Dominus Titus Aurelius purveyed his province from the window of a bouncing carriage. He had grown to resent the assignment; ten years was too long for a Roman to spend so far from home. These mountains, with their splendid waterfalls and frozen peaks, only added to his irritation. He missed the concrete, the sounds and smells of the city, and the bustling activity of progress. Here in Helvetia, Titus had found more scenery than success.

But his lord had demanded loyalty, insisting this assignment held great importance for their kind. Goro desired to bring an end to the war, to finally settle the dispute over who ruled the civilized world—dragons or vampure. So far the Lord of Blood enjoyed an upper hand. Hunted to near extinction, dragons rarely ventured from hiding while vampure ruled the civilized world. What kind of victory forced the victor to rule from shadows?

Someday, Titus and his kind would wear their forms among society.

The eyes of the dominus scanned those frozen peaks. High and forbidding, they seemed to laugh at his incompetency. In ten years he had not found a single trace of the dragon thunder, the home of Argant, the Lord of Fire, and his descendants. Goro insisted it was there—a mythical roost known only to the locals as Mount Sapientia. It could only be reached, according to legend, by a hero fated to bond with an aerouant through noble deeds.

If I can’t find them, Titus realized, I must draw them out. But luring a random dragon from hiding would not do. He must find Argant and crush the thunder by severing the head of their bloodline.

The carriage slowed and Titus turned his gaze toward the village ahead. Nestled in a dense forest, Cardac could fuel the empire’s war machine, but Goro had forbidden such an industry here, so close to the hidden thunder, and so the land lay useless. The only clearing the villagers farmed paid tribute to the empire, their measly payment to keep the Romans from interfering with their quaint and meaningless lives.

A forced cheer erupted from the village center as a dozen or so families celebrated the arrival of their overseer. They anticipated his arrival with as much eagerness as he felt in coming, a necessary business in which both sides must fake their part. Titus scoffed at the dirt which coated their bodies, clothing, and lives.

Let’s get this over with, he thought as the carriage rolled to a stop.

Several children pressed forward for a closer look at their lord, but Marius, the captain of Titus’ honor guard gently pushed them back. Only the mayor was allowed to approach the dominus and did so with a prepared speech that butchered the noble Latin.

“Dominus Titus, esteemed representative of Caesar, the people of Cardac welcome you with grace, dignity, and humble loyalty. May your visit strengthen our hearts as well as the empire!”

Weak cheers erupted from the crowd, prompted by applause from those few villagers who understood the words. Mumblings of translation whispered in Gaulish drew some late claps and a few lingering hurrahs.

Titus groaned as the door opened and Marius offered a hand. He ignored it, emerging with a smile and waving enthusiastically at the crowd. He would play his role as a curiosity, spend one night in the village, and then be on his way to the Roman capital of Aventicum come sunup.

The mayor bowed deeply, his foot sliding in the dirt and causing him to stagger awkwardly. “We have prepared a feast, Dominus, in your honor!”

Titus kept his outward smile, still scowling only on the inside. The meal would no doubt revolve around venison or pork, the fare of paupers and farmers. Whatever it turned out to be, it would be more than most of these families had eaten all year. He glanced once more at those laughing peaks high overhead, hoping Goro appreciated the sacrifices made by his most loyal subject.

“Lead me to this feast!” Titus bade the politician, then followed him beneath a covered awning and inside the meeting lodge. It reeked of poverty. Torches flickered above rows of benches alongside tabletops. None of the wood had been polished, soaked and swollen by decades of spilled beverages.  Even the grungy walls gave off a musty air that threatened nights of lingering coughs.

Titus took his seat of honor at the head, the mayor choosing a simple chair that sat him beneath the shoulder of the overseer. One by one the villagers entered and took their seats, leading salivating children who eyed the boar resting on a platter before the Roman. Beside that beast also lay the haunches of a hart. At least the backstrap would be saved for their visitor, and a beautiful woman bowed shyly as she placed that platter before the dominus.

He nodded his thanks but remained careful not to eye her as hungrily as he should the meat. The same ritual occurred in every village, them choosing the loveliest of their maidens to wait on his every need. The audacity of their assumptions, that he, a Roman, would find pleasure in such an unwashed and uncultured specimen. Titus would never lay beside a Gaul, not when a true Roman woman, Diana, his official courtesan, waited with dignified upbringing in Aventicum.

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Captain Marius, it seemed, took no such distinction or pride in his own selection, and showed great interest in the serving girl. Once she realized the dominus had no interest, she seemed content to accept the advances of his guardsman. Titus shrugged. To each his own taste, he supposed.

