Chapter II, part 1: Memories of a blade.

Liriel was heading towards the giant cave in the center of the small city to start her morning training routine. The first rays of the sun barely managed to dispel the darkness of the night but despite that, her eyes were fixed towards the sky. And she was rewarded, this day too, for this act.

She saw three gracious forms lunging towards the air. One white and two blues today, she thought. As the large bodies of the dragons rose up elegantly, she sighted. She always held a deep fascination about dragons. Even the smaller ones, the human controlled, were beautiful and magnificent in her eyes. Each day, about the time that the training started, the morning dragons would fly towards their borderlines, to give the night watchers the necessary rest. Each day the past three years, she cursed her fate to be born a girl.

She was a perfect warrior; she would become even greater they assured her. But she could never become a Dragonrider. Due to her origin and her martial skill, due to her body and her discipline, she would have been a great rider. But no female riders existed.

It was all part of the ‘curse’ the more superstitious said. It was part of something unknown, the wisest scholars admitted. Because from the eggs that any human would steal from the dragon coves only small dragons came out. The current dragons that the clan had were a little larger than a two stories house, and no other clan could boast much larger ones. But the true dragons were over three times larger, and that was without counting the red ones which could dwarf even the largest of the other wild ones. Sadly, no one knew why the dragons were stunted the moment they hatched. For that matter, no one could explain why the dragons that came out of the eggs were only male ones, little creatures that even from their hatchling stage would never accept a woman to touch them.

That was why the dragon nests were precious to all. No one could breed a dragon but dragons themselves. The most, humans could do, was to sneak in and steal an egg or two before the dragon managed to break through the spells that bounded him. Huge hunting groups had been wasted in the wrath of a mother dragon because they underestimated the time that their sorcerers could handle them. Teleportation with the eggs was also impossible; as in human’s pregnancy, in dragons too, magic during the hatching was usually fatal for the unborn…

As she entered the brightly lit cave, she let all thoughts of dragons vanish from her mind. She had a job to do. She had to learn how to fight, and she had to teach others, younger, too. Even if she fought underneath the Dragonriders, she would make her clan proud, she would make the dragons proud to have Charodians lead them to battle and not whelps from the other clans.

The size of the cave was immense. Older warriors that had gone dragon hunting would even claim that it was over five times larger than the largest dragon lair that they had seen. Nowadays, many little tunnels were excavated around it, many places converted to storages and armories. But the central, largest place was still empty and used only for two things, festivities and the training of the youths.

It was an ancient custom that too. Legend had it that in this cave Charoden and Kaidin, the founders of their clan first logged. That in the natural abode that this place offered was where their clan started. And it stood to reason, someone could house over a thousand people here. Before a clan would be able to settle down, she would need somewhere to actually stay, someplace that those people slowly gathered together under a common banner. And as then, so now again, the youths would start their lives and their training here. As a small replica of the age of then, they would have to walk out of the cave complete men and women, people able to fight for their freedom.

Sweat was running thick under Liriel’s helmet. Her muscles were already feeling a little sore. And it was no wonder. For the past three hours, she was the only one of the trainees that still hadn’t taken a break. She hadn’t even let down her heavy, massive shield. She couldn’t afford to, she thought. Should she lost her shield in a normal battle, she would still be ok, the massive size of it made it difficult to use in close combat either way, but the shield wasn’t for humans. It was the only way that the infantry could protect itself from the fiery hell that came loose from the dragons’ mouths, at least until sorcerers, archers or their own dragons took them out.

Suddenly, a deafening shriek sounded from somewhere outside. Swords and shields froze in place. Trainees that were sitting rose instantly, the younger ones left to exchange pondering gazes with one another. In the stillness of the chamber only a body moved; Raymond was running at an incredible pace towards outside.

Liriel knew where he was going, to the council room. No one could ignore such a dragon shriek. A perfectly trained shout that wasn’t easy to reproduce unless the rider wanted to, an alarm. Someone has declared war on them.

Chapter I, part 2

Jacob… a mystery even to the elders. Even before his birth, this one was trouble she heard. He stayed unnatural long in his mother’s belly. The mages were forbidden to cast magic to help her since it is usually unpredictable what magic can do to a newborn, the doctors unable to help her… in the end, she gave birth and perished. The elders saw it as a bad omen, like the child was afraid to come out to this world. His father, who everyone doubted that he ever felt something for this boy except silent rage that he has killed his beloved one, soon perished in a battle. Some say that the way he fought was like he craved death…

But the child was born healthy, or so they thought. Jacob was too small; he had the stature of a twelfth year old child, despite him being now nearly sixteen. And his headaches were always there, ready to crash him. This was usually why he never got out of bed. If he was alright he would rise perfectly fine, and try his best, although that wasn’t much, in fighting. But if he stayed curled up like that, it meant that his head was, once again, a mess. But that was not the only problem; random thin scars often appeared on his body sometimes. They were evident in the mornings that he woke up, so they must have been inflicted in the night.

