Honour was a trivial thing. As was chopping wood.

    But it was honour – and chopping wood – that kept up Althea's pay. Brought food to the table. Put clothes on her back. She would always choose a full stomach and a warm bed over sitting idly in a field – and the struggles that would come with it. A small part of her would also suffer the arduous work if it meant that her honour and pride would remain intact. Her mother's words echoed in her head: 

    "Fox, you will not achieve much in this hard world if you do not think of your honour, and how easily it can be lost. Be proud, but remember that reputation is built on what others think of you."

    Despite the monotony of the work, the endless thunk of axe on wood had a comforting rhythm, adding to the peacefulness of the sunlight streaming through gaps in the green-leafed trees, dappling on the ground, the shade providing welcome reprieve from the heat. And although she mostly kept herself to herself, the people she worked with were pleasant to be around, and amiable conversations got her through the long days.

    Althea wiped sweat from her brow as she dropped her axe, eyeing the large pile of logs at her feet warily. Grunting, she gathered the bundle into her arms, straining under the weight, the bark cutting into her skin. The trip to the carts seemed agonisingly long, her usual speed hindered by the lofty stack that balanced precariously in her arms. She barely made five steps before the pile came tumbling down, earning a shout of frustration that drew strange looks from those working around her. Some glances were of pity, however – the woodcutters knew the exasperation that followed a dropped load.

    "Surely making two trips would have been the smarter option?"

    Althea turned angrily at the laughter that rang out behind her. "It's not funny, Cassius. You have dropped several logs in the past few days."

    "Those were due to roots. I did the sensible thing and carried smaller hauls, instead of overestimating my strength and taking too much. This, you have done too often-"

    His words were cut short as Althea chucked a small piece of wood at his chest, causing a gasp, and a look of deep indignation. 

    "That was unnecessary," Cassius said, rubbing the point of contact. A grin was on his face, however, and he reached down to help with the scattered logs.

    The two eventually reached the carts that would transport the logs to Navahil, the Golden City of Damaria. Althea sighed and wiped excess flecks of dirt and bark from her hands, the load finally released from her arms. Even with Cassius bearing half of the logs, her muscles ached and small cuts littered her dark skin.

    "I'm turning in for the day," she said, rolling her shoulders and glaring at the segments of wood stacked innocently on the carts.

    "You are?" 

    Althea winced and faced the owner of the voice at her side. "Please, Derik? I've been working all day, harder than most, and because Lydan was off I had to do his share as well as my own, and-"

    Derik chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound, and patted Althea on the head. "You've done more than enough today. Go home, and send your father my good will."

    Althea smiled gratefully, nodded a goodbye to Cassius, narrowly avoided tripping over a large pile of sticks, and left the wood as quickly as she could.

    "Always so glad to leave," Derik muttered ruefully to Cassius.

    "She enjoys working here, you know," Cassius said, patting the man on the back.

    The village was an unsophisticated thing; a small cluster of rural dwellings surrounding a stone-paved square, chickens often wandering in the streets and bare-footed children playing in the grass. But it was quiet, and held a faded, gentle delightfulness in its thatched roofs and wooden fences. The people of Staghollow were not poor, but they were farmers, preferring pastoral cottages and farms to the spacious villas of the larger towns. It was also the only home Althea knew, and she wouldn't trade it for the world.

    "Ma?" she called, reaching a small farmhouse on the outskirts of the town, cows grazing in the fields that spread around the residence.

    A dark-skinned woman poked her head from a window, a surprised smile on her face as she regarded Althea running up the path that lead to the house. Her head disappeared as she left the window and reappeared in the doorway, wiping floury hands on her apron.

    "You're back early," she exclaimed, holding out her arms. "Clearly you wheedled your way into Derik's good graces again."

    Althea embraced her mother, appreciating the warmth of the hug. "Not wheedled, just pushed his conscience a little."

    "Whatever you say, Fox. I've just finished baking okapi – go and tell Pa his supper is nearly ready."

