The Seeker from
A short fantasy
is a dragon, a guardian of the mountains, and a servant of the
Gatekeepers. It is her duty to collect those the Gatekeepers
designate seekers and bring them to her masters. The only problem is
that the latest seeker
doesn’t want to go. Vestera doesn’t care what the dragon wants;
as far as she’s concerned she’s not about to become a dragon’s
pet—but now she has to choose: go with the dragon, or face the
royal guard. If only she knew which was worse...
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Copyright © April
21, 2017 C.M. Simpson
Photograph—Mountain top in the clouds © Nordroden at Dreamstime
Art—3D-rendering fantasy dragon on white © Valentyna Chukhlyebova
(Vacs) at Dreamstime
Cover Design ©
March 11, 2017, C.M. Simpson
This is for all
those who believed in me enough that, eventually, I had the courage
to believe in myself, and who taught me that the only way to make the
impossible possible is get to making it happen.
Seeker from Hivrala
Work by C. M. Simpson
Seeker from Hivrala
started this story on July 21, 2015 as part of the Story-Match
but only got 1,200 words through it, before I had to stop. It was
completed on August 14, 2016, as part of the Story-A-Week
and is a blend of science fiction and fantasy. It was first titled
but, when it was done, it became clear that this title just would not
do, so I renamed it The
Seeker from Hivrala.
snorted at the air, snuffling down the sweet currents blowing up from
the plains lapping at her mountain’s feet. She raised her snout and
flicked out her tongue, tasting the sweetness, making sure the faint
touch of sharpness was still there, that somewhere amidst the grasses
below a seeker came. When she was sure, the dragon trumpeted the news
to the mountain heights, and launched herself into the wind. Hers was
the honour of the first overflight, and the capture, if she could
* * *
heard the bugled notes ring out in the distant range, and curled her
lip. If they thought she came looking for one of them, they had
another think coming. She did not want to become a dragon’s pet.
She had merely fled the city before the royal guard could find her.
Charlatan, indeed! What would they know?
she decided. They can know nothing. And that was the way it as going
to remain. Them, ignorant and empty-handed, and she free to roam
whatever lands lay beyond the mountains. She looked up at the
towering peaks, and felt the first sliver of doubt. Of course, first
she had to cross those
Vestera adjusted the
weight of her pack, and hoped she had enough to make the journey.
She’d brought food, and what water she could carry, rope and
pitons—although she was no climber—a tent for shelter, warm
blankets, sewn together at the edges to make a pouch she could slide
into at night, flint and tinder and a cooking pot.
Truth be known, she
was hoping to find snow further up, or a stream. She could eat the
rations dry, but she could not drink them, and they tasted better
softened. First, though, she had to take cover. She had no desire to
be scooped up by the dragons, and taken from her intended course.
plains were not as flat as many assumed. They rippled and undulated,
their grasses concealing gullies carved out by hidden streams that
came and went with the seasons. Vestera looked for one of those and,
when she couldn’t find one, contented herself with sinking below
the level of the grass stems and curling herself around the base of
one of clumps. In this way, she would be covered by the outward
spreading stalks, her form invisible to the sky.
She had not counted
on the powerful downdraft created by the dragon’s wings as it
pivoted mid-air above her.