The Dragon Hunter’s Keeper

The Ice Wyrms moved up-mountain during every summer season, retreating into caves left frozen for centuries while the spring frost in the lowlands melted. The Stalkers followed, tracking the scaled flocks to the northernmost points of treacherous mountains. But the Stalkers were only human - albeit slightly magic - so they were forced to take breaks on their treks. As the Ice Wyrms continued to hike upwards, following the instinctual embedded paths in the snow, the Stalkers found shelter at my inn. 

Devenna Darkmore had been leading a group of mountaineers since the first Summer Stalk my doors were open for. She grew to become the longest-time customer of my services and the most renowned Wyrm Stalker of the Sutlinet Crags. 

Until she retired. 

***

The Drumm Inn’s doors fly open and white flakes of powder drift onto the freshly-swept floor. Granger, the bus boy, pauses with a broom in his hand and wipes a dusty palm on his apron. Before he can part his mouth to speak on the lack of this newcomer’s manners, the ceremonious guest trudges inside with a ragtag troupe in tow. 

The singing and laughing and arguing of drunk Stalkers ceases as the group makes their way across the tavern lobby, waves of whispers following in their wake. 

“That’s Devenna’s gang…”

“Where is she?”

“Who is that leading them?”

The apparent leader stomps to the front bar and slams a fistful of grimy coins on the counter. “Three rooms, two cots each.”

“We only have floor mats left. No cots.” The greeter behind the bar crosses her arms over the roundness of her chest and raises an unimpressed bushy eyebrow at the pile of money. “Who are you and what are you doing with Devenna’s men?”

“Kaige Heliot. They’re my men now. And who are you, bar girl?”

“I’m the founder of this inn. As such, you will address me as Innkeeper.” She narrows her eyes as the sun reflects on the snow, through the frosted windows and bounces off Kaige’s pale skin. “I don’t take kindly to the rude or arrogant type. Especially strangers claiming to be leading my oldest friend’s group of Stalkers. I’ve heard nothing of this. What have you done to her and where do you get the notion that you can walk in my establishment and act like you own it?”

“Well, I’m Devenna’s nephew,” Kaige states it as if to be obvious fact. He moves the lapel of his deeply furry coat aside to reveal the glistening gold crest that Devenna once wore. A long-bodied, sharp-clawed wyrm with its head uncorked and spraying ruby blood. Quite literally, ruby blood. The streams are encrusted with countless specks of red gems to really emphasize that it is the crimson bodily fluid. 

Innkeeper tries her best to not let her hard stare waiver as her eyes take in Devenna’s precious medal. Her men wouldn’t let just anyone pry it from her, not even from her dead body if that were the case. 

“Fine,” Innkeeper admits, bitter rasp in her voice. “So, what you speak is the truth. But you are still not her; you will treat me with respect. We are not friends.” Innkeeper’s hands move to rest on her wide hips. “Just don’t tell me her reckless bravery has finally caught up to her.”

Kaige flattens his coat down, shedding what look to be saber-tooth tiger hairs all over the counter. His eyes roll like an insolent child. Innkeeper surmises he can’t be a year past his nineteenth. “My aunt is not dead, only decrepit and destitute.” 

Innkeeper scoffs, “Not my Devenna!” She clears her throat at the narrowing of Kaige’s stare. “My… dearest and closest friend… I remember her to be the farthest thing from ‘decrepit’ or ‘destitute’.” She mocks Kaige’s barely-pubescent tone. “I just saw her at last year’s Stalk.” She moves towards the tap and wipes her hands in a soggy tattered rag. Kaige dismisses his posse and they disperse to catch up with old friends as the ambient chatter rises again. He pulls up a stool and sits before Innkeeper as she begins to fill a tankard with warm ale. 

“She wrote this for you.” Kaige pulls a leather bag from across his shoulder and exchanges it for the heavy mug of frothy alcohol. “She demanded I leave it sealed and I deliver it to you before I do anything else up on this deity-forsaken mountain.” 

Innkeeper chews at the dryness of her lips before snatching the satchel. She feels the weight of a book inside and takes a deep breath. 

“Granger!” She calls across to her bus boy, who seems about to be the target of an aiming game. He stands with an apple on his head and a dartboard on the wall behind him. “Cover the bar!”

Kaige watches from over the metal rim of his tankard as Innkeeper rushes to the backroom and disappears behind a curtain. 

Innkeeper falls to her desk and unlatches the satchel, revealing a bound journal. She cracks open the heavy book and recognizes Devenna’s blocky handwriting:

My Dearest,

I am writing to you with not the best news. My only possible familial heir, as I have no children of my own, is on his way to you. Should you be reading this, then you have already met my sister’s eldest son, Kaige. I am hoping he is still alive after meeting you, as he is an irritating oaf of a boy. He’s the only option I had, you must understand, to carry on my legacy. 

I construct this letter as a means to explain myself, and perhaps a plea. And you know very well, My Dearest, I do not plead to just anyone. 

Last summer, after I left you to descend towards the Realta Moors - my home for all intents and purposes - a stray wyrmling ambushed us and I fell half a mile down the mountain. I was left paralyzed, My Dearest, and I can barely talk - let alone fight. Most days I don’t want to get out of bed. I find it hard to feel worthy or useful. Everyone here pities me for it. They’ve hired many a caretaker and I’ve sent them all away. I admit I’ve been lumbering around yelling and raging - but it doesn’t justify what my family and neighbors are planning to do. They want to send me away, Dear, to a place where people who’ve lost their heads go. Like I’m some elderly lunatic. 

Kaige refused to bring me with him, he insisted I’d be too much of a hassle. I’d have to be carried ‘round on someone’s back, he said. As if I can’t still ride a horse. And I’ve got horses to go up that shitty mountain just fine! But they’ve locked me up like a prisoner in my own cottage, so I have no means of going out to saddle up and leave myself. Admittedly, I would be taking myself to death if I tried to leave on my own - make that trek by myself…

Let me reel in my whining. What I mean to ask of you is that you come for me, Dear. I know it’s a heavy request. But by the end of this summer I really will be mad as a Doomsdayer if I don’t get out. I may be no Stalker now, but I can be of help to you at the inn. You’re the only thing I have to hang on to now. I live in my memories of you. 

So please, consider. 

I’m in the village of Reoi. Ask around for me. I’ll be waiting. 

-Your Devenna.