Dragon Orb (Dragons of Daegonlot, Book One)

by Shanlynn Walker

  ~James Anthony Froude

  Hatched

  Daxon woke just as dawn’s light was creeping over the horizon. Silently cursing to himself, he stumbled from his bed and went to see if Borl had left for the council meeting. He had wanted to stay awake last night until Borl got home to see if he could glean any information, but had fallen asleep before the older man had returned.

  Searching their small dwelling, he found it deserted. There was a small plate of cheese, smoked venison, and hearth bread laid out on the small table in front of the fireplace. Sikir must have left it for him before she departed.

  Sighing, Daxon took the food and wrapped it in cloth, then put it in his pocket. He wanted to check on the egg this morning and make sure it was warm. Before he had gone to bed last night, he had spoken with Sasha about the egg and knew she had warmed it gently with her dragon fire before retiring to her cavern. He bounded up the short flight of stairs that led to the dragon’s nests, taking them two at a time. Leaping up the last step Daxon turned the corner and saw… nothing.

  Confused, he walked further into the room and glanced at the ring of rocks lined with deep piles of hay and blankets he had tucked around the egg to help preserve heat. There was no sign of the egg. Vaguely he wondered if Borl had taken the egg to the council meeting, but immediately dismissed the idea. Borl knew how fragile the eggs were and dragons didn’t normally move them unless there was no other choice. He didn’t see any reason Borl would have moved this one.

  Still puzzled, Daxon walked into the adjacent nesting chamber where Bruul and Sasha nested. He glanced quickly around the cavern but didn’t see the egg. He was just turning to leave when a small flash of crimson caught his eye. It was in the far rear of the cavern, furthest from the large opening the dragons used to enter the cavern, in the darkest corner of the room.

  Daxon laughed quietly to himself. Bruul was known for sleeping in late when Borl didn’t need him.

  Turning to leave , Daxon heard a wild, alien shrieking. The first thought he had was the old dragon had changed her mind and come back for her egg and was angry he didn’t have it, but as the screeching continued he realized this was not the powerful voice of an adult dragon. He had never heard a hatchling make such a wild, terrible sound. It lacked the overall power of a full grown dragon, but was terrifying just the same. Dax felt a shiver run up his spine as he brought his hands up to give his ears some relief.

  He looked around, trying to see where the young dragon was. Almost as if on cue, the hatchling walked toward Daxon, no hint of fear in its eyes. It was by far the largest hatchling Daxon had ever seen, already half the size of Bruul, and covered with onyx scales that reflected the sunlight like jewels. The eyes were a deep amethyst color and the scales around the mouth, eyes, and belly were also a deep purple that faded into black. Along the back the spine spikes were a metallic crimson color as were the small bony protrusions that would be its horns along the crest of the skull. The feet were tipped in dangerously sharp talons of the brightest silver.

  Where is my mother?! The young dragon demanded to know. Dax, his hands still covering his ears, pushed the memory of the hatchling’s mother giving him her egg to the front of his mind and answered out loud, “I don’t know where she is. She gave you to me and flew off.” Why would my mother give me to you? the hatchling asked him, her eyes boring into his with an intensity Daxon had never before experienced. “I don’t know,” he said, “she didn’t tell me why she chose to give you to me, only that she wanted me to take care of you.” He paused a moment, then said, “I think she was sick.”

  The young dragon digested this, her eyes never leaving Daxon’s. Finally, she asked, What is my name?

  Daxon thought quickly. The hatchling’s mother had thought her offspring was a male, but that was clearly not the case. Although it was hard to differentiate a male hatchling from a female hatchling relying solely on visible means, the voice in his head was definitely a female. “Drakthira,” he said hastily, “your name is Drakthira.”

  Drakthira. Yes, that seems right. Now that the mystery of her name had been solved, Drakthira issued a huge yawn, showing off the needle sharp teeth already formed in her cavernous mouth, turned around twice, and laid down with her tail curled against her body.

  I’m very hungry, she said, her eyes drooping heavily. “Yes, of course,” Daxon said, mentally berating himself for forgetting how much young hatchlings eat the first few months of their life, and how hungry they normally were after hatching. “I’ll go get you some meat.” He wasn’t sure she heard him over the gravelly sound of her snoring.

  Hatchling

  Borl returned at midday and found Daxon sitting at the small table in the kitchen, worry lines etched into his smooth brow. “Well?” he asked, “What did they decide?”

