Rise of the Elead

By Kyrsten Newlon

There is nothing more tedious than a Chalean war party. Their banter is unintelligent, their manners are lackluster, and don’t even get me started on the leftover jerky I’ve been forced to eat for nine days in a row now.

Maybe—maybe—if they had let me ride on a horse that didn’t sneeze every time I coerced it into a trot, I would have been an obedient prisoner and stayed put.

But then I wouldn’t be clambering on sore feet through this tunnel, evading the oblivious Chaleans.

My enemy has been scouring the tunnels under Harsha’s mountain range for the past week and a half. It’s how the Chaleans think they’re going to root out my people from the inside. It’s an ingenious plot, compared to what they’ve attempted in the past. But my people are smarter than the Chaleans will ever understand. And I have a plan.

A soft glow snags my attention, penetrating the dark around me. As I near the light, it grows stronger and I feel a deep, inner pull toward it. I haven’t felt that pull since I was crowned Queen Clementina of the Harsha two months ago, in the heart of these very tunnels.

The glow dims as the passage widens. I reach up and trace my fingers along the glossy ceiling of the black rock tunnel, a smooth casing for the Harsha mites that wander these walls. They’re part-animal, part-technology, a magic we have kept secret for as long as it has existed.

The little mites move slowly, bright antennae feeling their way along the inner wall of the tunnel. “Hello, little friends,” I whisper to them, and they beam back at me, like they can sense my magic, too. “Can you lead the way for me, please?”

Instantly, the mites glow brighter and the light ripples like a wave, illuminating another passage that disappears around a bend.

“Thank you,” I murmur and step carefully through, following their lights in quiet awe.

I feel the wind even before emerging into the cavern. It brushes against me, loops around my shoulders and rattles my chains in a wild beckoning I can’t resist. I’ve never been this deep in the mountains and it thrills me.

First, I see the Harsha technology. A swarm of solar birds swoop through blinding sunlight shining through the ceiling high above. Coursing yellow beams spiral across the floor, powering our city from far below its surface.

This is the heart of the Harsha. This is the magic I was born into.

A curtain of wire-vines conceals the larger section of the cavern, but they part for me, grazing along my silver skin.

As I lift my eyes, air catches in my throat and I can’t seem to keep moving. Frozen in solid stone, its great wings lifted in anticipation of flight, is the Elead. The Harsha Dragon. The legend and protector of my forebearers.

I can’t believe it’s real.

The legend says that the dragon wakes to defend the Harsha people in their time of greatest need, only when a noble’s blood has been spilled. And even though I hate to admit it, that time is now. The Chaleans have grown into a strong people, as stupid as I assume them to be.

They outnumber and overpower us here in our mountain.

I walk closer to the Elead, taking it all in. Massive scales, razor teeth, magnificent eyes. It is horrifying and beautiful.

But how to wake it?

“You’ve done well, dear Queen Clem,” a grating voice says.

I whip around, heartbeat fluttering between fight or flight, leaning toward the fight part. Jar Puder, the Chalean commander, approaches slyly. His war party masses behind him, cackling like they’ve already claimed the victory.

“You’ve led us to our success. Do you really think we didn’t know about the Elead? Did you truly believe you escaped without our notice? That dragon will fight for us, if it’s the last thing I order.” He snorts, an ugly sound that makes me want to gag. “You’ve done your part. Now we have no use for you.”

My teeth grit together so hard I think they’ll crack inside my mouth. But I force boldness into my spirit, and back up toward the stone dragon. “As adorable as that is, Commander Puder, I actually have no use for you, so you can go now. It was nice chatting with you.”

He assesses me, amusement twinkling in his snot-green eyes. “Kill her.”

I press myself up against the dragon, every bit of magic left within me rising to the surface, desperate to escape.

“Elead!” I shout. “If you’re planning on waking up, now’s the time.”

The first warrior is in front of me faster than I expected. I barely have time to duck as her sword crashes toward me. It hits the stone. Cracks spread across the dragon’s chest. A single shard of rock falls away, and I see the glow of the beast beneath.

It’s not enough, a powerful voice whispers in my head. I require a sacrifice.

I know it’s the Elead, because suddenly, the legends of long ago make sense.

The dragon woke only when there was dire need. And the Elead only knew of the need when noble blood was spilled.

When the second warrior comes at me, I stare into his eyes, letting his blade run straight through my heart.

My vision fades to black, pain lancing jaggedly through my chest. Then echoes of silence and lost voices—the rulers of the Harsha that came before me—speaking and yelling and crying out for strength.

My eyes open. Stone cracks and crumbles around my stiff body. With a great shake of my wings, I break free from the frozen rock encasing my dragon form. I steady my gaze on the Chalean army.

Now, it is the Elead’s turn.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kyrsten Newlon is a marketing and communications specialist in Winona Lake, Indiana. While she usually devotes her free time to browsing bookstores and reading obsessively, she also writes poetry, short stories, and novels. Besides writing, Kyrsten travels abroad to explore European libraries and tries very hard to bake edible muffins for her friends. Her ideal evening predictably involves a cozy chair, a good book, and a steady rainfall outside her window.

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