Requiem of the Fallen: Dragon Child

Lost Child

I shielded the fire with my sore back as an icy wind whipped across the mouth of the cave.

The snowstorm had come with an underestimated quickness and ferocity, and the open location of my hasty retreat would likely be filled by any traveler caught as well. And as this was a popular path among the humans at this time of the year, I was expecting a few.

My ears heard every scrape of the frozen branches against one another, the barely detectable rustles of the hardy animals that had learned to disregard the weather. I was also near what I knew to be a lesser Fey settlement, and I felt the wary magic of their people swimming in nature's essence. I was Draigana, so they did not bother me, but any human or Lycan unfortunate enough to come within range would be terribly nauseous.

The feeble flames flickered uncertainly at each new gust of the gale, but it knew better than to go out on me. My rabbit stew was slightly stalling for extra time to cook in the cold, but it was a hard-won luxury.

Impatiently I gobbled the soft hot meat as soon as I couldn't take the delicious smell anymore. I had been hungry for a few days before I caught it, so I looked forward to the end of the storm when I could reach Trey and replenish my supplies. I cleaned the pot and made sure with my nose (it was a surprise that it wasn't useless from the cold I'd been suffering) that it was completely clean of food smells.

A few hours later, I heard the wind begin to abate and gathered my scant belongings. Once the snowstorm ended the cold would turn crippling, and I wanted to be safe and warm before that happened.

I immediately set out while the wind slowed down further, eager to reach the city before it stopped altogether. My easy loping stride made the remaining miles shrink as time crawled, and I made it to the gates just as night closed in and my leather cloak began to freeze.

When the humans began to clear the best of the land for themselves, a feat accomplished a century or so ago, they rebuilt their cities into great fortresses of both function and beauty. With the remnants of their lessons from all the other races in their infancy, the human leaders made the populous species feel better about themselves. I walked through the white marble streets that shone no matter what light hit it, and found myself in a homey and pleasant-looking pub called the 'Golden Hind'. The barman was a clean and jolly middle-aged human, and loved nothing so much as a satisfied customer. I was lucky to be one of his regulars.

"Anagha! So you have returned at last!" he boomed across the crowded, rowdy room. "I bet you'd be wanting a spot of ale and a good room to go with it at this time of day, eh?"

I smiled as I lifted my hood. "You know me too well, Carson. I would greatly appreciate it," I murmured to him in the balanced, exotic nuances that was as indicative as an accent to my people. Carson smiled kindly at me, and set off preparing a glass as I felt the stares on me.

Though I would be considered mediocre in looks by Draigana standards, humans always seemed intrigued by my black wavy hair and pale gray-blue eyes. Because of my travels I had developed a sun-bronzed skin tone, leading most to assume on sight that I was a member of a Romani tribe of some sort. It suited me fine, since they were reputed to travel everywhere, though I had some problems because of their 'fondness' for fine things.

I nursed my mug carefully, detecting the professional thieves, mercenaries, and cutthroats I would have to keep an eye on until I put a lock between them and my valuables. Most of them, thankfully, were either drunk enough for me to take them on reasonably in a human's eyes or had retreated to their rooms in wariness of the others. I was safe, for now.

There was an ongoing argument about the current Vasli, or state leader, in a far corner of the taproom. I used my hearing and caught the words "incompetent", "useless", and "stupid". Lips twitching slightly in fighting off a smirk, I mentally shook my head at the irony of human politics.

"But I heard one of his generals caught a drako," one of the men said, the name for us that developed after the coup decimated our people. I frowned, looking all too focused on my drink.

"Said they'd reveal 'im once everyone's gathered fer Moonrise," he continued. The Moonrise celebration was a midwinter festival that honored the ones who had made the worst of it while mourning for those who had not. It was a crucial event of pomp and pageantry that not very many high-ranked humans ever missed.

"Heard the drako looks like some kid," another countered disdainfully, "barely even past his thirteenth Moonrise. Probably think that they can fool us inta some sort uv frenzy and pledge our loyalty to 'em high 'n mighty bones."

"He may look like a kid, but I heard he threw one uv 'em prison guards through a wall fer tryin' to disturb 'is nap," a third joined in. "I don't think we're bein' fooled this time."

After hearing that, I shot down the rest of my ale hurriedly, tossing one of my few gold coins at Carson as I headed to my usual room. I locked the doors with all the bolts, then threw my satchel under the bed as I lay on it, thinking furiously.

Once I heard the tail end of that conversation in the pub commons, I was as sure as the men were that they were dealing with a Draigana. And based on the physical descriptions they spread among themselves, he was not that far down from my age. Very, very young. With almost no control over his abilities, if the captive was male. Most females of our race were not kind enough to be social and allay suspicions. An introvert male could easily be brushed off as raffish.

Another lost child, I see, I thought as I fell asleep, bad memories flying through my mind.