    Althea gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek and hastened into the barn, where Corvin Galvan would usually be found making various strange objects and appliances, most of which failed to work properly. As she suspected, her father was hammering a nail into two pieces of wood, both of which had some kind of piping on their ends. He struggled with the nail for a few seconds, before giving up with a huff of frustration.

    "It would help if you put the nail in the other way," Althea suggested. "What are you trying to make this time?"

    "I'm not entirely sure. It was going to be a device that would draw water from trees, but..."

    Althea laughed. "Something went wrong. Well, it may work one day. But for now, Ma says that supper is served." 

    Corvin sighed and stood, frowning down at the contraption at his feet. He ran oily hands through his auburn hair, making it stand on end. "I just can't see where I went wrong. I have all the right parts and the pipes are at the correct angle. Why do all my experiments go wrong, Althea?"

    Chuckling again, Althea positioned her arm around her father's waist and led him out the barn, drawing him away from any further temptation. Corvin ruffled her hair affectionately and squeezed her shoulder. The two strolled in pleasant silence towards the house, where a delicious scent of cooking wafted from the windows.

    "Something smells good," Corvin said appreciatively as he entered the kitchen. "What has our dear cook Marei concocted this fine evening?"

    "Okapi," Marei responded. "And if you want any, get out of here and set the table."

    Corvin grinned as he sidestepped a swat from the towel his wife held and placed a kiss on her cheek, sticking his finger into the bubbling stew as he did so. Marei shook her head and tutted, but a smile was on her face.

    "Anything you need me to do, Ma?" Althea asked, rolling her eyes at her father fondly.

    "Nothing, Fox. Keep your father out of my way – and stop him from eating what isn't his!"

    Althea smirked at Corvin, who raised his eyebrows innocently, but put a finger to his lips as he stole a roll of bread from the table. She nodded solemnly, backing out the door, and caught the roll her father threw at her surreptitiously.

    "Corvin and Althea Galvan-"

    The door swung shut behind Althea, and she left before Marei could say any more, leaving her father to suffer the verbal pummelling. Chewing the bread absentmindedly, she wandered into the field, letting her feet take over as her mind rambled down gravel lanes and through wooded copses. Her meandering path lead her to the centre of the field, where a solitary oak tree stood, towering like a steadfast beacon crowned with jaded leaves, casting shifting shadows on the ground. Althea came often to this tree; it was her safe space, a place where she could go and think for hours, not hindered by anyone or anything.

    Sticking the remnants of the bread roll into her mouth, she began to climb the wizened branches, hand, foot, hand, foot, in a steady pattern, the sequence ingrained in her muscle memory from years of ascending trees. Her palms, calloused and rough from handling logs and axes, barely felt the bite of the bark as she climbed higher and higher, eventually reaching her preferred spot where the trunk split in different directions, creating a perfect place to sit. She settled herself in a comfortable position, leaning against the stoic trunk of the oak, and closed her eyes.

Author's note

Hi everyone! If you're reading this, I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter of The Dragon's Song. Any feedback is most appreciated and I would love to know your thoughts! Just want to say thank you so much for reading!

Updates will be about once a week, on a Sunday, unless otherwise specified!

     Shouts jolted Althea from her doze. She sat up, rubbing her eyes – how long had she been resting? Not more than ten minutes, surely; Ma hadn't called her in for supper. The shouts continued, growing in fear and urgency. Scaling the thinning boughs, she faced the village, her view restricted by the sun. Flashes of gold and scarlet caught her eye, sunlight glinting off metal. The bright colours ignited a spark in Althea's mind – members of the Crimson Guard; soldiers that patrolled Navahil and enforced order, occasionally venturing to other towns and villages if something had piqued their attention. This seemed to be one of those occasions. The Crimson Guard – or Crims, as most liked to call them – were reputed to be vicious when needed, but fair in judgement. Althea, however, only knew them as cruel, so hastened down the oak and ran like the winds were bearing her feet on flowing arms. Past the house, steps crunching on the gravel path, into the village, evading chickens and children, battling sheets on washing lines, until she arrived with a skidding stop at the square.

