Spring had come early to the hills around Borollai, melting the snow and leaving the ground covered in a damp layer of mud and new grass. Fresh leaves were starting to bud on the trees, and as the ground thawed farmers were beginning to plow their fields in preparation for the planting season. The days were growing warmer, though they still held the crisp chill of the fading winter in the breezes that blew down from the White Spire Mountains, and the air was thick with the rich scent of fresh earth.
The forest that ran along the western edge of the village was quickly returning to life. Already the birds were returning from their southern migration and their melodious chirping filled the morning air. Here and there squirrels and wild rabbits skittered through the underbrush, going about their daily routines, fresh from their winter sleep. Soon the deer would return to mate and the wild boar would be rooting for fresh tubers to feed their hungry bellies. Spring brought new life and hope to the forest, and with it came a sense of peace and harmony.
The rising sun spread a deep wine-red color over the horizon, sending bursts of brilliant pink and purple flashing across the few puffy clouds hanging in the sky. As the sun crested the distant peaks of the White Spires, Rowen was forced to squint and turn away from the wondrous sight. Tears streaming from her eyes and unable to look at the rising sun any more, the young drakel leaped from the thick tree branch she had chosen as her perch. She landed lightly on the soft moss beneath the tree, tucking into a short roll to absorb the momentum of her fall.
For the past sixteen years the young drakel girl known as Rowen the Firescale had spent each morning watching the sun rise over the horizon and dreaming of what lay beyond those distant mountains. She had heard, just like everyone else, that beyond the mountains lay the Verdant Belt, a vast stretch of grasslands, plains and rolling hills claimed by the humans, and Rowen knew that beyond the Verdant Belt were lands even more exotic and fascinating. Rowen had heard tales from Old Berro about cities built into cliffs that overlooked vast oceans, forests in the far south that seemed to go on forever, and a desert with sand as black as a starless night. The young drakel dreamed of one day seeing it all.
Heaving a sigh of longing, and with a last glance at the steadily increasing light of the sun shining through the new emerald leaves, Rowen rose to her feet and began her walk home through the ancient forest known as the Weylore Wood. The forest was old and had been old when the drakel first came to the wild north. Its boarders stretched for miles along the foothills of the Whitespire Mountains, reaching lush green hands toward the two great oceans. The heart of the forest was far beyond the reach of even the most skilled of woodsmen, and few would dare attempt the journey for fear of disturbing the ancient spirits said to dwell there.
Rowen found the Weylore Wood enchanting. The ancient trees reached strong limbs up toward the sky hundreds of feet overhead, and their thick, twisting roots burst from the ground in graceful spirals and huge arches large enough for a man on horseback to pass under. The forest floor was covered with ferns and thick, soft moss that thrived around the trunks of the trees. Here and there patches of marvelous wildflowers sprouted through the seemingly endless sea of green, adding glorious color to the ancient forest, and dozens of fireflies danced in the shadows of the budding leaves, just returning from a night of glowing. The whole place had a strange eldritch feel that made the young drakel feel alive.
The forest was separated from the village by a wide, shallow stream that bubbled as it flowed over smooth stones. When she was young Rowen had simply waded through the water on her morning walk, but when she had returned one too many times with wet trousers and Gallen had taken the switch to her, she had decided to find a different way to cross. A thick tree that had fallen in a violent storm suited her ideally. It lay stretched across the river from one shore to the other. The tree’s roots still clung to the soil on one side, and its limbs lay spread like a hand across the opposite muddy bank. With a little maneuvering Rowen was able to climb across the tree without getting her clothes wet.
As she strolled down the riverbank Rowen glanced at the sky and realized she was a bit later than usual, and she skipped across the log, breaking into a run toward the village. Gallen would be up by now she was certain, and she was supposed to be watching the shop and keeping the forge hot. Rowen rushed past the small house she shared with Gallen and headed for the building that housed the workshop and the blacksmith’s business. She slowed her pace when she noticed the door was already open, and the young drakel hung her head, anticipating her master’s wrath.
Stepping through the open door Rowen caught sight of Gallen crouched near the large stone forge, trying to coax the dimly glowing embers back to life. His green scales were dark with soot and ash, and even from across the room Rowen could hear the old smith grumbling to himself. He threw fresh coal into the fire pit and squeezed the bellows to get it hot, rolling it into the few glowing embers at the bottom of the fire pit. The whole time he grumbled and lashed his tail across the floor, clearly upset.
