PROLOGUE: Invasion of the Witch-Queen

It was early morning when it happened, the sun just barely peeking over the sharp crags of Rähar-Melrook.  Dawn stretched its rosy fingers over the trees, painting them the colors of a newborn baby’s skin. Birds cautiously began to chirp the morning chorus, and squirrels leapt from one autumn-bared tree to the next.  It was something one would imagine in a silly children’s book.

A figure, seemingly made from the gray light of dawn itself appeared. She simply popped out of the air as if she had been there invisibly the entire time. She wore no cloak, but only a sleeveless, ash-colored dress as plain as the leafless trees themselves. Her gloves stretched all the way to the middle of her upper arm and were the color of a storm cloud at night. She had long, long gray hair, so long that it brushed the ground like a silvery cloak. She was a youthful woman, who would have been quite lovely if not for the skeletal, gray cast to her skin. A tall, iron crown encircled her brow. Her features were sharp and striking, like a feline. There was a feral glint to her black eyes. Her eyes were the most curious part of her person. The entire eye was as black as a dead, winter night with not a single star to light it. The entire forest seemed to scream and wail as she drifted forward like an undead specter. Circina! Circina!  They seemed to cry in fear. Birds stopped chirping, squirrels hid, and even the trees seemed to cower in stark terror.

She blinked those soulless eyes and the entire forest changed. The chirping birds froze upon their perches and shivered. Then, almost instantly, their ordinary blue and red feathers fell out, and instantly grew back just as black as the eyes of Circina herself. A gale-force wind suddenly blew, and the bare trees shriveled and disintegrated into ash as though they had been burned by a terrible fire. The squirrels simply rolled over and died, to be consumed by the flesh-eating, pale white worms that once were mere caterpillars. The forest itself gave a heart-shattering shriek of pain, as it became slave to the inhuman lady. The change spread from her feet like an explosion of colorlessness going off in slow motion, or like the spread of an awful plague. Not even the great, boundless sky dared remain blue as Circina, Empress of the Gray, staked her claim to her new empire.

Circina proceeded through Iestmar Forest, and wherever her glare met, life and color drained away like blood from a corpse.  Werewolves, giant spiders, snake women, and all variety of evil creatures appeared as ordinary wolves, spiders, and grass snakes vanished. Creatures writhed and squirmed as they fought in vain to stop the transformation.

Circina paused to observe a large wolf. Under her gaze, the poor creature thrashed about as if in death throes. His paws, each easily the size of her head bubbled and grew. His shiny black coat lost its luster and turned the color of a cinder. He grew larger and larger. His tail jerked and twisted like a beheaded serpent. Whimpers of agony grew to monstrous howls of torment. In moments, he stood on his hind legs. Thick, thick gray fur covered his entire body, and his shaggy mane stood tall and erect, and tapered down his back to come to a point between his powerful shoulders. Raw, man-crushing muscle rippled under his man-like torso and in his arms. The werewolf’s spiteful glare was almost as piercing and icy as his mistress’s was. His face was human, but covered in fur, and his teeth were as sharp and savage as any animal. Insane, feral intellect glittered behind his deep black eyes.

“Whom do you serve, werewolf?” Circina voice hissed and like the snake women she created.

“The Empress of the Gray, Queen of Death, the Majestic High Sorceress Circina, your Highness.” He bowed low, his tail sweeping the ground. She held out her hand for him to kiss. Which he did with a slight whimper of utter devotion.

Circina laid her palm against his forehead, and he growled. “I name you Karmyrk, High General to the Mighty Empress.” The werewolf wolf rose and gave a long, loud howl. In moments, scores of wolves, snake women, giant spiders, and large crows appeared, kneeling before the Empress.

“Any humans who remain in this land; bring them to me. All those who resist or are too weak to build my empire must be executed…” She paused. “BY ORDER OF THE EMPRESS!” Her hissing voice filled the air, cutting through the minds of the twisted creatures before her. There arose a cacophony of evil crows, howls, clacking, and shrieks. They presently vanished, slipping through the shadows like wind-blown leaves on that dark autumn night.

Circina vanished again, and appeared in another part of the forest. Birds ceased to chirp and began to caw, and squirrels rolled over and died to be consumed by mutated worms. Wolves became werewolves, snakes to snake women, and ordinary and spiders grew to monstrous size. Bats in a nearby cave slithered into the night air as pallid men and women, cloaked in deep black garments. Vampires emerged to serve her as they ceased to be bats of no consequence or malevolence. Destruction and evil lurked in her wake, and it seemed as if no thing done by men could make her stop.

She turned her head north towards Kromolia. Those fools thought that after 200 years of a wretched imitation of peace and justice they could escape her? No one would escape the gaze of Empress Circina. She had many plans. Plans within plans. And like the hydra, if they destroyed one plot, two more would rise to take its place. Mankind would not halt her this time, nor would their bickering royalty. They were weak, divided, and now was the time to take them, and she was so much stronger than 200 years ago when she was an ordinary mortal. She was a force to be reckoned with, and after the conquest of Kromolia, she would be revered as a goddess. Why oppose the logic of it? It did not matter. No man can fight death, nor the plague. She would make the world see reason in that. All people in her beautiful, ashen world.

Time was on her side, and in good time, Kromolia would see her terrible wrath.

2: Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1: The Oracle’s Vision

But, across the craggy, mountainous border of Rähar-Melrook in a small valley, an old woman sat in a tall, cushioned chair. At the age of 107 summers, she was stooped and wizened as an apple. She was crocheting a black scarf with a hooked piece of carved deer antler. It was a stormy, gloomy night, but it was a good night also. The General Sargodon’s wife, Ametheria, had just given birth to a son, whom they had named ‘Opheron’ after Sargodon’s honorable father. The wet nurse had just taken him and put him to bed, and the lucky mother was recovering from labor. Everyone in the castle was celebrating. She smiled under her long black veil. Finally, something exciting to disturb the monotonous peace. Not that she disliked the quiet reign of King Starrias, she just wished for a change of scenery.

Suddenly, she froze, her body locked in a bolt upright position as if she had heard something profound and frightening. She suddenly slumped over, limp as a rag doll and she fell to the floor, thrashing and kicking as her old eyes showed her something she never wished to experience again. A vision of a ribbon of leaden silk drifting through the night and strangling all that it touched, and changing all that came near it into shadows of darkness. All that tried to cut the silk were changed into something unearthly and unnatural, and nothing could stand against this ashen snake. But when all seemed lost, two dragons ridden by two children wreathed in light appeared. One dragon was as bright as the sun, burning like a heavenly fire. The other was cloaked in a darker, more tranquil light, not much different from that of the moon. The two dragons reared and breathed fire upon it and the silk shrank and vanished, and the shadows scattered. The two children, as innocent as lambs, were too pure for the silk to withstand, and the gray fabric slid away. But this enemy was not gone, merely diminished.

One of sun and one of moon

Shall seal the gray death’s doom

Day and night shall rule the land

And may stay the evil’s hand

For a time all was as still as the surface of a lake on a windless day, and she thought the vision had ended. The Oracle wiped the foam on her wrinkled cheeks that had collected during her fit. She began to straighten up when an invisible hammer struck the old woman again. She convulsed and saw another vision.

This time the gray silk had returned, and it had cornered the two dragons and children in a steep gorge. The two dragons attacked separately at first, and the gray repelled each attack with ease, until they finally attacked it in unison. The cloth was paralyzed, and the two dragons struck the killing blow, and another rhyme entered her mind.

And when they fight together

They shall forge the Gray’s fetter

Children of fire and sky

Shall cause the Gray to die

She paused, taking deep breaths. Curling into a ball, wincing in pain. She knew that another spasm would be coming soon. She cringed again, and witnessed a bright sky. Bells rang, and she could sense great joy. But in the west, she saw a colorless, gray fire consuming all in the land. People cried in anguish. She saw many black darts attempting to penetrate the hearts of the people, and the Spirit of Blackness was so thick and so tense she began to choke. It was almost too terrible to see. The rhyme continued chanting in her head;

But lo, the happiness shall not last.

When the Third Deep Night has past

The Gray Magic shall return,

And the Good Land shall burn.

Without pause for breath or respite, the vision continued, beating the frail old woman with its knowledge and force, and instead of improving like the previous two visions, it only got worse. She witnessed people in the street, turning gray and dying like flies on a hot day. Coughing and retching echoed in the prediction. Three tall figures, once proud and powerful, were crumbling and falling apart. One was black, the other white, and the center was clear as a crystal. Things seemed desperate. The four heroes were flying desperately searching for something.

From the ashes, despair shall wake,

The three great giants shall break.

Day and Night shall not succeed

And the Prisoner of Gray be freed.

The Oracle’s vision clouded with tears. Was she witnessing the destruction of her world? She cried for fear of the future, and for fear of the terrible things to come.

She lay curled on that rich wool rug for a long, long time. Finally, when she felt it was safe to stand up, the soothsayer carefully reached for her cane and used it to pull herself up. She pulled out a hankie and wiped her creased brow and with a shaking, arthritic hand, she tugged the bell pull. In moments, a servant girl was summoned. She curtsied and awaited her orders.

“Is something wrong, mistress?” she asked politely.

“Of course there is something wrong! Tell Starry Twit that I just had a very, very disturbing vision and he must summon a council meeting at once! This is vastly life changing. The very fate of the country is hinging on it!”

Fortuitously, the court was present for the birth of General Sargodon’s son, and so it took less than an hour to rouse them from sleep and have them meet in the Great Hall. As she related her vision to the crowd, she received many gasps and outcries. “The old one lies!” they jeered.

“Silence! All of you be silent!” But their clamor only grew louder. The king, who had been awake all night at his wife’s bedside comforting her through her labors, was swiftly growing more and more cross with the bickering nobles. In the corner, hiding in the shadows, the wetnurse was comforting the fussy baby, Opheron. Something about him made the old woman pause.

“Wait,” she held her knobby hand up and the crowd quieted. “Young lady, please bring me the child.” She gestured for the baby. The wetnurse, a thin and dainty young woman, climbed up the steps to the throne and gingerly gave the royal baby boy to the old woman.

She ran her fingers along his face and cheeks. The newborn cooed and grabbed Oracle’s black veil. She smiled and spoke. “This one will defeat Death herself riding on the back of a dragon.” The court whispered and murmured their awe, for she had never been wrong about the future of a person, despite the misgivings and doubt just before. “But! He will not defeat this new adversary alone.” The old woman paused for breath as the court waited. “Another one shall be with him to perform this feat. Another child shall be riding on another dragon. This other child-hero will tip the scales of the war against the Empress of Malevolence.”

While the king and his court discussed the new prophecy, a figure in a brown, hooded cloak slid through the rain-choked allies, clutching something close to his chest. He was a slim, wiry fellow who vanished easily in the shadows. He looked carefully around each corner, with all the caution of a hunted animal. Unintentionally, he glanced at the luminous torches sheltered under the eaves, and was briefly blinded by their brilliance. His brilliant crimson eyes squinted against the light.

Go, he thought to himself, you do not have much more time. He quickened his pace and slipped in the mud, causing the package he carried to squeal and cry. He lovingly stroked the little girl in his arms. She was a chubby, healthy-looking infant with a smattering of golden hair. Her eyes were a bright, bright blue. She babbled and cooed at the sight of the man, gripping his grubby finger. The man began to sob quietly, his wine-colored eyes dripping with tears that blended with the unforgiving rain. “I love you. Oh, how I love you.” The little girl smiled at him, oblivious to what was happening. “I wish things could have been different, my girl.” He placed her on the doorstep of the building he had chosen. A lot of this was riding on chance, but if he hadn’t given her away... he didn’t want to think of it. A corpse couldn’t take care of a baby mageling. Rain continued to patter on the filthy street.

He pulled a separate package out of his cloak. “You ain’t makin’ me go, you lily-livered milk sop!” The book squawked louder than the infant, “I got just as much magic as ya, so I’ll have at ya for this! Master or no, I ain’t leavin’ ya! I. WILL. NOT. GO!!”

He pinched the book’s mouth shut. It was a grubby, disheveled novel. Engraved on the cracked leather cover was the ugliest little face you had ever seen. It had squinty eyes, a bushy unibrow, and a warty nose that was flat and squashed-looking. Its wide, homely mouth flapped incessantly.

“Now, Book.” The red-eyed man spoke sternly.

The novel sighed, somberly. “Yes, sir?”

“You’ve been a good friend for many, many years, and I am grateful for that.”

“Master, I-“

“Let me finish.” The red-eyed man interrupted. “I am dying soon, and a dead man can’t attend to an infant, especially one as special as her.”

“Master, you can’t go! You still have a chance! After all this, you can’t be giving up, can you?”

“You and I both knew it would happen eventually. We both know it; I am dying, perhaps within the hour. The best thing I can do, for both of you, is to make sure you will be taken care of.” He took a wooden ring off his finger and a letter from his cloak. “Keep these safe. She will need these if she is ever to learn who she truly is.”

The novel regarded the object. It was made from roughly hewn mahogany, set with a clear blue stone. “But your staff?! You are entrusting an artifact that powerful to her? You won’t be around to see her grow up, how will you know she’ll use it well?”

“You’re right, I will not be around.” He chuckled darkly. “That is why I’m sending you with her.” His face grew stern, as deadly serious as his illness. “This is my last command, Book. Take care of my daughter. Raise her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.” He placed the ring and the letter between Book’s pages, where they vanished instantly. “Because to me, she is.”

Book, knowing better than to argue with a dying man, submitted. “Yes... sir.” The book looked solemn, subdued. If books could cry, it would have been weeping with his once-master.

“I knew I could trust you, my friend.” The book, now grimacing in grief and sadness, grew still, speaking no more. The face melted away, replaced by an ordinary, simple book cover with nothing suspicious about it at all. He hid the old book underneath his little daughter. He placed his hand on the girl’s forehead, and she stopped crying, attentive to the touch of her father.

“Deianeria, daughter of Valos Halfstar, son of Griffonius Rubydust, with the authority I hold vested in me by the Order of the Heron, I hereby transfer to you all power I possess.” There was a sharp, rattling gasp from the thin man and a squeak of surprise from the baby girl. Strands of yellow, downy hair glowed and flashed like liquid moonlight, then settled against her forehead, gleaming silver in the torchlight. The baby’s eyes blinked, no longer blue, but the same purple as the violets that grew along the banks of the Nephias River. The sorcerer, now drained of all his power, leaned over to the side on all fours. He was promptly sick, the green puddle tinged with red blood. He stood up, much shakier than before. His eyes were no longer red, but a humble, ordinary brown. He limped and shambled down the muddy road as the skies wept more, as if determined to wash away the sadness that stained the doorstep of Magic Street Academy. The little baby began to cry again, as if she knew that the man who was her father was going away for good. She cried until the rain ceased its mournful downpour.

As the sun rose on the next day, the first change in a series of drastic changes would ensue. During that night, King Starrias begun altering his entire military based upon the use of dragons as steeds. At the age of 12, every boy in the nation of Kromolia would be taken to Rähar-Melrook, where a cave full of dragon eggs would await them. There, the boys would hatch a dragon to Bond Mate with for life, and would accompany them through intense military training at an ancient institute run by monks devoted to the study and magic around dragons and the humans who bond with them. At age 18, a boy may chose to join the Dragon Corps, and become a Dragon Knight, or return to life as a civilian and keep the dragon as an intriguing pet. Girls and those who already had magical abilities would not be allowed to participate in this life-changing ceremony. King Starrias was toasted for many years after instituting the Dragon Corps for his wisdom in this decision. That night, the old Oracle died, but her words were carefully recorded and remained until the twelfth anniversary of the Dragon Corps, when Opheron and Deianeria met, and where the magic truly began.

3: chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: Opheron

It was a bright, clear summer day in the thirty-and-second year of the reign of High King Starrias the Third. Talon Peak rose sharply out of the Dragon’s Mountain Range, where timber flourished at its base and sporadic fires burst and extinguished throughout the warm months. It was dragon country, where wild dragons still gathered and conspired together as a community in those twisting caverns and copses of trees. At the top of Talon Peak was a cave filled to brimming with the eggs of scores of dragon species. This was where the alliance between man and Dragon was made and kept for a lifetime. Climbing this mountain was a group of boys. In the lead and at the rear were four men guarding the handful of lucky young men ready to make a special commitment to help people where they could, defend the weak when needed, uphold the laws of the Good Land, and always keep the Commandments of the Great God Vozzil.