    Almost all the villagers were congregated in a circle around the courtyard, watching silently as the armoured Guard faced a young man, who was backed against the central fountain like a cornered animal. One guardsman, dressed in a scarlet cloak edged with gold and an intricately carved helm upon his head – the captain, Althea realised – was speaking gently to the young man, beckoning with hands that promised no harm. Althea noticed the other soldiers shifting apprehensively, a few fingers straying to the cudgel at their hips. The supposed wrongdoer showed no sign of leaving his spot, however, eyes darting as he searched for an escape. There was a palpable tension in the air, the acrid stench of fear radiating from both the man and the surrounding villagers.

    After a while, the captain sighed and straightened, nodding to one of his comrades. The guardsman whistled, a long, clear note that cut through the unease like a knife, and a great beast padded into the square. There was an audible intake of breath from the bystanders – the animal was an amarok, the giant wolves of the capital. Fierce, soft-footed, intensely loyal and intelligent, the creatures were feared and respected, their masters admired. Nonetheless, amaroks were rarely seen outside Navahil and other cities, or out of the Grey Mountains, where wild ones were rumoured to roam freely. An amarok in Staghollow boded ill with Althea's conscience. She told herself it would only be used as a fear tactic, a means to an end, but a quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered worse.

    The animal was growling softly, the deep, menacing sound reverberating around the square. The young man blanched and seemed to shrink into himself, as a small creature might when confronted with a predator.

    "Come with us, Falcas, and I promise you will not suffer needlessly," the captain encouraged.

    "I haven't done anything!" Falcas pleaded, tears beginning to trickle down his face. He flinched as the amarok flashed its large canines, almost mockingly.

    The captain shook his head, before signalling again to the master of the beast.

    "I'm sorry, Falcas," he said. "Order must be enforced."

    Another whistle pierced the air, this one short and sharp. The growling abruptly ceased. Falcas let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes in relief.

    The lunge was sudden, the snap of jaws deafening. 

    Shocked silence descended on the square as the young man's body slumped over. Blood stained the ground, dripping onto the fountain stones and blooming in the water. The blood, Althea observed with a grim, detached sort of irony, was the same glaring hue as the Crimson Guard's. The guardsmen filed out of the square one by one, ignoring the horrified stares of the villagers. Licking its muzzle clean, the amarok trotted after the soldiers almost contentedly, all hostility gone. It had only done its job, after all.

    A heart-wrenching wail began to form from somewhere in the throng. A circle formed around the source – a woman, kneeling on the paved stones, grief-stricken screams contorting her face. She reached out a hopeless hand towards Falcas, fingers clutching at a desperate longing.

    "What has occurred today is a reminder to all. Do not forget that misdeeds will become known to us, and action will be taken to right the violations," the captain announced over the cries. 

    Althea could see no remorse in his eyes, no regrets at the life he had just taken. Bitterness kindled a fire deep in her heart. The feeling was strange, alien even, but sent exhilarated jolts down her spine. She had heard stories of the brutality of the Crims if challenged, but only believed them to be exaggerations. Now the tales had come into painful light and would not be forgotten.

    The crowd began to disperse, mutterings floating in the air like malevolent birds. The lamenting woman was helped up and supported away from the hideous scene. Althea could barely tear her eyes from the body, lying like a broken doll, discarded, never to be restored. 

    A gentle hand on her shoulder pulled her away from the grisly sight. "We should go."

    Althea laid her head on Cassius' chest numbly and clung to his shirt like a child. "It's so horrible," she whispered.

    "I know, Fox. But it is what it is. Come on – we're not needed."

    Althea allowed herself to be coaxed away from the square, equally relieved and regretful. Someone would have to pick up the body – by the looks on the villager's faces, none would volunteer for such a job. It was not an act for the faint hearted, and even the stout of heart would find moving a corpse to be scarring. 