Hoping to spare herself from one of Gallen’s lectures, Rowen stepped lightly across the shop’s main room. When she wanted to, the young drakel could move as silently as a mouse, and she tiptoed around the barrels of raw ore and iron ingots, careful not to disturb them. She felt her heart pounding as she reached the door to the back room and she slipped it open as quietly as she could, going through before Gallen could notice her.
Just as she was about to pull the door closed behind her she heard Gallen speak from across the room, “Mind telling me where you have been all morning?” the old forge master asked as he rose to his feet and turned to face his young apprentice.
Rowen froze in place, looking into the stern face of the forge master and trying desperately to come up with any excuse to get herself out of trouble. Unfortunately Gallen was no fool, and this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
Before she could utter a word the green sighed and crossed his arms across his chest, “You were in the woods again,” it was a statement, not a question, “Day dreaming again instead of tending your chores. What of the order for Elder Merda? Have you even started on it?”
“I finished!” Rowen was quick to jump at the chance to appease her irate master. Without waiting for leave she ducked into the back room and returned a moment later with a delicate chain of silver set with three polished garnets, “I finished last night,” she explained handing the necklace to Gallen.
Taking the piece in his hand Gallen inspected it link by link, turning the necklace over and over. He was looking for any flaw or mistake, Rowen knew, but she as confident in her work.
While Rowen was officially the forge master’s apprentice, she had never developed the strength or endurance necessary to work the forge. Instead Gallen had been training her in the more delicate work of the craft, and she had grown quite adept at jewelry. Even the old green couldn't deny she had exceptionally nimble fingers and a keen eye for detail.
With a satisfied grunt Gallen handed the necklace back to her and planted his hands on his hips, “Well enough. Go and deliver it,” he looked her up and down, “After you clean yourself up,” he added, “Then get back here. We’ve an order for nails you can help with.”
Rowen bit her lower lip a little sheepishly, “Um, I have lessons with Master Berro today,” she reminded Gallen, flinching at the look of annoyance that flicked in the old greens eyes.
“Fine,” Gallen sighed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, “Attend your lessons. Then come straight home,” he fixed her with a stern gaze, “I want no tales of you haring off into the woods again or causing trouble around town. If you set one toe out of line today you’ll spend the rest of the week smelting ore. That means no festival either.”
Rowen winced at the threat and nodded vigorously. She hated smelting ore. It was hot, dirty work, but it was one of the few tasks in the shop she could do without much trouble. More importantly, she didn’t want to miss the festival planned for the day after tomorrow.
The Festival of The Black Moons took place at the beginning of each season when both moons lunar cycles matched and the sky was lit only by the stars. Not only was it a night of bonfires and feasting, but the village was also expecting a caravan from the Mehrat tribes that lived in the mountains, so there would be a market set up, and Rowen was finally old enough to sell her own work.
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The Mehrat traded with the humans to the south, so not only did they bring in things that the northern clans couldn’t get, but they were always eager to buy goods that they could then sell to the humans. Jewelry and artisan goods sold extremely well, and Rowen was confident she could make a decent amount of gold with the pieces she had been preparing over the past few months.
Giving Gallen one last quick smile, Rowen bolted out of the shop, pretending not to hear the forge master’s protests that she hadn’t cleaned herself up yet.
She didn’t slow her pace until she was well away from the forge, and she heaved a deep breath of morning air as she strolled along the dirt road.
Gallen’s forge was on the outer edge of Borollai, mostly to keep the forge smoke and constant clanging of hammer and anvil from disturbing the otherwise quiet village. Which meant Rowan had a fair walk every time she needed to go into town. It was one of the reasons she volunteered so often to make the supply runs for Gallen, and why she took her time getting them done.
The road into Borollai wound it’s way through the grassy hills of the north country, bending snake-like through the dips and valleys around the heather covered hillocks. On days like this, with the sky a clear blue and the warm sun drying the dew from the grass, Rowan liked to close her eyes and imagine she were walking a thousand miles away from her tiny home. Exploring the far off wilderness in some isolated corner of the world.
It was this very day-dreaming that left her unprepared when a ball of hard leather struck her squarely in the back of the head, making her stumble and nearly fall flat on her face in the road.
“Nice catch Red!” came a familiar call from the hill off to one side, and when Rowan looked to find the speaker she saw three black scaled drakel running toward her. One slender female, and a pair of males. One short and the other big as a boulder.
Rowan grinned at her clutch siblings and shook her head, picking the ball up and tossing it from hand to hand, “Weak throw Haath,” she taunted the short black before tossing him the ball, “Next time let Taal throw it,” she gestured at the much larger male, “Or better yet, the both of you should leave the throwing to Daani. She’s got the best aim of you all,” Rowan grinned at the female black.