  Borl considered Daxon for a moment before his eyes softened and a small grin found its way to his lips. “Everyone on the council, other than Lyel, of course, voted to keep the egg until it hatched. After that we will just have to see what happens. If the hatchling chooses a rider then it will have a place among us. If not, we will allow Sasha and Bruul to teach it to hunt and fly and let it return to the wild once it is old enough.”

  “She,” said Daxon.

  Borl looked at him quizzically. “She?” he asked.

  Daxon cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, it’s a she. Her name is Drakthira. She had already hatched when I woke up this morning.” While he was talking he looked down at the table, tracing his finger along the grain of the wood.

  “And where is she now?” Borl asked, watching Daxon intently.

  “Sleeping,” he said. “I fed her some of Sasha’s kill from last night and she went to sleep afterward. I didn’t expect her to hatch so soon. I will hunt for her dinner tonight,” he said. Part of a chosen’s duties included hunting food for their hatchling until it was old enough to hunt for itself.

  “She chose you then?” asked Borl, relief evident in his face.

  “Not really,” Daxon said, finally looking up and meeting his eyes. “I don’t think she’s chosen anyone. I’m not even sure she would know how to choose someone. Her voice is very strong and untamed. I’ve never felt anything like it, except for maybe her mother’s voice, but even it was more disciplined, more focused. Not so… feral.”

  Borl’s eyebrows shot up at this last remark, his eyes becoming thoughtful. “Well, then,” he said at last, “let’s go see her.”

  They climbed the stairs to the nesting caves and found Drakthira still sleeping where Daxon had left her, the hindquarter of a large mountain goat gnawed down to a splinter of bone and hoof beside her. She slept with her head resting on her forelegs and her tail curled tightly around her in a bright shaft of sunlight. Her crimson spine spikes sparkled with a faint metallic hue and her silver claws flashed like mirrors. In this light Daxon could make out the small, delicate scales along her eye ridges that started out a deep royal purple color that gradually darkened to blend into black. On the bottom of her left hind foot was a dark sapphire blue scale instead of the onyx black the rest of the scales were, barely noticeable except in the bright light.

  Hearing them approach, Drakthira lazily opened her eyes and stretched, causing brilliantly colored spots to dance around the walls and floor as her scales reflected the sunlight. Is there more to eat? she asked, yawning widely.

  “Yes,” Borl said, “we can get you more to eat. In fact, Daxon was about to go hunting for your dinner tonight.”

  There is no need, Sasha announced to the room as she landed gently beside Drakthira. Sikir slid off her back and walked cautiously up to stand beside Borl. “We went hunting today to refill our supplies of meat. Sasha went ahead and made a kill for the hatchling.”

  “How did she know the egg had hatched?” he asked.

  I didn’t know for sure, Sasha said, but I knew it would be soon. She walked over to Drakthira and dropped a large stag in front of her, then lowered her muzzle and nudged her gently. Sikir’s eyes wide
ned slightly as the hatchling returned the gesture, releasing a low and contented growling sound from her chest. Then she placed one foreleg on the hind, gripped it in her mouth, and tore off a chunk of meat.

  Moving away to avoid getting hit with any bloody meat bits, Borl suggested they let the hatchling eat and rest under Sasha’s care and they all turned to go. Before they made it to the door, Bruul entered the cavern from the dragon entrance, banked sharply, and landed beside Sasha. Briefly touching muzzles with Sasha, he walked up to Drakthira, nuzzled her gently, and then he and Sasha lay down in a circle around the new hatchling, nose to tail.

  Out of the corner of his eye Daxon saw Borl and Sikir exchange glances. The smile that had touched his lips died when he saw their expressions. He looked back at the new hatchling and the adoptive parents. Never, in all his years around dragons, had he seen this sort of display of protectiveness and affection. The dragons in Goldspine normally laid their clutch of eggs and both parents looked after them until they were ready to hatch, transferring as much knowledge as they could while they were in the egg. So it had been since the dawn of dragons. After the eggs hatched, the hatchlings would immediately upon exiting their shells choose a rider and go home with them. They did not take care of the baby dragons.

  Daxon realized then he was seeing something that only happened with wild dragons. As that thought entered his head he immediately understood why Borl and Sikir did not look happy at the show of affection. Somehow these dragons, both of which had been born and raised in the company of their riders, were reverting back to wild dragon behavior. Drakthira, whether intentionally or not, was bringing about protective behavior from Bruul and Sasha, who were acting as if Drakthira needed protecting, here, in the middle of Goldspine.

