Land of Salvania

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  "I found my first rock dragon on a sunny day in May just like today," Flint said as a little red dragon, no bigger than a squirrel, scrambled over his hand, arm, and shoulder before hiding in his hair. Other rock dragons were sunning themselves on the warm rock wall or peeking out of crevices. "They say half the Yunni keep them as pets and the other half keep them for breakfast." With a twinkle in his eye, he looked at a Yunni, one of the small forest folk, standing among the children making up Flint's "forest classroom." The children all looked at the Yunni who, even though full grown, was barely as tall as child. "Mister Flint," the Yunni said with great solemnity. "I would never have one of these delightful creatures for breakfast. I might invite one to enjoy my breakfast, though." She tossed a morsel of bread onto a flat rock. Flint's little red peeked out of his curtain of hair, but a bigger blue dragon flashed out

  The druid Mecmac donned his best green cloak. Usually, he wore a white cloak for ceremonies, but this night was different. Taking his ornate horn off a peg above the hearth, Mecmac slipped out of his small cottage and walked easily down the familiar path leading to the Dragon Stones. The moon was full, and the night was full of promise. He was the curator, of sorts, for The Stones. A few times a year, some visitor would stop to ask about the long-lost builders and the magic they must have used to handle such huge stones. Mecmac knew some of the story from the lore of his Order. He knew some from reading old scrolls that hinted at other scrolls he had never seen. That was how he had restarted a new/old ceremony: he had read from a crumbling scroll that the Order of Green, possibly an ancient mystic order like his, once held ceremonies at The Stones during the change of each season. Don thou the green of thy station And seek the standing stones. Do this under the Worm Moon in Marc

  Mouser drew two long daggers as the black figure emerged from the midnight shadows. Somewhere behind the terrifying shape, Mouser heard a horse snort and stamp. Old Barley was right about "black riders" after all, Mouser thought as the black-robed shape stood before him, swaying a little like a silent, ebony tree. Barley was still shakey after his inn, The Prancing Pony, had been ransacked two nights earlier, "By men all in black, or more like...like shadows that has taken the form of a man." It had taken more cajoling, but the last thing he would say is, "They was after my guests, four nice Hobbits from the Shire. Then these Hobbits ran off with another ranger, meaning no disrespect to you yourself, you see." Mouser, a ranger of the North, had been looking for Strider, his captain. Many roads and rumors had finally led him to Bree, where, it seemed he had barely missed the 90-day wonder of intrigue and mayhem. Even the old men of the town constable

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Ritter stepped outside wearing a fresh tabard, and most of the grime from his days of confinement was scraped off his face and hands. His kidnapper walked beside him. Both were smiling. Wellorg, the massive dragon queen sniffed the air and stiffened. The bandits' twenty dragons surrounded her, bowing and cooing their greetings to the green and black queen. A few of the larger blue dragons were starting to posture and nip each other to showoff their worth as possible mates. If she stayed around any longer, they would start fighting in earnest. "Like I said, she is huge, powerful, and more dangerous than you'll ever know," Ritter said, still smiling. "She will happily slaughter everyone - man and dragon - you see here if this goes sideways." "You're just trying to save your own skin," Morgan, his captor-turned-reluctant-ally, said. "You bet I am," Ritter said. "Just do what I said,