The Mark of the Dragon (Ch1) by Craig Daniels

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They seemed to be arguing about something; one girl kept shaking her head while the other had the expression of a teacher slowly educating an unruly child. Dhaen figured the second girl was going to win that one, he could tell by her self assured expression that she felt the same way. Satisfied that he had the mesure of the camp, ee turned his attention back to his food, it was good enough to warrant his individed focus he thought.

Dinner had ended and the camp quieted down. Dhaen handed his bowl off to one of the young boys that was going around and collecting the used earthenware. He leaned back and relaxed, completely content with the warm meal in his belly and the campfire that warded against the nights chill. From across the camp, the elder he had spotted before handed off his bowl and jumped down from the wagon. The spry leap belied the years that his face carried, but his stride remained upright and proud. He had in his hands a simple lute, the instrument gypsies prefered for accompanyment of a spoken tale. Dhaen recalled the magical tales the gypsy singers had spun in his youth, those tales of knights and dragons, of armies and battles, of beautiful damsels; all that had let his imagination run wild as a young provincial village boy. He smiled inwardly at how wrong the songs had been about the army and the gloriousness of battles, but that was for another time. He moved his seat to the packed earth and leaned his back against the log and turned towards the middle of the camp where the man had seated himself on an upturned stump.

The elder strummed the first few chords on the lute and let the magic of the notes linger in the air. The campfire seemed to dim of its own accord, and the song began. His voice started strong and clear. Higher than he would have expected from the tall lanky frame, but still eerie in quality. It was unlike anything Dhaen had ever heard in his entire life. More interesting than the voice was the song itself, which started slowly but built up momentum as it continued.

The song told of a people that had began their history as a warrior caste in a foreign land. How these people were warriors to the bone, the children were bred to fight and the women were trained to tend the wounded, for there were always wounded, and in times of need fight beside them. The children were taken at age 10 to begin their training as warriors in a culture where prowess in battle was prized higher than anything else. These people fought for many generations for unyielding masters, always at the forefront of the battle but honor was never accorded to them. One generation, perhaps at the height of battle prowess, not seeing an end to the bloodshed and war, made a decision. They would migrate to another part of the land, a part where they did not have to fight to earn a living and could live in peace with their neighbors.

The very same battle prowess that had been a boon to their masters also proved to be the downfall of their reign. The people packed their belongings, told the King their intentions and left.