Opheron hustled up the mountainside, easily outdistancing all the other boys. He was going to be first to the Rähar-Melrook to receive his first dragon egg. He always was first for everything, so why not getting an egg?

Opheron had thick, black hair that was so dark it looked almost purple in direct sunlight. His green eyes were the color of a spruce tree in winter. His nose bent down slightly, just barely the beginnings of the intimidating, hawklike beak that seemed to run in his family, along with the royal title Tennshemone. Opheron had been told from his birth that he would do a great service to Kromolia when he was older, although no one would tell him why. This displeased him. But he had reason for comfort.

He smirked, knowing that Deianeria was still back at Widower’s Hollow, begging the Sorcerer to change the law so she could have a dragon too. He could just see her alabaster features creasing into a cute little pout. Her silver-streaked hair dancing as she animatedly tried to talk Sorcerer Sunhawk into changing the law. He could almost see her purple-blue eyes dancing with fiery rage while her fingertips sparked with blue and green light. Deianeria was Sunhawk’s foster-daughter, and she had never managed to talk her father into anything. Nevertheless, that never stopped her from trying.  It was her ambition to become the first girl Dragon Knight.

Opheron relished the physical challenge of hiking up the mountainside. He had almost caught up to the trainers and their dragons by now. The trainers stroked their dragons’ scales and talked to each other. Why bother? He thought. Dragons are merely brainless lizards that fly and breathe fire. They aren’t nearly as intelligent and feeling as everyone makes them out to be. In his mind, animals were meant to serve mankind. Man was superior to everything, especially girls. Opheron was superior to everyone. His father was a Dragon King; commanding over a third of all the Dragon Knights in High King Starrias’ court. Whenever he passed people in the street, they would bow and call him ‘Master’ and ‘Lordship’. He liked it. It just felt right that everyone should be beneath his feet, bowing before him like a ruler.

Prince Opheron finally caught up to the Dragon Trainers now, and they saluted him. Opheron only sniffed in response. “Why do you bother?” He asked.

One of the older trainers queried, “Bother doing what, lordship?” He kept nervously stroking his dragon’s neck spikes, the dragon growling in pleasure.

Opheron sneered at the man’s pet oversized lizard. “Acting like you love these beasts. They do not have enough brains to fit into a chicken egg. They could never love you back. They are too stupid and worthless to know what love is.”

The middle-aged man’s wind-worn features turned hard. His icy blue eyes stabbed into Opheron’s hard green eyes. “You then, sir,” he said ‘sir’ as though it were a curse. As though he had done something wrong, however unlikely; Opheron had never done anything foolish or wrong in his entire perfect life. “Are a beast yourself. You obviously can’t imagine the complexity of a dragon’s mind, nor the bond to its Knight.”

Its Knight? Knights own their dragons, not the other way around, you fool. Opheron thought.

The dragon’s flat golden eyes glared into his own. For a moment, he could see a spark of hurt, rage, and even sympathy. He did a double take. That wasn’t possible; dragons didn’t have emotion. And even if they did, they should be feeling envious of Opheron’s life, not sympathetic. His expression must have shown his emotions because the old Knight smirked. “You see? Dragons are intelligent, just as smart as you and I. Many even smarter.” He winked at his bronze dragon, and resumed petting it.

Opheron blinked and resumed marching up the cliff side. That wasn’t possible. Dragon’s were simply animals. Tools for the use of the superior man. He could not, and would not allow anyone to tell him otherwise.

4: Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: Deianeria

Deianeria was fuming. She gripped her blanket, wringing it in her hands. It simply wasn’t fair! Girls could do anything men could do, and in many circumstances even better! Why did men have to be “superior” to women anyway? Why couldn’t it be equal? Or better yet, the other way around?

In her frustration, Deianeria pitched a crackling purple fireball at her door. The flames hit an invisible barrier a foot or so shy of the solid oak door. For a moment, countless blue runes were visible as the magical projectile collided into the arcane shield. Then, it fizzled out and the blue runes vanished again, invisibly drifting and ready for the next strike. She knew it was no use; the door could only be opened by her foster-father, and he would not open it until the Initiation was over. Deianeria was grounded, big time.

It was Deianeria’s ambition to be the Kromolia’s first female Dragon Knight, and show those pompous, arrogant men that women could be just as strong and intelligent as they are. She glanced at the mirror in her room. A wiry, swift-looking girl stared back. Her blonde, silver-streaked hair marked her as a sorceress. Her intense indigo eyes flickered with magical energy, just itching to be unleashed. Her humble clothes masked her supernatural lineage, just the way she liked it. A short mahogany staff hung loosely from a hook on her wall, polished and smoothed from generations of use. The clear, bright blue crystal set into the tip. Her room was dancing with light from an unknown source. Translucent multicolored orbs floated about her room, and changed colors upon collision. A fluffy white Retuadi kitten slept in her windowsill, with a tiny golden bell fastened around its neck. The kitten had a body like a lizard, but it was covered in thick white fluff. It’s body was relatively flat and wide, like that of a reptile’s. It had the head and tail of an ordinary cat, except for on its ears there were massive tufts of fur, like a lynx. The kitten’s favorite pastime was slithering and climbing its way to the marble windowsill to bask in the noon-sun.

Various books were stacked about in haphazard piles in her room. Dirtied dresses, potion vials, and even an empty birdcage were tossed about her room in a casual, unconcerned way. A wooden crate stuffed with blankets stood in one corner, and made a bed for her tiny Retuadi cat. A well-loved tiger stuffie sat hunched on her pillow, its once-colorful fur faded with fondness and use. Deianeria clutched this toy, named Knight, and cried into its fur. It simply was not fair for women to be underestimated and underappreciated. The toy tiger reached up a paw and patted her on the shoulder. Its beady black eyes glowed with magically animated life. He understood Deianeria like no one else.

She clutched the tiger closer, stroking the fabric of the toy. Suddenly, the door opened, and the blue runes once circling the entryway turned red and faded into the atmosphere. Her legal guardian, Sorcerer Sunhawk stood in the doorway.

He held a proud and noble posture. His long, midnight blue hair was pulled back into a tiny ponytail. His neck was encircled with several amulets and trinkets. Sunhawk’s large, billowing cloak was the same deep midnight blue as his hair and embroidered with the hairs of a unicorn’s mane and tail. If one looked close enough, the embroidered constellations and stars moved across the dark blue fabric. Many rings graced his long, slender fingers. His golden eyes tracked Deianeria’s every movement. A tall staff was gripped tightly in his hand. The staff was crafted from the finest unicorn wood possible, with a flawless, black diamond the size of his fist topping it. The staff was decorated with the feathers of various magical birds and the skulls of pixies. A deep frown crossed his handsome face.

“I hope you have learned to not disobey me, girl.” He glared at her, his eyes filled with venom.

Deianeria stiffened her lip stubbornly. Her indigo eyes met her father’s gold ones. “Still unconvinced?” Sunhawk raised one eyebrow. His black diamond atop his staff flickered with a green glow. “Perhaps you would prefer to be turned into a beetle permanently? Or maybe given the nose of a Mountain Boar for the rest of your life?”

Deianeria whimpered, her stubbornness quenched and replaced with horrible, irrational fear. She had a terrible fear of being transfigured against her will, and she knew that her father wouldn’t hesitate to use magic to augment punishment. A little thing like conscience had not stopped him in the past. She bowed her head meekly, and her father lowered his staff in return. The eerie glow was extinguished from his staff, and smirked at his foster-daughter. His thin lips played over his gaunt features. He knew he had won with very little resistance.

Deianeria hung her head. Her father had broken her. Again. He knew exactly how to make her bend, no matter how she struggled. And oh, how she struggled against his will! But he knew her far too well; He knew her deepest fears, her most secret thoughts, and her greatest weaknesses. She was beaten, and he knew it.

“That’s better. Hopefully you will be more cooperative in the future.” He pointed at Deianeria with his staff. “Or I will use more... persuasive means next time.”

He waved his staff at the door and muttered an incantation. Presently, more blue runes popped out of thin air and began orbiting her doorway again.

She sighed. Well, there was always Plan B, although she was reluctant to follow through with her plot. She slid off her bed, still clutching the tiger toy. He looked up at her inquisitively, as if asking what she was about to do. Setting him down, she loosened a floorboard and set it aside as quietly as possible. Hidden underneath the floorboard was a satchel and some food. Her backup plan was that if she couldn’t convince him, she would run away disguised as a boy. She had much more reason to do this than just the Initiation…

Ever since she could remember, her adopted father had tormented her and hurt her, using magic as disciplinary action. She never knew why he had adopted her. He never listened, he never spoke with her, he never cared. She had to learn to do magic on her own for as long as she had known how to read, practicing on her own with her father merely looking on. The only bit of kindness he had shown her was in animating her bedtime toy, named Knight, granting it rudimentary intelligence and a smidgen of love and loyalty. He also told her it would protect her in time of need, but she had never seen this happen when he turned her into insects, or dangled her hundreds of feet in the air by magic.

Do not dwell on this, now. You have work to do. She thought to herself. She picked up the satchel and set it to the side, next to her mahogany staff. Deianeria lifted a thick book out of the cavity as well. Engraved on the leather-bound front was a rather ugly little face, with a flat warty nose and its tongue sticking out of its wide, homely mouth, jeering at the reader. Its eyes were small and were painted black so they glittered like little beetles underneath its bushy unibrow. She blew the dust off, and the face started gagging.

“Blech! ‘Bout time ya yanked me outta there, you useless bag of meat! Where’ve ya been? I swear, I got enough dust in me I may never breathe right again!” It coughed some more, hacking up a sizable dust bunny.

Deianeria rolled her eyes. “Oh, please stop complaining. I’ve had a very bad day.”

Although the spell book had a very impish nature, it had been in her possession for years, and cared for his charge. Her father was merely the one who put food on the table and a bed to sleep in. Book had been her teacher, her advisor, counselor, confidant, and parent figure ever since she could crawl.

“He hasn’t been at ya again, has he?” It glanced at the door, and raised a cracked leather eyebrow. “Oh. I see. Placed a Vuriatian Block Spell on the door, did he? I’m just spittin’ in the dark here, but if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a’grounded. Am I right?”

She groaned “Do not remind me. Book, you’ve got a Turanoan Shrinking Spell, do not you?” She flipped through its pages, much to the book’s complaint. “Aha! Page four-”

“It’s on page 427, Dogbreath!” She felt his leather eyes roll beneath her hand. “And move those sausages of yours, I can’t see squat!” She complied, but not before poking it in the nose. “Ouch! Watch where ya put ‘em, Cheesefanny!”

“Shut up.” She said absentmindedly. She scanned the spell quickly, hoping her father didn’t come back up to check on her. Once she had it committed to short-term memory, she shut Book quietly.

“Please, try and keep silent. Father doesn’t know what I’m planning to do.” She took her staff from its hook on the wall and slid the satchel next to Book. She prompted her tiger toy to join the Book and her bag. It promptly sat on top of a loudly protesting Book.

“Hey! Move your fuzzy butt before I bite it!” It spat cloth strands out of its mouth. Deianeria frantically mimed for the book to be quiet. Reluctantly, it moved its mouth to the side and didn’t say a word.

“Formosus D’see-ah incriptos. Sah teh nerasos. S’dahl”. She pointed the staff in the general direction of her small pile of things. Book groaned and said “Oh no. You aren’t doing what I think you’re doing? I hope you get caught you …!”

Its voice gradually got smaller and quieter until it was no longer audible. She tapped the crystal at the top of her staff with her fingertip three times and it melted and shrank. The liquid wood oozed into her palm, and wound itself around her first finger where it solidified into a band of ruddy wood. A tiny blue crystal rose from the center, and completed its transformation into a crude wooden ring. Deianeria went about her room collecting various articles of clothing from several hiding places: a periwinkle, dirty tunic, a pair of breeches, a light traveling cloak, a well-worn pair of shoes, and a cap. She also tightly tied a piece of cloth around her chest, to hide obvious feminine features. She put these on, and looked in her mirror.

She was rather thin and without much feminine shape to begin with, so the change in clothing almost completely transformed her appearance. She had virtually become a boy. Her only recognizable traits were her hair and eyes, but a simple spell could temporarily fix that.

Deianeria shut her eyes tightly, focusing hard. She imagined that she had short, dull, forgettable ash blond hair. She pictured her eyes a colorless, ordinary periwinkle, and slightly thicker eyebrows. With this image in mind, she spoke, softly

“O magic powerful and strange,

Let my features rearrange.

With this image in my mind,

Transform me for three days time.”

Deianeria opened her eyes, and her face was just as she pictured. Ordinary, and quite boyish. Most simple, illusory spells did not require her staff, but for more complex and intricate ones, an amplification source was necessary. The temporary change in her features was just a very small trick of magic. However, once the three days were up her features would slowly revert to normal. If she were going to fake her way through being a Dragon Apprentice for four months of Training, she would have to redo this spell frequently.

“Perfect. Nobody will recognize me now.” She murmured.

She strode back to the middle of her room, where her shrunken things all lay, each item now no larger than a watermelon seed. She could still make out Book’s features. He stuck his tongue out at her, knowing he was too small to be heard. Her stuffed tiger waved at her with one tiny paw, her satchel in the other.

She nodded in satisfaction. Very carefully and slowly, Deianeria placed all three tiny items in a pouch inside her cloak, and pulled the drawstring tight. Once she was satisfied, she found her decoy bag, and strapped it on. The bag was full of provisions that a boy would have, such as a knife, several apples, some copper coins, a change of clothes, and a small flute.

Deianeria pulled Whiskers’ bed aside, tempting him with some dried fish to keep quiet. She towed it aside slowly, trying not to make it squeak or scratch across the floor. When the heavy blanket-stuffed crate was aside, it revealed a small crawlspace that led to the open air.

The young mage hesitated. If she went now, she could never come back. What if she got caught? What if she didn’t hatch a dragon at all? She might be able to survive on her own, performing tricks to please audiences, but she would be reduced to a street rat. If she did hatch a dragon, she would be obliged to at least four months of vigorous, difficult training, and that was if she stayed at St. Eodsha’s Academy for Raising Dragons to learn the bare basics. Or, even more worrisome, what if she was killed? She would be breaking every Female Suppression law in Kromolia; she would be a fugitive for life if they didn’t execute her. It would be very hard to laugh in Dragon Prince Opheron’s face if she was beheaded.

Carefully, she went through her satchel for the umpteenth time making sure she had everything she needed. When she was satisfied, she quietly slid her feet into the chute, tugging the leather strap attached to the crate, ready to close the gap. But then, she heard mewling, and looked to see her fluffy white Retuadi slithering towards her. It flopped on the ground and purred.

“No, Whiskers. Stay here with dad. Be a good kitty now.” She slid feet first slowly through the crawl space, stopping roughly two feet into the tube to pull the crate back into place. The Retuadi kitten put a clawed foot through the broken board in the crate and meowed in protest at its source of free food and massage leaving. But it was too late. In another twenty minutes or so, the last group of trainees would leave for Talon Peak, along with Deianeria in disguise. She was gone through the chute in less than a minute, landing bottom-first on the dirty, sunlit street.

5: Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4: Runaways and Fugitives

At last. At last, she had a chance to be free from her father. At last, she could be truly free! Free! Deianeria could almost shout in jubilation. Instead, she channeled her energies into sprinting down the street to a congregation of boys roughly twelve. The street was long, and wound this way and that, meandering like an old creek. Shops, houses, stables, and all sorts of buildings stood tall and proud down Newleaf Street. Four Dragon Knights in loose, embroidered clothes of many colors were calling out orders, standing next to their dragons. Real, full-grown dragons! Two of them, a rusty-orange one and a massive blue one, were lazily snoozing in the bright, noonday sun. Another yellow one was absentmindedly blowing smoke rings into the face of its laughing Knight. The fourth, the color of summer leaves, was sitting next to a knight dressed in green, who was calling out directions and briefing them all on what would happen, but Deianeria did not need to listen to this. She had heard the Knights direct each new set of Trainees each year; she practically knew the speech by heart.

