Prologue

The Last Dragonkeeper Village - Fifteen Years Ago

            The village was ablaze. Roaring flames swallowed aged yellow tents one by one, casting a haunting glow over the crimson soldiers rushing in and out of falling tents, pulling dead Dragonkeepers outside or stabbing living ones through the tough tanned leather. The Dragonkeepers resisted, nearly repelling the invading forces with their legendary strength and magic. Ice, fire, and lightning poured from their hands and mouths as they fought desperately to protect their children and homes. Even the kids, those older than six who had awakened their powers and dragons, fought the invaders.

            It had taken eight years of war, countless coin, and thousands of deaths, before the nation of Brent finally gained a footing in their solitary war against the Dragonkeepers. The rest of the continent of Aidenbre had formed a desperate alliance to resist Brent’s military but it was already too late for the ancient people.

            The Dragonkeeper’s companions, the dragons themselves, were caught one-by-one by diamond-laced steel nets forged in the North. The dragons were brought low by the wiry threads that sliced easily through their wings, forced to fight on the ground.

            In the center of the village was Chief Kelo’s tent. Two dozen bloodied soldiers circled the home. They shook as they waited for the famous warrior to make a move.

Inside the tent, Chief Kelo whispered to his wife.

“You must take her and flee,” the Chief’s voice was calm, a hundred and seventy years of leading the tribe helped keep his composure.

“Don’t think for a second I’ll abandon you now,” the Chief’s wife, Hebo, turned to her stepmother, “Please, watch over Holo.”

The elderly Dragonkeeper, Bast, bowed her head solemnly, “I will see to it. Your sister lives but a two-day from here. The child and I know the way well.”

Tears sparkled beneath Hebo’s eyes as she knelt and smiled at her daughter, “Young Holo, I’m trusting you to lead Bast to your aunt’s home. Can you do this for me?”

Holo shook her head, her jet-black hair spread across her young face. The girl looked at the ground.

Chief Kelo growled low and steady as he watched the silhouettes of the Brent soldiers close tighter around the tent.

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“We’re out of time,” Chief Kelo turned to his daughter, brushed away her hair, and spoke softly, “My starlight, the brightest among the tribe, I know you’ll do great things and restore this tribe’s honor. But, for now, you must run!”

Holo shook her head again, more violently, “No!”

At her voice, the soldiers charged. Spears turned the fabric walls to shreds. A swarm of swordsmen rushed inside and were turned to ash as Chief Kelo and his wife Hebo grasped hands and roared. White and orange fires twisted around themselves, harmlessly washing over Holo and Bast. Taking hold of Holo, Bast used to the distraction to leap past the soldiers and rush away from the tent.

The child twisted and squealed in Bast’s arms. A few Brent soldiers broke formation and chased after, but even they couldn’t keep up with Bast’s nimble stride. Two and a half centuries meant nothing to the old Dragonkeeper. Not when the future of her son’s tribe was at stake. She paused only to grab a pearlescent egg from her tent and hand it to Holo.

“Do not drop this!” Bast hissed before once again sweeping the child up and running. Dropping the egg couldn’t harm the shell, but Bast didn’t believe they could afford to stop running again. Something sinister haunted the back of her mind, a dark and ancient presence was washing over the ruined village.

Within moments, Bast was at the edge of the Iron Forest – a jagged range of mountains buried under thick brambles and trees that ran along the center of Aidenbre. Bast had been among the first to cross the harsh terrain, she’d picked the retreat herself after the Dragonkeeper War. Once, the mountains were the Dragonkeeper’s shield, now it would allow the peoples’ last hope to escape.

The ominous presence was overwhelming. If she didn’t stall for the child, all would be lost. Bast stopped, set Holo down, and turned the child to face her.

“This is as far as I can take you. Follow the tree line to your aunt’s town and don’t turn back!”

“I can fight! I can help mommy and daddy!”

Bast’s brazen features relaxed, “Of course, but today is not the day. Now go!”

Holo hesitated. Bast was never this mean. Holo knew Bast was serious, but she worried about her parents. Holo nodded, however. She trusted her grandmother. Bast turned Holo around and pushed her along. The young child ran, cradling the precious egg in her arms. Tears ran down Bast’s face as she watched the child fade into the darkness.

The air chilled, Bast’s neck prickled. She turned slowly, unsurprised to see a figure approaching. Bast felt the stranger’s aura and grit her teeth as she recognized the man’s scent.

“I thought there was something awful in the air,” Bast murmured. The figure ahead was unnaturally tall. His hulking features were covered in a robe dressed in colorful layers of dragon-scale armor – trophies, Bast guessed.

In his right arm, the figure held a slim curved blade nearly as tall as himself. The metal was dark ebony, the hilt and pommel a silky dark honey gold. He strode up until they were within talking distance.

“Running off on your own? Not really fitting for the new chief, is it?”

The figure tossed what he carried in his left hand, the heads of Kelo and Hebo rolled in front of the old Dragonkeeper. The back of Bast’s throat burned ice-cold, turning her calm expression into a snarl. Bits of ice dripped from her teeth and melted into the ground.

Bast crouched low, her fingers sprouted icy claws, ready to tear into the slayer of her tribesmen and family. Before she charged, she venomously called, “Son of Agoros, God of War and the Coming Conflict, I pray to the gods for your head!”