Dragons of Kings (Upon Dragon's Breath Trilogy Book 2)

by Ava Richardson

  A little confused why our den-mother would tell me this, I glanced at her. She had often taught me and Jaydra separate from the other hatchlings, because of my human-sized mind I had thought. But didn’t we have more important things to worry us right now? Like how Bower would ever be ready to become king? Or what Enric, the usurper of the throne, was planning next? Or if the Iron Guard was still hunting us on the mainland.

  Zenema gave a deep sigh and thought to me, A mixed blessing, perhaps, for legend has it that the great Dragon Mother of us all breathes out the sun in the morning, and burns the sky to blackness at night when the seasons are about to change.

  Ah. I could see what Zenema really meant. Our lives were mixed blessings right now—we had survived one encounter with Enric and his magic, but that had been due in part to luck. “Bower is not yet ready.” I used my human voice, finding it easier to make myself heard against the overpowering strength of Zenema’s mind.

  He must be ready. Bower is the True King of Dragon Mountain. Zenema’s thoughts left no room for doubt.

  Anger flamed inside me, burning hot and chewing at my stomach. Anger at Bower for not trying harder in these past few weeks to become more skilled at dragon riding and at other skills he needed. And, yes, even a touch of anger at Zenema for insisting that Bower’s natural kingship must surface. But I had to also admit the truth—some part of the snarl inside me came from my not being able to teach Bower all he needed to know to survive. I stood. The wind had changed and now wrapped around the mountain as a chill breeze from the east.

  Folding my arms, I rubbed the bare skin. I’d worn only a light, skin tunic and my skin trousers, and had no boots or cloak. Glancing at Zenema, I told her, “Have you seen him? He’s no natural flier. The other dragons in the clutch don’t respect him, and he is still the worst fighter I’ve ever seen. How is he going to lead dragons back to their rightful place on the mainland? How is he to defeat Enric? All the world fears dragons because of Enric and the lies he and his father and his father’s father have spread.”

  Zenema turned her head to look at me with her glowing eyes that swirled bright colors. Do you think Zenema must be mistaken? That old Zenema’s aging mind no longer can see the truth?

  Fear washed over me, chilling me even more than the wind. She would never hurt me, but it was still intimidating to have such a huge and old dragon looking at me with annoyance. “No, of course not—it’s just…” I waved my hand.

  Zenema nudged me with her nose. The rock below me slid from the cliff, and I struggled to keep my balance.

  Reaching out, Zenema grabbed my tunic with one claw and pulled me back onto the perch as if I were any other hatchling and unable to look after myself. She raised her neck and looked down on me. Even Saffron falls sometimes. That is why Saffron has dragon-kin to look after you. Saffron is now Bower’s kin, so Jaydra is Bower’s kin as well. We look after Bower, and Bower will be ready when he must be. His fate is in his blood, just as magic is in yours.

  Biting my lower lip, I wanted to deny the truth of that. I didn’t know if Enric had been left mad because of his magic, or if he was mad before that. He had seemed so…so fair and good at first. I thought I’d found my family. But it had all been a sham. His mind and his body were as rotting and foul as his intentions. I shuddered. Would magic leave me like that, too?

  What if the things we carried inside us ended hurting the ones we loved?

  Zenema folded a wing around me and pulled me closer to her side. Her warmth held off the evening’s cooling air, and her voice inside my mind seemed just as warm and encouraging, full of understanding. Some dragons are born big. Others are born fast like Jaydra. Some dragons are gold and others have long tails. They are all dragons. What some of the Maddox clan did with their magic might be evil. But your mother and father brought you away for safekeeping. That shows good in them. So… magic is just that—it is magic in the blood. The same is true for Bower. He has the blood of Dragon Kings within him, but it is up to Bower to show if he will be a good and wise king or a weak one. And it up to us, and what we teach him.

  “Yes, den-mother,” I said and curled up closer to her side. It felt better to know she believed we could teach Bower, but how long was all this going to take?