She was so enthralled by the dragon blowing smoke rings, she did not notice another boy come up next to her.

“Hey, you! I’ve never seen you around before. Who are you?” Deianeria turned around, startled by this boy loudly demanding who she was.

The boy was a full head taller than she, with thick, brutish arms and a mess of short, badly cut black hair. He had one black eye, turning purple at the edges, and the other was a violent shade of blue. He had hardly any neck, and his scowl could sour milk.

“Well?” he bellowed. “Where are ya from? Obviously not from Widower’s Hollow.”

Deianeria quickly recovered and retorted. “The name’s Dan-ra.” She made up a false name days ago, which she used immediately. “What’s your’s? Snarkface?” Not only had she learned the arts of magic from Book, but a considerable vocabulary of insults as well. And she was unafraid to use either.

Snarkface’s features turned bright red, his one good eye bored through her periwinkle eyes. “No it ain’t. It’s Burzard, wimp. Remember that, ‘cuz it’s gonna be the last name you here before I crack your head on the road!” He charged at Deianeria. Easily, she somersaulted to the left, and Snarkface Burzard crashed right into a cart. Before he could get up all the way, ‘Dan-ra’ adroitly kicked him in the back of the neck, and he went down again.

Now, you may not know this, but an Enchantress has to be very fast and very lithe to be considered a good mage. A magic user must rely on herself first and magic second. Magic can’t always take you out of every bad situation. Deianeria could hold her own in a contest of speed or flexibility. She was not physically strong, but that didn’t matter. At least, she thought so.

“You’ll pay for that, runt!” He charged at ‘Dan-ra’ again.

“It’s Dan-ra, Snarkface!” She swiftly grabbed his shoulders before he could touch her, and vaulted over his back like a gymnast vaulting over a hurdle, forcing him into another fruit stand.

“You know, Snarkface, I feel pretty sorry for whatever dragon has to carry you into a fight. You look heavier than a full-grown Mountain Boar.”

He roared, and charged again, bloodlust in his one electric blue eye, a smashed melon covering the other bruised one. Deianeria simply sidestepped him, but he had apparently learned how to stop in the last two rounds.

“And you smell like one too.” She promptly added.

That really got him. He charged her again, but this time Deianeria was too slow. He punched her hard in the stomach, launching her into another boy. He pushed the injured girl back to the ground, her nose digging into the dust.

Once, Deianeria had rescued a unicorn from a hunter’s mislaid trap. Once it was free, it had kicked her in the stomach as thanks. If her grandmother hadn’t been nearby to heal her, she would have died from internal bleeding. Burzard’s punch felt something like that.

Deianeria couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t even think. All she saw was a nail-studded boot an inch in front of her face. A calloused fist entered her view, seizing her neck with a viselike grip. Its owner yanked her up to eyelevel with no effort. Her feet couldn’t even feel the ground. Burzard smirked at her, globs of melon still covering half of his face. It was unnerving how he had a black eye and could still stare her down with his single blue eye.

“Any last words, Pipsqueak?” He clenched her neck tighter.

“Yeah.” She choked. “Moun’n Boar’s pri’eer.” Darkness began closing in on her. Was this the end? Before she could even touch her dragon egg, was she going to die?

“Stop. That’s enough.” A man called out. Burzard turned toward the sound, still clenching Deianeria’s neck. “You’ve proven who is better. Now let him go.”

Burzard reluctantly complied. ‘Dan-ra’ landed in the dust again, hard. She could finally breathe. Clutching her neck, she coughed and coughed, feeling the area where he had nearly crushed her windpipe. Her face was close to the ground, gasping for much needed oxygen. That was far too close. She was not going to be that close to dying again.

The man who had saved her life knelt down next to her in the dust. He smiled at her gently. “That was quite a fight you put up. No one’s ever stood against Burzard Smithe for so long.” He put a hand on her back.

The man who stopped the fight had longish, scruffy brown hair, and wore a uniform of almost entirely orange. He had laughing, hazel brown eyes, and a mouth in a permanent smirk, although currently he looked quite concerned.

She spat a glob of pinkish saliva. Her tongue was slow to move, and stars leapt and sparkled in her vision. “I won’ lose nex’ time. I could’a won, I was jus’ too slow.” Sluggishly, Deianeria got to her feet. She squared her shoulders, but at that moment, her knees crumpled and she swayed, threatening to fall over. She despised being so weak and so helpless, like... like a girl. The strange man caught her by the elbow.

“Easy there, son. You had a pretty rough fight.” He pulled her small hand across his shoulder, and walked her to another boy, who took Deianeria quietly and without complaint. “Take care of him until we can find a healer.”

The orange-clothed man whirled on Burzard. “And you, young man.” He leered. “You should know better than to pick a fight with those smaller than you. I am very disappointed.” Snarkface hung his head in shame, and a glob of melon goop dripped off his face.

“Yes, sir. Will not happen again.” Cowed, he dragged his nail-studded boot through the dusty street.

Deianeria could have laughed if her throat wasn’t swelling shut. Who was this man? How in the world could he order around someone twice as strong as him?

The man walked straight through the crowd of astonished boys…straight to the podium on the stage.

Oh. No wonder Burzard Snarkface obeyed. He was a Dragon Knight! A bulky, rusty-orange dragon snarled in Burzard’s direction, and stood closer to the Knight who saved me.

He cleared his throat. “I wish to make a new rule; please, no killing other Trainees.” He glanced in Deianeria’s direction. “It would be terrible to destroy such promising futures.” This drew a small laugh from the crowd of boys.

“Now, I believe that Sir Averdy is done with his speech. Now, for the moment you young men have been waiting for your whole lives. We now begin our long hike up Talon Peak to Rähar-Melrook. This will be a very long and tough hike, so please, refill your water skins. Sir Belue and I will be taking the rear of this group.. Now, we’ll leave you boys to prepare for the hike. It’s a two-day trip, so be certain you have everything you need. Be back here in the town square in one hour. When you are ready, meet near Sir Yaloe, the gentleman with the bright Yellow Field Dragon. As I said earlier, we will leave without you if you are tardy. Now scoot!” The boys cheered and whistled. Without complaint, the throng of boys dispersed, many heading towards the well. The wiser boys who were already prepared made their way to a blond haired man with a dragon the color of egg yolk.

“He-ey! Sir L’range! We found a mage!” A boy waved for the orange Knight to come. The boy Deianeria was leaning on craned his neck around to look at who was coming. “Wait, isn’t that High Sorcerer Sunhawk?”

Deianeria’s eyes widened and she nearly fainted again. Oh unicorn turds. Not her Father! He would see through her guise easily! Deianeria contemplated running down the alley, but in her condition, she couldn’t even stand, let alone run. She could try denying that she was a girl. No, he would never accept such a lie. He was coming closer; what was she going to do?!

Sunhawk took one look at Deianeria and his eyes darkened. But, miraculously, he said nothing.

He knelt in front of her and whispered, quietly. “Always breaking the rules, eh?”

“Father, I-”

Sunhawk put a finger to his rebellious daughter’s lips. “Shhh. Do not worry. Just like your foster-mother, you are.” He sighed. “If only she were here to see you off. You make me so proud, Deianeria.” He waved his staff, wordlessly. Instantly, Deianeria’s throat opened up, and she could breath properly again. Her stomach stopped throbbing. She stood up, no longer weak-kneed. The boy she had been leaning on walked off, knowing he was no longer needed. Her father never ceased to astound her.

“Go and find your dragon. I will not be in your way anymore.” He touched her cheek. “I love you, dearest. Please do not forget that.” A small, clear tear began to build in his eye. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible father. Can you forgive me?”

Deianeria stood stunned, but quickly softened. “Of course.” Suddenly, she remembered something. “How did you know I was gone? I was sure I left no trace.”

Sunhawk laughed lightly. “Whiskers wouldn’t stop meowing. The Illusory Spell covering the hole to the outside was relatively easy to see through. And it doesn’t take an expert mage to know that you would have broken the law and went to get your dragon.” He kissed her on the cheek again. “Now go get ready. You do not want to be left behind.”

Deianeria found herself crying. “Thank you father.” She wiped the tears from her periwinkle eyes.

Her father stood up. He said, loudly, “Now, young man. Do not try to pick a fight you know you can’t win. You were gravely injured, and would be in your grave if it weren’t for me.”

“Yes, sir, sorry sir. Will not happen again.” Deianeria said a bit too loudly. She ran to the fountain to fill her water skin. This was, without a doubt, one of the most memorable days she will ever see. Today, she had just broken the law, run away from home, nearly been killed, and forgiven her father for abusing her for so many years, and quietly proven to all Kromolia -no, all the world- that she was going to be a woman well remembered.

As his daughter dashed to help herself to the village well, Sunhawk stared after her. “Yes,” he murmured. “Just like her mother.”

6: Chapter 5-PLEASE critique!

CHAPTER 5: A Change of Heart

Opheron smugly blew a raspberry at the boy behind him. As royalty, getting his dragon was priority above the common, incompetent farm boys behind him. No, below him. He was a Dragon Prince, so it only made sense he would be a Dragon Apprentice before all of them.

He strutted into the Rähar-Melrook, but instantaneously his strut became a stumble.

“Whoa...” he murmured

Rähar-Melrook was not a cave it was a volcano. The ceiling was wide and higher than the Grand Hall at the palace, and the top opened to the sky. The only safe way through the entire cavern was a narrow road made from dark black stones that, he noticed, were cool to the touch. Lava bubbled in pools around the walkway, and the cave was hotter than the sunburnt cliffs outside. Dragon eggs of various sizes and colors were scattered throughout the cave. Many where a plain green or brown. Others were more colorful.

“It goes on forever.” He said in amazement.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever your majesty, just pick the blasted egg so we can giddoutta here. I’m gittin’ bored just sittin’ here and Bruno ain’t too pleased neither.” He gestured to his hideous Brown Shortsnout Dragon. The revolting thing had short, tattered wings and a few missing front claws. Its scales were dull and in need of a good scrubbing. Its right horn was broken off. It had flat, unintelligent eyes and a long, thin, pink tail that looked out of place compared to its thick, bulky body. Its snout couldn’t have been more than two or three inches long, and it had tremendous nostrils. Easily, the ugliest dragon he’d ever seen.

“Tell me knight. What kind of egg did you get your beast from?” Opheron quietly eyed the dragon with disgust. It was currently scratching behind its missing right horn and drooling on the blackened stones of the cave. More like a dog than a dragon.

“I got Bruno here from this cute lil’ thang here.” He pointed toward an ordinary, white egg with brown speckles stippled all over it like the stubble on a man. It didn’t look like a terribly ugly egg.

“I see. Which egg is the rarest in this entire cave?”

“Oh, you mean Ol’ Unhatchable. It’s right o’er there.” He pointed to the back of the cave.

Sitting on a pedestal was a very odd-looking egg. It was covered in splotches of pink, blue, green, yellow, teal, purple, and a vibrant orange. It was a very unusual looking shape, considering it was almost perfectly round, except for a few dimples and craters in its surface. It looked more like a painted rock than anything else.

The Knight leaned close to him. Opheron could smell the man’s foul breakfast. “They say no boy’s ever been able to ‘atch ‘im in a ‘undred years!”

Opheron touched the egg, and a bit of purple flaked off, revealing a grayish-white substance underneath. “That’s because it’s an ordinary rock! Do you expect me to sit here for days on end trying to make a stupid boulder crack open?!” He whirled on the old Knight. “Do you take me for a fool? I am Opheron, Son of Sargodon who is King Starrias’ greatest Dragon King! I am no one to be trifled with, pig!” The dragon, who took no notice of Opheron’s insults to its owner, picked its huge nostril with the tip of its rat-like tail.

Sir What’s-His-Bucket waved his hands in the general ‘keep it down’ motion. “Hey, hey, easy. Keep yer tunic on. That ‘rock’ happens to be us Knights’ greatest prank ever! We had one kid in here sittin’ thar a week ‘fore he figured it won’ ‘atch! It’s a hoot! You ought’er watchit sometime.”

“Fine. I will consider it. Now, show me to a real egg that will hatch into the most powerful dragon you know of.” The man hesitated, scratching his head. Tiny flakes of dandruff floated down. “NOW, WORM!!” Opheron bellowed.

“Okay, okay. Smokes, boy, that temper o’ yers is gonna get ya inter trouble. Just keep a friggin’ lid on it, kid. Follow me.” He nearly tripped over his worthless, scaly brown lump of a dragon. It was still picking its short nose with its tail.

“Bruno,” he kicked it in the hindquarters “Cut that out, ya dumb lizard.” It looked up at him and trotted after him.

Opheron knew for certain; he did not want to have a Brown Shortsnout.

Presently, Sir OneWithADumbDragon showed him to a large, black egg.

The Egg had a polished surface, with flecks of blood-red speckles on its surface. A strange, magnetic power emanated from the egg. It seemed to draw Opheron in. “Although, I must warn ya. That’s the egg of the rare Blood Moon Dragon. Notoriously tough to raise, highly dangerous, but extremely powerful little critter. Easy for ‘em to lose their Shataka.”

Opheron did not hear what he said. He simply placed his palm against the warm surface of the egg.

“Okay, that’s the one for ‘im, then.” He jogged out of the Cave, and called out “Okey-dokey, nex’ tweak inter the cave.” A tall, lanky boy with red hair slouched in, and was guided through the glowing grotto until he too found an egg.

Opheron heard none of this. His whole being was focused on the egg. You see, when a person finds an egg that will most likely hatch for him, the dragon inside the egg draws the prospective Bond Mate in that matches its own personality. Like two puzzle pieces, they fit with each other and no other piece. Many eggs will wait for decades, centuries even, waiting for the one person that will unlock its heart and mind from slumber.

Opheron could almost see the dragon curled up inside the egg. This would be his dragon. He would raise it, and make it grow stronger and stronger until he was even more powerful than his own father.

The dragon in the egg awoke. The ambition in this boy was extraordinary. Dracolings can see into the hearts of the people around them, and judge whether or not they liked the person attempting to hatch them, and this dracoling liked this boy quite a bit. Royalty, ambition, keen mind, but wait- anger? Hatred? Pride? The dragon recoiled from this, but then it considered. This boy has awoken me. Then, logically, I must be destined to meet this young man. But what is inside him that awoke me? The dracoling peeked even further into the core of this young man.

Opheron’s mind was a maze of jeering faces, and a young woman holding a riding crop. Pictures came to the dracoling, things he did not wish to see. A memory of a middle-aged woman, thrashing about on her bed in her death throes struck sorrow into the dracoling’s heart. A huge red dragon snarling at the boy with the red-caped man laughing at his son’s fears. The same boy hiding behind a tapestry and throwing chicken eggs at a man in a red tunic. A mage-girl with silver-streaked hair was chasing after the boy, yelling for him to stop, with some kind of stick in his hands. Flinching at the boys past, he continued further, reasoning resolutely, if this weren’t the right boy for me, he wouldn’t have awakened me... There has to be something, anything decent about him. The unhatched dragon continued through the dark vestiges of the young man’s mind.

Aha. Now I see. He sensed a flicker of light inside the boy, buried beneath twelve years of being raised a ruthless ruler. There was a picture of the boy holding a baby’s toy, dangling it in front of a cooing infant. Another of him carrying dishes to a huge kitchen with an old, old woman in a white apron. One particularly stirring image of the boy tiptoeing outside in a cold, cold snowstorm carrying a heavy wool blanket to a shivering man in tattered rags at a tall, iron gate. Curious, the dragon studied closer, wondering why this light survived...

Opheron felt a twinge inside himself. His heart burned, and his head throbbed. What was going on? Something arose inside him...emotions he’d not known for years. He tried to push down these emotions, just as he had been taught, but it was overwhelming. A voice came into his mind.

Do not be worried.

Who... Who are you? What are you doing? Opheron’s chest felt like a dragon was inside his body, frying his heart.

I am the dragon Moonwing. I am he who lies beneath your hand, hidden beneath this shell for hundreds of years. I have been waiting for you.

But what are you doing to me? What are these feelings? Opheron was panicking now, almost about to break the connection. But a wave of calm washed over him, quieting the fear.

