Wings of Fire by Jonathan Strahan & Marianne S. Jablon

Author:Jonathan Strahan & Marianne S. Jablon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Anthologies (non-poetry), Fantasy - Short Stories, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Short Stories, Short Story, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Anthologies, Fantasy, Fantasy fiction; American, Dragons, Science Fiction And Fantasy, Fantasy fiction; English
ISBN: 9781597801874
Publisher: Night Shade Books
Published: 2010-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

Perhaps this is where the story really begins. With my realization that I had to go to Dragon’s Gate and return with three drops of blood from the dragon who had guarded the pass for the past hundred years.

I arranged for Sarasri to care for my mother. I left the pony in Sarasri’s stables, since the way ahead was too rough and steep for the animal. Then I followed a footpath that led high into the hills.

Dragon’s Gate was once known as Takla’s Pass, named after King Takla, who married the ice woman. This mountain pass offered the shortest route from the lowlands to the trading cities on the Northern Sea. Long ago, caravans laden with carpets and spices and gems made their way through the mountains along this road. King Takla—and after him Takla’s son, King Rinzen—charged merchants for safe passage.

All that changed a hundred years ago when good King Belen of the lowlands had, at the urging of rich merchants, sought to overthrow King Rinzen and put an end to his tolls. King Belen’s army invaded the mountain kingdom. But a dragon released by some black magic drove back his army and closed the pass.

The dragon laid waste to the land. What had once been a thriving kingdom became a barren deserted land. Merchants from the lowlands banded together to offer a reward to any who could slay the dragon and open the road through the pass. But all the heroes who tried to win the reward perished in the attempt: burned by the dragon’s fire, slashed by the dragon’s claws.

Now merchants sent their goods through the desert and around the mountains to the south, a long and perilous journey. In the desert, bandits preyed on caravans and kidnapped merchants for ransom. But the possibility of being waylaid by bandits was better than the certainty of being killed by the dragon.

The path I took to Dragon’s Gate was little better than a goat path. Winter avalanches had covered sections of the old trade route. Prickly shrubs had grown over the old road, and no one had cleared them away.

From Nabakhri, it was three days’ hard travel to Dragon’s Gate. The villages grew smaller and meaner as I traveled. People along the way asked me where I was going—and shook their heads grimly when they heard of my mission. “Turn back, young man,” they said. “You haven’t a chance of succeeding.”

The last village before the dragon’s pass was little better than a collection of grimy huts clinging to the side of the mountain. There a tiny teahouse doubled as an inn. Three shepherds sat by the fire in the common room, dining on lentil stew, fried bread, and tea.

The innkeeper was a stout man with an impressive mustache and a head of hair as thick as the wool on the mountain sheep. “Are you lost?” he asked me. “There is nowhere to go on this trail.”

I explained my mission. He served me dinner and sat with me while I ate.

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