  Daxon felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to follow Borl and Sikir out of the dragon cavern. Silently, the three filed down the stairs into their living quarters. Sikir handed the large musk deer she had brought down during her hunting trip with Sasha to Borl to skin while she started some dough baking in the hearth for bread. Then she produced a hard brick of cheese and started slicing it, laying it out neatly on a carved wooden plate. During this time, no one spoke, each wrapped in their own thoughts.

  Finally, not being able to stand the silence any longer, Daxon stood and asked the obvious questions, “Why do they think they need to protect Drakthira here, in the middle of Goldspine? And where did they learn that behavior?”

  Glancing up from skinning the deer, Borl sighed, looked at Sikir, then back at Daxon with a worried expression. “We don’t know, Dax,” he said, “but if I had to guess, I’d say the dragons’ ability of transference goes both ways. I had never considered it before now because I’ve never had to. Hatchlings are born and they go to their chosen riders and that is the end of it. But Drakthira, she doesn’t have a rider, and she has adopted Bruul and Sasha as her parents. It seems they are acting the way she thinks they should, or maybe their natural instincts kicked in for a hatchling that is not being taken care of by a rider.”

  Daxon thought this over and agreed with him. Obviously there was something making the dragons act as if Drakthira were their very own hatchling and they should take care of and protect her. None of the riders could say how hatchlings were treated by the wild dragons; they would never tolerate the presence of a rider around themselves, much less their young. Daxon had only seen one hatchling in the wild in his life and even then it was a mere glimpse before it was gone.

  “Maybe it will pass when she chooses a rider, or at least, as she grows,” Daxon offered. Borl glanced at him, but quickly lowered his eyes. “I don’t think that one will ever bend to a rider, Dax,” he said gently. “If we have to wait until she grows it will be near impossible to keep this from the other riders. That can be problematic. I doubt many of the other riders would appreciate their dragons reverting to wild behavior.”

  Rising, Daxon grabbed a plate and filled it with two thick slices of the hot bread Sikir had just removed from the stone oven, and a thick slice of cheese. He understood what Borl was saying. He was also sure none of the riders would like to see their dragons “protecting” their young, especially from them. Taking a bite of the cheese sandwich he wondered how different the wild dragons really were from the ‘tame’ dragons. He had always thought there was little difference between them except that one accepted a rider and one would not. In light of recent events, he was no longer sure that was the case.

  In fact, he realized, he had never really given much thought to what happened to hatchlings in the wild. In Goldspine the hatchlings hatched and went home with their young riders. Obviously that is not what happened in the wild. Like most animals they probably protected their young from other predators and taught them basic survival skills such as hunting and flying. He wondered how long young dragons stayed with their parents or if they ever left them at all.

  “Is it really so bad,” he wondered out loud, “for dragons to act like dragons?” Borl and Sikir looked at him evenly, but didn’t speak. Still looking at each of them in turn, waving his hands to encompass his surroundings, he asked, “How did this happen?”

  “How did what happen, Dax?” Sikir asked icily. The tone of her voice warned him to let this go, but he pushed ahead anyway, ignoring her.

  “This,” he said stubbornly, once more waving his hands around impatiently, “how did dragons come to be mounts for riders? How did it come to pass that riders were able to delegate where hatchlings went and who raised them? When did this responsibility get taken from them?” His voice had become increasingly louder as he spoke until it ended in a shout. He hadn’t realized how angry he had become until he finished speaking and felt himself shaking with frustration at the way Sikir and Borl were acting, and, if he were honest, with himself for not asking these questions sooner. “How do we justify getting upset at the dragons for acting natural?”

  “Look around you, boy,” Sikir finally answered, her face flushed. “Nothing about Goldspine is ‘natural’ as you say! Do you really think dragons and people have always lived together in harmony? Don’t be absurd!” She stalked out of the room and Dax heard the front door close loudly behind her. Turning to Borl, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  Borl sighed and rose from his chair. Dax thought he looked much older right at that moment than he had ever seen him before. “Come, Daxon,” he said, “perhaps it’s time to retire for the night.” Then he put his finger to his lips and motioned Daxon to follow.

  Chapter 3

  Transformation is a process, and as life happens there are tons of ups and downs. It's a journey of discovery - there are moments on mountaintops and moments in deep valleys of despair.