AabiLynn's Dragon Rite #0 Dragon's Brood: Egg Hatchlings' Ritual- Prequel

AabiLynn's Dragon Rite

  #0

  Dragon's Brood

  Egg Hatchlings' Ritual

  Prequel Teaser

  Book One of the Series

  Text Copyright © 2014 by Kristie Lynn Higgins

  Cover Art Copyright © 2014

  www.KristieLynnHiggins.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

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  AabiLynn (uh'bee'lin): woman of a sorrowful song

  Prologue

  In an age of magic, the Stygian Legion moved against the land of Athenia during the first reign of men. The Stygian Legion was an army of warlocks under the command of King Viiss. King Viiss wanted to enter the land so he could steal a large jewel and open a doorway to the Void, a world of demons. They would have conquered Athenia if not for the dragons aligning with tribal men. Their combined forces of sorcery and steel repelled the advance of the Stygian Legion, and King Viiss returned to his kingdom defeated and empty handed.

  Now during the third reign of men and a time of peace, young humans were brought to the land of dragons within Athenia. The young humans participated in the first ceremonial acts of the Dragon Rite. Many went but few were chosen.

  Chapter One

  AabiLynn

  The sun peeked over a grass covered hill and brought morning to Thatchman's farm. There was a bit of a chill in the air as spring forced winter out. Thatchman harnessed his horse and prepared to continue plowing his field to make it ready for seed. He still had two days of work before he could sow. Thatchman finished buckling the last strap on the harness when he noticed dust rising in the distance. A group of riders approached his land, and he had expected they would come. He went over to his hut that housed himself, his third wife, and his four children; three were by his first wife who suddenly disappeared and the other child was by his second wife who passed on about five years prior in childbirth. Thatchman grabbed his spear and returned to his horse.

  His third wife, Hellen-Mary, attended to the pigs along with his youngest and only daughter, Cara-AabiLynn. By tradition, women of the Northern Grass Plains Tribe carried their mother's name as their second name to honor the one who bore them, so Mary was the mother of Hellen and so on.

  “Girl, bring the bucket of slop the rest of the way for me,” Hellen ordered as she set the bucket down and leaned against the fence to rest her weary and very pregnant body.

  Cara hobbled her nearly five-year-old body toward the only mother she ever knew. Cara had been born early which caused her left arm and leg to be stunted. Her leg, inches shorter than her other, caused her to limp, but since she was born this way she knew no different. Her arm bore the brunt of the deformity, it was about half the size of the other, and appeared to others to be of little use. Cara hurried over to Hellen, grabbed the bucket handle with her strong hand, and lifted it into her arms with the help of her other hand. For a child her size, the bucket of yesterday's unwanted food was huge. Its water slushed about the bucket as she walked the last ten feet to the gate. Part of the slop splashed her brown dress which was already stained by a week's wearing. Hellen waddled over, holding her back and opened the gate to the pigpen. Cara entered and walked across the cool muddy ground to the trough, then she lifted the bucket as high as she could, and poured most of the slop into the trough while some of it spilled onto her bare feet. She started back with the bucket and fell as her shorter leg sunk too far into the mud. Cara didn't cry, but she got back to her feet and made her way to Hellen. Dark mud covered her face and along with nearly every inch of her front. Cara thought it would be fun to play in the mud but knew Hellen would disapprove.

  “Look at you!” Hellen complained as she took her apron and wiped her dirt stained face. Hellen questioned once she finished, “What am I going to do with you? You are nearly as useless as the old sow in there.”

  She motioned to the large female pig in the pen, and Cara turned and stared at the creature that was three times her size and what her father called infertile. She didn't understand why they considered the pig useless or what the word really meant.

  “I am sorry, Hellen,” Cara stated as she bowed her little head. “I am sorry I am useless.”

  The riders neared the farm, and the horses' hooves thundered across the dirt road. Hellen noticed the riders and straightened her dress and hair somewhat as Cara hid behind her. The lead rider halted his horse, and the four others with him also did so in turn until they stopped behind their leader. The five sword armed men approached Thatchman on foot. All the riders were clad in leather from the band around their head, to the vest that covered their bare chests, and to their pants and boots. Thatchman kept his spear at his side with the blunt end resting on the ground.

  “Bork,” Thatchman cautiously spoke as if he greeted a wolf he'd surprised in the woods who may be hungry or not.

  Bork was the leader of the Northern Grass Plains Tribe which Thatchman and his family belonged. Most of the tribesmen raised horses, yaks, and/or sheep. Thatchman was one of a few farmers who tilled the land.

  “Thatchman, you know why I am here?” Bork questioned.

  He nodded and then he replied, “You have come to collect.”

  Bork looked to Hellen and noticed the small child hiding behind her, then he turned back to Thatchman, and asked him, “Do you have the silver?”

  “I do not,” he replied.

  “That is a problem,” Bork stated. “I cannot give you any more time.” He scanned the area around the hut, pen, and field, but saw no one else there. Bork said, “I shall have to take from you something of equal value.” He looked to the distant hill, then to the roads winding behind the farm, and then he questioned, “What of your sons? Where are they? They usually work the farm with you,” Bork spoke and then he stated, “I could take one of them as a soldier for a year.”

  “They are not here,” Thatchman said and then he added, “They are visiting my brother.”

  “Convenient, I would say,” Bork muttered and then he stated, “Your crop is a season away.” He looked to the pen and then he questioned, “What of your pigs?”

  Thatchman replied, “I have four young ones and one large one.”

  The day before,
Thatchman sent the piglets' mother with his sons as they headed for his brother's farm a couple of valleys away. He wouldn't give up a fertile sow, not for a gambling debt.

  Bork walked over, looked over the feeding beasts, and then he said, thinking the sow was the piglets' mother, “I shall take the large one for payment.”

  “One moment, my lord,” Hellen spoke as she walked over to her husband and whispered into his ear.

  Thatchman's eyes lit up as if he had never even thought of such an ingenious idea and then he said, “Bork, why not take my daughter, Cara.”

  “Your daughter?” Bork uttered as he turned and looked to the young girl. “Would you not prefer to give me your pig?”

  Cara ran over to Hellen and hid behind her again.

  Bork looked her over a second time before she hid herself and then he stated, “She is too young to give to one of my older sons or soldiers.”

  “Take her as a slave,” Thatchman said. “She is a hard worker.”

  “And deformed,” one of the other riders exclaimed.

  “He is right,” Bork stated. “She shall be