Maelstrom Prologue

Prologue

The continent of Dunia was still and frozen this night, for winter had arrived and laid its blanket over the earth. The mountains in the east, the south, and the north were capped in snow. The forests on the east coast were silent and dark, and the swamps of the west were covered in a coat of ice. The vast span of plains that took up the center of the continent were coated in deep drifts of snow piled on top of dead grasses and hillocks of sandy soil. A storm brewed and boiled over the empty land, tearing at nothing and venting its fury on a land with nothing to destroy. In other places, the people and animals were shivering, asleep, unaware of the chaotic battles raging where no one saw them. Not only the clashing of the elements, but the creatures that hunted their quarry in the wasteland, as well. The cold, malevolent hunters paid no heed to the snowstorm, only pursuing the prey their master sought with relentless intensity.

Down on the surface of the earth, wind ripped through the lonely tree. It tore at its skeletal branches as well as whipping powdery snow from the ground. Snowy wasteland extended as far as the eye could see in every direction but the mountainous east, and this bleak sight forced the cold deeper into the heart of the only living creature there. Hail and sleet drove on her back and blurred her vision, and she could barely see the frozen stream nearby. The tree was a blur to her. She wandered too far to her right, and one foot slipped out from under her on the stream’s ice. She fell to the ground and could barely get up again, for she was exhausted to the point of despondency. Hoarfrost hung from her scales, coated her claws, and crippled her bat-like wings. She tried to lick the ice out from between her talons, but it remained stubborn. Even her breath had lost its warmth, and she could sense the Dragonfire in her belly dwindling. Shivers wracked her frame, and she wondered if she would have enough strength left to finish her task. Only driving instinct kept her going, the instinct to get her last clutch of eggs out and safe. Contractions rippled through her distended belly, but she held them in. She bowed her head, panting, and lay still for a moment. She was tempted to stay there and rest, just for a time. Her third eyelid was drooping when a sound on the wind reached her ears. Her head snapped up and she was alert again. The sound that warranted her attention was a long, drawn-out howl, a hunting cry. There was little time left before they found her. She dragged herself upright and forced herself into motion.

The spot the she-Dragon had chosen was hardly ideal. It wasn’t even a proper hill, more like a large, unsteady dune. But at least the soil was sandy enough for her uses. One part of it leaned on the trunk of the stunted little tree, creating a tiny island in the storm. It was makeshift, but she had to make do with what she had. The sheltered place was where she centered her attentions first. She blasted the ground there with her fire until it was blackened and full of coals. The stream was halting and unsteady, and it was several minutes of agony before the place was hot enough. Finally, it was ready and she laid her precious clutch on the hot patch with relief. With a mother’s pride she looked them over this way and that, admiring them.

She caressed an egg with the end of her tail, feeling the smooth surface. But she sensed something on it, something that didn’t belong there. In took her a moment to realize that it was cold. There was no warm pulse beating under the hard surface, none of the faint glow that she’d seen hovering over her last clutch. There was no semblance of life there. With growing sorrow she touched the eggs and found that each one was as dead as a stone, except for one. The she-Dragon had been pursued all over the continent in the cold of winter, and now all but one of her eggs were stillborn.

She roared rage and sorrow into the boiling grey sky, and was answered by another hunting cry on the wind. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew they were getting closer. Yet she could only stand there with her head hanging and try to make sense of what had happened; the mother in her had been expecting ten offspring. Now she had one. Finally she managed to put a single thought on the front of her troubled mind: her duty to the remaining egg, and with it, her duty to all Dragonkind. She picked the live one out of the cluster and placed it in the middle of the hot patch, where it was warmest.

Instinct took over. The She-Dragon didn’t know how to care for the egg in her conscious mind. She didn’t have to, because her body knew. She climbed to the top of the little hillock and began to dig. Instead of filling with sand again, the soil was hard and wet. She dug deeper, until she found something dry. At the right moment she opened her jaws and blasted her inferno into the hole. When the sand began to turn into glass, she stopped. Allowing more sand to pour in, she repeated the process.. As it became soft, she cut off the flame and reached for her magic.

The she-Dragon didn’t have much magical energy left, and it was difficult for her to concentrate on the enchantment. Hopefully, if her spell held, the soft glass would stay red-hot while the egg slept. She climbed down and, gingerly, picked up the egg in her jaws. It was slippery from melted snow on it, and she dropped it a few times. Of course, a dragon egg would not be affected, even a newly laid one. The eggshell was virtually impenetrable from the outside.

With her nose, the she-Dragon rolled the egg into the hole and covered it up with a layer of dry sand. That, too, was melted in the same way as the rest. With a sense of urgency, she covered it all back up with the remaining wet soil. The snow immediately began to cover it up. She looked back at her dead eggs and saw that they, too, were being buried despite the relative shelter of the tree. She clambered back down the hill and looked at them, trying to decide what to do with them. At last, she started to scrape a hole in the frozen ground and push them in. The ground would swallow them and hide them from the enemy. It did not take long for the snow and ice to cover any trace that the she-Dragon had even been there. There was a sense of finality in burying them, like she was burying her own sorrows before moving on.

She could tell that her time was almost up, and her instincts wanted her to stay there and watch over the living egg. But the cries on the wind were getting closer, and she had to lead them away from it. Now that she was relived of the weight in her belly, she shook the ice from her massive wings. With a quick beat she was in the air. The she-Dragon couldn't stay in the air long or go very high because of the powerful wind, so she would leap up, flap her wings against the wind, then land and make tracks in the snow. Though the footprints themselves were quickly covered, she knew she was leaving her scent all over the ground. No one must know she had left anything behind. On she pushed, and on, and on, until the storm and the night swallowed her up.