Western shore of France — 1437
The face of the limestone wall was not sheer. Juts of
jagged rock poked out like gooseflesh on a cold man's arm,
which made for good handholds. Feet bare, for better hold,
Rhiana balanced on a helmet-sized shelf of rock. Her back
and shoulders pinned to the wall, with outstretched arms,
she clasped the uneven surface.
Her heartbeat thudded. A whisper of early-morning breeze
curled into the strands of red hair come unbound from the
leather strips she used to wrestle her waist-length curls
from her eyes. Her skull vibrated with the constant pulse
of excitement. This was the sort of endurance test she
craved.
One misbalanced step would see her plunging to the rocky
seashore below. Rhiana did not remark even a flutter of
fear in her breast. No mincing, faint-hearted female be
she. Tears and fright were her sister Odette's mien.
"Twas the wee hours of the morning, just past lauds. A few
white-bellied seabirds coasted over the somnambulant waves
below. A silver sky, this day. The moon had fallen behind
the distant line of centuries-old oak and elm that topped
the cliff with a thick emerald cap. Only the tides below
that hugged the shore with intermittent shushes marked the
time.
This was the hour it slept, the moments between the moon's
descent and dawn's rise. Rhiana's trainer had taught her
to observe and understand the beast, though she had only
once before had the opportunity, and that had been brief.
Opportunity had again come, but not without risk.
The creature inhabited the caves wending beneath the
mountain that shielded the village of St. Rénan on the
north side from the brisk sea storms that frequently arose
in the winter months. Caves labryinthed for leagues
throughout the mountain, poking out dozens of exit holes
along the craggy limestone wall facing the sea.
The wall of stone to which Rhiana clung.
Swinging her right shoulder, she shuffled her feet on the
small jut, rotated her hips, and swung her body around. A
deft move, which placed her nose to the wall of rock. The
stone smelled like the sea, salted by centuries of wind
and wave. Dashing out her tongue, it tasted dry and salty,
much like last evening's fish stew cooked by Odette. Her
sister should keep to the medical arts she so liked to
dabble in, and leave the cooking for...well, certainly not
Rhiana. "Twas their mother, Lydia, who created marvels
from flour and sugar.
She moved onward. And down.
A wide ledge served as opening to one of the caves, and it
stretched out below her like a minstrel's stage. Yet it
was a dangerous leap. The castle's finest acrobats might
form a tower of four men to broach the distance. A
precarious descent.
"I can do this," she muttered to the stone wall. Wasn't as
if she'd never before made this climb. "Slowly but
surely."
With fingers curved to strong hooks to cling for hold,
Rhiana managed another cautious move. She slid her right
leg out and tapped a small jut with her toes, testing its
stability. Bits of rock crumbled away. Quickly, she
retracted and bent her left leg. The toes of her right
foot found a more secure spot. The rhythm of her heartbeat
remained steady — focused. She worked herself lower.
"Twould be better to fashion a rope ladder and secure it
high. Would that she had so clever an idea before making
this perilous descent. But she would certainly remember it
for future visits. Sure as the snow always fell in winter,
there would be future visits.
Pray she survived this day to see that future.
The scrape of her scaled armor against the stone cautioned
Rhiana to go slowly. Mustn't make overmuch noise. The
creature's hearing was excellent. As was hers. The only
thing known to muffle its senses — and hers — was fire and
smoke.
It wasn't so much that she heard the sound of the beast's
heartbeats in her ears and processed it as noise, rather,
the pulse beats of life echoed in her blood as if an
ancient stirring of instinct. All her life, Rhiana had
noticed, before all others, when a dragon had nested in
the caves of St. Rénan. Even as a child of five she had
alerted her stepfather to a dragon flying the distant
skies.
Only now was she capable of doing something about that
eerie cognizance.
Now she determined the distance for a jump was right.
Fingers dry and dusted with limestone powder, she secured
a good fingerhold on two craggy dents of rock, and dangled
her legs over the cave opening. The muscles in her arms
stretched to a luxurious ache. Biceps strained, but did
not threaten mutiny. This task was to her mettle. Such
inner power, it felt good. Strength — it was her boon.
"Admit it!" Memories gushed back from childhood. She'd
held her best friend, Rudolph against the wall, her wooden
practice sword to his gut. "Say it!"
"I surrender!"
"Not that, Rudolph."
"Oh. Must I?"
"Yes!"
On the verge of tears, Rudolph's lips trembled, but he
managed to say, "Girls are better than boys."
Letting go, Rhiana landed her feet and immediately rolled
to her side and shoulders, making a complete tumbling
circle across the smooth, stone landing. To roll lessened
the impact and spread it throughout her body, minimizing
the hazard of broken bones. Her trainer had taught her the
acrobatic move. She was indebted to Amandine Fleche for
the summer he'd spent helping her to master the skills
required to perform such tasks. For she constantly sought
danger and answered its call.
As well, the call to seek fire ever tempted.
Scrambling to the edge of the cave opening, Rhiana pressed
her back to the magnesium-flecked wall that arced and
curved about the half moon of blackness. The entrance to
hell, the villagers named any and all of the cave openings
dotting the seashore.
The scriff of her armor against stone was muted thanks to
the leather tunic upon which the scales had been lashed.
Paul Tassot had designed the armored tunic, fashioned from
the iridescent indigo and violet scales removed from
Rhiana's first — and only — kill. The scales were
impervious to blade, bolt and flame, though she rarely
worried for flame.
