Chapter 1
The beast arrived in the darkness before dawn, sweeping down out of the mountains, flying fast, and leaving a trail of smoke and steam in its wake. Loth stood on a hilltop, watching as it came. He was both fascinated and horrified by the spectacle, frozen in place, unable to look away. He had heard tell of the monster while traveling through the city of Linheath and the story had piqued his curiosity. So much so that he had decided to see for himself if the tale was true, and now there could be no doubt.
The beast appeared to be a chimera, a nightmarish combination of a lion, a wyvern, a ram, and an eagle, but one of epic proportions. The massive body was hump-backed and covered in both scales and tawny fur, with leathery wings that measured fifty feet across. It had a long segmented tail that ended in a spiked, mace-like appendage. Its head was like nothing Loth had ever seen, vaguely feline, with enormous tapered ears, an eagle’s beak, and a pair of ram’s horns curving back from the top of its skull. Its eyes were two points of baleful light and tendrils of smoke trailed from its nostrils.
The beast flew past the hill, came around in a wide arc, and suddenly dropped toward the valley below. Its powerful wings beat out a rhythm that caused the massive body to jerk and bob. The mouth yawned as it strafed a field of wheat, a furnace blast issuing from between its jaws. Flames rose up in the night, devouring the long stalks and driving back the darkness.
Loth’s view was obscured for several minutes as billowing clouds of smoke rose into the air. Then he saw that the monster had come to ground. It crouched there, beside a cottage at the far end of the field. This was no cotter’s farmhouse, but a grand estate. The cottage was a tall, meticulously cared for structure of wood and plaster with a thatched roof. The doors stood open and he heard shouting–terrified voices and shrill cries of desperation. The sounds chilled his blood, breaking the spell that had held him immobile.
Loth cursed himself for a dullard and a fool. He leapt down the hill, plunging through the trees, running swiftly over the uneven ground, dodging dark trunks and grasping branches. He reached the base of the hill, emerging at the edge of the field. The air was thick with sulfurous fumes and the heat of the fire took his breath away. Loth veered to the right, keeping low, and made his way toward the cottage, moving fast, but knowing he was already too late.
The beast rose from the ground, the thrum of its wings pushing back the flames and causing the smoke to swirl. Loth, his eyes tearing and blinded by smoke, unslung his bow and fit an arrow to the string, drawing and firing in one swift motion. A second arrow followed the first, both finding their mark, striking the beast’s belly with a sound like a hammer on wood. But the monster did not slow or even seem to notice.
Loth stumbled, tripping over a prone figure on the grass. He paused to look at the body. The man was dead, his yellow hair spread out around his head, eyes staring at nothing. His torso had been slashed from shoulder to belly. The wound looked as if it had been made by a sword. A claw perhaps? He had no time to ponder it, for at that moment a scream burst from inside the cottage.
The monster wheeled above him, emitting a roar that reverberated off the surrounding hills. The jaws gaped once more as a second burst of flame struck the cottage, bathing it in crimson. Loth was thrown to the ground by the force of the blast. The walls of the cottage collapsed and the thatched roof went up like a torch. There was another scream, a wail of pain and terror that quickly faded.
Loth climbed to his feet, shaken and unsteady. He scrambled over the pile of burning rubble, lifting a charred beam and glimpsing a figure beneath. He pulled up boards twisted by the heat and tossed them aside. The flames gnawed hungrily at the wood and he feared the remaining structure might collapse.
He found her at the very bottom, bloodied and slashed, her clothing torn and body shaking. One arm was twisted at a terrible angle and blood pulsed from an open wound in her leg. He lifted her as gently as he could, but still she cried out, sobbing and whimpering like a wounded animal.
Cradling her to him Loth turned, moving slowly lest he stumble and fall back into the fiery ruin. When he reached the safety of the grass, he laid her gently on the ground, in a little square of green among the blackened patches of scorched earth. The woman clutched at him, gripping the front of his tunic with desperate strength.
“You… you’re an elf.” Her eyes fixed on him.
“You’ve nothing to fear from me. You’re safe.” Loth looked up at the sky, but there was no sign of the beast. It had gone as swiftly as it had appeared.
“They took…” the woman gritted her teeth, her breath coming short and quick. She was not young, probably middle-aged for a human, but pretty in an ordinary sort of way, with golden hair like her husband. “They took them,” she said at last, her voice cracking.
“They? Who are you talking about?”
“Demons,” the woman whispered, her breathing ragged.
“Demons?” Loth’s mind was spinning. The woman was delirious, talking nonsense. Certainly, the beast he had seen could be called a demon, but there had been only the one, gods be praised.
“They killed my husband,” the woman said, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, “and took my children. Three strong boys. Good boys, all of them.”
“Who took your children? Who was it that did this thing?”
“I told you!” A spasm shook the woman’s frame and she retched, coughing up blood. “The demons took them, demons out of Isod. They–“ The woman clutched at her chest with her good arm, her eyes wincing in pain.
“Easy now. I can help.” Loth had allowed the woman’s words to distract him but there was more he could do.
“Be still.” Loth placed a hand on her shoulder. He said a small prayer to Issondenarion and to Orroden, then began reciting a spell of healing, whispering words in the language of the ancient Lunovarions. A warm glow spread out from beneath his fingers, creeping over the woman’s skin like water across sand. But instead of easing her pain his efforts only seemed to increase it. A spasm shook her body and she screamed in agony.
Loth withdrew his hand, tightening his fingers into a fist. Her wounds were beyond his skill. The arm or the leg he might have healed, but something was broken inside her, something he could not see.
“Find them,” the woman pleaded, lifting her head. “Swear to me that you will find them. Please.”
“I will. You have my word.”
The woman gave a little sigh. Her eyes fluttered closed and she settled back, her body relaxing as life drained from her tortured frame. She would speak no more. Loth stood and took a step back. He was covered in ash, his clothing smeared with the woman’s blood. He swore softly. He had come too late.
Find the children. Three boys taken. But to where and by whom? Demons, the woman said. Could it really have been devils that killed her husband and took her children? If so, why had he not seen them? And what of the beast? Why did it attack this cottage on this night? Too many questions without answers. Regardless, he would find the woman’s children. He could still do that much.
The story continues in The Fabled Beast of Elddon, A Prelude to the Draakonor Chronicles