The Dragon's Lover

SAMANTHA SABIAN

ISBN: 978-0-9885822-1-7

Smashwords Edition

THE DRAGON’S LOVER, THE CHRONICLES OF
ARIANTHEM its logo, all related characters and their likenesses are
™ and © 2012 Samantha Sabian ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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Coming soon from Samantha Sabian at
Smashwords.com

THE SJÖFN ACADEMY

CHRONICLES OF ARIANTHEM II

(ISBN: 978-0-9885822-3-1)

THE RUNNER THIEF

CHRONICLES OF ARIANTHEM III

(ISBN: 978-0-9885822-5-5)

http://www.arianthem.com/

CHAPTER 1

Raine studied the slave child. The girl was seven,
perhaps eight years old and tied to a stake in the center of the
village square, the rough rope knotted about her neck like a dog.
The child was filthy, her clothing little more than rags hanging
off her thin frame. Intense blue eyes stared out from beneath a
tangle of matted hair.

The slaver studied Raine craftily. She appeared well
off, her lightweight leather armor gleaming and in good condition,
her clothing simple but well made and of high quality. She carried
a variety of weapons, a longsword, two shortswords, a dagger, and
something that looked like a longbow folded in two. The slaver
tried to get a better look at the unique weapons to assess their
worth, but it was difficult to do so without staring. Normally he
did not bother with subtlety but the woman gazed at him impassively
in a way that made him feel she could see right through him.

His graft outweighed his misgivings, however, and he
launched his sales pitch anyway. “You are aware of the legend of
the Arlanians?”

The woman examined him with skepticism. “I know a
little of their story.”

“Ah,” said the man, moving closer as if to take her
into his confidence. Raine wrinkled her nose at the man's pungent
odor, but he did not appear to notice as he began spinning his
tale.

“The Arlanians were the most stunning creatures in
all the world, surpassing even the Elvish in their beauty. Skilled
artisans and musicians, they were desired by all other races. It is
said,” the man said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial
whisper, “that Arlanians were not truly man or woman until their
18th year, existing in a neither/nor state that was
irresistible.”

The woman gazed at him in contempt, which he did not
seem to notice as he continued. “This child before you is a remnant
of that race, one of the very last of that beautiful people. She
could be yours if you have the coin.”

Raine was not certain what disgusted her more, that
this oaf was selling the child as a slave, or that he was selling
her in a manner that would certainly result in the most awful
sexual abuse.

“First off,” Raine said coldly, “this child is
clearly not Arlanian. It is said that Arlanians have eyes of a deep
purple that is unmistakable.”

The man took a step back. Clearly the stranger was a
little more familiar with the legend than he thought.

“Second,” Raine continued, her voice even colder,
“although I do not believe the Arlanians were ever real, even if
they did exist at one time there is nothing left of them. Myths say
they were all captured or sold into sexual slavery. They may have
been skilled at music and art, but from what I've heard, they were
completely incapable of protecting themselves.”

The slaver nodded sagely at this recount. “Yes, 'tis
true. It is said there were so few of them in the end that kings
started great wars just to possess them, and fortunes were
forfeited for a single night in one's arms.” His eyes gleamed with
lust and avarice at the thought and Raine's jaw clenched
spasmodically. She threw a bag of coin at him, striking him
squarely between the eyes.

“This is for the girl. It is far more than the market
rate for a slave, and if you even think to barter with me, I will
run you through with this sword where you stand.”

The slave merchant juggled the bag of coin and even
though it had struck him squarely, he still managed to keep it from
falling to the ground. He hefted the weight and took a quick peek
in the bag. It was a small fortune.

“Very well, stranger,” he said with all the dignity
he could muster, a bright red splotch appearing on his forehead.
“The girl is yours.”

Raine drew a shortsword and sliced downward and
across in one smooth motion, freeing the tether from the stake and
the girl from the tether. The merchant was stunned. The movement
had been so fluid and fast it had been almost invisible. He was
very glad he had not bartered with this woman.

Raine leaned down and scooped the scrawny child up,
tossing her onto her back where the girl clung to her neck.

“Let's go,” she said with a sigh, “I'll have to find
a place for you.”

Raine watched the farmhouse from a distance, the girl
still clinging to her back. She counted five children, two girls
and three boys, ranging from toddler to teen. They were laughing as
they did their chores, and their round-hipped, apple-cheeked mother
scolded them good-naturedly. The father was shoveling hay, lanky,
thin, and far quieter than his gregarious wife.

The farmer lifted his eyes at the approaching
stranger, squinting, and his weathered features took on a wary
expression. He was relieved to see it was a woman, although that
was not always the lesser of two evils. But she had a young girl on
her back and that was generally a good sign as well.

“Hail, farmer,” Raine said in greeting as she slung
the girl down to the ground. The girl hid behind her, clutching the
hem of Raine's cloak.

“Hail, stranger,” the farmer replied in a taciturn
manner. To his dismay, his wife rushed past him to get a closer
look at the girl.

“Look, Sven! It's that babe from the village! The one
that monster was trying to sell for,” she paused, her indignation
getting the best of her limited vocabulary, “for unsavory
things!”

Raine nodded. “Yes, the slaver in the village sold
her to me, but I can't take her with me, it would be too
dangerous.”