  After our chat on the perch, I left Zenema to the evening sky and clambered up to the tunnel into Den Mountain. Hundreds of dragons over thousands of years had lived here in the Western Isles, so the mountain was riddled with tunnels and den-caves dug out by all the den-mothers for their clutches. Many of the tunnels opened to the sky, and inside the tunnels wove together into a maze. I knew it only because I had grown up here, looked over by Zenema and raised by her after my parents had left me in a cave on the beach.

  It was nice to be surrounded by the cool gray and yellow rock of the tunnels again. Contrary to what the island villagers thought, dragons were actually hygienic creatures who kept their dens clean. The tunnels smelled faintly of ash and minerals, but no dung was allowed in the tunnels, as every young dragon learned as soon as it hatched. I didn’t even need a light, as I knew most of the routes by touch alone, and moonlight spilled into the entrances, glinting off the crystals in the walls, helping me see the walls that had been carved into smooth curves by hot dragon breath and polished by dragon scales.

  Stopping, I lifted my face for I smelled something odd—something like smoke, but sweeter. Holding still, I wondered if the island villagers had lost control of a fire and set the jungle ablaze.

  It had happened once before, when I was very young. The island villagers had been celebrating something, and their fires had gone wild and free, burning into the jungle with roaring, orange flames that had lit the entire island. It had been a night of terror and loud noises as dragons swooped and shrieked and flew around Den Mountain. Zenema’s fierce roar had stopped the confusion and she’d organized the dragons to catch up water in their mouths and drop it onto the flames. The island villagers had never thanked the dragons, and the fire had ended up destroying most of their huts. They had never done anything so stupid again. They also learned to keep far from Den Mountain and the dragons they had angered.

  Saffron? Jaydra’s thoughts tickled my mind. I could sense her raising her head from where she had tucked it under her wing. She snuffed at the air and started to unfold her wings and legs.

  Are we under attack? I asked her with my thoughts.

  I could see nothing but the dark cavern—no fires seemed to be burning around Den Mountain. I heard nothing but my rapid heartbeat in my ears and my quick, shallow breaths. No crackle of flames carried to me on the breeze. There was just that faint smell of sweet smoke—it almost smelled like cherries.

  Heading back to the tunnel entrance, I tried to follow the aroma. Come, Jaydra, but do not warn the others, yet. I sent the thought to Jaydra, and she sent me back a terse agreement. She also started to worm her way through the tunnels, heading toward me.

  The smell of smoke became fainter as I headed out of the tunnel, so I turned and started back inside Den Mountain again. The smell became stronger and I followed it down a narrow, smaller tunnel that seemed too small for any dragon. Rocks littered the ground and I realized the tunnel must be one where the roof had fallen in, which happened sometimes. I glanced up at the roof and kicked one of the rocks. It rolled and echoed, but the tunnel seemed safe. Slipping past some of the boulders, I headed into the dark tunnel.

  Saffron? You have gone where Jaydra cannot follow. Jaydra’s frustration came through to me clearly. She couldn’t get down this narrow tunnel. I asked her to stay calm and wait and kept following the smoke.

  The smoke was wafting up from deep inside Den Mountain. I crept forward, my eyes stinging now. The tunnel twisted and turned and led out onto a narrow ledge that overlooked the jungle below. For a moment I could see nothing, but then I glimpsed a small glow, as if from a pipe. The faint glow lit a man’s face and a long, white beard.

  It had to be the Hermit.

  The Lonesome One! Jay
dra said in my mind, confirming my thoughts.

  The Hermit lived not far from Den Mountain, in an old stone ruin right on the shore. Normally, he never went anywhere and had little to do with the dragons or even with the villagers. But then again, the Hermit was always doing strange things, like sailing around the island once in a boat he had built from skins and wood.

  Jaydra’s shadow passed over me as she glided overhead, having gone out of the den through one of the other tunnels. Chase him?

  I shook my head. “No. Leave him alone.”

  It was from the Hermit that I’d learned to read and write. The Hermit had a few books, and Zenema had some kind of bond with the Hermit—at least enough that he allowed me to see the books and taught me a few things. I looked up at the perch, but I could no longer see Zenema’s form blotting out the stars.