These are the emotions your parents and your nursemaid nearly burnt from your soul. I have recovered them from the deepest possible part of your very being. This is a small gift that I give you. I have tested you, and I have found you worthy of becoming my Bond Mate.

A rumble vibrated beneath his hand. The egg was growing hotter by the moment. Hurriedly, Opheron pulled his hand away from the shell. A small crack formed, and underneath, some source of light shone through. The light was not garish, or hurtful to his eyes but warm, and promising. Suddenly, the entire egg ruptured. A huge flash of pure light illuminated the cave. There, sitting beneath a starburst of black powdered eggshell sat a perfect, black dracoling.

He was no longer than Opheron’s forearm, and was as black as a cloudy, moonless night. He was a long, slender dragon, with a graceful tail that neatly parted into a webbed fork, the webbed area being red as raspberry juice. Long, red spikes ran down his spine, as sharp as needles. Two neatly folded wings, edged with red lay gracefully at either side. Its red claws were long and wicked looking. A small, crimson crescent moon marked his forehead, with the points pointing up. He looked like a scaly, winged black cat. A very handsome creature indeed.

I have emerged, and I accept you as my rider and Knight. Do you accept becoming my comrade in arms and brother in spirit?

“Y-y-yes...” Opheron stuttered like a pathetic little child.

In that moment, time seemed to stop. He felt cold, then hot, then like he could walk on air. Everything felt different, but... right somehow. His body felt like lightning, burning with raw energy. His body tingled with strength, and his head felt like it was being stretched somehow, touching with the black hatchling. It was strange, to say the least.

A wise choice. Had you chosen to decline, you would have died brutally.

“What? Wh-why? What would I have done to deserve dying?”

A magical penalty is incurred to those who mean to do the dracoling harm by tricking it out of its egg, their only protection during the time it matures mentally. After a dragon leaves its egg, it must be taken care of until it reaches physical maturity, which takes roughly four months. Had you said no, and thereby meant me harm, you would have magically imploded, and your remains would melt into a puddle of slime. Magic would reincarcerate me in a new egg.

“Oh. That’s good to know.” Where he had felt like walking on air a moment ago, now he felt as if he were made of lead. Had he truly been that close to dying? One answer or the other could have killed him or given him power beyond dreaming. It was humbling, awe-inspiring and vastly frightening. But then again, magic was rarely safe. Deianeria the Stubborn knew that very, very well.

I am glad you feel so. Moonwing said calmly, licking egg membrane from his webbed tail. If the prophecy is true, you will be in more danger than just making me hatch.

“Pardon? There is a prophecy mixed in with all this? Oh, tweak poop. I hate prophecies.” He groaned.

Do not say that. It’s a relatively plain and clear prophecy. It goes like this;

One of sun, and one of moon,

Shall seal the gray death’s doom.

Day and night shall rule the land.

And may stay the evil’s hand.

And when they fight together

They shall forge the gray’s tether.

Children of fire and sky

Shall cause the gray to die.

But lo, the happiness shall not last,

When the Third Deep Night has past

The Gray Magic shall return

And the Good Land shall burn.

From the ashes, despair shall wake,

The three great giants shall break.

Day and Night shall not succeed

And the Prisoner of Gray be freed.

“Sounds like a vague prophecy to me.” He folded his arms, brushing black eggshell powder off his tunic. “What would this have to do with me, anyway? I can’t see any reference to me or you at all.” Rähar-Melrook remained bright and very warm.

Isn’t it obvious? The One of Moon is me. I am the only Blood Moon Dragon alive outside my egg. You are my Bond Mate. Do not you see? The both of us, combined with the One of Sun, will cause the Gray’s downfall. And the only Daylight Dragon egg in existence is not very far from this very spot. In fact, take a look to your left.

Opheron turned, wondering how a newborn dragon knew all of this. To his left, hidden in the shadows was a golden-yellow egg with spots of faintly glowing white, barely visible. A thin layer of dust covered the small egg. It was roughly twice the size of a chicken egg, very small compared to the much larger Moonwing’s egg. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. It was ironic that a painted rock posing as the rarest egg in the world was sitting in its own shrine when the actual rarity was obscured in a dim corner of the cave gathering dust and cobwebs. If it hadn’t been so deadly serious, he would have laughed at this quirk of fate.

“Well, what do we do now?” Opheron asked. “Wait for the One of Sun to swoop in and defeat the Gray?”

Moonwing’s soulful bronze eyes looked into Opheron’s green ones. We must. I fear that there is no other way to go about it, my friend. He craned his scaly black neck to look at the dusty yellow egg. Without the Daylight Dragon in that egg, we can never defeat Circina.

The small dragon yawned, revealing white pointed fangs. Opheron had the distinct impression that Moonwing was hungry. But then, logically, it had never eaten anything`.

“How do feel about venison? We have plenty in the wagon.” Opheron picked up the dracoling and held it against his tunic, now damp and sweaty from the intense heat of the cave. He promptly flopped over with his belly up and his clawed feet in the air. Are you joking? I’ve never eaten in the four centuries I was trapped in that horrible shell. I would love to eat!

7: Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6: A Nice Day to be Born

Opheron walked briskly out of the filling cave, nearly tripping over several boys in their own trances, not even noticing they had been stepped on. Opheron stepped out of the cave, and Moonwing gave a tiny, audible squeak. I never imagined it so beautiful. He said through mind-speak.

The sky was a beautiful, deep blue, with a few cottony clouds in the sky. The view from the entrance of Rähar-Melrook was spectacularly clear and vibrant, like an artist’s painting. He could see all the way to the other end of the Valley of Willows. Poplars, willows, and several aspens covered the valley floor. Widower’s Hollow was visible, with the many thatched roofs and the next group of boys listening to the Knights brief them on raising a dragon.

A beautiful day for being born, isn’t it? Moonwing snuggled himself deeper into Opheron’s arms. I’ve never seen the sun before. It is so bright and warm!

And a good day for being reborn, Opheron said to himself. Had he honestly been such a stuck-up, condescending brat for so long? He was hit with the magnitude of how awful he had been to his servants, to peasants, his Nursemaid, his father’s Knights, and Deianeria. Oh Deianeria! He thought. The two had been in the royal court of His Highness, King Starrias most of their years, and Opheron had tormented her for year after year after year, just for the pure fact that she was a girl. He had pulled her silver and blond hair, spat at her feet, fired his slingshot at her head and face, and even stole her magic staff. And Sunhawk couldn’t do anything to make him stop, nor could Deianeria. Oh, dragon boogies. Would she ever forgive him? Opheron doubted that she would.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, believe me. There are plenty more wonders in this world that both of us still have to see.” Opheron patted Moonwing’s head gently, scratching right behind the lumps where horns would one day grow. He purred gently, a small puff of smoke curling out of his tiny nostril, and spiraling into the clouds. This was going too fast! One moment, he was in the palace, being a brutal, bratty Dragon Prince. The next, he was a considerate, feeling boy with one of the rarest dragons in the world lying in his arms, taking in every sight with its sharp bronze eyes.

“Wow. What kind of dragon is that?” Opheron turned to the side, and realized a strange boy had begun petting Moonwing.

“It’s a Blood Moon Dragon. Have you gotten yours yet?”

The boy shrugged. “I haven’t been called up yet.” He stared at the Dragon Prince. “Say, aren’t you the royal jerk my big brudder told me about?”

The mousy-haired little boy looked just barely nine, although he was obviously twelve. He spoke with a slight lisp, and had large buckteeth. Ordinarily, Opheron would have immediately begun yelling at him for his insolence and mocking him for his mouse-like appearance. Instead, he replied, “I suppose I am. Do you think I’m a jerk?”

He kneeled down and let Moonwing crawl into the undersized young man’s arms. The small black dracoling dragon protested at the change of hands, but quickly settled into a comfortable position again.

I sort of like this boy. Moonwing spoke telepathically. Not as much as I like you, but he seems nice.

“I’m glad you still like me. I’d be quite disappointed if you totally changed my life and then abandoned me.” Opheron stroked the tiny dragon under the chin. Moonwing’s little black wings fluttered slightly. He could see every single vein and artery, illuminated by the sunlight.

“Are you talking to the dragon?” The boy set him on the ground, gently allowing Moonwing to slide out of his own accord. “Dragons can’t talk. They growl and roar.” He said matter-of-factly. “I should know. My big brudder has one.”

Taken aback, Opheron said, “What? Can’t your brother talk to his dragon?” He petted Moonwing behind his hidden ears. Was this another development in this upside-down day? Was he the only one who could talk to his dragon?

The boy laughed a squeaky, raspy laugh. “He can, but he says it doesn’t talk very good. It says things like ‘Want meat’ and ‘Go flying’. It’s a Brown Shortsnout.”

Opheron rolled his eyes. He supposed that the entire breed was both dense and unsightly. “Well, I hope you get a better dragon than your brother did.” He gestured for Moonwing to crawl back into his arms, which the baby dragon did. It let out a contented little purr, and nuzzled his chest. For such an intelligent creature, he loved to cuddle. He still could not believe that he was holding one of the rarest dragons in the world.

He rubbed Moonwing’s head, and went off to show his new dragon to the lead Knight.

8: Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7: Dreams Can’t Kill

“Tough hike. I didn’t think Rähar-Melrook was this far up.” Deianeria panted. She had endurance, and was no slouch when it came to physical activity, but this was a tough and dangerous hike. The elevation and dehydration were slowly weakening her.

They were walking next to a steep cliff, roughly 300 feet off the ground from where they were currently. The tall mountain had an excellent, unobstructed view of the entire forest surrounding Widower’s Hollow, and the surrounding villages dotting the tree-covered landscape. In the distance, on the other side of the valley, several castles and palaces were visible; the homes of the Ten Dragon Kings. The pathway up was only wide enough for two people. At many points, dragons had to ferry boys across parts that were too dangerous to hike. If anyone fell, they would have a very long time to wave goodbye.

“You know, all boys who want to be Knights need to get used to the altitude.” The Knight called Sir Belue easily made his way up the steep grade, his mammoth-sized, dark blue Ocean Abyss Dragon trotting behind him, crushing rocks with its massive weight. To summarize how large this dragon is, think of a baby elephant. “Dragons often fly very high into the atmosphere, and as a result the riders need to be comfortable with the thin air. To us, this hike is fairly easy.”

Suddenly a boy’s scream came from ahead. Someone had fallen off the trail! Swiftly, and without thought, Sir Yaloe and Sir Belue mounted their dragons and dove after the boy.

The pair moved fast, fast, fast! The much smaller yellow dragon swerved off to the right, and caught the boy by the shoulders with its talons, just a few feet from the treetops. The diminutive Field Dragon was too small to carry the boy, so gracefully and skillfully, Sir Belue guided his Ocean Abyss Dragon underneath it. The egg-yolk colored dragon dropped the boy, expertly landing the dazed teen into the saddle right behind Sir Belue. Both dragons flew back up to the cliff, where they received tremendous applause. Sir Averdy pulled the boy off the huge, blue dragon’s saddle and guided him to the side of the trail furthest from the edge. He administered the fainted boy for shock, and soon was ready to begin hiking again. He gave a long and grateful thank you to the two Knights who had saved his life. Both humbly accepted, and returned to the rear of the group.

“Better watch that last step. It’s a doosy.” Sir Belue joked.

Deianeria laughed weakly. If they had waited an instant later, the boy would have died upon impact with the trees, and all this man could do was laugh? She decided she liked him a bit.

* * * * *

That night, Sir Averdy and his dragon started a small fire, while Sir L’range and Sir Yaloe made dinner. Sir Belue sat near the fire. His dragon lay with its rider sitting in front of him. He told stories of his battles against the Gray Army with Sir L’range, Sir Yaloe, and Sir Averdy. The four were actually brothers, raised by two loving parents. They had one older sister, who was very brave and slightly crazy. The only reason she wasn’t a Dragon Knight was the fact that she was a girl, which Sir Belue thought was a pity. She would have leveled Circina by now.

Of course, being a girl isn’t stopping me. Deianeria thought. Sir Belue was just getting to the part were he and his dragon were diving directly for Circina herself, she was screaming helplessly—while his dragon seemed to be rolling its massive blue eyes, as though none of this were true—Sir L’range tiptoed behind his older brother carrying a large bucket of water. He was surprisingly stealthy, considering he refused to wear nothing but bright orange. Deianeria remained silent, not wanting to spoil the prank. Sir L’range promptly upended the bucket.

The soaked Knight began chasing his orange-clad sibling around the camp, like a Fool’s Chase at a circus. Every boy in the camp was laughing hysterically. Sir Yaloe, always being helpful, came and put out the fire with another bucket, stirring the ash around and dumping water until the entire pit was cold enough to touch. It looked like a dead Gray Monster, or some kind of stone-colored soup.

“Time to go to sleep.” Sir Yaloe began ushering the boys to bed. “We’ll be going all the way to the top of Kromolia tomorrow. Get your rest, and no staying up.” Everyone, groaning, slouched to his or her tents. “Well, maybe not too late. I do not want to see any lights past 10:30 got that? Ten. Thirty. Move out, troops!” Sir Yaloe made shooing motions. Some boys were already beginning to make plans to sabotage tents and play card games.

“And, considering this afternoon’s fight,” Sir Averdy added, “Each of us will be standing outside the tents to make sure nothing overly interesting happens.” The pranksters groaned at this, and plans to cut tent strings and cover faces with squirrel dung were abruptly cancelled.

Deianeria was happy with this arrangement. After she had survived this afternoon, she had no doubts that Snarkface wanted to hurt her in her sleep. And besides, she truthfully needed the sleep. The instant she lay on her sleeping bag, she was fast asleep, with unwashed, drooling boys piled around her. Had she seen it, she would have been thoroughly disgusted.

She dreamed. Her first dream, she was trying to give a speech to a huge crowd with absolutely no clothing on. Opheron was in the crowd jeering and laughing at her, tossing her short, mahogany staff from hand to hand. She saw Book’s pages fluttering around the room and bits of cotton fluff as he tore apart Knight and Book bit by bit, and she could do nothing to stop it. But then a flock of purple chickens fluttered into his face and tore him apart with kitchen knives. She raised an eyebrow at this point in the dream and discovered she was wearing the clothes of a princess. Then, a monkey wearing the strangest hat she had ever seen dumped a bucket of green bogeys on top of her, and threw a fist sized round ball, with one half a vibrant red and the other half snow white. This object struck her and instantly she was transported into a spherical enclosure, by which point she had given up on trying to control the runaway dream. She crawled out of the spherical red-and-white ball through a gap roughly the size of her thumb, and the dream ended.

Her second dream was much more serious, and far more deadly than she could ever imagine. She was fighting her way through an enormous mass of gray cloth. It was suffocating her, drowning her in a sea of lead silk. She could not use magic. Deianeria’s every movement seemed a hundred times slower than it should have been. She could hear a shrill, evil cackle.

You will never stop me, Deianeria. There is nothing you can do. Just submit to me and die. Your struggle will be over before it even begins.

Something in her recoiled at the very thought of surrendering to the owner of this voice. No! she rasped. I will never stop trying! I will not stop!

* * * * *

           She tossed and turned in her sleeping sack, muttering in her sleep.

“Hey Dan-ra. Get up, they’re making breakfast.” A broad, short boy with brown hair shook her shoulder. “Come on, we are having eggs and bacon. With real milk! Come on, wake up.”

“I WILL NOT STOP!! Wha?” She stared, light filtered through the leafy tops of the trees, making splotches of light appear on the canvas. All the sleeping sacks around Deianeria were empty, except for one boy holding his ears.

“I get that you will not stop, just get to breakfast already. I’m starving, and our tent can’t start without you.” He held open the flap for her to pass through. “C’mon Dan-ra, or else Burzard will steal your food.”

Dazed, Deianeria got up. Why was this boy calling her Dan-ra? What was she doing—oh! Now she remembered. She almost started crying when she remembered the day before, and her foster-father’s heart-rending apology.

She shuffled, bleary eyed, to the campfire where all the boys were already eating their breakfast with relish on wooden plates. She shambled up to the overturned cart, where the food was being served by Sir L’range. Upon seeing her, he gave ‘Dan-ra’ an extra piece of bacon and winked at her.

