The First Dragoneer (2016 Modernized Format Edition)
Page 5
Chapter Five
“By the Gods, NOOOOO!” he shouted at the still darkened sky. A cluster of startled birds exploded from a nearby tree and sent his heavy heart to hammering.
“There’s a way to save him,” a small, steady voice said from behind him. “All you have to do is pledge your soul to the Confliction.”
March whirled around and saw the impossible. The white stag was standing there looking at him, its dark eyes plainly visible against its luminescent white fur. It wasn’t the stag who had spoken though. Sitting on the stag’s back was one of the fabled elvish. The fair-skinned, silvery-haired creature seemed to be slightly unsettled by the fact that March was twice his size, but he met March’s gaze with his wild amber eyes.
March’s emotion surged. “You’ll save my friend if you can, or I will-- I’ll--”
“You’ll do naught other than pledge your soul to the fighting of the Confliction,” the little man said flatly. He was wearing a sort of cloth that looked to be made out of tiny rings of the same strange metal as the medallion. And, what March had first mistaken as fear had suddenly turned into snarling defiance. “You’ll swear to fight against the Confliction, or I’ll take that medallion. Then you can drag your friend’s corpse home to his mother.”
March was so stunned and confused, and welling with grief, that he couldn’t form a cohesive thought. For a long time, he was silent. Finally, he asked the elf the only question that would come. “You can save him?”
“You can save him,” the elf replied, “but only if you hurry.”
“How?”
“Use the medallion to call your dragon. When it comes, it will know your heart and use its magic to restore the life of your companion.”
“There are no dragons around here,” March looked around. “If there were, why would a dragon do such a thing?”
“There are no elvish in this valley either I’d guess,” the elf shrugged. “Either way, you should get to calling your wyrm before it’s too late for him.” The elf nodded at Bren’s corpse.
“What’s this Confliction you speak?” March asked as he crawled to his feet and pulled the medallion out of his shirt.
He was feverish, and the world was swimming in and out of focus, but somehow he knew that this was no fever dream. He was about to pledge his life to something he didn’t understand so that his friend would be saved.
“It cannot be explained,” the elf sighed. “There will be more of you. There will be five dragoneers in all. Some are already trying to bond with their wyrms. But they are far from here, in another land that lies across the sea. It is a place that your people do not know of. You must call your dragon, and then go to them. Together the five of you will stand against the storm.”
The elf glanced up at the sky as if he were searching for something. The light of dawn was only a few breaths from breaking the horizon.
“Don’t let the sun rise and burn his soul away,” the elf nodded at Bren again. “Do this thing. Call your dragon. Go find the dragoneers and face the destiny you’ve chanced upon. It will be a great one, I think.”
The stag pawed the ground and snorted his agreement. It tilted it’s antlered head slightly and gave Bren a look that conveyed volumes. Inexplicably, March suddenly knew that he had to do this. There was no other choice. “How?”
“Take the Medallion in your hands. Yes, like that.” March cupped the silvery disc as if it were a precious egg.
“Kiss the tear stone,” the elf instructed. “Now pledge within your soul to fight the coming Confliction. Only then will your dragon come.”
“I don’t care about the dragon,” March mumbled. I’m doing this for Bren.
As soon as he kissed the tear-shaped jewel, and told his heart that he would see this thing through, he felt a chilling tingle flutter through him. His skin prickled and his mind began to clear. He had made the right decision, and he knew it. His blood was turning into liquid fire and his breathing grew erratic.
“That is the Dour that makes you feel that way,” the elf grinned. He patted the stag on the shoulder and leaned toward its ear. “You were right my friend. This was the one.”
“What’s Dour?” March asked. Whatever it was, it felt fantastic in his veins, as if he were full of lightning.
“It will fade. That dragon’s tear is old. The amber Dour has been leaking from it for a century or more. See how clear it is? The dragon that let it fall died long, long ago.” The elf lightly heeled the stag into a turn and looked to be about to trot away.
“Wait,” March pleaded. “What about Bren? What about my family?”
The elf gave a nervous chuckle. “Your dragon is coming, and you were going to leave anyway. Just go.” The stag shivered and looked to be growing nervous. “I’ll not want to be bumbling around when your wyrm gets here. After you’ve gone, I’ll return and keep the scavengers from badgering your friend. I’ll make sure he gets where he needs to be.”
As the stag bounded away, March heard the elf chuckling.
March looked at Bren and dropped his head. He hoped he hadn’t been a fool. He hoped—
Suddenly, the trees swayed violently. A near silent blast of air wafted across the camp. Before a thought could form, another gust came, this one kicking up leaves and sending a dusty whirl of debris into the thicket. Then the dragon was there, directly behind March, looming it’s long neck up over the camp as it pulled in its leathery wings. The connection happened instantaneously. They bonded, and a single shared consciousness was born.
The dragon’s name was Balazerahdadicol and he was the rarest form of pure-blooded High Dracus that existed. Since March’s human tongue couldn’t pronounce the name correctly the dragon spoke a single word into his mind. “Blaze.” Blaze was a pure-blooded fire drake. March somehow knew this, and other things that he never imagined one could know. It was overwhelming.
March turned to take his bond-mate in with his eyes. He found that save for its neck and head, the dragon was nearly invisible in the pre dawn shadows. What he could see was nothing more than a sinuous crimson silhouette in the lightening sky. The dragon was not huge, nor was he small. Substantial was the word that March decided upon, probably twenty-five paces from tip to tail. Through the bond they shared, a wealth of knowledge was opening up and starting to flood into March’s eager mind. Had it not been, his instinct to flee would have already taken hold.
A pulse of magical energy rippled through the fabric of the world and March knew in his heart of hearts that Blaze had just filled Bren’s body with powerful healing Dour. Bren would wake soon and the elf would watch over him until he could make it down into the valley. March, however, knew that he had to go. The land he and Blaze were going to was far, far away. It would take them a full season to fly there, most of the journey over the sea.
Blaze leaned down and created a step with his foreclaw. March hurried to his bedroll, grabbed the pack, his bow, and a quiver of arrows. Then, after saying a silent goodbye to his friend, he climbed onto the wyrm. He left the sword and the gold for his friend. He wished he could stay and explain what he was doing, where he was going; but he wasn’t even sure about those things himself.
Blaze took an awkward, lurching step. Then a few neck-yanking, exhilarating wing strokes later, they were above the forest and flying.
The first of the dragoneers had bonded and the wheels of destiny had been set into motion. The saga of the dragoneers had begun.
Thus ends the prequel novella.
Enjoy the following free preview of “The Royal Dragoneers” It is available in ebook and paperback formats. To find out how to get your copy or to see the map of the land where March and Blaze are headed, then please visit: https://www.mrmathias.com/Dragoneers.html
Part I
The Frontier