The League of Dragon Riders

Claif Jordan: Inn Owner, Farmer...Dragon Rider?

As always, I’m awake before the rooster crows and before most of the villagers. I glance out of my window and find the traders already awake and preparing their tents for eager customers. For a moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to wander the world and trade various goods to the unsuspecting village folk. I sigh as I turn toward the small chest that held my clothing. I pull on a loose white shirt and a pair of breeches before snatching my book off the window sill and falling back against the bed. 

My attic, though small and almost perfectly square, is mine and I love it. My father would have hated knowing his sister was keeping his daughter in such a small place, however, his death kind of threw any of his previous wishes away. I don’t mind, though. I have my blankets. I have my clothes. Madam Carmen hardly wishes to buy me anything extra but there are a few seamstresses in town that have grown to like me. They often gave me any fabric they were throwing away and one even taught me how to sew. Most of the clothes I own were made by me. They may not look the best but they work as I need them to and that’s enough for me. 

I sit up as I heard the rooster. I snap my book closed and toss it on the unmade bed before bounded down the narrow staircase. My feet scrape over the hardwood floor but I hardly notice. My mind is one the smell of something delicious cooking that pulls me out of my tired state. 

The inn is empty when I reach the ground floor. I follow the smell of breakfast cooking and I know the dining room would be full within the hour with both locals and tradesmen eager to start their day off with good food. I pull on my boots as I make my way into the kitchen. I watch Potts for a moment as she dances around the kitchen and prepares her favorite meal of the day. She catches me watching and pulls me into the twirling dance with her despite my complaints. I giggle as she pulls me around the small kitchen before we hear the angry voice of my aunt near the stairs. 

“Oh,” she whispers as she hands me a slice of bread and some cheese, “best get to work. Don’t want her damping our morning.”

“Just her being in it dampens my morning,” I retort as I grab the bucket of yesterday's leftovers and head outside. I munch on the food as I leisurely make my way toward the barn. The morning is cold and damp, though it isn’t unwelcome. I like the time between autumn and summer. It’s like a tug of war between snow and rain. 

I can hear Charlie messing with the horses. I drop the bucket a few feet away from the pen before stepping into the barn. Charlie’s leaning against one of the walls with his face in his hands. I turn toward the dark horse that goes back to eating when I step inside. 

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Madam wants this horse out there,” he says, groaning as he straightens himself out, “but he won’t go.”

“That’s Buster,” I shrug, “he’s as stubborn as she is. Just lead him with food. He’ll follow.” 

Charlie nods as he grabs the bucket of feed off the ground. Buster’s attention is immediately on him as he grabs the reins and holds the bucket just out of reach of the horse's mouth. I watch as he leads him out before following after them to finish my own morning chores. 

I grab the bucket and climb over the fence of the pigpen. I move to pour the bucket into their feeder when I hear them. I glance up from the slop and raise an eyebrow at the three men standing just outside the back door. Their eyes are on Charles as he heads back into the barn. I narrow my eyes as I toss the bucket out of the pen. I watch them as I lean over the fence, ignoring the pigs as they push up against the wire.

What do they want with Charlie? 

“Is that him?” the bearded man asks loudly. He looks fresher today than he had last night. There are new braids in his long beard and dark red hair. He isn’t wearing all of his leather armor this morning but the other two are. He doesn’t seem to think anyone in the village is a threat.  

“I believe so,” the other man says, “he matches the age.” 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” the teenager asks. I hadn’t noticed in the dim light of the inn but he’s pale in the morning sun. His long dark hair contrasts sharply with his pale face. I force myself to look away from him. I don’t want to see him shimmer again.

“This is the place he always ran off two between quests.”

“How do you know the kid hadn’t ran off?”

“We don’t.”

“Are we just going to watch him or are we going to go talk to him?” The bearded man demands. He’s impatiently bouncing on his heels as he turns toward the others and raises his eyebrows who seemed to be the man in charge.

“You check him,” the man says as his dark eyes find mine. I turn away and pat Maggie, the fattest pig in the bunch, before heading toward the opposite side and climbing out. I could hear his feet sloshing in the mud as he drew near. 

