Prolog
"Come now, what have you got to lose?"
The young man's steely eyes darted toward the hunched old crone beside him, a pair of cunning eyes sunken in a wrinkled face gleaming in the moonlight. The ethereal white hair that framed her face was knotted unattractively. He looked back toward the gaping black mouth of the cave, the never-ending darkness seemingly impenetrable. Even the grass dared not to grow near the entrance. But he was not afraid.
"It is not what I have to lose, crone," he said after a moment. The wind whistled through the looming trees, rustling the green leaves. Somewhere in the distance a wolf alerted its pack to its presence. "I do have a son. If I die, he will have no one."
"But you will not die!" exclaimed the ancient woman, spreading her arms. Her ratty black cloak opened to reveal a shining girdle studded with green emeralds, but before the young man could see it she had lowered her appendages once more. "I have come to you for help because I have heard of your prowess in battle, Uther."
He was unmoved by her flattery. Uther stared steadily at the cavern entrance, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "I have never faced a dragon, crone."
"They are not as great as they are made to be in stories, Uther," she smiled patronizingly. "Just think, Uther, of the horde of treasure within! It can all be yours—if you bring me the thing that I want, the one thing to which I lay claim."
"Your family relic," Uther said calmly. "I see no reason, still, why I should do all this for your benefit. Regardless of whether the dragon is small and weak or huge and mighty, it will have many advantages over me. Magic. Fire. Familiar territory."
The old crone shuffled forward and grasped the rough sleeve at his elbow. He looked down his nose at her, face stern. "Uther, you have been removed from your rightful place. Your brothers murdered, your throne stolen, and your sister Caelia—have you forgotten what atrocities Vortigern did to her? Her screams as he—"
"Enough," Uther hissed angrily, snatching his arm away from her. His brow furrowed, made fiercer by the scar that traveled from his right eyebrow to his scalp. "What has any of that to do with this?"
"There are objects of power in the bowels of this cave," she said, revealing her stained, crooked teeth in a conspiratory grin. "With them you will be strong enough to take back your kingdom, to assume your rightful place as king. With the wealth this dragon hoards, you could raise an army to rival those of the Picts and the Romans and the Saxons combined! Revenge, Uther."
A lustful sheen entered Uther's eyes at the word. If he could obtain and harness the power of which the crone spake, he could make Vortigern, the noble who had usurped his brother's throne, suffer. He could kill him slowly, destroy his followers, and take his sister as the man had taken Caelia. And then he would have the kingdom his father had left to Constans, his eldest brother. The kingdom he had been forced to flee as a child, many years before.
In a single, fluid movement Uther drew his sword, the blade hissing like a venomous snake. "I will bring you your lamp, crone. The rest of it belongs to me."
"Yes," she said gleefully, following his purposeful strides towards the cave. "Yes, yes! Bring it to me! Have the gold! Kill the dragon! Kill Kilgharrah! Bring me the lamp!"
Uther was quickly consumed by the darkness, his footsteps echoing ominously. The crone stood quivering in anticipation, straining her old ears. There was no sound for a long few moments, as if Uther had walked into another world.
She would have to be patient.
But it was so close now, she could feel it deep within her bones. The sheer power of the lamp, so close. It tingled, marched like ants across her sagging skin, thrummed through her impassioned blood. Her heart fluttered in her heaving breast.
Finally, the lamp would be hers.
Finally.
Finally!
The old woman licked her withered dry lips, which upturned in a smile. The fool would never know what had happened, not until it was too late, at least. She would have the lamp, but it was not the lamp she truly wanted. She wanted what was inside it.
A horrified scream suddenly rent the air, echoing like a damned soul from Hell. She leapt back in alarm, features twisting in despair when the scream was cut short by a deep, monstrous roar.
"No!" she wailed, spindly fingers clutching at her tangled white locks.
A breath of scalding wind preceded an intensifying orange glow from the cave. The ground rumbled, knocking the crone to the ground.
Hear me, unworthy witch, snarled a demonic voice. She could picture in her mind's eye the dangerous teeth and claws that accompanied it. Your warrior has failed. Ye shall not set foot here! What ye wish ye shall never obtain!
"I will!" she howled, struggling to regain her footing in the slippery blanket of leaves. "I will have it!"
As if the very earth were angered at her defiance, the shaking compounded, tossing her like a stringless poppet along the forest floor. The old woman shrieked, desperately digging her long blackened nails into the fertile dirt beneath her. She could only watch in horror as, with a rumbling groan, the cave collapsed before her, shooting up plumes of thick dust.
"Nooo!"
The earthquake ceased at once, its causer satisfied that the cave was blocked to her malign presence. The wretched crone, moaning miserably, scrambled forward on her hands and knees. She reached as though to start digging, but then she paused, catching a gleam of starlight out of the corner of her eye. Anticipation constricting her airways, the old creature altered the path of her hands to expose the gem just sprouting from the rubble.
A gasp of awe and delight escaped her at the sight she uncovered. A tender smile curled her lips as she picked up the oval object, cradling it in her dirty cloak. She could feel a tiny pulse of magic from within it.
"Aithusa," she whispered hungrily.
The smooth surface of the egg cracked.
A/N: This is something I'm doing for NaNoWriMo. I'll update chapters as I finish them. Thanks for reading!