Page 12

12

Rhea

S ky’s Edge looms in the distance on my side of the carriage, directly south of the Dragon’s Teeth Range. Fingers clinging to the window’s edge, I practically stick my head out while Gilbert cranes his neck behind me. It gives me wicked pleasure to impede his view, even though it’s childish.

The enormous plateau serves as the temporary home for the current riderless dragons, as well as the permanent haven for dragons who can no longer fight due to crippling injuries. The place is a labyrinth of ancient caves and hollows where the creatures nest alongside their dedicated keepers—not to mention a training ground for new Skyriders.

I had never seen it before, except in textbooks, but the drawing failed to capture its grandeur. The plateau is enormous, an expansive mountain with its top cut off.

Soon, the carriage turns, taking a path that runs perpendicular to the plateau. I pull away from the window and put on an exaggerated smile that has its intended effect. Gilbert stews, looking as if he’s biting his tongue, resisting the urge to curse me out.

What a child! Not that my behavior is much better.

Across the bench, Vaylen watches me, so I watch him back, carefully cataloging this new expression. It isn’t much different from his blank, I’m-Mr-Stern one, but there’s a slight tightening of his eyes as if he disapproves of my behavior and sees right through my charade. He doesn’t say anything though, which I consider a win. I will have to get away with lots of little things before I can get away with something bigger. The man is in my sights.

When the carriage stops, I jump out and join the Skyriders who arrived first. They stand at the front of the line of carriages along with their Primes.

Silas drifts closer. “Quite the sight, isn’t it? Just wait until you go inside.”

He has been here before, of course, though I don’t envy him that. I’m glad today is my first time seeing Sky’s Edge. The same day I will get my dragon. The exhaustion I felt earlier is gone. Restless energy buzzes in my veins instead. I’ve been ready for this for years.

Silas elbows me. “You’re grinning like an idiot.”

I shove him. “You too.”

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with Drifttown,” he says.

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing can ruin this.”

He nods in agreement.

“Welcome to Sky’s Edge,” Vaylen says. “We sent word that we’d be late, but the dragons don’t like to be kept waiting, so everyone, follow your Primes. Remember your training. Respect is essential.”

Dragon Etiquette was an exacting class at the Academy. The creatures live by a code as ancient as they are. They tolerate no disrespect from strangers and only allow riders and keepers to touch them or get close. Unless given permission, it’s best to avoid eye contact and keep a distance of at least twenty feet between you and them. They understand human speech, so you have to watch your words. They dislike curse words and sarcasm and are especially innervated by the mistreatment of those they consider weaker.

I glance askance at Gilbert. The man is a bully, the exact definition of what the dragons don’t tolerate, but he’s here, so that means he passed the etiquette class. No luck he’ll be eaten by one of them. Too bad.

Vaylen leads the way to a semi-circular hole carved right out of the plateau, the main entrance. Its huge metal doors are thrown open and manned by several Claws. Torches illuminate the long tunnel beyond.

“Singer Horacio, it’s good to see you,” he says, singling out a Claw with a Singer patch on his shoulder. The other Primes talk to their respective Claws.

“Good to see you too, Sir.”

“Everything all right with our dragons?”

“They were restless but settled down after a side of mutton.”

Vaylen chuckles fondly. “And Fragor?”

“He went on a hunt, then settled in his nest.”

“Good.” He glances over his shoulder and quickly introduces us. “These are Skysinger Wyndward and Drifttown, my new Clutch members. Are their accommodations ready for the night?”

“Yes, Sir. Additional riding uniforms have been stocked in their rooms as well as formal uniforms for other occasions.”

“Excellent.” He addresses us again. “After the dragons have their say, Singer Horacio will show you to your quarters and point you to the bathing facilities.”

“Yes, Sir,” Gilbert and I reply.

“Every Prime will take their Skyriders to a different section of the plateau,” Vaylen explains against the echo of his tapping boots as he enters the tunnel. “That means it will be us three, our dragons, and no one else in our assigned arena. Make sure you put your etiquette lessons to good use. One of the dragons is particularly… ill-tempered.”

Ill-tempered? Great! I guess the tips of my boots will be the most interesting things in the entire plateau, and I won’t take my eyes off them.

We climb three sets of steps molded out of the stone and enter a large vestibule. There, what I assume is one of the famous Sky’s Edge lifts awaits. We enter a confined cabin, and Vaylen pulls closed a metal door that looks like an accordion, then tugs one of two cords dangling from the ceiling—the blue one, I note, not the brown one.

