Chapter 3 - BLOOD ON THE SNOW
The cold of the Whispering Pass cut through Elara’s thin garments like invisible knives. For three days, they trekked through the icy mountain trails, avoiding the main roads. Corvus provided a heavy wool coat, but the harsh terrain tested Elara to her absolute physical limits.
Only the unnatural warmth radiating from Aurelia kept the queen from freezing. The small dragon spent most of the journey tucked inside Elara’s coat, sleeping soundly, her little heartbeat a constant rhythm against Elara’s chest.
As they reached the narrow gorge known as the Teeth of the Frost, the wind suddenly died down. The absolute silence of the mountain was broken only by the crunch of heavy boots on frozen crust.
“Stop,” Corvus whispered, raising his staff.
From the rocks above, dozens of figures emerged. They were clad in black leather and fur, their faces concealed by iron wolf masks. These were the Iron Hounds, the most brutal sellswords in the realm, known for leaving no survivors.
At the head of the company stood Captain Gregory, a massive man wielding a spiked warhammer.
“Queen Elara,” Gregory rumbled, his voice echoing in the tight canyon. “The King sends his regards. He offers a mountain of gold for the beast's head, and your head on a spike to satisfy the bishops.”
“Gregory,” Corvus called out, stepping in front of Elara. “You served her father! Have you no honor left?”
“Honor doesn't feed my men, old man,” Gregory sneered, raising his hammer. “Archers, take the old fool first!”
A dozen bowstrings snapped simultaneously.
“No!” Elara screamed.
Before the arrows could hit their target, Aurelia burst from Elara’s coat. The hatchling let out a sound far larger than her small frame should have been capable of—a sonic roar that shattered the falling icicles from the cliffs. A wall of bright silver fire spewed from her jaws, incinerating the incoming arrows in mid-air and turning them to ash before they reached Corvus.
The mercenaries backed away in terror, their horses rearing and screaming.
“It’s a demon!” one mercenary yelled, dropping his bow. “The king was right!”
“Stand your ground!” Gregory bellowed, charging forward with his hammer raised.
Elara felt an electric surge run through her veins. The dragon’s magic was flowing backward into her body, unlocking something deep inside her genetic memory. Her eyes flared with the same brilliant emerald light as her daughter’s.
She didn't run. She didn't hide.
As Gregory swung his massive hammer down toward her head, Elara caught the iron shaft with her bare hands.
The mercenaries froze in disbelief. The sheer force of the impact cracked the ice beneath her feet, but Elara’s skin didn't tear. Silver scales shimmered across her forearms, hard as tempered steel. With a flick of her wrist, she tore the heavy warhammer from the captain's grip and shattered his knee with a backhand strike.
Gregory collapsed into the snow, screaming in pain.
Elara stood over him, the hammer resting casually on her shoulder, her gaze colder than the arctic wind.
“Tell Aldric that his queen is coming back,” she whispered, leaning close to the terrified captain. “And tell him to enjoy his crown while his head is still attached to his neck.”
She dropped the heavy hammer onto his chest, knocking the breath out of him. The remaining mercenaries broke ranks, abandoning their captain and fleeing down the mountain path in absolute panic.
Corvus stared at Elara in awe. “The shifting magic... you aren't just a mother to a dragon, Elara. You are a dragon yourself.”
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Elara looked down at her scaled hands as the silver sheen slowly faded back into fair skin. She knelt down and held out her arms. Aurelia swooped down, landing lightly on her shoulder and rubbing her scaled face against Elara’s cheek.
“I am whatever I need to be,” Elara said, looking toward the northern horizon, “to protect my family.”