She sat down on the ground near the morning fire and ate in silence, staring into the fire. How long would it take her to find her dragon? What kind of dragon would she get? Deianeria certainly didn’t want an ugly dragon. She was okay with a Common Green, they were decent-looking, and they were strong enough to keep her alive in a fight. A Brown Shortsnout, now that was an ugly dragon, she definitely didn’t want that. Tanges River Dragons were very pretty, but they were a flightless species, considering they can stay above the water for only a few minutes. And anyway, how would she tell which egg hatched which dragon?

As Deianeria was pondering this, someone sat down beside her. “That was quite the show you put on, back at Widower’s Hollow. If my big brother hadn’t stopped that nutcase... well, let’s just say I would have missed meeting a boy so extraordinary.”

Deianeria turned her head from the dying afternoon fire and set eyes on Sir Yaloe. He wore a yellow tunic to match his Field Dragon’s coloring, with a pair of plain wool breeches and soft leather boots, worn with use and spattered with blood from the morning’s hunt. She wished that she could have come along, but Sir Belue had put her on dish duty for fighting with Burzard Smithe.

“Just like I’ve told everyone else, it was not a good fight. If it was a good fight, I wouldn’t have come so close to getting myself killed.” Deianeria chomped down angrily on another piece of bacon. “Besides, it’s not like I started the fight. He threw the first punch, I just defended myself.”

“Yes, but the way you defended yourself was what was extraordinary. I’ve never seen a person move with such agility, except for the palace acrobats. Surely if you do not become a Dragon Knight, you could definitely give Ki’sara the Swift a run for her money.”

Deianeria blushed, but tried to hide it by ducking her head. This compliment was nothing but flattery, but it struck a deep chord within her. Ki’sara the Swift was a woman who lived among gypsies and wandering entertainers her entire life. She was so graceful and balanced that it was said she could nearly fly on the trapeze, could walk across the high wire on her hands, and was able to dance on the point of a spear. She was also rumored to be the loveliest woman in the entire land. She had long raven-black hair and dancing blue eyes. Ki’sara was also her mother. She was married to Sunhawk for just a short while before she disappeared suddenly, two days after Deianeria was adopted. No one knew why, or how. Her father became a bitter man after her disappearance, and vowed never to love any woman but Ki’sara again. Many times, he would spend days on end in front of the mirror, using powerful scrying spells to find her.

“Thanks. But boys do not become acrobats, they become warriors.” Deianeria always tried to be brief when speaking, so no one would notice her high, feminine voice. If someone decided to question her because her voice seemed off, she would be in so much trouble that no amount of magic could spare her.

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t stop one from trying to be multi-talented, does it? Besides, your attack style suits you. You looked like you were flying, Dan-ra.” He emphasized this by making his hand shoot through the air like a bird or a dragon. “I        thought it was astounding back at Widower’s Hollow. You’re right. You would have won. But by letting your ego get in the way, you failed.”

Deianeria shifted her feet uncomfortably. Did she have an ego issue? It would explain quite a bit.

“Oh, by the way,” Sir Yaloe added. “I think that you will be a great Dragon Knight one day.” He stood up, whistled to his yellow dragon, and both jogged off to oversee the collapse of a particularly large tent. This left Deianeria to her thoughts.

Did she have an ego? She continued thinking on this until it was time to leave for the second half of the hike to Rähar-Melrook.

The hike was long and hard, and at least five boys passed out from lack of air and the sweltering heat in spite of Deianeria’s quiet efforts. The poor girl must have performed at least a dozen different Cooling Spells and Wind-Bringing Spells, with little effect. But, eventually after another four miles up rocky, snake-infested trail, the group of boys plus one girl in disguise made it to the very top of the mountain. Deianeria looked back down the slope from where she came. Boys parted around her like a stone in the middle of a river. The view was incredible! The rough mountain road went along the side of a cliff, so the view was unfettered by trees and bushes. The scene was so clear and sharp it looked as though it she were staring at a painting done by a master. A very wide variety of trees dotted the landscape. It was incredibly, indescribably beautiful. It wasn’t until the two Dragon Knights in the back, Sir Belue and Sir Averdy, caught up that she moved into the Rähar-Melrook. It was time for the moment she had been waiting for her whole life.

9: Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8: The First Woman Knight

It was very quiet, considering the boys inside were undergoing a life-changing event. Deianeria did not remember which Dragon Knight guided her inside, but she did remember the sight. All two dozen boys were either sitting next to an egg with a palm pressed against the shell or meandering around the cave with their hands close to the ground as though searching for something. The bubbling lava was the only noise in the entire cave. She didn’t think it was possible for her to sweat more after the two-day hike, but she was sweating more than a convict in a courtroom. She felt the Knight’s dragon nudge her with a snout, and she began stumbling around the brilliant cave, nearly tripping over many boys in some kind of trance. Deianeria did not know where she was going, nor did she truly care. All that mattered to her at the moment was that she was actually inside Rähar-Melrook. No woman or girl had ever been inside this sacred grotto. Never! She was the very first girl alive to be inside the hallowed place where dragons were born and Bound with young boys. No, young boys and one young girl. One young girl under the pseudonym of ‘Dan-ra’, with a spell disguising her blond and silver hair as mousy brown, mediocre periwinkle eyes masking her iridescent indigo ones. Here was the culmination of the fruits of her labor, here were-

Crunch! In her stupor, Deianeria had walked straight into the back of the cave wall and tripped over an egg. She heard several snickers from different corners of the room. She felt her face flush, as well as something wet running down her cheek. She felt her nose. It was fine. She felt the rest of her face.

“Looks like Twinkletoes has lost his touch,” one unidentifiable boy snickered. Deianeria rolled her eyes. She would just have to ignore him for now and focus on getting a damage report. She had found the injury. She had oh-so-gracefully smacked the left side of her head and blood was pooling in her ear and caking her light blond hair. Wait a minute, she thought. She pulled a mirror out of her satchel. Her rapidly lightening hair was matted with wet blood, alarm building in her dark blue eyes. Oh no! NO! Not here, not now when I’m so close!

She quickly whispered the masking spell, trying to keep the image of the ash-blond stranger with boring eyes in her mind, but it was difficult to concentrate while she was panicking. Her heart pounded in her ears, her eyes rapidly reverting to a bluish-gray, her hair a light shade of blond. Nevertheless, it was done. It was sloppy, but no one would know the difference unless they took a very close look at her face. She could fix the illusion later. Right now, she had to get off this highly uncomfortable egg.

She slid off the hard lump. “What’s wrong Mommy Birdie? Did widdle baby egg get cwacked? Is it hatching yet, birdie?” the same boy taunted. This earned snickers from his cohorts around the cave.

But the mockery was ignored. Deianeria blew off the dust and cobwebs and examined the egg, running her hands all over it, curious to see what she had ‘stumbled upon’. It was a fairly pretty egg, compared to the duller iron gray or greenish-blue eggs surrounding it. It was very, very small for a dragon egg at only two or three inches in diameter. It would have been sunshine-yellow, if not for the remaining dust, and was speckled with pure white spots roughly the size of her little fingernail. It looked like a massive egg yolk splattered with milk. It was difficult to spot in the bright, lava-lit cave but the white spots were glowing faintly.

Deianeria... Someone spoke, as clearly as though someone had whispered in her ear. Someone very young. She dropped the egg, landing in her lap. As soon as her hand left the smooth surface of the egg, the voice ceased, as though it had left the room. Deianeria looked around, wondering if one of the boys was playing a prank on her. But most of the boys had left. Second, she realized that her name here was Dan-ra, not Deianeria. It was beginning to get dark outside, and there were several fresh multicolored starbursts covering the floor. The lava continued providing its ever-present light and heat, never ceasing in its tumultuous boiling.

What on earth? She thought. It had been high noon when she entered the cave, and now it was sunset. She looked back to the egg. Had Deianeria indeed awakened the baby in this egg? Curious, she placed her palm on the egg again. She waited.

* * * * *

“Hey Nate,” Sir L’range looked in on the cave. “Look at this,”

His elder brother slouched in. “What is it? I just got Riptide settled down. Hatching Day is a big day, you know.”

“That kid Dan-ra is still in there.” The orange-clad Dragon Knight pointed at the boy. A blue cap obscured Dan-ra’s face, now partially red on the left side, and blood staining the grimy shirt. His left ear was clogged with blood, probably making it difficult to hear. Someone else had been kind enough to bind the wound while the boy sat, totally absorbed by the egg in his lap.

“You must be joking. He’s been in there nearly eight hours.” Sir Belue scratched a mosquito bite on his hairy arm. “Holy chickencow, it only took me two hours to hatch my dragon. What’s taking him so long?”

Sir L’range spread a mischievous grin across his boyish features. “Should I go poke him?”

Sir Belue crossed his arms. “No.” he glared at his younger brother. “Did you like it when Monkey dropped a rat down your tunic when you hatched Crahth?” Monkey was the affectionate nickname that their mother gave Sir Averdy when he was born. He actually had it longer than his real name, which was somewhat depressing.

“No,” he growled. Crahth, his rusty orange dragon, affectionately wrapped his tail around his arm, trying to show that he still loved him. “But I did get back at him by putting stinging nettle in his sleeping sack.” He grinned. He loved practical jokes above all else in life. More than once Sir Belue had awoken in the morning with his face smeared with honey, or found that his underclothes had been dumped into the pig trough. Sir L’range was a troublemaker to the core, and it was often Sir Belue’s leadership that kept his younger brother’s antics in check. Their sister usually kept him in line, but when they were sent to the Dragon Corps together, he had to take his sister’s place in her lack of presence.

“Yeah,” Sir L’range looked down guiltily, “I guess.”

Sir Belue, satisfied, stalked off to his tent. But Sir L’range wasn’t done. He went back to his tent as well, but returned with a jar of ink, a quill, a piece of parchment, and a bit of twine. He quietly crept into the cave and poked the twine through the top of the parchment in each corner. Then he quickly scribbled something in Common. Before completing his prank, he waved his hand in front of the boy’s face. Dan-ra didn’t even blink. Smirking mischievously, he quickly looped the twine loosely around Dan-ra’s neck, turning the sign around so it hung down his back, which now clearly read ‘DO NOT DISTURB’. He snickered, and turned on his heel, hooting in laughter like a deranged owl as he screeched out the cave faster than a leopard. The prank was completed, and his brother was none the wiser. When the rest of the boys came in tomorrow at dawn, they would be in for quite a surprise. Or, perhaps what he didn’t count on, was that they would take the sign seriously and avoid Dan-ra completely for the next two days.

* * * * *

“Are you serious? Is he still there?” a green-eyed boy said to his friend.

“Yeah, Parker! He hasn’t even twitched for two whole days.”

Parker grinned. “I dare you to go in there and poke him, Kasey.”

“No way! You saw that sign around his neck. It said ‘Do Not Perturb’.”

“It’s disturb, not perturb, Cowfanny. But yeah, do not perturb or disturb.”

Kasey scratched his head. “What does perturb mean, anyway?” He was not really the brightest of Dragon Apprentices. Perhaps the reason why he could only hatch a runty Brown Shortsnout.

“I’ll tell you if you poke him.” Parker folded his arms.

“But the sign said-” He didn’t get to finish his sentence. A loud, resonating boom echoed from Rähar-Melrook, and a puff of glittery smoke drifted out of the cave. All the boys, who had been previously doing camp chores and taking care of their newly hatched dragons, paused to look up at the cave. Sir L’range, Sir Averdy, Sir Belue, and Sir Yaloe hiked up the mountain quickly followed by their respective dragons. What in the world had happened up there?

 

Her first thought was, Did that egg just explode? Her second thought was, Why do I have a sign around my neck?

Deianeria just sat there. Partially from the shock of the blast, but also from the fact that she had been in the exact same position for two days and had temporarily forgotten how to move. The egg had shattered, leaving the largest starburst by far on the floor. And the walls and ceiling, too. Glittery smoke choked the air, and a tremendous, powdery yellow mark smeared the glowing walls. Sitting, rather befuddled, in the middle was a very small dragon. All Deianeria could do was stare.

It was an ugly dragon. It was pinkish-white with a smattering of fluffy feathers on its stubby wings, the top of its head, and its tail. It was roughly as long as her foot and as thin as a skeleton. Its spikes and talons were the color of liquid human excrement, and were very brittle and dull looking. A thin membrane covered the little monstrosity. But the two, sole beautiful features were its eyes and a golden sunburst decorating its forehead. The eyes were the color of the summer sky, and had flecks of gold in them. It had no pupils, and had a soulful, forlorn look.

Deianeria still sat frozen. What in the world was this thing? This wasn’t a dragon, it was a baby bird! Granted, an oversize bird, but there was no possible way this could be a dragon. Dragons were born with a complete set of armor-like scales, not downy feathers. If it was a dragon, it was either sick or the strangest dragon species ever.

Deianeria? A thin, young sound resonated in her ears. But, that wasn’t possible. Her one ear was congested with blood from tripping on this thing’s egg, making any sound reaching her left side garbled and hollow sounding.. She would have only heard properly through one ear. Was it speaking...to her mind?

Deianeria? Are you Deianeria? It said telepathically.

“Y-yes...?” How did this thing know her name? No one in the entire camp knew her secret, not even Sir L’range.

Good. I’ve been waiting for a really looong time for someone to hatch me. It had the voice of a little girl, probably no older than three years old. Something in the baby dragon’s voice triggered something inside her. She wanted to protect it. She didn’t care how ugly it was, she didn’t want it to be hurt. No, not it. Her. She wanted to keep her little dragon safe.

Will you be my friend forever? Will you be my Knight?

“Of course.” As the words left her lips, her entire body suddenly flashed with heat, then she felt as if she were freezing. Immediately, she felt so indescribably wonderful, it was like the world had stopped turning just for her. Like it was a Prayer Meeting every day, and there was no such thing as winter. She knew this dragon was special, and that she was special.

When the feeling wore off, she asked. “What are you called?” Deianeria didn’t know why she asked, though.

Shiara. It blinked those beautiful sky-blue eyes. I am Shiara, the last Daylight Dragon. It yawned and crawled into her lap. Nighty-night. Her skin felt very warm in her lap. Did this baby dracoling just curl up in her lap? She was awed by how trusting this creature was. She had just blown apart the thin shell that kept it in a state of comatose sleep for decades on end, and all of a sudden, she was cuddling with Deianeria as if it was her mother.

Or her Knight. Something deep inside her said. She began to cry with triumph, joy, and something else she could not describe. She was walking on air, and smiling like the sun. She could practically dance with happiness. She had done it. She had just proven that girls can indeed be Dragon Knights, and here snoozing in her lap was the proof. She looked down fondly at the little pinkish dracoling in her lap. Shiara wasn’t a very beautiful dragon, but she was a dragon nonetheless. And Deianeria didn’t care if she had to charge into battle on a Brown Shortsnout, she was going to do it. And now she was capable of doing it. In four months, she could be in full armor facing down Circina.

She was ready to face the future, with little Shiara alongside. Nothing could stop her now.

Several rapid footsteps soon reached her one good ear, which was now recovering from the bang of the little dragon shattering her eggshell cage. She became acutely aware that she was covered in glittering eggshell powder, and her left ear was still clogged with dried blood. The four Knights who were so kind to her and their scaly Bond Mates clattering into the sun-bright cave. Four dragons and four men stood to the entrance to the cave. Suddenly, she felt very, very grateful that her Illusory Charm had not worn off. But it would soon be wearing off, and in moments she would have to find a few moments to herself to reinforce the spell. Well, within the hour, she would have plenty of time to herself, at St Eodsha’s Academy for Raising Dragons.

10: Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9: Baby Steps

Opheron wandered around the spacious room, holding the newly hatched Moonwing close to his chest. The dracoling was still snoozing like... well, like an infant.

The room where Opheron stood was not nearly as nice as his own bedchamber, but it was still admirable. The other dozen boys, who had been raised in poor farming villages, stood in awe of the richly detailed room. The room was large enough to fit in at least three whole huts, with plenty of room to spare. The four windows on each side of the room were as tall as trees, and made from precious glass. The drapes were cut and sewn to give the impression of a pair of silken red dragon wings. There were almost a hundred four-poster beds, ornately and lovingly crafted from solid oak. The feet of the bed were carved in the exact likeness of dragon claws, and the posts were carved to resemble dragons twisting upward into the sky. It seemed like they were really writhing in the air. Their tightly folded wings seemed to wriggle with power, and the ruby eyes seemed to gleam with life. As he began studying it more closely, and all of a sudden the teeny black hatchling dragon in his arms began to squirm.