Haath smirk at her, “If you’re such an expert how about you come show us how it’s done?”
“As much as I would love to, I can’t” Rowan sighed, “I’ve got a delivery for Elder Merda and lessons with Berro today. I promised Gallan I wouldn’t mess around today, and I have to keep him happy if I want to sell at the festival.”
All three of her clutch siblings nodded in understanding. They knew how much she had been looking forward to the festival.
Daani smiled, “Well don’t let us keep you. You’d best get going before Elder Merda, or worse Elder Jenyer comes looking for you.”
Rowan winced at the mention of the grumpy elder who seemed to dislike her just for breathing. She had no idea what she had done to earn Elder Jenyer’s displeasure, but the old gold made it clear that she was an unwelcome presence in the village as far as he was concerned.
Giving the three of them a wave, Rowan started down the road again. This time she moved with a bit more purpose in her stride. The morning was getting on now and she knew she still had lessons with Master Berro she was supposed to attend before lunch. The old blue was gentle and kind, but he had little tolerance for tardiness.
She reached the Elder’s manor and skipped her way up the steps and into the hall that dominated the interior of the structure. The building contained apartments for the three gold leaders of the village, but it also served as the village meeting house, so the main entrance was always kept open.
Not finding anyone inside, Rowan made her way toward the rear of the hall where a door led into the private chamber of the elders.
As she approached, she found the door was cracked open, and voices drifted out from the other side. She recognized the sour tone of Elder Jenyr speaking in a hushed voice, and she leaned in to listen.
“I’m telling you Merda,” Elder Jenyr was saying, “Four villages attacked in this last month alone! It’s getting worse, and it’s getting closer.”
Rowan recognized the response as the cool voice of Elder Merda, “I understand your concern Jenyr, but there is no pattern to the attacks and no guarantee they will ever reach this far north.”
Rowan heard Elder Jenyr growl, “It is foolish to believe they wont. These attacks have been getting more frequent for the past sixteen years and they have reached further north every season. It is no longer a question of if they will reach us, it is a question of when! We should be preparing for exodus. The valley is no longer safe.”
“And were would you have us go?” Elder Merda asked, “Any further north and we will be entering the Frozen Reaches. We can not go south into human lands. The west is all Delvin lands now, and east brings us to the sea. Would you have us grow gills and live among the waves?”
The elder’s words were met with silence, and Rowan quickly backed away from the door as she heard footsteps approaching.
Elder Jenyr stomped into the hall, and he froze as his eyes found her. The old gold’s expression was even more sour than usual, and his lips were curled back in a snarl, “What are you doing here?”
Rowan did her best not to look guilty. The last thing she wanted was for Elder Jenyr to realize she had been eavesdropping, “I, uh, I have a delivery for Elder Merda,” she explained, holding up the necklace.
Jenyr eyed the trinket disdainfully for a moment, then pushed past her and stormed out of the building. Rowan’s eyes followed him until he was out for sight, then she turned to find Elder Merda regarding her from the open dor.
Of the three elder golds, Merda was the youngest. The female had always shown Rowan a great deal of kindness and attention. She was always quick with a word of praise, and Rowan had often sought her advice on matters she didn’t want to discuss with Gallen. Elder Merda was the very epitome of patience and wisdom.
Giving the elder female a smile, Rowan presented the necklace to her, “I finished your order.”
Elder Merda matched Rowan’s smile with her own and took the chain, examining it in the light that filtered in through the windows of the hall, “Fine work,” she commented, “You are becoming very skilled in your trade. I’ve hear rumors that you are intending to sell at the festival this season?”
Rowan nodded excitedly, “Yes. I’ve been preparing, and I have several pieces I’m hoping will gather some interest.”
Elder Merda nodding, looping the necklace around her slim throat, “I look forward to perusing your wares then,” she examined her reflection in the window for a moment before giving Rowan a wink, “Now then. Don’t you have classes this morning?”
Rowan jumped a little, having become lost in thoughts of the festival, “What? Oh! Yes,” she replied hastily.
The elder gestured toward the hall door, “Then you had best be going. Don’t keep Master Berro waiting or you’ll be reciting sagas until sundown,” she teased.
Rowan grinned and turned, running out of the hall as quickly as her legs would carry her. However, even as she wove her way through the village, her mind played back the conversation she had overheard.
Attacks in the south? Were there really villages being attacked this far from human lands? Hadn’t the elders always said the village was well north of the human boarders and safe from outsiders? Were the attacks really getting closer?
Rowan continued to ponder the strange conversation and what it might mean for Borollai as she made her way to Master Berros house.