  When I glanced down again, I could no longer see the orange glow of what had to have been the Hermit’s pipe. He must have gone back to his tower already and taken his cherry-scented smoke with him.

  Had the Hermit heard my talk with Zenema? Could he hear dragons in the way Bower almost could?

  The Hermit was supposed to be the most knowledgeable human on the island, a friend to Zenema at least. Maybe he knew more than I’d ever thought about magic, my mother, and even the Maddox clan?

  More importantly, maybe he knew how to teach a king to lead.

  Saffron, ask Zenema first if you are going to do what you are thinking, Jaydra warned.

  I gave a rude snort, but Jaydra only soared higher in the sky.

  However, my heart was beating fast now. I had a plan. Now I just had to find Bower and take him with me to visit the Hermit of the Western Isles.

  2

  Intruders & Cherry-Smoke

  Jaydra let me fly back to the den on her back, and from the way she had nudged me up onto her back and winked at me, I knew she did not want me telling Saffron I’d flown on Jaydra. Sometimes, Saffron seemed to think Jaydra was just her friend and wasn’t mine. It was annoying.

  Flying on a dragon’s back was always a little frightening. I clung to Jaydra’s scales with hands and legs and concentrated on staring at the horizon and not looking down. The sea seemed to stretch out forever around us with the islands dots of green amid the blue. Wind tugged at my hair. I could almost feel a sense of joy and freedom from Jaydra, but maybe I was imagining that. I could almost wish Jaydra would fly far away with me. But I knew there was no escaping my fate—I had to do something to save my city and my kingdom from Enric’s harsh rule. But with the Iron Guard at his command, I had no idea how I was going to do that.

  Jaydra spiraled down from the clouds to land on one of the wide ledges of the mountain. I climbed from her back and we both headed inside the den. It was dark in the sandy cavern, but not black. Shafts of light from the setting sun speared down through the tunnel entrances, splashing gold on the walls and pulling colors from crystals embedded in the rock. The sight reminded me of the colored drawings I had seen in my books, and a pang for the loss of my library twisted inside me. But this, in a way, was better—this place had very live dragons. The gentle breath of the dragons warmed the caverns.

  Surprisingly, the dragons went to bed early, almost as soon as the sun set. Cold-blooded beings, they needed the heat of the sun and the heat of the earth. Even though I’d now lived here for a few weeks, every night still filled me with the same sense of awe. Only the exhaustion of training allowed me to sleep through the night. I still couldn’t believe that I was here, living with not just one dragon, but a whole nest of them. I lived with legends—with dragons that I’d been taught were just creatures of myth used to scare children.

  I’d found instead they could be cranky, noisy, gentle—they were all very much individuals. And the young dragons for some reason thought of me more like a toy to be knocked around. At least they were asleep now, deep in Den Mountain.

  Heading to my bed, which was little more than an alcove not far from the tiny nook where Saffron slept, I tugged off my belt, pulled off my boots and stretched out on the leaves Saffron had gathered for me. In turn, I had shown her how to use oil pressed from the leaves and some of the nuts that grew here, and a crystalline rock to make a simple lamp. I didn’t bother to light my lamp now—I still failed more often with the steel and flint I had to use to make a fire.

  It was warm enough in the cavern that I’d no need for extra warmth—not even for a blanket. Heat from within Den Mountain warmed the rock under the leaves that I lay on, and it felt good against muscles that ached from the day. And flying here on Jaydra had let the wind dry my clothes. They were becoming tattered, and I’d soon need to trade for new ones or switch to skins such as Saffron wore.

  A king in rags—that was what I was.

  It was a depressing thought, so I rolled over and stared out into the dark tunnels and thought of the dragons instead.

  I’d been trying to keep a journal on dragons, but it was hard to write down everything.