The little winged lizard blinked, his bronze eyes clouded by the remnants of sleep. Sorry, what did I miss? Moonwing looked up at Opheron, blinking with those tremendous bronze eyes. I was tired out; moving for the first time in four centuries really takes it out of you. After they had left the cave, Moonwing’s grammar became gradually more casual, and easier to understand. Opheron supposed that being born deserves some formality. It was very surprising how intelligent the baby dragon was.

“Good morning, bright eyes.” Opheron rubbed the little horn nubs on his dragon’s forehead. Moonwing rolled his eyes in ecstasy, and turned his head over to the side to get his neck scratched, Oooh, that feels nice. A little harder, please.

Even for a newborn, Moonwing was quite demanding. Opheron scratched a bit harder, sitting on the bed. It creaked quietly.

I’m not an ordinary newborn, I’m a dragon newborn.

Opheron stopped scratching Moonwing’s neck. Did he just read his mind? Just like back in the cave?

Well, obviously, He licked his red, webbed tail. Almost instantly, he switched to adult-like speech. When you Awoke me, the ancient laws of dragonkind forged a telepathic connection between the two of us. As we both mature, the connection will grow stronger. At this point in time, we are only able to touch mentally if we touch physically. The connection lost potency as soon as you took me out of the cave. That is why we could speak telepathically when you were not touching me earlier today. Understood?

He resumed petting Moonwing’s neck. Oh. He thought. I suppose it would be helpful in a crisis. Like, he imagined various scenarios. If we were imprisoned separately, we would still be able to come up with an escape. He began petting slightly harder now, rubbing his fingers into a deeper rolling motion. This earned an audible complaint from Moonwing. Or maybe, we could-

Or maybe you could go a bit easier on the wing joint, cheese-for-feet, He growled. It will not be done growing for another month, more or less, so do not handicap me before we meet our enemies in battle, please?. He wriggled out of Opheron’s arms and landed clumsily on the floor, his claws skittering uselessly on the granite tiling. Now I want to try walking. Watch me, Opheron!

Suffice it to say, he was only about a day or so old. With some help and coaching from Opheron, Moonwing had managed to get up to a slow waddle within about two hours. Several times, Opheron had asked Moonwing if he wanted to quit, but each time the dracoling replied with a firm no. I want to be the very first dracoling to run. I didn’t spend four centuries dreaming about living outside that muggy, garish hole in the ground just to be second best!

The Dragon Prince admired the determination of this little fellow. He had only been out of his egg for a less than a day, and already he was determined to be moving about on his own. By dinnertime, Moonwing had graduated to a somewhat wobbly trot. This he was incredibly proud of, and set about strutting past the other dracolings that were still curled in the arms of their human Bond Mates. One or two were inspired by Moonwing’s foolish antics and tried to follow his example. The baby Blood Moon Dragon was more than happy to serve as a coach. Opheron and the other Apprentices stood by and watched their dracolings stumble and skitter across the granite floor.

“Stop this at once!” A thin, gangly man charged through the door, with a wingless dragon not much bigger than a dog. His tunic was stamped with the Royal Crest of Hambersuge, belonging to another Dragon General that Opheron had met before. The general himself was quite a chubby, laughing man who loved mead, dogs, and children. His descendant, who stood glaring at Opheron was another matter altogether. He had thin platinum blond hair pulled back into a minute ponytail. His boots were brand new, and so shiny he could use the surface as a mirror. His clothes looked about one size too large for him, and his heart was most likely one size too small. He wore a gold amulet, with several earrings and bracelets. There was a single tattoo of a red, doglike animal on his cheek. Opheron recognized him at once.

“Hail, Sir Fox of the noble House of Hambersuge.” He bowed, his own tunic showing the crest of the House of Tennshemone.

“Hail, Opheron of the noble House of Tennshemone.” He bowed in reply. Another boring, meaningless royal custom that Opheron had been trained all his life to uphold. He didn’t really realize it until now, but he hated it.

“I give you my heartiest congratulations on receiving your dragon. May fate smile upon the two of you and may you win many battles.” Another phrase Royalty was trained to say, with absolutely no emotion or feeling behind it. Royalty in Kromolia was raised to have no emotion or feeling towards anyone. Not to their subjects, not to their spouses. Not even their own dragons.

“I thank you for your congratulations, and shall remember it for many years to come.” Opheron said in response.

“Now, formalities aside, what in the name of Great Vozzil is your lizard doing?!” His voice gradually rose to a shout, and his undersized dragon growled to punctuate its Bond Mate’s anger.

“My dragon is merely playing with the others.” Opheron had learned to wear the most convincing expression of innocence possible, making his eyes go just a degree wider, and tilting his head ever so slightly to one side, his eyebrows and mouth positions accentuating his expression. He looked like a perfect little palace doll.

“Merely playing! He is associating with commoners!” Sir Fox’s face was turning redder and redder by the moment. “He is a dragon of royalty!”

Opheron shed his innocent expression, and his voice took on a steely tone “. And as such, he may do as he pleases. It is not your place to interfere with his personal interests and tastes. There has always been a law against Royal persons associating themselves with commoners, but there was never a law that prevented Royal dragons from doing as they please. You have no right to touch Moonwing, Fox.” The other dracolings had looked up by now, many still scrabbling their claws uselessly on the polished floor. “Now leave this chamber. You have no reason to be here.”

“Do you truly think so? I am here to escort you tweaks,” he used the most profane term in the Common vocabulary to describe the inexperienced boys. Most unbecoming of royalty. “To the Assembly Hall. You will receive another debriefing there on your stay here at St. Odie’s.”

He turned heel, and stalked out of the spacious bedchamber. His runt of a dragon turned and hissed violently at the dracoling dragons. They scrabbled away from them as fast as they could go, yelping with fear. But Moonwing just spread his thin velvet red wings apart and hissed in return. The teeny thing didn’t stand a chance against a full grown dragon, but he didn’t care. Nobody but nobody was going to threaten his new friends.

The full grown dragon could have easily taken Moonwing apart, despite it’s small adult size. Disinterested in shedding the blood of a dracoling, it just spat a fireball the size of a man’s thumb at Moonwing and turned tail to join his Knight. Moonwing growled something quite rude in Dragonese, and blew smoke out of his nostrils.

Wow, Opheron thought. My dragon’s crazy. He shook his head, and turned to the farmer boys behind him, but they weren’t there. They were busy trying to drag their dracolings out of the corner of the room where they were all sitting, quivering like deer in the glare of a hunter. He knelt down next to Moonwing, who had relaxed just a little bit. He laid a gentle hand against the dracoling’s side, his fingers avoiding the sharp spikes lining his spine.

You were magnificent, Moonwing! He could have killed you as easily as blinking. Why did you risk your life for those dracolings?

Moonwing flicked his webbed tail. Because by dragon law, she has lost all rights to protection. It’s just like an adult human threatening two-summer old children with brutal death just for playing with each other. It’s vicious, it’s cruel, and it’s not right.

Just because Blood Moon Dragon are generally associated with night, there is a difference between Night and Evil. He glared into Opheron’s green eyes. Just because one is a night creature, they are not evil. Just because one is a daywalker, they are not necessarily virtuous. What makes one good or evil, is their choices. Centaurs can save peoples lives and use their ability for good, just as easily as a Light Mage like Deianeria can use their skills to create chaos.

Again, it unnerved Opheron how wise Moonwing was. But he was also right. He sighed. Do you want to keep trying to walk? Or should we call it a night and go to dinner.

Opheron heard a loud grumbling sound. We-ell, umm. The black dracoling looked down out of embarrassment. Yes, now that you mention it, I am very hungry. He scrabbled off to find the other dragon hatchlings. He growled and yipped in Dragonese, and the other dracolings scrabbled and skidded back to their Bond Mates. Opheron couldn’t understand one lick of the native language of the dragons, but he was very sure that he was saying that practice was over, and it was time to eat. So, he opened his arms up, inviting Moonwing to clamber in so the black baby dragon could be carried to the Assembly Hall to eat, and to listen to the debriefing. The instant he was in his human friend’s arms, he curled up into a tight spiral, and folded his black, crimson-edged wings in tightly. The scarlet, upside-down crescent moon on his forehead was glowing softly, serenely.

11: Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10: The Cloud Gate

“Where are we going?”

“I’m tired, I do not want to go any more.”

“My dwagon peed all over me!”

“Why didn’t we ride in this crate on the way here?”

“Are we there yet?”

“Hey, you kicked me!”

‘Dan-ra’ grumbled, clutching her disfigured dragon closer to her body. Obliging, she moved her foot back underneath the seat of her pants. When will these farmboys stop whining? She thought. Why can’t they just fall asleep like the dracolings? It would make this wagon ride a lot less miserable.

An aged, but well cared for, wagon had been hidden not far from the cave. The dozen or so boys plus the stowaway Deianeria were riding in the large wagon, roughly one horse length and five cubits across. It was made to be pulled by four, full-grown dragons. Yet, despite it’s considerable size, it was barely large enough to accommodate the group of new Dragon Apprentices and their new dragon hatchlings. For teenagers, they were incredibly whiny! It made her want to scream and pull her hair out.

But she couldn’t. Burzard Smithe would never let her hear the end of it. He was seated across the wagon, trying to poke his dragon to wakefulness. Burzard had hatched a large, storm-gray Stone Dragon. It looked like it was built to be as big as physically possible. It was roughly two cubits long, even though it was only two days old. It’s limbs were as thick as her own leg, and were quite short and stumpy. Like several species, it had no wings, but it could crush rocks with its elephant-like feet, and it was much faster than it looked.  Stone Dragons could breath fire longer and hotter than most species, and were several times stronger as well.

On the other hand, her puny, pink, fleshy Daylight Dragon was as thin as a skeleton, and had no scales and no talons or spines to speak of. However, she had looked at Shiara closely. She had the swift, lithe build of a horse, and her paws were fairly large, indicating a great size at maturity. The sickly yellow talons and spines were indeed brittle, but so were many other dragon species’ claws at birth. And those other species would have claws harder than diamond, and sharper than daggers at maturity. The fluff on her skull, her wings, and tail was down, the soft feathers that many birds had soon after birth. These pathetic feathers would protect the stronger flight feathers as they grew in, and would provide insulation when the bird was older. In her lessons with Book, her enchanted novel full of knowledge of insults and incantations, she had learned that birds’ flying was better than those of bats. If the same was true of Shiara’s wings, her flight abilities would surpass those of all other dragon species, because all their wings shared heavy similarity to bats’ wings. Perhaps if Shiara made it to adulthood, she would become a formidable Battle Dragon.

Book. She frowned. Back when she had run away from home at Widower’s Hollow, she had shrunk Book and her stuffed tiger, Knight so that she would be able to bring them along on her journey to St. Odie’s Dragon Academy. She remembered that Book strongly disapproved of her decision to run away. Knight, not being able to speak at all, never rejected anything she did. She had not slept with Knight by her side for the past three, almost four days. She was beginning to have nightmares.

They were strange nightmares. In all of them, she was trapped in a sea of gray fabric, running away from something, and it was laughing at her. Telling her to give up her quest to be a Dragon Knight. In her latest one, a white dragon was roaring at her, telling her to stay with her, to keep going. The dragon was the most unusual one she had ever seen. In addition to scales, it had... Well, she couldn’t remember. Shiara had bitten her nose before she could try to remember more, and by the time she had gotten Shiara to let go of her face, it was too late to recall it. When remembering dreams, it is important for one not to move a muscle at all upon waking, or else the memory of all the dreams that came during the night will flee, and it will never return. Having a dracoling happily latch onto your nose definitely eliminates any other thoughts, except for the pain in your face.

Deianeria was jolted out of her thoughts by a bump in the road. She looked down to see if anything, or anyone for that matter, fell out of the wagon, but no one did. What she did see was that the road was suddenly paved. She looked ahead to see where they were going. The other boys were still whining and grumbling about the trip. It wasn’t until she pointed out what they were heading towards did they pull themselves out of their self-pity.

“Holy Vozzil’s Beard.” One teenager cussed.

“Boys,” Sir Averdy stood up, balancing easily on the wobbling cart, “Welcome to the Cloud Gate.”

There was a deafening roar emanating from the formless, roiling mass of fog. The four dragons heedlessly trotted forward, quickly submerging the entire cart in a fog thicker than porridge, darkness quickly overtaking them. Shiara woke up suddenly, squeaking in terror as she wormed her way into Deianeria’s cloak for protection, huddling underneath her tunic. It was icy cold in the fog, colder than anything she had ever experienced. Wind stronger than anything she ever felt bombarded her, whipping her clothes around her and tearing her blue cap from her head. She futilely tried to grab it back, but it was already too far out of reach, and impossible to see in the dim light that penetrated the thick fog. Boys and dracolings were screeching in terror as the cart flipped upside-down. Deianeria clutched the side of the wagon with her right hand, and held onto Shiara with her other hand. She braced herself for the moment when everything would fall out of the wagon, preparing herself for meeting with the stone-paved ground. Wind roared in her ears like the crashing of a thousand waterfalls. They were all going to die.

The impact never came. For one, the cart was enchanted so that nothing could fall out of it. Second, there was no ground to hit. They were in fact inside a cloud.

The four dragons were plowing steadily through the cloud, the wind no match for the power of their wingbeats. The wind grew steadily stronger, and the four Dragon Knights were calling words of encouragement to their dragons. Deianeria caught a glimpse of Burzard Smithe holding his Stone Dragon like it was his younger sibling, almost like... almost like he actually cared for it. How could this be? The giant of a boy who did not hesitate to try and kill her was curling himself around the wailing dracoling as if it was the world’s most precious and fragile thing. Before she could consider why, the cart flipped upside-down again, this time far more violently. Shiara was squealing in complete panic, Deianeria could not think. She was certain that they would all plummet to their doom, and then, suddenly it stopped.

She looked around, her short ash-blond hair wild and frizzy from the powerful winds. She looked down at Shiara. The little dragon squawked at her.

I really do not want to do that again. Shiara shivered, her fuzzy, down coated wings tightly wrapped around her body. Deianeria smiled, grateful that her dragon was okay. She turned around, to see what had happened. The roiling mass of cloud was still there, surrounding them on every side. She realized something, and an illustration came to her mind’s eye. An illustration she had seen inside Book’s pages not so long ago. It showed a picture of a funnel-shaped mass of storm cloud, spinning its way across a vast plain.

Precious few have survived the destruction of a tornado, and even fewer have seen it and lived.

A tornado. Her face paled. She had just ridden a dragon-pulled cart through a tornado. But she also remembered that inside every tornado was an eye, a narrow space of still air at the very center. Depending on the size of a tornado, this could be as small as a few feet across or several miles. How long one would remain in the eye of a tornado and reach the storm wall again was a question of how severe the storm was.

Deianeria finally stretched out of the fetal position and tried to get her bearings, her ears still pounding with blood and the sound from the storm. Straight ahead was an archway.

The archway must have been ten feet wide, and almost fifteen feet tall. It was made from pure crystal that practically sang with magical energy. As a mage, Deianeria could see just how powerful it was by detecting the lightning-like aura surrounding it. This archway practically blinded her magical vision. But that wasn’t the only amazing thing about it. It was built on a floating stone. The stone on which the archway rested was quite small, only slightly wider than the arch itself, and too narrow for anyone to even stand on it. Planted next to it was a signpost. It took Deianeria a minute to turn off her magical vision to see what the sign said.

You shall eat my bananas, human.

BEYOND THIS GATE OF CLOUD

LIES A SCHOOL OF MORAL QUALITY

HERE IS OLD AND HALLOWED

AND FREE OF EVIL AND INIQUITY

FOR GOOD AND TRUTH ABIDE

WITHIN THESE SACRED HALLS

BUT THOSE IN WHOM ILL WILL RESIDE

SHALL SUFFER THE GREATEST FALL

COME IN, AND WELCOME

BUT BE WARNED MY FRIEND,

THOSE WHO CAUSE MISCHIEF

SHALL MEET THEIR END.

