Page 109 of Flameborne: Chosen

Saul and I hunched over our dragons’ necks as the commands followed, one on top of the other, each more complicated than the one before—and the moment we reached the ordered position, a new order came.

No time to breathe, no time to think.

We knotted—flying close but staggered in height so that our dragon’s wings almost brushed each other’s heads. We spired—wheeling up in a wide spiral, gaining height, but keeping formation together. We weaved—breaking wingtip formation to sweep back and forth, first pivot over wing, then wing over pivot, the dragons braiding in the air. An evasive maneuver.

We scattered and regrouped. We pitched—turning sharply and descending quickly—and we wheeled.

It felt like an hour, but the position of the sun barely moved. The orders came in rapid-fire. There was no time to talk to each other through our dragons, or coordinate. We were forced to move immediately, trusting that our partner would do as they were supposed to.

Which, I guess, was the point.

Then finally, when we were far over the ocean and almost out of sight of the land, when I was growing dizzy from changing positions so often, the officer behind us ordered us to level and wait.

I heaved a sigh of relief—we hadn’t been told to abandon the flight, which meant we had passed so far.

The coastline of Vosgaarde was far in the distance, but we flew towards it. If we kept this line, we’d pass directly over the Reach.

Were we done?

The knot of nerves in my stomach yanked tighter. But before I could call out to ask Saul if he knew, the officer behind us flapped closer, keeping his dragon above ours, then leaned over to call out.

“Flameborne! You are now in Phalanx. Until you receive another order, you hold your line. Do not retreat!”

Then he banked off and flew away, wheeling and descending, but flying much faster than we were. In level flight, the dragons glided until they began to lose height, then they flapped to keep us level. It was the most energy efficient and least-warlike order of flight.

But Phalanx was a battle cry. When a squad became a weapon. It required silent, tight flight in a clustered group of a squad, designed to confuse watching enemies into believing that fewer dragons approached than were.

I’d been told that the assessment didn’t require battle maneuvers, except as exercises. Was this only a test to see if we would remain quiet and on track? Would they order us to descend when we reached the Academy?

I couldn’t ask, though. Phalanx was designed for each rider and dragon pair to know their place—to await command to break, and then to fly to their individual task.

Giving the order meant taking it as if we were in battle.

I looked at Saul. He frowned too and had a hand flat to Bich’s neck. But both the dragons seemed unflustered. So I settled into my seat, gripped my strap and waited to see if this was a ruse.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The closer we drew to land, the more I became aware of dragons in the air. Large dragons, ridden by Furyknights, clustered and wheeling in small groups about every half-mile.

Were they only assessing our flight? Or was there a—

Then I saw it. Their shape had been obscured by the dark, distant coastline, but now that we were closer, the other three Flameborne became visible, holding their V formation tightly, directly ahead. And on the same line.

We were flying head-to-head. If we all continued on this course, we would crash.

31. Hold Your Line

SOUNDTRACK:Clawsby The Haunt

~ BREN ~

Hold your line,the officer had said.

I looked at Saul and he looked at me. I gripped Akhane’s neck strap more tightly.

‘Akhane, if we hold the line—’

‘Obey your orders, Little Flame.’