Prologue: A Life Destroyed

            In her excitement at being outside the village, Miera found herself skipping down the dusty path on her way home.  Even though Killan was only a few miles away, visiting it was definitely an exciting adventure for a ten-year-old who’d rarely left the encircling hills surrounding Lanron, her hometown.  Of course, normally there wasn’t much cause for travel, and far too much work to be done at home, but since her mother had broken her leg and hadn’t been able to take the package to the Healer herself, Miera had been sent.  She stopped skipping, remembering that she was an official Healer’s envoy, and tried to walk very sedately and properly.  That only lasted a few minutes, though, before she forgot and started skipping again.

            The sun was high overhead by the time she began climbing the steep sagebrush-covered hill above her village, and she was too tired to skip.  She slowly ascended the rise, her attention narrowing from the dry desert around her and the faint burble of a small irrigation canal in the distance to only the dust on the switchback road directly ahead of her.  She was concentrating on the climb so hard that she didn’t see the smoke rising from the valley.  The sight before her as she crested the hill came as a complete surprise.

            The homes that had been nestled in the center of the small valley were smashed, crumpled as if an earthquake had knocked their foundations out from under them.  One was on fire, threatening to spread to the others, but no one fought the blaze.  In fact, Miera couldn’t see any people at all.

            With a cry, she sprang down the steep path.  She pelted down the hill, wanting to get there as fast as possible to see what had happened.  Surely no one had been hurt.  Her home had to be safe – didn’t it?

            Without warning, her feet hit a section of loose pebbles and she slid, windmilling her arms in a vain attempt to stay upright.  It was to no avail.  As her feet flew out from under her, she hit her head hard on the ground, and for a moment she saw stars.

            Miera blinked, trying to get the spots that filled her vision to disperse.  After a moment, however, she realized that the black dots she saw spinning above her weren’t all due to the blow to her head.  There was something flying high above.  Birds of prey, perhaps?  She struggled to sit up, but froze as she realized that the creatures she saw were much too large to be birds.  Oh, no.  It can’t be …

            The wyverns called to each other, a high, keening sound like the cry of a lost soul.  Then the host of circling beasts turned as one and flew off into the western mountains.  Shaking off the paralysis the fearsome creatures had inspired, Miera scrambled to her feet and set off once again for her village.

            She was not prepared for what she found.  The buildings had been ruined by the wyverns; one had been set on fire.  But it was the bloodstains that forced her to a halt.  Pools of blood were scattered around, but there was no sign of bodies.  She looked around, confused, until she saw a severed hand, lying in the dirt alongside a house.  That finished her; she turned away and vomited, again and again.  Still, she knew she had to find her mother and father.  They had to be all right.  They had to!  She moved down the street, trying not to look around.  Her home was near the center of the village.  As she approached it, she hesitated, afraid of what she might see.  At last she looked.

            Her mother was sitting, propped up against the ruins of their home.  Miera ran to her, tears streaming down her face, black hair flying backward from the speed with which she ran.  “Mamma!”

            Her mother tried to smile, but her face was pale under her gold-red hair and writhed with pain.  “Miera.  I’m so glad you’re all right.”

            Miera stopped a few feet away as she realized that her mother’s everyday brown homespun dress had a large dark stain spreading across her side.  “What happened, Mamma?  What happened?”

            Her mother’s voice was strained and she spoke with difficulty.  “It was the wyverneers.  They came demanding tribute, saying – this was – their land now.  We – honor – Dragonmasters; Father refused …”

            Miera followed her mother’s gaze to where her father lay.  She had to blink several times before assimilating what was wrong.  He was there, but his head was missing.  She refused to believe it.  It couldn’t be true!  Her Pappy couldn’t be dead!  “No!” she cried, turning back to her mother.

            Her mother’s eyes were glazed, her breath rasping in her throat.  “No, Mamma!  Not you too!”  She grabbed her mother’s hand, trying to help her.  She had a Healing Aptitude.  She should be able to save her.  She’d never tried to use the potential she’d been told lay within her – no one was trained until her Aptitude matured, at puberty – but that wasn’t going to stop her.  I have to!  She can’t die!  I won’t let her!  No, no!

            It was no use.  Not even the great Healer Lynathi out of legends could have turned back Death when it was that close; with her small abilities, Miera had no hope.  Within minutes, her mother was gone.

            Miera sat amid the ruin for a long time, holding her mother’s body close, ignoring the blood that stained her clothes, weeping bitterly for the loss of her family, her home, her life.