The message sent chills down Deianeria’s spine. The message was written in Elanvian, the language that binds the tongues of liars. There is no possible way to lie in Elanvian, and whatever is written in this vernacular is magically binding. Any who passed through, knowingly or not, were subject to the contract on that signpost.

Every boy was wet, freezing, and looked awful. Dracolings of every color and size, winged and no, were poking their heads out from between arms, cloaks, and tunics. One popped its scaly head out of a boy’s bag. One at a time, they realized that they were safe, and gave a loud, exultant cheer. For the moment, anyways.

Then they passed through the gate. Deianeria had passed through countless magic gates, as had many Kromolians, but she had never felt any like this. Suddenly, the world narrowed to whirling spiral of gray stone and clouds. That surpassed that of the tornado thundered in her ears. She felt as though she were being turned inside-out and spun around in a circle. Everything was spinning in a dizzying whirlpool of grays, dizzying the occupants of the cart. Even the dragons at the front looked ill. Gradually, the grays became greens and blues, with touches of beige. The vortex began to slow, and eventually stopped. She heard the sounds of vomiting boys and whimpering dragons. She checked her coat pockets; she found that Book, Knight, and baby Shiara were still all right. Book felt a bit wet, but he had been in worse situations than being somewhat damp. After hurling her lunch over the side of the cart as well, she got a look at her bearings, carefully cradling her tiny Daylight Dragon in her arms.

It was a pristine isle, dotted with huge tents and a single, small keep dominating the island’s highest point. Dragons of every color and shape circled the tall towers in tight formation. She saw two men on dragonback sparring with deadly seriousness. She saw one stretch of field where boys were jousting on dragonback, and another area where an old, large dragon was roaring and growling at smaller, younger dragons as they clumsily tried to fly. The clang of metal on metal and the roars of dragons rang through the air. This was Tahiros, The Isle of Dragons.

“Are you done barfing up your guts yet?” Sir L’range grouched. “Or is this your day off?” he slid off the cart and unhitched his dragon. The dragon flapped its scaly orange wings twice, and shook its body from head to tail.

“1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2...” Sir Averdy began counting off and pointing at each boy in turn. She held little Shiara a bit closer, the pink, thin little dragon squeaking in discomfort. When he came to Deianeria, he made her a two. When he saw Shiara, his jaw dropped. “What on earth happened to your dragon?”

“She just hatched that way. Why? Is there something wrong?” Shiara looked up at the man, and then down at his green dragon. Did I do a bad thing? She peered up at Deianeria. Why is he staring at me?

“I do not know, Shi-shi.” She looked at the little dragon. She did look pretty sickly for a dragon, with no scales or the characteristic leathery wings of a dragon, but fleshy skin and a thin smattering of downy feathers across its little wings that looked more birdlike than anything else. She was certainly an odd dragon, but she was not sickly.

Sir Averdy pointed her in the direction of the Infirmary anyways. She was to join them once Shiara had been checked for any diseases. Not wanting to displease the Knights on her first day as a Dragon Apprentice, she did as she was told. Shiara bounced in Deianeria’s arms as she sprinted for the Infirmary.

12: Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11: Collisions

Opheron was still trotting to the meeting hall. Many other Apprentices were trailing behind him, holding their own dracolings. He wondered what the new debriefing was. All Opheron was really interested in was buckling down into his training. Partially because Moonwing was so eager.

So what do you think that dinners here are going to be like? I’m not really used to anything but palace food. Opheron continued jogging down the hall, the footsteps of the others echoing behind him. Moonwing bounced up and down in his arms, staring at everything, trying to take it all in. He still couldn’t believe that he was finally out of that awful eggshell prison. He despised being in the hollow shell when he had tasted the outside world, sifting through the minds of the boys who had tried Hatching him. It drove him very nearly insane knowing what kind of a world was out there, and he couldn’t even try to see it himself. If only Opheron knew what kind of debt he owed the boy. Moonwing would never be able to thank his new friend enough for freeing him, giving him the opportunity to grow up, to live and breathe.

I wouldn’t be the best one to ask, Opheron. I mean, why ask me? I’ve only been able to eat for six hours. Before this morning I was in a comatose state with only my mind alive and functioning.

The Dragon Prince could feel Moonwing’s head bobbing up and down against his arm, the scaly tail wrapped loosely around his arm. Oh, yes, Opheron replied, feeling very ignorant, I suppose you’re right. Opheron’s feet kept pounding the floor. I wonder what Deianeria is doing right now...

Suddenly, a thin boy crashed into him. Moonwing fell out of Opheron’s arms and sprawled onto the floor headfirst. The other boy’s dracoling looked horrendously disfigured. Opheron nearly gagged just looking at it. It looked like a starved horse that had lost in a pillow fight. A golden sunburst marked its forehead. The boy didn’t look much better off than his dragon. He was a skinny little boy with a physique like a girl's. He had an overly large nose, plain mousy-brown hair, and a brown tunic that looked like it had seen better days. His eyes were as blue as the sky in winter, but something about them was strikingly familiar.

“What on earth happened to your dragon?! I’ve seen half-plucked chickens in the palace kitchens that looked better.” He sniffed. He had caught a slight cold, and the appearance of the smaller boy’s dragon startled him badly.

The boy, whom Opheron thought looked familiar, widened those gray eyes in shock and absolute fear, then quickly narrowed them down to angry slits. “You’d be a fine one to ask.” The boy was very insolent. “Where’d you get yours, palace-boy? It looks like a chimney sweep mistook it for a broom.”

Opheron widened his eyes in shock! He recognized that voice! He could barely believe it! His jaw worked on its own for a moment, moving up and down in shock. He must have looked like a caught fish. Impossible! Deianeria had finally done it. Deianeria! A Dragon Apprentice!

“Not used to insults, are you, Palace-Boy?” She glared at him with those false, blue eyes, peering out of a false, boyish face. He absentmindedly tried to pick up his dragon, only to discover Moonwing was not there. He looked around frantically for the dracoling, and saw him snorting and snuffling Deianeria’s dragon. The sickly pink thing was curiously nosing Moonwing’s wing. Deianeria crawled over, reaching for her dragon. “Shi-shi, we have to get moving. We CAN’T stick around with this jerk.” She leered in Opheron’s direction.

The dragon, apparently named Shi-shi, paid her Bond Mate no heed, but promptly touched her forehead to Moonwing’s.

There was a long, low hum in the air, like the growling of an ancient dragon. There was a shower of sparks between the two dracolings. One part as yellow as the sun in summer, the other a midnight purple. The two children looked at each other, thunderstruck. A single phrase rang in the air, as deep and rich as if it were spoken by a great king.

One of sun..... And one of moon.......

Deianeria sat on the ground, her hair a bit longer than before. Obviously her illusion was fading quickly.

“Deianeria, I-”

She stood up, glaring angrily at him. “Breathe a word about my being here and, palace-brat or not, I promise you I will turn you into a dung beetle, you hear?” She picked up her deformed dragon and ran, until Opheron could no longer see her.

Moonwing was sprawled on the ground, his coppery eyes glazed and glassy. Fearing the worst, he picked up the stupefied dracoling.

“Moonwing! Moonwing, talk to me! Are you okay?”

There was a high-pitched groan and Moonwing flopped over in Opheron’s arms. Pretty stars.... Pre-e-etty sta-a-ar-rs. The dracoling’s black head bobbed up and down in a daze.

“What happened? Are you alright? Say something!” Opheron gently rubbed Moonwing’s head. He shook his scaly little head and blinked. Better than alright! Did you realize what just happened? I. HAVE. FOUND. HER!

“Found who? Tell me!” Opheron was panicking. His dragon must have hit his head during the explosion. He was talking nonsense!

The Daylight Dragon! She’s hatched!

Opheron blinked. That was a Daylight Dragon? It was horrendous! It looked weak and pathetic, there was no way it could ever do anything of worth, let alone defeat Circina!

Moonwing hissed in livid rage, Do not you dare insult her! She is only a child, it’s not her fault she looks that way! Moonwing’s eyes widened, and Opheron sensed deep regret. He nudged Opheron’s arm. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so rude.

It’s fine, but why does she look like that? Opheron was incredulous. No dragon hatched without scales. Ever!

Like the newborn swan, it is only so revolting for a short season. In adulthood, a Daylight Dragon is the most beautiful dragon in the whole world.

Opheron was unsure, but he knew from his studies that it had to be the truth. It was an unbreakable Law of Magic that when a magical creature is bound to a human, all those participating in the contract can’t deceive the ones they are bound to. Opheron would never be able to hide any kind of secret from Moonwing, and Moonwing could not possibly lie to him.

Oh. Opheron pondered this. I thought that to be considered a dragon, a creature has to be a reptile and breathe fire, fly, or both. That thing looked like a bird, not a dragon.

Obviously, but Daylight Dragons are incredibly unique. They are reptilian in the sense that they are cold-blooded, but they are not born with scales. They grow in as they mature. In another week or so, Shiara will have armor as strong as mine. In addition, Daylight Dragons have feathered wings in place of ordinary dragon wings, but feathers are only an evolved form of an ordinary scale. But, yes, Shiara is a dragon. And I am hungry, and we are already incredibly late for supper!

Opheron had completely forgotten! They were being debriefed in the Great Hall! He spun on his heel and sprinted down the empty, deserted corridor in the direction of the sound of clattering silverware and chatter.

He was still giddy with the knowledge that Deianeria was here, and she had her own dragon. He didn’t know why, but that knowledge made him ecstatic. Did he have feelings for Deianeria?

 

13: Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12: Life or Death

Deianeria was hiding in the bathhouse, crying. Her illusion had worn off completely, and her long, silver-streaked hair hung low in front of her, obscuring her face. The tears had stopped long ago, replaced with a hollow sense of defeat. How could she have been so clumsy? So stupid? If she had only kept her mouth shut and kept walking, Opheron wouldn’t have recognized her. But no, she had to let her pride get the better of her. Sir Yaloe was right. Her pride, her ego had been her fatal flaw.

Opheron was going to report her, they would search for her and kill her for breaking the law. She could never leave, and she couldn’t survive for four months until Shiara grew up. She couldn’t get off the island without a full-grown dragon, even with magic. Maybe she should give up.

Give up. There is no hope left. You’re finished, Deianeria.

There was no hope left. She was finished.

You may as well cast yourself into the waves and drown. It would be quicker.

Better yet, use her belt and hang herself here.

You should loose your belt and cinch it around your neck.

Deianeria stood up and began to take off the belt around the boy’s tunic.

DEIANERIA!!! SNAP OUT OF IT!!

She was done for... done for...

Deianeria, you can’t give up. I chose you for a reason, Deianeria! I chose you, out of all the others! Shiara squawked in panic.

She was going to die anyways, why should she struggle? It was like fighting the plague; once it came, her days were numbered...

Deianeria, please. What about me?

She began to wind the belt around her neck, then...

Shiara leaped, a thin pink blur with tiny teeth.

“Ouch!! What are you doing?” She sucked on her bleeding finger.

Saving your life! Those aren’t your thoughts, Deianeria. Those are someone else’s thoughts. I chose you for your virtue! You are virtuous!

Do not listen to her, end it!

Deianeria froze. She knew immediately what had happened, and dropped the belt. She curled back into a ball and clutched her head. She began murmuring under her breath. “Leave thou me, ye unwanted spirit. Get thee hence, ye tormentor! For Vozzil, my King and God is stronger than all of thee!”

Take the belt...

Leave thou me, ye unwanted spirit.

You have no hope...

Get thee hence, ye tormentor!

Finish it off, now!

For Vozzil, my King and God

He is no match for me!

IS STRONGER THAN ALL OF THEE!!

A terrible, utterly inhuman shriek of rage split the air of the bathhouse. Mirrors shattered, the lamp went out. Everything went as gray as a stone, the air turned thick. Deianeria prayed to Vozzil that the spirit would leave, and continued reciting the verse of scripture. The world was spinning in her vision; it kept getting grayer, and grayer. Deianeria kept praying, praying that it would leave.

Leave thou me, ye unwanted spirit. Get thee hence ye tormentor! For Vozzil, my King and God is stronger than all of thee!

Suddenly, the world imploded in a flash of white.

Deianeria stood up slowly, looking around the demolished bathhouse. Glass littered the floor, the mangled, melted form of a lamp hung from the ceiling. The tub where she sat had cracked, and was leaking hot water. A smile spread across her face. She fell to the ground and began offering her thanks to Vozzil for saving her life. When her prayer of gratitude was done, she felt as if a beam of sunlight had broken through a cloud. She had not felt anything so wonderful since she had hatched Shiara earlier that day.

Suddenly, a chilling realization reached her. Where was Shiara?

“SHI-SHI!! WHERE ARE YOU?! SHIARA!!”

There was no answer in her mind. She began to sob. What had she done? Shiara had saved her from a demon, and now Shiara was gone. Tears rolled down her cheeks like salty rain.

Prrr... Prrr.... Squeak! She looked up. She looked around. “Shiara? Is that you?”

Prrr..... Prrr... Raaarr!! She leapt to the other side of the room, where the noises were coming from. She dug through the wreckage, cutting her hand on a broken mirror.

“Shi-shi!!!” The dracoling’s squeaks and growls grew louder, and stronger with each piece of wood she lifted away.

Finally, she saw a fluffy, pinkish wing. She pulled away the beam and pulled the wounded Shiara out of the debris.

Shi-shi! I am so sorry. Sorrow filled her telepathic words. Where are you hurt?

The dracoling squeaked. I... I can’t feel my wing. My.... head... fee-eels....

She turned the hatchling dragon over and gasped. Part of the wing was almost completely severed off, hanging by a pinkish strand of flesh. Blood, dark as wine, spread steadily across the floor in quick spurts. Deianeria began to cry again. She had to heal her dragon.

“Where’s Book?” She ripped off her satchel and dug through it. She found the miniaturized Book, and tapped him with her ring. Instantly, he grew to proper size.

“Geez, you ungrateful little purple squirrel! I’ve been stuffed down there for-”

“Find me a spell to heal amputations, now!”

“Wha-aaa-aa???” The confused book raised half of its leather unibrow. She picked up the book and showed it to Shiara. She was growing pale, red dragon blood spreading on the floor.

“Oh my sweet publisher. Page 791, on the double!” It flipped itself open to the page, and mumbled, “What are you waiting for, Snarkfanny? Say the spell, or it’ll die in a minute!”

Deianeria took one look at the spell, and her jaw dropped. She had never seen something so complex in her life! The spell took up the entire page, and there were complicated gestures she didn’t think she could do, unknown words marred the page like spiders. She looked down at Shiara. Blood continued to spurt from the wound. Shiara’s brilliant blue eyes were dimming. If Deianeria didn’t do something now, her dragon would die. She had promised to be Shiara’s Knight. She couldn’t do anything but her very best for her.

She changed her ring to a wand. The wand was about a cubit long and covered with runes. A small blue orb bloomed from its thin tip. She began to speak.

The magic words fell from her mouth like a waterfall. Her hands moved like trees in a summer wind. She didn’t stumble, she didn’t waver. There was no conscious thought. She just knew what she had to do, in a way she couldn’t even describe.

Blood began to flow back to the ruined body of the dracoling like a river turning back on itself. The inside of the wound glowed a sky-blue, absolutely throbbing with magic. Shiara’s eyes rolled back into her head, and she fell asleep as her wing began to knit itself back together. It felt as if days had passed, but it was only a few minutes. Finally the glow died, and the flesh had knit itself back to a large, lumpy scar. In moments, even that faded to a thin line. Exhausted, Deianeria sank to her knees. Her arms couldn’t move. Her eyes throbbed and burned from holding them open for so long without blinking. Her breath came in rattled gasps, but it was done. Her dracoling was laying sprawled on the glass-littered floor, her pink chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm.

Book whistled in reverence. “Girly, your dad would be proud of you.” It smiled. A real, authentic smile Deianeria had never seen before.

