, Moira needs to get to Mommy.” Charcoal glares at her, spitting the stick at her feet, before prancing to Sara’s side.

“He detests you,” he whispers.

“It’s mutual,” she clenches her jaw fighting the burning sensation in her arm.

“Welcome to Dragon Haven!” She pushes the oversized branches revealing a village nestled at the base of a long mountain range.

A shallow sigh escapes her lips as Moira pushes her tired body forward; dragging the end of her staff through the grass. The pain monopolizes her attention, forcing her to ignore the humble homes on the dusty main street. Their thatch roofs blend they swirl around her. The vibrant wildflowers speed across her vision in streaks of colour resembling a painter’s brush stroke. She’s aware of Eclipse beside her although his midnight form remains at the edge of her vision. Charcoal darts from Sara’s side and beelines to a gushing dragon fountain in the village center.

Poised on the slippery rim he claws at the guzzling water ignoring Sara’s shrill protests. She yanks at his tail, but they slip into the water, splashing into the bubbling basin. Before her brain tells her to help, a boy rushes past Moira and yanks Sara from the fountain. They make small talk although she can’t recall any of it. But he joins them as Sara conducts a tour of her home.

But she wanders through dusty streets like a restless spirit. The sun’s warmth abandons her and her skin prickles from an unknown chill. Her body is heavy, like lead, and every step a struggle. The children’s conversation fades from memory. Eclipse speaks but his words are mute; her vision blurs and the staff slip through her fingers. She hears him scream her name and sees Sara’s terrified face before everything fades into darkness.

“She lost a lot of blood,” a female voice seeps into her silent dreams. Her body resists as she stirs in the soft bed. A residual headache clouds her vision, but she distinguishes two shadows on the wall from the glow of the fireplace.

“Which is why we brought her to Your Ladyship,” Eclipse’s smooth voice compliments the woman’s authorial tone.

“She failed to notice the warning signs of an uneasy animal. You failed to prepare her for the encounter.”

“With all due respect, the chances of us encountering a dragon is rare, if not impossible.”

“As her Guardian, you are to train her for any rival.”

“Mages do not duel against animals.”

“Animals attack no matter what race their opponent is.”

“With all due respect, but I refrain from suggesting how you raise your daughter and it is rude to suggest how to train my Mage.”

“Yes, of course, forgive me.”

A faint aroma of aloe and liquorice drift from the soft bandage on her arm. Running her fingers over the wrapping she vows to abstain from dragons for the rest of her life. Her movement attracts Sara’s attention, who rushes from the woman’s feet to her bedside.

“Moira! I was so worried! Eclipse turned white as a ghost when you fell, well not really, but if he could; he would’ve.”

“How dare you conceal the severity of your injury from me?”

“I missed you too.”

“We were all concerned,” the woman drew the heavy wall-length curtains revealing a lavender sky overlooking the village. Small homes line the central square. Candles light the darkening windows and act as tiny pupils peering into the shadows. The village is picturesque, snuggled between thick trees and lofty mountains. No wonder it isn’t on a map. She introduces herself as Lady Rose and sits with a straight posture on the edge of the bed to inspect the bandage. Her form-fitting green dress compliments her curvy frame. Her auburn hair, pulled into a tight bun emphasizes her angular face. She tugs at the wrapping and gently squeezes her fingertips. “The wounds are clotting nicely.” Placing a soft hand on her forehead, “no fever, and the colour has returned to your pretty face.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“I told you my Mommy can heal you!”

“I hope our hatchling hasn’t deterred you from dragons. Charcoal is sometimes a handful; as many children are.” Lady Rose’s umber gaze searches hers, but Moira averts her eyes, unwilling to reveal the secrets she conceals. “When you are ready, come to the study, my husband wishes to meet you. Come Sara, let’s bring her something to eat, you must be hungry.”

“Thank you,” she smiles and Lady Rose nods as she closes the door behind her. Stretching her stiff muscles, she swings her legs over the bed; a fur rug tickles her toes. Animal antlers decorate the walls and a stuffed bear cub guards the door. Eclipse relaxes beside the bed; resting his head on his arms.

“One day your luck will run out,”

“It’s not luck; I’m unbeatable.” But he isn’t amused. “Sara’s mother makes me nervous, the way she stared at me felt like she knew something I didn’t.”

“This is your paranoia again.”

“What did you two discuss while I was unconscious?”

“Your name, injury, and events leading to the confrontation. She uses ancient herbs for healing wounds and illnesses. Her refuses to disclose her methods.”

“What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing else, she was prepared for the treatment when we arrived.”

“Odd,” she pours water into a washing basin and splashes her face.

“While I was lying for the twerp today, I recalled the astonishing number of lies I told for you.”

“Your point?”

“My point is; how long will you insist on continuing this scheme of yours? After two years you are ready.”

“I need more time.” The wooden door swings open and Sara enters with a tray of food and a mug. She places the tray on the table and climbs onto the bed.

“What do you think of my Mommy?”

“She seems nice,”

“Do you like her?” her pigtails bounce as she jumps up and down on the mattress.

“Sure, I guess but—”

“She likes you—you know.”

“But she doesn’t even know me,”

“She said you come from good blood which means you’re a good person. You’ll like my Daddy too— you’ll meet him later.”

“What about my blood?”

“I gotta feed Charcoal now— he’ll get mad if he misses his snack,” she jumps off the bed, landing with a thud, and she darts from the room. Her stomach reminds her how hungry she is, and she inspects the plate of food. A savory chunk of bread, pieces of cured salted meat and a bowl of vegetables in broth. How Sara carried it with out spilling a drop is a mystery. Popping a piece of the ham in her mouth, a smoky salt flavour fills her tongue. She tastes hints of rosemary as she bites into the bread. The spoon proves difficult as she struggles to use her uninjured hand.

“Did she say, ‘good blood’? I don’t want her or anyone anywhere near my blood; my past is mine.”

“You are grasping at straws.”

“You’re the one telling me to suspect everyone.”

“For the love of the Gods Moira— she is a healer, not an enemy.”

“She’s not a friend either.”

“Perhaps but allow me to stress— we can not afford any more adversaries hunting us.”

“I get it, it’s all my fault we are in this situation,” she slams her mug on the table and exits the room, but he follows.

“I reject your conspiracy theory; however, I am merely here ensuring you refrain from engaging in criminal acts.”

“You’re keeping me out of trouble?” she laughs, “I’m not the one who knocked over bags of flour because the vendor tried to put a collar on me.”

“I do not recall any such event. But if it happened, she deserved it.” Her anger diminishes but the guilt for forcing him to suffer through her mistakes sits heavy in her chest. She isn’t worthy of his absolute loyalty.

They admire the decorative paintings as they stroll through the hallway. She takes notes of the portraits and the mountain landscapes but one-piece forces her to pause. It depicts a scene in the aftermath of a gruesome battle. There’s a black mass of people crammed in the centre of a kingdom as death and fire surround their screaming bodies. In the centre, blood pours from the mouth of a granite panther shaped fountain; overflowing on the crying survivors. Written on a gold banner at the bottom are the scratched words: ‘Betrayal.’

“’ The Great Treason of Alexanderia’” he whispers, “this is repulsive.” Zander, why would you punish you children in such a way? As she traces the blood fountain with her finger hatred sweeps over her.

“The Killer of Kings.”

“Moira,” he nudges his head against her hip.

“How long has it been?”

“Twelve years, but you already know that.”