Sheilah’s bow was made from dragonbone and thin, flexible strips of Dragon Metal, with a tough, dried and twisted bit of sinew for the string. It was tougher, larger, and stronger than a normal bow crafted from wood and ram horn nocks.
Her arrows were made from dragonling bone that had been turned on a lathe, and fitted with dragonling teeth that had been ground to even points.
Originally, the arrows had been made with fire-hardened wood, and this was sufficient to kill a dragonling in one or two shots. With dragonling-bone arrows, the arrow’s strength was increased further.
A dragon’s hide was difficult to penetrate, and could easily and effortlessly turn aside swords and spears made from metal, but dragon teeth, teeth that had been tempered in the flames of dragonfire, ground to points could punch through the tough leathery hide of a fire-breathing monster.
Sheilah herself had been similarly forged in the savage and inhospitable lands of the Clan of the Dragon. Her body was wrapped in corded muscle, she could run for miles, for hours, every single day.
When she released her first arrow, it punched through the leather armor of the first man holding the torch, exited out of the back, and punched through the second man’s armor just as brutally, exiting and shattering the stone step next to the third man, who hadn’t yet reacted.
She nocked and drew a second arrow, drawing a bead on the third man when suddenly, as if by the grace of the totems, an arrow blossomed in his throat. He made a brief choking sound while Sheilah, feeling a savage fire raging in her breast, tracked her her bow to the right and loosed another arrow that dispatched the fourth man.
All five had died.
Sheilah let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and staggered as she suddenly became aware of how hard her heart had been pounding in her chest.
“That was...” Sellia gasped.
Sheilah couldn’t yet look at her sisters. That hot fire was still rampaging within her, and it was something that she finally recognized; it was the Supremacy of the Dragon, demanding more things to subjugate beneath its all-consuming rage. She tried to let go of her bow and discovered, to her dismay, that she couldn’t. Her hand had cramped to the grip.
She closed her eyes and struggled with the Dragon in her heart- now she realized why it was so important for Davian to ask her if she was safe to be around.
It was no good. She needed to get away from everyone. She needed...
Well, she needed to head north. There were plenty of things that needed to be subjugated there, and she couldn’t wait to go there and try.
How to calm the dragon in her breast?
How had she done it, months ago, in Davian’s tent?
“Is everyone all right?” She asked, her eyes still closed.
“We’re fine.” came a chorus of replies.
“What’s our next step?” Sheilah asked, her eyes still closed.
“I want to go upstairs and check to make sure there are no more left!” Sellia and Kellia chirped.
“Fialla, what do you think? Are there more than five that came in?”
“There could be? They did come in a wagon. More of them could be up there, sleeping perhaps.” was Fialla’s response.
What would be the appropriate response?
“We drag out the bodies of the men we killed.” Sheilah decided, ticking the points off on her fingers. “We put them in the cart they came in on. We move the cart out of the stable. Horse, too. Kellia, Sellia, and Fialla, go in and check the building for others. If there are any, kill them and add them to the cart. In the morning, we take the cart back to the pass and leave it there as a reminder to Stormheim as to what happens when they intrude on the lands of the Clan.”
“Will you be coming with us?” Fialla asked.
Sheilah shook her head. “I can’t. The dragon is awake in me and I need to calm it down. I’m... dangerous.”
Her words silenced them as effectively as a knife.
“Dragon?!”
She was bombarded with a hail of questions.
She wanted to answer them, but she was also afraid that if she did, she would be an irresponsible older sister, putting ideas in the minds of impressionable little sisters with plenty of energy but very little sense.
“Fialla, take these two chatterbugs upstairs and check the building. Be careful. Be safe.”
She was finally able to relax her legs enough to fall back against the cold stone floor of the cellar.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
She took a deep breath and could smell the rank, coppery smell of blood, blood she’d spilled.
She took another deep breath, held it, and let it out.
The painful heat in her chest seemed to loosen and settle down. She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, covered in cobwebs.
“I’m so hungry.” She muttered to herself.
Her sisters were able to haul the bodies of the men they killed out of the cellar and Sheilah was even able to help, though she felt weak and exhausted while she did it.
After a somewhat lengthy discussion, it was decided that they would haul the bodies out to the pass in the wagon to what was generally decided to be “Stornheim lands”, and left there.
They’d ask Davian what to do about the horse. Could a horse be used in the Redstone? Should it be kept? Butchered? Left with the wagon?
It was night, so everything would be done in the morning, after first light, depending on how Davian answered.
Sheilah was able to retrieve her arrows, which was a boon as she only had thirty of them, and it was likely she''d need all of them in her fight against the dragon when she headed north.
The return to her tribe was anticlimactic.
“You did as you were asked?” was his question. She nodded, and relayed the group’s decision.