Many thought that the boy was cursed, but no one has yet found any trace of magic at him. That was also another problem. The scholars argued that with the love that this child showed towards books, he could have made an excellent sorcerer. But again he failed them all by his inability to grasp magic. Well, it was not something all could do, but everyone seemed to assume that since he wouldn’t be a soldier, he could at least had the gift of magic… now he was just a wasted mouth. The current theory about young Jacob was that he either had a weird disease, passed to him by his mother or that the boy was a sign that their clan was weakening… neither of those two worked, of course, in favor of him.

Liriel had taken a liking into the boy. Apart from the fact that he was one of the little few that didn’t spend their time praising her for her military prowess but actually spoke to her about interesting things, he liked him because they were the same and opposite simultaneously. She had an excellent body, for a warrior that is, muscled and sturdy. Her blade techniques were perfect, and she had the necessary fury to charge, face first, against her opponents. Twice till now she had been deployed in the battlefield. Twice the older soldiers laced her with honors that she will, sometime, become one of their best female warriors. He, on the other hand, was put to the force out of necessity, because the old law demanded that all young ones were to be trained either in magic or in sword. The looks that they were giving her, prideful stares that seemed to hymn her abilities in warfare were the exact opposite of what Jacob earned when a soldier even thought of looking at him. But in reality, no one expected Jacob to ever wielding a blade. Even Raymond, who in the beginning thought that he could turn Jacob into a man through training, had now lost all hope. The people of Charoden were not usually harsh. But what irritated them in Jacob wasn’t only his physical condition. They despised the way he thought. They hated that, if he was given the option to fight for his freedom, or to cower in the corner, he would choose the second.

And in all those differences, was where they were similar, for if Liriel was ever given a choice, she would have chosen to occupy herself with music. Because if someone asked her what body she would like, she would have chosen a gracious girly form, and not a mass of muscles. She loved her music, her flute. But it was ‘girly’ music. Bards and troubadours were singing about the might of the sword, while she sang the beauty that she craved. But all of this was pointless, her future had been already determined the moment she managed to wield the blade so well. All knew that she would be a soldier… the same way that they knew that Jacob was a born failure. The same way that they knew that their existence was safe…

Chapter I, part 1: Charoden.

Liriel’s long, blond hair was whipping wildly around her face as she was plummeting downwards. She could see the land below rushing up, towards her, at an incredible speed but for some reason she wasn’t afraid. She was wearing a beautiful silver dress that seemed to blend in with her figure perfectly. As it flapped against the wind, she heard a booming laughter besides her.

She saw that her pale, white hand was gently connected with another’s one. Turning her head, the image of a man overcame her senses. She wasn’t sure if it was the frame of the big, muscled man or the gentle, red haired face that captured her eyes the most. But out of a whim, she decided it was the latter; his big emotional eyes were filled with serenity, the affection that came out of them as she looked at her, straight in her soul, was evident even to the daftest woman. He was surely beautiful, but simultaneously, overly exotic for her normal tastes. But, here and now, it didn’t matter. They were grasping each other’s hand, like lovers, as they were falling to their death. But she didn’t care, and judging by his smile, she thought that he didn’t either…

“RISE UP YOUNGLIIIIINGS”

The unexpected, thundering voice made Liriel jump. Her head hit something hard, causing her to regain her senses. In the dark, vast room the few torches that were scattered around were unable to provide enough illumination. She rubbed her head where she had hit it in the bunker that was above hers. Her military, short cropped hair offered little resistance against her strong fingers.

“Come on Raymond.” She faintly whispered. “You don’t have to wake us up like that. It’s cruel!” She said as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The giant man that was standing in the entrance of the room turned his head towards her as he spoke. The smile that he gave her was ruined by his missing front tooth.

“Come on laziness incarnated… WAKE UP” The loud, sharp finale of his words forced Liriel and the surrounding children to cup their ears.

Slowly, she tossed her bed covering. She was already dressed in a manner of speaking. The soft, woolen clothing that they used to wear when they slept was little different from the undergarment of their armors.

She took a good look at Raymond again. He was busy now, rushing from bed to bed, tossing violently down anyone who was fool enough to not stand up by himself. Men or women, it held little difference on the way he treated his protégées.