The farmer eyed the woman. She was bristling with
weapons and armor and carried herself with a deadly grace. She
might have been a mercenary, but it was more likely she was a
soldier or possibly an imperial knight.

“I don't have any money to give you,” the farmer
said, “we would 'a bought her if we could. Not for anything
unsavory,” he added quickly, “but just to get her out of that evil
man's hands.”

Raine nodded. She had judged the family
correctly.

“Then take her in,” Raine said. She tossed the farmer
a bag of coin far larger than she had given the slaver. “This
should cover her keep until she can pull her own weight.”

The farmer's wife was overjoyed and didn't wait for
her husband's response. She clasped the dirty urchin to her ample
breast, then scurried away with the rest of her children skipping
behind. The farmer watched the exit of his impulsive wife, then let
out a deep sigh. He turned back to the tall, imposing woman, eying
the gleaming leather and weapons.

“You heading out to fight the Hyr'rok'kin?”

Raine nodded. “The threat's still a ways out, but I
mean to start heading in that direction.”

The farmer nodded. “Be safe then.”

Raine nodded and started off down the dusty road. The
farmer took that opportunity to glance in the pouch she had tossed
him. He had assumed it was copper, possibly even silver, but what
he saw almost caused him to drop the purse. It was the emperor's
script, pure gold, more money than he had ever seen in his life. It
would support his family for the next twenty years.

The farmer glanced after the stranger but wasn't
really surprised to see that she had already disappeared.

Raine tossed her rucksack to the ground. She had
assessed the surrounding area and found a strategic spot for camp
in a small clearing on the side of the hill. It was protected from
above by a rock outcropping and below by thick, gnarled trees. She
thought it was safe to build a small fire and began collecting
sticks, twigs, and the few logs that lay about. She was just about
to strike a spark with her flint when she paused, glancing over her
shoulder.

“You're not going to sneak up on prey that way,” she
said “You'll have to work on that.”

A gray wolf peeked out from the underbrush at the
edge of the clearing. He was young, plainly a juvenile by his size,
and wore an expression somehow suggesting embarrassment.

Raine struck the flint and a tendril of smoke curled
upward as the tinder caught fire. “Come on over,” she said, mildly
exasperated, and the young wolf trotted into the clearing, settling
at her feet. She turned to the darkened forest around her. “And the
rest of you as well.”

Three more juvenile wolves trotted out, turning here
and there seeking the perfect spot, then plopping down about the
campfire. Raine eyed each of them in turn. “Does your mother know
where you are?”

One wolf barked indignantly and Raine sighed. “Yes,
yes, of course, you are all quite grown now.” She slung the rack of
hares she had from her shoulder. “So I suppose you are too proud to
take handouts?”

An anxious bark clarified any imagined resistance to
the proffered meal, bringing a smile to Raine's lips. “I see,” she
said, “cooked or uncooked, then?”

Raine sliced one hare into four equal pieces, tossing
each wolf a chunk of raw meat. She sharpened a stick, impaled a
second rabbit, then set the spit over the flame. It was not long
before she, too, was munching on dinner. When finished, she
unhooked the bedroll from her pack and spread it outward with a
snap. She sat down on the makeshift bed and maneuvered her pack
behind her, preparing to use it as a pillow. Instead, the young
wolf that had first entered the clearing crawled forward on his
belly, his expression hopeful. He squirmed in behind her and Raine
adjusted her position, leaning backward and laying her head on the
canine's side. She shifted her weight, enjoying the warmth of the
wolf and the softness of his fur.

“You are right,” she murmured, feeling her eyelids
grow heavy, “you are a most excellent pillow.”

The wolf growled happily, the others moved close, and
the impromptu pack went to sleep.

This village looked almost exactly like every village
before it. Little in the way of fortifications, it was built
primarily around agriculture and livestock. The fields in the
outlying areas looked fertile and the cows, sheep, and goats all
looked healthy. Clearly the Hyr'rok'kin had not reached this area
yet.

Raine passed the chapel, home to those looking for
greater meaning in life, and headed toward the local tavern. She
pushed past a drunken dwarf and entered the pub, her eyes taking a
moment to adjust to the dark, smoky interior. The occupants were
the usual motley array of customers, mostly human, farmers,
mercenaries, merchants, and a couple of thieves. There were a few
soldiers lucky enough to draw duty at this peaceful outpost, and
even an imperial knight sitting off by herself in the corner. A
group of dwarves, probably miners from the local mountain, were
downing huge flagons of ale, and an elf sat half hidden in shadow
against the wall.

Raine examined the only two in the room that
attracted her attention, and both were returning the favor. The
female knight was assessing her as a potential threat, but when her
eyes lingered on certain portions of Raine's anatomy, Raine
correctly surmised she was assessing her as a potential conquest as
well. Raine turned her attention to the elf. His expression was far
more guarded and his intentions were not so obvious. He held her
gaze coolly and Raine's eyes drifted downward to the elaborate
yellow stitching on his green jerkin. The symbols were Alfar and
she examined them with casual interest. He was an assassin, and
from a particularly dangerous guild. She smiled at the obscure
motto written on the jacket, one without a direct translation
outside of the Elvish language, but essentially meant “if you are
close enough to read this, you are already dead.”