He gave her a sloppy half smile. “There’s not much use for a horse this high up in the Redstone, but we can trade it to one of the other clans. There are some clans that would use it for food, others for labor. It depends on a great many things, and how we can best benefit from the deal.”
In the Redstone, the Clans worked together to support each other, but at the same time there was a great deal of competitive and aggressive bargaining. Favors were important.
In the morning, the cart with the bodies were dragged out to the passes that guarded the Redstone Valley from the lands of the Stormheim, and abandoned. The horse was traded to the Mountain Cat clan, and Sheilah received her dragonling armor.
The armor was simple; a pair of fingerless gloves with the backs shod in thin plates of Dragon Metal. The arm she used to hold her bow came with a bracer.
The chest was a vest that hung to her thighs, held snug with a leather belt; along with a pair of dragon-leather pants, and her boots were dragon-metal shod. Over it was a longcoat of dragon leather that hung to her ankles.
Dragonling leather wasn’t wholly proof against the fires that a dragon could breathe, but it was a protection. The armor itself was tailored to fit the style and disposition of the one wearing it. Each one was, in a way, a work of art, reflecting the wearer’s personal style.
The armor itself would be kept as part of the users personal belongings; if they came back as an adult, then it was something that was considered their first possession as an adult. Sheilah herself in a way defied that tradition in a small way; her bow and quiver were weapons she had crafted herself, rather than relying on the heirloom weapons that her family had collected throughout the generations.
Many Dragon Clan members that faced the trials would bring their oldest family weapons as a way of showing prestige and honoring the ancestors that first crafted them, while others would bring the weapons their parents had used in their hunts as a way of honoring the people that were closest to them, while others would bring the weapons that they were the most familiar with, without regard to where they had come from in their family’s lineage.
Each family had their own ideas of what was appropriate and which brought the most honor.
An heirloom weapon was crafted from a dragon tooth, a dragon bone, and bound in dragon hide. There were spears and swords and daggers of varying lengths and styles depending on the size of the dragon that the hunter managed to kill. Dragons were often difficult to track because they had the ability to fly, so often a dragon fight boiled down to a “first-come, first-served” basis.
There were other Totems that lurked in the Ashlands as well, just as fierce and just as terrifying as a dragon. Part of the hunt involved avoiding these, since attacking one would anger the totem as well as creating unnecessary friction in the clans.
There was the rest of the world, there was the Redstone Clans, there was your own clan, then there was your tribe, but ultimately, it was just you, in the waste, representing yourself before the Great Totems.
“You’re taking your bow into the Ashlands?” Davian asked Sheilah as she was trying the fitting on one of her gloves.
She nodded. She couldn’t figure out a way to explain how it felt, that her families’ weapons had rejected her. They felt strange and foreign to her in her hand, as if they didn’t belong there.
“A bow, no matter how finely crafted, will likely not have the power to hurt a dragon.” He warned. “Their hides are tough.” He paused. “There are stories that an arrow to the eye might kill one if it penetrated deep enough to reach the brain, but...” He shook his head. “I think they’re fairy tales. You’ll understand when you see one. A dragon is a monster, a creature so large it can bite you in half and swallow you in two gulps.”
He snorted. “Personally, I wish I’d had a bazooka when I went on my hunt, but even if I had, I don’t think it would have done any good.”
She gave him a baffled look, but he waved his hand dismissively. “Nevermind that. You should at least have a sword or a spear with you as well, for when your bow fails.”
She gave him a hurt look, but he ruffled her hair.
“Listen: Dragons are strong, and they’re armored. Their hides are tough, and their ferocity is unmatched. Regardless of the size and age of the dragon you stalk, you will find yourself overpowered very quickly.”
“Size? Age?” She asked. He blinked, but nodded.
“The young dragons have one horn. The older dragons will have two horns growing from the back of their skulls.” He made a sweeping gesture at the back of his head.
“The oldest dragon has four horns. The two above, and two more on the skull plate, in order to protect its neck. Your great-great grandfather Adlan would be able to tell you more, he was a collector of draconic lore.”
He took a long breath and let it out. “A bow doesn’t stand a chance.”
“You dropped a rock on one, right?” Sheilah asked.
He snorted. “That’s the story. I’ll tell you the truth, though: I found a den and I was lucky. I heard the dragon coming out and I shoved a boulder off the top of the cave mouth. It happened to fall off the dragon’s head by luck. The rock happened to be above the dragon’s cave by coincidence. The tales say I stood above the cave and hurled boulders on it until it was dead.” He shook his head. “I was lucky... and I was terrified.” he admitted.
He took her shoulders. “Take my sword. It’s my responsibility that you’re as prepared as possible, and I want you to come back alive. I want you to come back alive with a dragon bone and a dragon tooth as proof you’ve succeeded... but above all that, I want you to come back alive.”
Her face twisted. He wanted her to come back, even if she failed? His expectations of her were that low, that he expected failure, he expected her to come back in shame?