  These dragons seemed to all be predominantly an iridescent sea-green color, shifting at times from a bright turquoise to an almost forest green. A few boasted white, shimmering scales—like Zenema. And I’d spotted two young ones who had deep, orange scales. I still didn’t know if color meant anything. Was Zenema so large because she was a white dragon, or was that a sign of age? And were these dragons refugees from Dragon Mountain near Torvald—the dragons of old stories and tales? Perhaps they had fled here to the Western Isles after Hacon Maddox—Enric’s ancestor—and his Iron Guard had betrayed the True King and seized power? Or were these dragons of a kind that had never been ridden by humans?

  Did even Zenema, the den-mother and the oldest dragon here as far as I could tell, know the answers?

  The way she looks at me sometimes…

  I shivered and turned onto my back again, my muscles sore and my joints aching. It seemed at times that she could see into my mind. I knew Zenema—and the other dragons—could send thoughts to each other, and even to people. I had heard Jaydra at times…or I thought I did. It was difficult to really know if I was just imagining such things, and I had no idea how to become better at talking to a dragon.

  Saffron seemed intent more on making me learn the physical side of how to survive and fight. She had me learning to tie vines together and how to reach up and grab Jaydra’s claws. She had me walking along the highest branches of the tallest trees, and jumping from the tops of rocky waterfalls to dive into the river below. My life had become climbing, running and then sparring against Saffron using long staffs or wooden swords. She’d taught me how to light a fire, find food in the jungle and even to read the elements around me.

  But I kept forgetting everything, it seemed.

  “You have to feel the wind,” she had said to me just today, which sounded like nonsense. “Feel how it moves. Is a storm coming? Is it a warm breeze from the desert? What will it bring to you?”

  Sighing, I tucked my hands under my head.

  Did the Dragon Riders of old have to learn all this? Or was Saffron just afraid I was going to get myself killed by taking a stroll through the woods?

  A sudden pang of misery rose up inside my, almost choking me. How I could use my library right now. I thought of all of the banned books I had collected—ancient scrolls said to be written during the time of old King Torvald and even from when the Dragon Monastery had first been founded. They might have told me what a dragon rider really needed to learn.

  And I’d had the writings of Strategicus, the ancient philosopher and tactician, as well as Instructor Mordecai, the alchemist. I’d scribbled a few things I’d remembered into my journal, but I had so little paper and so much to learn.

  Including how to raise an army.

  I had dragons—or rather I lived with dragons. But I needed riders—and enough strength to overcome Enric’s Iron Guard, those seemingly mindless mechanical soldiers who obeyed Enric’s every order. Saffron and I had saved Torvald from Enric’s plan to wipe it clean—but
now Enric hunted us. Even in the Western Isles we had heard that news.

  And Saffron seemed to think that all I had to be was a strong enough warrior, know how to ride a dragon, and the rest magically happened. As if my showing up on a dragon and twirling a sword would inspire trust and awe. I wasn’t so sure. Those on the mainland had been taught to think dragons fearful beasts that existed in old stories—seeing one might well send them running and not to my side.

  What I needed was an army and maps and scouts and—

  A hissing from the dark cut off my thoughts and had me sitting upright. Saffron, a slim shadow in the moonlight, crept up to my side, her red-gold hair glinting in the faint light.

  “What is it?” I rubbed at my sore shoulders.

  “Follow me. We’re going on a new exercise tonight,” she whispered. She turned and headed down the tunnel.

  I let out another long breath. It wasn’t enough she tortured me all day, now she had to do so at night as well.

  But I grabbed my belt with my knife and rope and pulled on my boots. As I followed Saffron’s light steps, I swear I saw a flash of white, but when I turned I saw nothing. Was Zenema watching? Did some dragons sleep with their eyes open?

  “Don’t wake the others,” Saffron hissed at me. Turning to her, I hurried out into the night.

  I was fast enough to bump into her back, and she glanced back. Thankfully, it was too dark to see her expression, but I could practically feel her annoyance. The moon hung in the sky, half full and offering some light, but leaving the world no color. As always, Saffron had no difficulties navigating her way down the side of Den Mountain, climbing more like a mountain goat than a person. I followed more slowly, picking my path carefully, testing each rock to make certain it would not slip out from my boot.

  Once we reached the jungle floor, Saffron seemed to disappear into the trees.

  Was this a test to see if I could follow?