Tales of the Dragon Islands: Prologue v. 2

 Hi all. Happy Super Sunday! Yes, the Super Bowl is today. It doesn't mean too much to me as my Dolphins are once again nowhere near being in the game. Still, it's fun to get together with friends, or family, or both, and have some food, watch the game and the commercials, and do other things during the halftime show.

This weekend, I have been doing some refurbishment of Tales of the Dragon Islands. I had rewritten a large bit of chapter 4 and deleted a chapter and a half of material once I realized I was headed in the wrong direction. That caused me to turn a critical eye to another part of the book that I was a little dissatisfied with--the prologue. So, I've rewritten it. I had posted the original here. You can check that out if you like before reading the updated version below. Let me know your thoughts in the comments section.

Prologue

Autumn, 785 Year of the Dragon (YOD)
Jongchin, northern coast
 
    Eleven year old Benchu and his father, Jenchu left their small sod farmhouse early in the morning. They were going out to seed their freeholding. His father had tilled their two fields yesterday, and today Benchu had been asked to help with the planting. His father had never asked him to help with such an important task. He looked out on the bleak windswept landscape. An early spring breeze sent a chill through him.
    This would be the first year his father would trust him to distribute the precious seeds. He felt the weight of them in the leather bag at his side. The strap holding it dug slightly into his shoulder.
Something to the north caught his attention. A black plume was rising from the direction of the nearby coast.
    “Smoke!” he yelled, pointing.
    “Raiders!” his father exclaimed. “Benchu, find your mother and get her to the caves!”
    “What about you?” Benchu asked.
    “I must join with our neighbors to fend them off.”
    Jenchu went into the house and came out with his hunting bow. “Find your mother. She was down by the creek washing clothes with the other women. Get them all to the caves!”

    As he spoke, men from the village and neighboring farms appeared, heading toward the coast. They carried a ragtag collection of weapons and tools--bows, scythes, some swords. When they saw Jenchu, they all converged on the farm. He was a village councilor. It was up to him to plan a defense.
    “The coast is under attack,” he said. “It’s a good bet it’s raiders from the Northland. We have to go and meet them before they push further inland. Are you with me?”
    The gathered crowd nodded. A few cheered.
    “All right, then let’s go. Benchu, you go and alert the women like I told you.”
    Benchu nodded, and headed up the ridge toward the valley and the creek. He had almost reached the crest when he heard shouts.
    Turning back, he saw a horde of men coming up from the coast. They were dressed in leather and fur. They wore steel banded helmets with a large metal spike at the top. All carried two-handed axes.
He stood there watching, unable to tear himself away. As the villagers charged to meet the raiders, he saw his father shooting arrows, felling several northmen. He felt a momentary flush of pride.
    Then, a shadow rose from the smoke on the horizon. It moved swiftly toward them. The rising sun glinted on silver.
    Benchu gasped. “The Silver Dragon,” he whispered.
    It was the Silver Dragon of the North. Flying swiftly from the coast, it circled the battle once. Even from this distance Benchu was awestruck by the size of the great beast. The sun glinted off its silver scales. Great silver wings cast a shadow on the ground. Its sapphire eyes held a terrible hatred. The mouth was huge. It held large, curved yellow fangs and a ruby red forked tongue.

    The northmen disengaged, falling back from the villagers. The dragon’s mouth opened wider and it unleashed two white blasts. The defenders, including Benchu’s father, turned to ice when the blasts engulfed them. The dragon flapped its wings, sending a hurricane-like gust that scattered Jonchu and all the other men into the air, nothing more than sparkling crystals of ice.
    Benchu choked back a scream. He wanted to run back toward the dragon. He wanted to kill it. He had already taken several steps back down toward it when he remembered his mother and the others.
With a silent curse, he turned, crested the ridge, and down into the valley toward the creek.
    He was halfway down the valley slope when he saw them. They were lying face down in the grass by the water, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles. The green grass was stained red. Northmen stood over them. Sitting some way off to the side were children. They were bound and being guarded by more of the raiders. Most of the boys and girls he recognized as being from his village. He could see no adults alive.

    Before he could think or say anything, the sun was blotted out by a large shadow. Looking up, he saw the silver dragon. It had flown up over the ridge and was now soaring down into the valley. It was headed directly toward him.
    Giving a small cry, he ran down the slope. His one thought was to outrun the dragon long enough to take at least one of the raiders out before he was killed. Sliding the seed pouch off his shoulder, he swung it above his head like a sling as he ran.
    He never reached the northmen. Another shadow swooped toward him from the opposite direction.
In amazement, he skidded to a stop as a large, golden dragon appeared upstream, further down the valley. Flying out of the sun it came, the light glinting its golden scales like fire.
    “The Golden Dragon of Ang,” Benchu murmured.
    Flame, shot from the dragon’s mouth, incinerating some of the northmen and putting the rest to flight, leaving the children behind.
    The silver dragon gave a shriek of rage and rose to meet its foe. The two collided in the air above Benchu, fire meeting ice. Both air and earth trembled with the collision. Benchu was knocked off his feet. His head hit something hard and he knew no more.