Please don’t come over here, I silently plead.

“Hey there,” I spin around and face the man who is looking at me from over the pen. He leans against the fence and offers a smile as he looks at me. The teenager, who was rather cute up close, stands a few steps away with his eyes skyward.

“Can I help you?” I ask, squaring my shoulders. 

Calm yourself, Alaina.

“Claid Jordan?” he asks. I narrow my eyes and wonder if I could lie my way out of it. 

“No,” I say as I walk around and pick the bucket up off the ground, “I’ve heard of him but he was before my time.”

Yep, lie.

“He’s not it,” the bearded man says as he walks up with a frown.

“Perhaps the child moved on,” the youngest suggests. Something sees off about him…

“Perhaps. Do you know of anyone, they would be around eighteen by now, that has been here for a s long as you can remember?” the man in charge asks as he turns his attention toward me. I frown as I tilt my head, acting as if I was thinking. The only one who fits that description is me. I’ve lived here my whole life. 

I shake my head and grab the bucket. I step around them and head for the backdoor of the inn. I don’t know why I’m not telling the truth. I’m usually an honest person but they seem dangerous. There’s nothing about any one of them that makes me want to trust them. 

“Aye, Lass!” the bearded man calls out.

“Yes?” I call back. I’m almost at the back door.

“You have a name?”

“Alaina.”

“I’m Fergus,” I turn around and watch as he gestures to himself, “this here is Erin and the kid is Maxwell.”

“Have you met anyone with the surname Jordan?” Erina asks.

“Sir, I really-” I start but a mad Madam Carmen steps out of the backdoor before I can finish. She looks furious. For once in my life, I’m happy to see her.

“Alaina, get into the kitchen,” she orders. I shrug helplessly at the group before turning to enter the inn. I silently thank her as I drop the bucket by the door.

“Where’s Potts?” I ask as I pull on an apron.

“Here, here!” Potts yells as she hurries through the dining room door. 

“If you take the plates out, I’ll make them,” she tells me and I start the work without a thought of Fergus and his little g**g. As always, I don’t stop moving until the sun starts to fall out of the sky. I watch it through an open doorway before I turn my attention back to cleaning. As the night before, the three leather-clad men remain after everyone had left. I hold in a sigh as I wipe tables and tower plates on my arms, content on ignoring them as I continue my nightly duties.

When I finish, I overhear, as I tend to overhear a lot of things, Fergus and them talking about my father. I simply mean to walk past them, as I don’t need to be worrying about them anymore, until I hear the term Dragon Rider. Not only that but the best Dragon Rider. A legend. 

My father?

But there is no way. My dad had been a tradesman, an innkeeper, a farmer. There is no way he was in with the dragon riders. They were thieves, murders, pirates, and I’m sure much worse. My dad was an honest and respectable man.

Or was he? A little voice asks. I attempt to push the thought to the back of my mind but it comes back, nagging and pulling at the facts I thought I knew. When he was alive, my father would be gone for weeks at a time. No one would know where he had gone but no one seemed to want to question him. He had been, after all, a big man that scared even the bravest of people when even slightly raising his voice.

I shake the thought out of my head as I hurry toward the staircase. My dad had been a good man. My dad had been a good man, I repeat the thought to myself even when I lay in bed. Even then I’m not truly convinced. It’s true that there isn’t much I remember about my dad. I vaguely remember his face and how he made me feel but...could I really doubt their words? I hadn’t known my father and Madam Carmen never speaks of him. I can’t really claim to know who my father was. I have to rely on other people’s words.. 

What if their words were correct? What if my father was part of their little g**g of criminals? I shudder at the thought and try to push it out of my mind. Even if my father had been a part of their little crew, it doesn’t matter. He’s dead and I don’t have to participate in anything he was related to.  

I take a deep breath and pull my clothes back over my undergarments. I wrap my blanket around me as I pull my window open and I climb out onto the rook. I crawl over to the chimney and lean against it as I turn my head upwards to look at the stars. The large and endless night sky seemed to stretch on forever. It always succeeded in making my problems seem a little less intense.

I sit up straight when I see a dark shadow blocking my view of the stars. It isn’t a cloud. What else could it be?