    There was a heavy silence about the village as the pair walked slowly home, the only sounds the soft pit-pat of their footfalls on the stones and the occasional squawk from a rambling chicken. Even the wind seemed to have hushed its tender, whispering song. 

    "Cassius, are you feeling alright?" Althea asked softly. Her friend was frowning to himself, his blue eyes troubled.     Flickers of confusion, anger and frustration crossed his face as if he was arguing with his conscience.

    "What? Oh, I'm fine, it's just – never mind."

    Althea placed a hand on his arm. "Cass."

    Cassius sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. "I need to show you something," was all he said.

    He took a sudden detour down a small alleyway that opened into a small meadow, deserted apart from cows grazing on the lush grass. Althea knit her brows, but followed her friend apprehensively.

    "Cassius-"

    The boy shook his head urgently and put a finger to his lips. Checking to see if any happened to be in the meadow with them, Cassius ushered Althea through the grass and into a small copse at the edge of the field.

    "What are you doing?" Althea murmured, concerned about her friend's odd behaviour.

    "Will you be quiet?" Cassius hissed. "I will tell you in a minute."

    Althea scowled slightly and quenched her ravaging curiosity. She watched as Cassius searched the copse thoroughly and then, finally satisfied, sat down heavily at the base of a small birch tree. Running a hand through his blond hair, leaving streaks of dirt in the bright locks, he glanced at his friend warily.

    "Do you know of the dragonsingers?"

    Althea blinked, the question unexpected. "The what?"

    "The dragonsingers. Riders of dragons. Warriors and scholars, at one with nature; all connected in soul to their mounts." 

    "Dragons?" Althea breathed, eyes growing wide. She had been brought up on tales of the fire-breathing creatures; long winter nights spent by the fireside with her father, eagerly waiting to be taken on a soaring flight through stars and mist, filled her memories in a sweet whirlwind. "They're real?"

    "As real as you and me," Cassius smiled.

    There was an awed pause as Althea plucked the stories she had been told from her mind and realised that they held inklings of truth in their fantastical words.

    "You speak as if you know these dragonsingers personally."

    This caused the grin to vanish from Cassius' face. "I do... to an extent," he said quietly. "At least, some I know better than others."

    His gaze flicked down towards his wrist. Peeking out of his sleeve was a marking, a swirl of dark ink that stood out sharply against his skin. 

    "What is that?" Althea asked lowly.

    Cassius pulled back his sleeve to reveal a tiny, intricate tattoo of a stylised dragon with a body formed of whorls and black lines billowing along his forearm. Its mouth was open in a silent roar, wings outspread as if readying to fly. Instead of a body, swirling flames engulfed the dragon to the chest like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Though simple, the design ignited an odd feeling in Althea – a wave of strength crashed over her senses for a moment, before disappearing as suddenly as it had came.

    Althea breathed in sharply, touching the tattoo with reverence. "It's beautiful."

    "The mark of the dragonsingers," her friend stated with an air of pride. "The Eternal Flame."

    "Cassius, how long have you been with them? And does your mother know? Surely your being away for so long will raise suspicions."

    One apologetic glance told her all she needed to know. An equal amount of wonder and hurt rose in her heart – wonder at the tattoo, the dragonsingers and how Cassius had managed to become part of her father's stories, but hurt that her friend had not told her anything. 

    "I would have told you earlier, but our code forbade me from saying anything. And yes, Mum knows – I've told her that I have business that often calls me away for many weeks, and she doesn't ask. Now, however, is a different matter. I have permission to talk to you about the dragonsingers. We need more comrades, and that is why I have been asked to choose one person to learn in our ways, care for a dragon, even fight alongside us in battle if need calls for it.

"That's why I am showing you this mark, Althea. I have chosen you to join the dragonsingers."

Hi guys! Again, thank you so much for reading, and any comments about how I can improve are greatly appreciated!