Page 50 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)
I work my way through the group until I’m close enough to Master Roule to more easily ask questions. “Why are they housed separately?” I ask. “And in such small pens?”
“It’s for their safety.” Roule nods at me. “Also, it facilitates the rider bonding.”
My jaw tightens. If these creatures are prevented from interactions with each other, it’s no wonder they crave bonds—even one with a human rider. And it’s no wonder they are calling out to each other with deafening shrieks.
“Why don’t they just fly away?” someone asks from behind me. “I don’t see any chains. Are they too simple to realize they have wings?”
“Did you not pay attention in class?” Roule frowns. “Without a rider, dragons can’t see. And without sight, they can’t fly.”
“Dragons are helpless without a rider,” Amis says.
Roule grunts. “Even grounded, dragons breathe fire. You think that renders them helpless?” He shakes his head. “Do you think their thousand stone weights or three-span-long talons leave them powerless? Or perhaps it’s their jaws of sharpened teeth which you believe render them incapacitated.”
Nervous laughter skitters through the group.
“Is that the largest unmatched dragon?” Egon points below, as a huge dragon spreads his wings.
All the dragons are iridescent, but this one has darker hues—more like iron than silver, with hints of blue—and I feel like this dragon must be male, based on its size. But I have no idea how to be certain.
“No.” Roule widens his stance. “That dragon is not the largest, but he is the largest dragon anyone has attempted to mount.”
“That one will be mine,” Egon says.
“Unlikely.” Roule turns away.
Roule’s answer implies there are larger dragons housed somewhere. “Where are the larger dragons?” I ask, wanting to know everything.
“The behemoth is housed further down the enclaves.” Roule points toward the west. “ Never venture that far.” Roule glances around our group, making eye contact with everyone to make sure we’re listening. “Not even the most skilled dragon handlers venture near the behemoth’s enclave.”
“Then how is it fed?” I ask. In class, Roule explained how the handlers herd livestock into the enclaves to feed the dragons.
“That’s a very insightful question, Candidate Rosshall.” A brief smile brushes Roule’s lips as he looks at me. “Experienced riders fly over the behemoth’s enclave to drop food.”
Many gasp. During our run the first morning, I saw a dragon in the far distance, carrying what looked like a cow. Now I’m certain.
“Tynan!” someone shouts. “There he is.”
Spotting Tynan, I train my looking tube and follow him as he traverses the tops of the labyrinth of walls forming the enclaves.
Watching him, I’m again awed by his power, grace and agility.
The tops of the walls aren’t flat, as I first assumed, nor are they all at the same level.
But Tynan easily makes his way over them, leaping up or down when needed, and clearly knowing exactly where he’s headed.
He has two broad swords strapped on his back, and he’s carrying a long coil of rope at his side and what looks to be saddle bags draped over his shoulders.
He stops atop one of the highest walls, although it’s difficult to accurately perceive depths from this distance. He’s next to the dragon that Egon pointed to, the largest of the unmatched.
Once there, Tynan drops his saddle bags on top of the wall. He prepares his coil of rope and tosses it. It strikes the dragon’s neck without taking hold of a spike, which he clearly intended.
The dragon turns, and fire blasts toward Tynan.
Tynan flattens himself against the stones, as the flames pass just to his right and above him. The dragon turns away.
Tynan quickly recoils the rope, gathering it again in his hands.
But instead of throwing, he drapes the coil over his arm and crouches, holding both hands toward the massive beast.
My stomach invades my throat as the dragon shifts so that its eye is facing Tynan. Its mouth, containing the threat of fire, is pointing ahead—thank Othrix. The dragon seems to be watching Tynan.
Roule told us that dragons can’t see without a rider, but close to two weeks ago, back in that field, I felt certain that Surath could see me, or at least sense I was there as I approached her. I train my looking tube on the dragon’s eye. The black facets are shifting.
Keeping his hands forward, Tynan rises to full height, the rope still hanging from one arm.
The dragon breathes fire, scorching the wall ahead of him, and the dragon on the other side of the wall screeches as the fire passes over its head. Then a massive wave of screeches assaults the air as what seems like every dragon in the enclave cries out at once.
“What are they saying?” I ask Roule.
“They’re calling out to each other,” he tells me. “Warning that a rider is trying to mount.”
“How do you know?”
Roule turns toward me, and I’m glad to see that he looks more pleased than annoyed by my question. “I don’t know. Not with certainty. But I have some level of communication with Nyxarious, my dragon, and over the decades I’ve deduced that dragons have some level of communication with each other.”
“Do dragons talk to their riders?” I know the bond is strong, but thus far, the masters haven’t gone into detail.
“Yes.” Roule nods. “In their way.” He shakes his head. “You should have all learned these things before getting anywhere near the enclaves.”
He turns to face the group and then speaks more loudly.
“Once properly mounted, information can be exchanged between rider and beast. Each bond is unique, but riders can see what their dragon sees and vice versa, and there is a form of communication, more like an understanding between man and beast.”
“They know our language?” I ask.
“Nyxarious understands me,” Roule answers. “But what she speaks back to me…it’s not exactly in words. More like feelings .”
I turn my attention back to the enclaves, not wanting to miss any more action. I’ll save my questions for later.
The dragon seems to be considering Tynan, sizing him up. Occasionally, the dragon’s head moves closer to Tynan, and hot steam erupts from its nostrils. It’s almost as if the dragon is smelling Tynan, but I can’t be certain.
Shifting, the dragon turns again to face Tynan, opening its mouth as if threatening fire, but then it turns back, the side of its head moving closer to Tynan. Tynan seems to be speaking, and I wish I knew what he was saying.
Four massive dragons land atop a high wall near the other side of the canyon. The dragons flap their wings even after they land, and more screeches rise from the dragons penned below.
Saxon, atop Surath, is one of the dragon-rider pairs. Treacher is on another, and the other two riders I recognize as Stran and Jakeon.
The dragon shifts, moving his neck very close to Tynan’s outstretched hands. This dragon has spikes not only along the spine of its neck, but also on the sides.
“Mount him now!” Treacher’s command echoes in the acoustics of the canyon.
Still holding the coiled rope over his arm, Tynan leaps forward, grabbing onto a spike protruding from the side of the dragon’s neck, leaving Tynan’s body dangling.
The dragon shifts its head, and Tynan’s body flies up and away from the dragon’s.
My breath catches in fear, but Tynan holds on with one hand as the dragon thrashes, trying to buck Tynan off.
I hold my breath as he’s tossed up and down, back and forth, his body repeatedly flying up and then slamming down against the side of the dragon’s thick neck. Somehow, Tynan holds on. Somehow, he hasn’t been smashed against the stone wall or trampled under the dragon’s massive talons.