She muttered a thank you, still breathing deeply. It took some time, but she recovered from her exhaustion, and she performed the masking spell with a piece of mirror shard. Her beautiful hair grew short and dull. Her violet eyes, once again, faded to a gray-blue. She looked down at her tunic, which now had even more bloodstains and grime on it.

“Oh, wonderful.” She grumbled.

“What? I think you did a fantastic job. That was far more than any mage should ever have to handle, and you were outstanding!” Book beamed, his tiny, beady eyes gleaming under his cracked leather brow.

“No,” she gestured to the torn and filthy once-blue tunic. “I mean that this is my only shirt.”

14: Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13: But You Can Call Me Mister Bob

He kept running, sprinting down the hall as fast as he could manage. Twisting, turning, trying to rely on his ears to find the Assembly Hall. With Moonwing urging him on as best he could, Opheron continued running down the confusing stony labyrinth of passages.

Right there! There it is! Moonwing scratched Opheron’s arm to get his attention, and he skidded to a halt on the stony floor.

There it was. The oak doors were so tall and so wide that four giants could have gone through with ease. They hung open invitingly, revealing the inside. It was a tremendous hall, so large that it impressed even Opheron with the wealth and prestige of the Kromolian Kingdom. It stood almost a half-mile high, and a full mile in length. The colors of the Ten Dragon Kings were hung on the walls, with five on each side. He recognized his own house tapestry, the Noble House of Tennshemone, near the end of the hall. At the end, a massive expanse of cloth covered the far wall, decorated with the emblem of the Dragon Corps; a dragon curled in a circle biting its tail in front of a crossed axe and a sword. Inside the Assembly hall were hundreds of boys, men, and dragons of every color of the rainbow. From Tanges River Dragons to Common Greens. To the side was a massive pool of clear water, where many water-variety dragons splashed and swam. The roof was open to the elements, but he could see a massive mechanism of gears and pulleys that could open or close the roof as the occupants pleased. Wingless dragons sat on a grassy space near him, where they lay snoozing, wrestling, or growling at one another in Dragonese.

Opheron stood slack-jawed at the wonder of the Assembly Hall. It was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen.

I’ll bet this room is a lot bigger than Rähar-Melrook. Opheron jested to Moonwing, rubbing the horn nubs of the Blood Moon dracoling.

You would be guessing right. This is just massive!

“Are you done sight-seeing, boy?”

Opheron whirled around and found himself in the face of a bear-like man. He was almost 7 feet tall, and he could have weighed as much as a Mountain Boar. He was not a soft man; his skin was ravaged with thick, ropy scars, and his muscled arms were browned with years under the sun. His mouth was set into a hard line, and his beetle-black eye leered at him, while the other was covered with a red eye patch. His head was completely bald, except for the right side where a tattoo of a red dragon stretched its wings.

“Well? What’re ya starin’ at, ya one-legged, misshapen...” He used words so profane it made Opheron cringe.

“I got lost. Will you tell me where I should be?” Opheron tried to be direct and firm, to preserve at least some of his dignity.

“Can you tell me where I should be?” He mimicked in a childish voice. “Ya should be in yer grave, ya tweakin’ lil’ idjit. If I weren’t as sweet as I were, I’d have yeh be fed ter Conqueror.” He growled, and made a fist in Opheron’s face. The boy stood his ground. He knew this type of Dragon Knight. He was all talk and no walk. They continued this staring contest for a long while. Finally, a massive thud broke the silence as a dragon landed directly behind the bear-man.

The dragon was tremendous, twice the size of an ordinary draft horse. Its wings and body were the color of a ruby at sunset. Its leathery wings beat the air with the force of a gale. It had no horns, but it had three rows of sharp, feral teeth. It had the head of a massive crocodile, and a body similar to a dog’s, but its legs were short and squat like an elephant. It growled at its Knight.

“What? I wasn’t gonna really feed ‘em to ya.” He glowered at Opheron and Moonwing. “They wouldn’t make half a mouthful.”

More growling from the red dragon. This elicited a shameful look upon the bald Knight. “Yeah, I had one or two pints.”

The dragon snorted white smoke. “I know I said I’d quit, but I broke down. Will not ‘appen again.” The Knight snarled at Opheron. “Repeat that and you’ll be doin’ pushups for hours, ya hear?” He pointed a thick, accusing finger at the Dragon Prince.

“Yessir. I’ll keep it quiet.” Opheron promised. He smiled inside though. The man really was a wimp on the inside.

Once the Knight was gone, the dragon rumbled and stared meaningfully at Opheron. Moonwing purred and yapped in response. Satisfied, the dragon plodded away and took off, its bright red wings causing a stool to crack.

Well? What did he say to you? Opheron inquired.

He said that Brick Bronkor can be a jerk sometimes, but he has a soft side, and he gets grouchy when he is drunk. Moonwing blinked.

Is that all?

He also said you smelled like a girl. Moonwing made a hacking, coughing sound that he knew was dragon laughter.

What?!? Opheron lifted up his arm and took a sniff. His heart sank; He still reeked of palace perfume. Blushing, he shuffled down the endless isles to find a table that was still empty.

He finally found one near his House Crest, filled with other boys dressed in red, gold-trimmed tunics. His cousins, he assumed. They all stood and bowed as he sat down. He dipped his head in kind, and said, “Hail, relatives and friends.” Once again, he remembered how much he hated palace customs. He sat between a boy with auburn hair and another with dark brown eyes.

“Hi. I’m Markitan, but everyone calls me Mark.” He held out his hand, and Opheron shook it. The boy had huge, angled brown eyes the color of rich earth.

“I’m Opheron. Dragon King Sargodon’s my father.” He smiled, but the boy’s face drooped.

“Oh. Okay.” He stared back at his plate, piled high with Kesh-kan fruit, beef steak, and a large salad.

Opheron grimaced. “I guess my reputation precedes me.”

“My mom was the cook’s assistant, and my dad was your second cousin. She said you threw eggs at her.”

Opheron’s guilt was overwhelming. He remembered this cook’s assistant. “I’m sorry. Really.” Mark still shied away from him.

“What kind of dragon did you hatch?” Opheron asked politely.

“Hatched a mumblemumble....”

“What was that?” Opheron leaned closer to hear Mark in the loud Hall.

“I hatched a Tanges River.”

“Those are really cool. Did you know that at maturity they can secrete a bubble that allows the wearer to go underwater? I knew a Knight who had a Tanges River Dragon. He was actually the head of the Kromolian Navy for a long time.”

Mark looked up. “Really? So I wouldn’t have to worry about drowning?”

“Not at all. And if you have issues with a bubble, I know a mage that is really good at body transformations. He could give you gills, if you wanted to.”

“Really?” Mark’s blue eyes went wide. “That’s freaking awesome!”

“But it’s on the condition that it is for a legitimate purpose instead of ‘just wanting to do it’. I could give you his name, if you want.”

Mark grew cautious. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

Opheron gave a half-smile. “Because this is High Sorcerer Sunhawk. He’s the one who repaired a baby’s cleft lip. The tall man with the blue hair who always sits near High King Starrias.”

Mark’s eyes lit up. “You think he’d give me gills?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Okay, because I could never do a bubble.”

“Why not?” Opheron raised an eyebrow.

Mark itched his scalp, wondering if he should say more, having said too much already. “I have crippling claustrophobia.”

“Oh. I understand. Once, when I was a boy, I hid my nursemaid’s spectacles, and she locked me in a cupboard for almost six hours.”

“Wow, I didn’t think anybody could be meaner than my grandpa.”

“Who’s your-”

Opheron was interrupted by an ear-splitting roar at the front of the Assembly Hall, where a large Common Green was belching fire into the air. All around the Hall, chatter stopped and people grew attentive.

A voice spoke.

“Hello, hello, hellooooo.” The disembodied voice boomed. “And welcome new Dragon Apprentices, and welcome back seasoned Knights. For those of you who do not know me, I am Headmaster Pymmobris Ismétlar Yroufehim Ansmotik Erottoa. But you can call me Mister Bob. Those of you who do know me, you may call me Mister Bob, too.”

Opheron raised an eyebrow. Did the headmaster of the most distinguished school in Kromolia just say ‘Call me Mister Bob?’ He continued listening with a slight smirk of amusement and discomfort. What a strange man.

“As you all ought to know, this is St. Eodsha’s Academy for Raising Dragons, where you will hopefully learn how to take care of your dragons and defend yourselves from rather unsavory characters. For example: werewolves, snake women, vampires, giant spiders, Graymen, Fish-monsters, and cacti that charge at you and explode for no particular reason.

“To you hatchling dragons, some of our older drakes and dragonesses can teach you how to breathe fire, learning to fly, specific skills, evasive maneuvers, and grooming your scales and claws. Just remember, all of you scaly little ones, that your Knight’s slipper is not a chew toy, and there are special pits for you to leave droppings. And for heaven’s sake, do try not to eat your kill inside the dorms. It is very rude, and is a terrible mess to clean up.

“Tomorrow morning, you will be grouped into your specific skill areas based on previous experience and what kind of dragon you are. For reference tomorrow, The list goes as such: Dragons with flight capability and flame breath, also known as Standard. Flame breath only, also known as Fiery. Flight capability only, also known as Wings. Aquatic and semi-aquatic, also known as Sea. And under three feet adult length, also known as Dwarf. If you have any questions whatsoever, please ask one of the Knights or an Adult Dragon, whichever you find first or friendliest.

“Also, those of you who have a Sea Dragon, we do have a special training course for you so you do not die the first time you engage in a naval battle because you do not know how to use a bubble properly. For those of you who have a Wing or a Standard, which should be most of you, we have aerial workshops and special saddle-crafting lessons for you lucky folk. Just do not fall off, or else you will have a very lo-o-ong time to wave bye-bye.

“To recap, I am Mr. Bob, do not chew your slippers, you may be a midget, and remember to eat your Kesh-kan fruit. It gets rather smelly after a day or so. Now, scoot little tweaks!”

15: Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14: Where Did Dan-ra Go?

Sir Averdy quietly moved down the halls with Lemondrop, his right hand near his sword. His brown eyes swiveled from side to side, searching for the one boy who was not present at dinner. Lemondrop’s green hide glittered like an emerald-encrusted statue. Lemondrop had not known his name at birth the way other dragon’s had. Still rather childish for his age, Sir Averdy had named his dragon after a favorite toy dragon he had had for many, many years. And, the dragon stuck with the name despite its misnomer.

If I were a scrawny boy, where would I hide? Sir Averdy bit his thumbnail in contemplation. He had searched every likely spot on the whole island.

He thought for a moment. Dan-ra had definitely been in the bathhouses. It looked like a herd of Mountain Boars had gone completely berserk! There were razorlike shards of mirror, molten puddles of metal, and human blood everywhere. The clinching evidence was the tiny scrap of periwinkle fabric dangling from the jagged edge of a broken bathtub. Lemondrop said he could smell Dan-ra everywhere in that room, along with his misshapen dragon. But the odor overpowering the whole thing was what was peculiar.

It smelled like what?

I’m telling you, it stank like Circina in there. The entire bathhouse reeked of her rancid stench!

But there is no physical way in the world she could have come onto the isle! It takes a team of four full-grown dragons to even come close to penetrating the gate.

You’re right. Lemondrop said cryptically, There is no physical way, but there is a way.

What do you mean?

What I mean is Circina did not set foot on this island. She never even touched it.

“Lemondrop, you’re being too obscure. Say it straight and plain!” He said aloud.

It does not matter. What has happened has happened. Let us find Dan-ra before someone else finds him.

Averdy let go of his sword. After seeing the carnage in the bathhouse, he had been prepared to do battle with the Witch-Queen herself. It helped him relax a bit knowing his dragon told him it was safe. He continued down the stone corridors at a much more relaxed pace. If Dan-ra could bleed and wasn’t in the bathhouses, it meant that he was fine and well enough to walk. What did trouble him was how the bathhouse had been destroyed. One boy couldn’t do that much damage in such a short time. There had to have been magic involved, and if it stank of Circina in that room. What was so important about Dan-ra that he would be targeted by the Witch-Queen? It was possible that Dan-ra was a sorcerer, but that wasn’t likely. Sorcerers, enchanters, and most people who used magic had unusual physical traits, like strange colored hair or eyes, and rarely an extra body part. He once saw a Dark Mage that had bat wings. Dan-ra looked so ordinary it was boring to stare at him for longer than a minute!

Sir Averdy kept pondering this until he heard the squeak of a dracoling to his left, down an empty corridor, along with a familiar voice. Words floated to him.

Hrrrr! The dracoling snarled in protest.

“I know Shi-shi, trust me, I do. Your down is just a bit crooked, and I just want to...”

The boy was cut off by a sharp hiss and quickly apologized. “Sorry, I will not mess with it. Oh man, I hope that doesn’t affect how the feathers grow in.”

Sir Averdy sighed with relief. Dan-ra was okay, and there was no need for worry.

“Just give me a second to figure out how to cover the bald spot...” Dan-ra stared thoughtfully at the bald gap in the horrendous fuzz.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Sir Averdy said amiably.

Dan-ra whirled around, his blue eyes were wide with fear. Sir Averdy continued, heedless. “I mean, a dracoling will not get much uglier. And if it really is similar to a bird, the down will grow back. Especially if it grows at the rate a dragon does.

Dan-ra relaxed a little. “That’s good to hear. I’m sorry I missed the debriefing. I had a mild, um,” the boy paused, but quickly finished. “Plumbing issue. I was in the bathhouse, and-”

“Completely demolished it.” The Knight cut in. “I saw the wreckage, and came to find you because I thought you were in trouble. Lemondrop said he smelled Circina all over the place.”

Dan-ra bit his trembling lip. His pale blue eyes went wide.

“Hey, calm down.” Sir Averdy patted the frozen boy on the back, and Dan-ra relaxed. “I was just checking to see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine, just… shook up.”

“Well, in an explosion like that, you would have to be a fool not to be scared. It’s perfectly fine to be scared, but my question is what happened?”

The thin boy held his breath. “I...” He paused, as if tasting his words. “I... do not think I’m ready to talk about it.”

Sir Averdy looked at him in an odd way, with one eyebrow raised in disbelief. He came to know this boy quite well over the course of the hike to Rähar-Melrook, and thought he was a good kid. But, then again, the assassin who tried to kill Starrias just last month turned out to be a werewolf hiding in human shape until the moment was right to try and kill him. Dan-ra looked too small to be a werewolf in disguise. But Circina had employed humans as spies before.

But then what of Dan-ra’s dragon? Hatchling dragons can see what is in the mind of others, no matter who or what they were. Nothing had ever escaped the probing mind of a dracoling. It was a fundamental law of magic that most magical creatures were too innocent and naïve at birth to cause any harm, and therefore could bypass any ward or mental barrier with no resistance. The fuzzy, misshapen thing blinking at him with those wide blue eyes may not have been a dragon, but it was certainly a magical creature. It would have known if anything were wrong.

Be at peace, Kerent. I have spoken with the child.  Dan-ra has much to hide, but holds no secrets that could cause harm.

“Well, then what-” The man opened his mouth to speak, but the dragon cut him off. For Dan-ra’s safety, I must ask you to refrain from questioning me. Telling you will endanger Dan-ra’s life.

Well, that made things much different then. He didn’t know what Dan-ra had to hide, but if it was a matter of life or death, he wouldn’t probe his dragon for more information. They respected one another’s privacy. Besides, he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Telling Sir Averdy anything was like using a smoke signal; once you say it, everyone knew.

“Alright, then. I suppose that if he trusts you, I trust you. If you promise not to blow up anymore toilets, we’ll keep your secret.” Averdy tousled Dan-ra’s thin hair. Oddly, it was heavier than it looked.

Spluttering his thanks, Dan-ra sprinted down the corridors to the nearby dormitories. Are you certain he isn’t a spy for Circina? Sir Averdy mounted his dragon.

A dragon can’t lie to its Knight. Dan-ra holds no secrets that could harm anyone, except Dan-ra’s own personage. But truly, I must ask that you not bring it up again. I could put the child in danger.

“Alright, I will not ask about him anymore.” Sir Averdy promised. But something still nagged him at the back of his sharp mind. Something odd about the way Dan-ra walked, his downcast eyes, still jerked at his eye. With a burst of will, he put these thoughts aside, forcing them out of his mind.

But they still lingered.