Thus the meal droned on, stretching the evening into a night filled with local songs and stories. He tried so hard not to appear disinterested, only yawning once or twice during a biased and largely unfactual account of the Battle of Alesia. Instead of the arduous siege fashioned by Julius Caesar, these boasts hinted at acts of valor and heroism on the part of Vercingetorix and his Arverni.

Sensing his disinterest, the mayor called upon a young woman to stand. “Adelia!” the mayor begged. “Excite us with a tale about dragons! Come now! Take the floor!”

The next storyteller greatly surprised the dominus. She was a young mother of two children, wife to a farmer by the look of her shabby clothing, but had a different look to her than these other Gauls. While most were tall, fair skinned, and with reddish hair. This woman more resembled a natural citizen of the empire. With smiling brown eyes that matched her bronze skin, a cascade of raven hair framed what could only be a Roman face. Her perfectly slanted nose sloped between high cheekbones and rested above full lips.

Titus watched her with keen interest but carefully guarded the lust which leapt inside with quickened pulse.

Adelia stood, blushing deeply and looking to her husband for his approval.

“I’m so sorry, Erwan!” the mayor added, realizing his unintended slight upon her husband’s honor. “Would it please you if your wife entertains the dominus? The decision is yours, of course!”

The farmer, the usual type with a strong back but seemingly lacking the intelligence of his wife, frowned at being put on the spot. Thankfully, her children interceded for the audience. “Please, Father!” they begged. “Let her tell a story about the dragons!”

“Hush now Rupert and Racinda,” the young mother cautioned her children. “The decision is entirely up to your father and you shouldn’t interfere.” She locked eyes with Erwan and gave the slightest of nods, letting him know she would not be bothered by the public attention.

The farmer turned to face the guest of honor and bowed deeply before Titus. “Very well, my lord! I pray my wife’s story brings you as much pleasure as it does our humble village.”

The entire assemblage relaxed but watched with bated excitement. The hush fell upon everyone, even Titus, as the woman’s soft and supple lips curled and spoke her tale of dragons.

“Mount Sapientia,” she described, masterfully blending her Gaulish with the correct pronunciation of the Latin name, “blew cold with the air of defeat. The Elderkin, exhausted from warfare, led their children into hiding. Their foe, the evil vampure, had bitten at their heels for eons and sucked their resolve if not their sanguis.”

Titus sat taller in his chair, entranced by her telling but also by the details no human should know. She was special, this storyteller, and he would hear her story in entirety.

“Weary from running, they faced the army bearing down upon them. The mountains provided protection, causing swirling winds that prevented the vampure from following them by air. And so their enemy scaled the sheer rocks leading upward, a mass of vampure and voltur intent on feeding upon every drop of dragon blood. The Ancient One, the original of his kind, led the counter attack, a desperate stand by dragons against their evil foe.”

Titus sat bewildered by her accurate telling of what could only be of the Forgotten Legion. Goro had sent them in pursuit of Argant the Ancient, the Keryx Lord of Fire. They had chased the dragonkind for days but never returned as either victors or losers. The entire army had been lost, assumed dead and devoured by the last bastion upon the lost Mount Sapientia.

Adelia continued, “The Ancient One attacked not only the vampure, but the mountain itself, melting and crushing rocks with his dragon fire and thunderous tail. As the cliffside fell, so too did his enemy. One by one the vampurekind struck the ground. The dragons decreed that no vampure must ever find their new home and cleansed the base of Mount Sapientia with their flame. Now only the noblest of heroes will ever recognize the trail, and only the boldest will attempt to seek discourse with the dragons.

“The Ancient One prophesied one such hero would someday venture forth to bond an aerouant, the boldest of all humans seeking to give his life over as a vinculum to the Ancient One himself. Through their connection they would strengthen the sanguis and bring forth on this land the strongest dragon ever born. In that form, aerouants would blend with humans, just as vampure and voltur lurk among us today.”

The villagers applauded wildly upon the conclusion of her story, and Adelia humbly returned to her seat, nestling into the loving arms of her husband. Erwan grinned at his wife while little Rupert and Racinda, emboldened by their mother’s tale, stared into the torches and imagined dragons dancing in the flames.

Titus never took his eyes off the woman, staring deep into her soul and wondering how this story had come to her. She turned once, meeting his gaze, and nervously lost her smile. Her eyes, illuminated by the firelight, had turned golden with fiery sparks dancing within. She turned and whispered to her husband who nodded. Together they stood, gathering the children, and made swift well wishes before departing.

The dominus watched them leave, the cackling laughter of Goro echoing through the Roman’s mind. He would no longer depart this village at first light but would wait until the men labored in the fields. Then he would visit this woman, whom he now recognized as a daughter of the Ancient One.