He was already in his battle armor. A poor stitched collection of battered metal plates. Despite their obvious bulk, they produced little noise as the large man was moving around. The glint of the metal was already lost, but the huge silver emblem of the clan was kept in top notch condition. Despite his size, his movements were far too gracious, and that was without taking into account his age. An age that was only apparent in his hair color and the white, soft, long beard of his that fell in cascading waves towards his chest. Its color and length something that even old sorcerers would envy. He let the thin hair free nowadays, maybe as a small private revolution against the years he had it securely tied and tucked underneath the metal chestplate.

It took only ten minutes for the young men and women of the small barracks to do a quick bath and change to fresh undergarments. Fresh, of course, was a relative term. The badly stained and suspiciously hardened clothes, made the whole lot of them, look like worse than peasants.

But unofficially, the hardened the cloth was, the better one could boast about. Like a kind of a measurement between them; it signified how much sweat and blood had been shed to it in the strained years of their training.

Their armors were relatively in good condition, unlike Raymond’s. But Liriel had a suspicion that his hand modified plates were not only sturdier, but also allowed much more freedom of movement.

After all, he had denied uncountable times to wear the shinning, traditional armor of a trainer. Instead, he wore with pride, even in formal situations, his trusted battle armor. “Metal hardened through hundreds of fights, is metal to be prized”, he used to say to them when they inquired, “I respect the nobles and the council, but their silky garments pale in comparison to this masterpiece”.

And in reality, no noble could say much against him. A boy gifted with strength and agility from a young age. A man that his eyes alone inspired bravery to the soldiers, a war hero that not only had survived through so many decades of war, but had also masterminded some of their best plans. In the end, it took a special kind of a man to become an ‘honorary’ general; it took a man that had denied becoming a Dragonrider just for the sake of staying with his infantry. Someone that even after his retirement insisted that he should be the one that would train the youngest classes.

Sighing Liriel looked at the bunch that has now formed a neat line for inspection, a ragtag group that averaged fifteen years old. ‘The pride of Charoden’ they were called. It was traditionally the name given to the youngest class, from ages past. She understood it was an attempt to inspire pride into them, pride that they would join the real military of her little clan. Because that was all that Charoden seemed to be in the great clans that ruled the continent, just a small clan unworthy of their attention, a remnant of an old age.

They knew better themselves of course. They were one of the oldest clans still to be alive and kicking, so old that no one could even remember who was this ‘Charoden’ who started the clan. They were prided for their magic, their military and their diplomats and each one of those filled a particular spot, all necessary for their continuity as a clan. The military and sorcerers were the main battle force that protected their most prized possessions, the two mountaintops that were also breeding grounds for wild dragons. The diplomats were having a real strain in managing to prevent some of the biggest clans out there to rush them over so as to claim them. They have grown big by not being stupid. Charodians were raised to be warriors first of all. From the age of twelve till sixteen, all those that wouldn’t be trained as sorcerers were forced, not only to be trained as soldiers, but also expected to be put in the battlefield. After all, the small number of the true, permanent army wasn’t sufficient to battle off all those who tried in vain to seize the nests by force. But the biggest clans… well they could erase them off the map with ease. Despite having a real big ratio of Dragonriders, due to the gift of the land they owned, despite having some really powerful mages, the massive size of the armies that some of their opponents could master was simply overwhelming. And so it was necessary for some of those mages to ‘enlist’ in other clans, some of their warriors to lead armies that they couldn’t care less about, and even some of their prized dragon eggs to be given out… all in the name of ‘friendly relations’. But Liriel knew that this wasn’t charity. It wasn’t because the big clans pitied them that they allowed them to be. It was because of the superb quality of the Charodians that they ‘lent away’ that earned them a chance of living. “‘Tis something in their blood” foreigners would speak softly when they thought that they couldn’t be heard…

When Raymond was finished with his inspection he let a little sigh. Liriel couldn’t pinpoint if this was from relief that each day fewer and fewer young ones needed adjustment in their armors, or if this sigh was aimed at the only bunker that still seemed to house a tangled body underneath it. Not even the great battle master tried to make young Jacob stand up if he didn’t wish it. The penalty that Liriel would face if she couldn’t don her armor after nearly all the three years of her training would be steep, but no one seemed to bother that this boy, who was even slightly older than her, probably couldn’t even lift the combined weight of the armor, the great shield and the sword, let alone the short lance… She sometimes envied the freedom that this boy was given. But deep inside her she knew that she wouldn’t want to share his fate.