Many leagues of tunnels and snaking passages wended
through the darkness, eventually forming the narrow
tunnels that led to the penetralia deep beneath the heart
of St. Rénan. Never before had more than a single beast
nested within the caves at a time.
Here, standing at the mouth to the cave, the vibrations
pulsing in Rhiana's blood amplified. Mayhap she had gauged
the heartbeat incorrectly? Could there be...more than one?
"Pray to St. Agatha's veil there be but the one," she
murmured.
This day she would not enter the darkness. She had but
come to mark out her suspicions and verify what the entire
fortressed village of St. Rénan feared. A dragon had once
again come to nest in the caves that opened onto the sea.
And while past years had proven little interest to the
drag-ons — none had attacked the village for over a
decade — this time it was different.
Yesterday evening, Jean Claude Coopier, the village
ferrier, had been snatched from his very boots by a
vicious dragon. Indeed, Rhiana had noted the empty boots,
still standing upright as if a man wore them, as she
passed through the field of vivid pinks to the north of
St. Rénan on her trek to the caves. Jean Claude had been
the third villager taken in five days.
Taken wasn't exactly the word for...murder. A second man
had been found — well, parts of him had been discovered at
the edge of the forest. A third had been plucked up and
dropped into the sea, never to be rescued.
A carnivorous hell had settled into the caves.
Dragons had ever troubled St. Rénan — the hoard drew them.
Or it once had. For two years the caves had stood empty.
Not since the summer of Rhiana's training had she seen a
dragon. The people had become complacent. The festive
hoard-raids had flourished. Even youngsters banned from
the raids had begun to trek to the massive caves to sneak
about, and the very few returned with a glittering gold
coin as proof of their daring. Of course, the youngsters
were aware only of the hoard that lured the dragons.
Two days ago, St. Rénan had battened down. Rhiana felt the
changed attitude as a tangible shiver in her bones. The
people feared. A fear which grew stronger every day, for
this time, it was different. Never had the dragon so
boldly hunted people. Once, a man need fear danger only
should he stumble into the caves and upon a sleeping
dragon. History told the creature had to be aggravated to
attack. It must sense danger to itself or its offspring.
And very little posed danger to a dragon.
One dragon was easily endured, for the beast rarely
remained long. Being social animals, the voracious
rampants required the company of their kind while they
were young and wily. Only the elder, maxima dragons chose
to inhabit a hoard and nest for decades, never leaving,
content to exist alone in torpor.
Never, in Rhiana's two decades, could she recall a dragon
purposefully swooping down from the sky to snatch up a
helpless and flailing body.
No man in St. Rénan dared step forth to challenge the
beast. Such boldness was the slayer's vocation.
Yet there did happen to be a slayer in residence.
For many years Rhiana had felt a stirring in her blood.
Mayhap, since the very day she entered this world near the
warm licking flames of the massive hearth fire in the
castle kitchens. The hearth was so huge a grown man could
step inside it without bending his head and shoulders. The
warmth of the constant blazing flame ever entranced her.
Visits to her mother, Lydia, who worked in the castle
kitchen, were long and frequently silent, for Rhiana would
sit before the flames and become transfixed.
When she was three and her mother would leave her to her
stepfather's care in the armory, Rhiana would sit before
the glowing brazier. Once, she had grabbed for the
entrancing flames. Paul, who had just turned to speak to
her, let out a shriek and lunged to jerk her hand from the
flame. The hem of her sleeve had frayed and burned, yet
her flesh had not. Paul had never told Lydia, for he had
been remiss in watching Rhiana.
One would think Rhiana had learned a lesson then. But no,
it happened on a few more occasions; each time Paul would
remand her and shake his head. He'd lost his fright over
her strange compulsion to flame, but never his
astonishment.
Fire chaser, her stepfather had taken to calling her, when
no one else was around, for most would use it as an oath
against an arrogant slayer. Ever enchanted by fire, and
not afraid of harm.
As for a fire-breathing dragon? This day, Rhiana would
stand tall before danger and show it her teeth.
Stepping out to the center of the landing, she marked her
steps. Ten paces. Which made the landing about twenty
paces squared. It likely served as a main entrance. There
were dozens of openings in the rock wall that hugged the
sea and stretched for leagues beyond Rhiana's sight,
though this was the only one she'd ever explored.
The cry of a seabird soaring overhead distracted her
momentarily. And in that moment the shadows within the
cave grew darker. The entrance to hell had never before
felt so ominous.
Gifted with Lucifer's flame... Or so legend told.
Sage scented the air. Sweet and heady, a familiar scent,
but never before in so voluminous a concentration. Ancient
scholars said that sage could expand one's lifetime to the
point of immortality.
Rhiana didn't believe it. No one lived forever.
The fine hairs at her wrists sprang upright. Sensing the
ominous presence before seeing it, she lowered her gaze to
search the black void. Crouching, she centered her
balance. All power manifested in her belly, her female
center. From there she drew up her strength.
Tilting her head, she listened. The basso heartbeats
pulsed out a tormenting tattoo.
The distinct scent of the beast curled through Rhiana's
nostrils. It tasted bitter and warning at the back of her
throat, and spoke on slithering hisses. I am here. You
cannot stop me. Attack scent, that. Once before she had
scented it, sharp like the sea, innate and feral. And once
before she had vanquished the threat.