A moment later, the entire cabin lurches, and it’s all I can do not to take hold of the wooden bar attached to the side. I imagine it’s there for such a purpose, but I’ll be damned if I let this thing intimidate me or make me look like a fool. I’m trained to stay on my feet atop a ratcheted cogwing. The lift barely hiccups.

Something makes a clanking sound above. I try not to imagine plummeting to the bottom. From my readings, I know the box we’re in travels inside a shaft carved through the rock. A massive pulley hangs above us, threaded with metal cables shaped by Skyforges, while somewhere at the base Forges on duty make a crank turn using their powers. That’s how the thing operates, even if it seems to move by mere magic.

“The lifts are only to be used to get to your training sessions,” Vaylen instructs. “The rest of the time… take the stairs.”

So no joy rides, Sir? I almost say, but I manage to turn my sarcasm into a quiet grin.

When we come to a stop, a gust of cold wind rushes into the cabin. I shiver, though not only from the temperature change. The lift has reached the top of the plateau, and we now hover flush with the surface. Vaylen opens the door and steps outside. We follow. A large open space stretches before us. The smell of wet earth fills my nostrils. Did it rain during our short ride up? No, there aren’t any clouds in the sky. Yet, the ground is damp, with a few small puddles here and there.

I glance around in search of the dragons, but they aren’t here yet.

A silver moon hangs above, huge and imposing. Two large outcrops bracket us to the right and left, impeding our view of the rest of the plateau. I imagine the other Skyriders are on the other side, arriving on their own lifts. To our front and back sit the edges of the plateau, sheer cliffs with drops of hundreds of feet.

The thump, thump, thump of wings drives my gaze to the sky. My heart kicks up its rhythm, seeming to match the sound. One dragon is coming, his dark silhouette blotching the moon. As he approaches, he gets bigger and bigger and bigger until the moon is nothing but a dim glow outlining his majestic shape. Wind buffets my face, and I realize someone must have watered the ground to save us from the dust storm this violent gust would have stirred.

He lands on the other side of the plateau, huge talons thudding and shaking the ground so fiercely I feel vibrations in my chest even at this distance. Walking slowly, he makes his way toward us. I’ve never been this close to a dragon. Many times, I’ve seen them fly over Emberton, so far above the ground that they looked like nothing but oversized birds. I knew they were big. I’ve seen illustrations that depict their scale in relation to humans, but… wyrm’s rot, nothing prepared me for this.

He’s massive, a living mountain. Still, he moves with a fluid grace that belies his size. His hide is silver like all wind dragons, his scales shimmering like diamonds, each one reflecting the moonlight. His powerful wings tuck in as he holds his head high, eyes like molten silver regarding us. A long, powerful tail, ending in a fan of blade-like scales, sweeps the ground behind him, kicking up small puffs of dust despite the earlier watering. Down his back, a row of spikes runs from his neck to the tip of his tail, glinting menacingly. Two curled horns crown his head.

“Greetings, Fragor.” Vaylen bows his head to the dragon, his dragon.

I remember to stare at my boots just as the creature’s large eyes begin shifting in our direction.

“Are Trueno and Zephyros coming?” Vaylen asks.

There’s a rumble in Fragor’s chest, his answer. All Skyriders learn to interpret their dragons’ different sounds. Those who are bonded go a step further. It’s said they can communicate at a more subtle level, a sort of understanding of each other’s feelings, for lack of a better word.

Vaylen turns to us and says, “The dragons will be here shortly.”

And one of them will be mine! But wait? What were their names? My excitement and the roar of my heartbeat in my ears are so distracting that I didn’t quite register them. I feel one of them sounded familiar.

The thump, thump, thump of wings sounds again.

“Ah, they’re here,” Vaylen says.

The dragons land in unison, the ground shaking again, then walk across the width of the plateau to join us. I lift my head just a little and catch a glimpse of two more sets of silver talons, one with ebony claws, the other one with ivory ones. Ebony? Something stirs in my memory. Wind dragons are silver with ivory claws, spikes, and horns. Except for…

Wyrm’s rot! Merrill Pyrewing’s dragon had ebony traits. That’s why the creature’s name sounded familiar. Zephyros was Merrill’s dragon, the same one Silas said was responsible for his brother’s accident.

An ill-tempered creature who left a Skysinger paralyzed… Goddess, please, don’t let him choose me!