“Char!” Someone was screaming, and I looked down to see Lila and Sigrid, breaking free from the gaggle of panicking monks to race towards the collapsing walls.
“No – get back!” I shouted feebly at them, as the mortar between the buildings stones cracked and burst with puffs of dust.
“Get some rope.” Lila was looking scared but still moving with that grace of one who was used to leaping from ship to ship. Sigrid turned and sprinted for the nearest storehouse, as Lila gestured me back, towards the part where the wall was still only wobbling, not cracking. “Easy, Char, easy…” she called.
“Recharrgh!” Below me on the other side of the wall the Gold had managed to break the slabs of rock that sat at the foot of the wall’s base, and soot was streaming from its mouth.
The dragon pipes sounded, but they were much quieter, and they seemed directed straight at the base of the walls, causing Zaxx to writhe and hiss in agony. Neill had done it! He had found a way to direct the pipes! I thought in glee as another chorus of discordant pipe-songs hit the Gold. The bull seemed unable to summon his fire as he was struck, again and again by the waves of sound.
Zaxx roared, furiously sending up gobbets of rock and earth as he resumed his battering of the walls.
“Here, here!” Sigrid was returning with a heavy coil of rope as the wall shook and wavered. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to die like this. I wanted to see Paxala one last time. I wanted to see Neill one last time. I looked down to my friends below, just as a black-clad monk raced towards Sigrid, an ugly-looking club in his hands. He must be one of those still loyal to the Abbot.
“Sigrid – look out!” I screamed, as suddenly a shape hit her, and she was rolling onto the floor. It was Dorf! He had leapt to push her out of the way, both of them tumbling to the floor. Below me, Lila growled, drew her belt knife and ran to the defense of her two friends who now lay defenseless under the attacking monk. The exchange was short and swift, Lila, despite being half the man’s size and about a third of his age, was a far better fighter than he was. The man hit the dirt as the walls shook underneath me, and I saw them turn to look up at me-
“Skreayar!” All of a sudden, there was a screeching in the air as something as red as fresh blood flashed from above the crater. It was Paxala! But she had to be with the other dragons now, she had to tell them--
“I have told them, silly. How long do you think it takes a dragon to think?” Paxala said as she swept past the battlements once more, as, suddenly, she was joined by other roars of anger and defiance as other shapes, of all sizes, swooped through the smoke.
The dragons. Paxala had managed to raise the dragons.
“The dragons have risen!” I shouted, as the sky filled not just with the smokes and roars of the terrible Zaxx, but also with the cawing, shrieking, whooping calls of the other dragons. In the sky there were the sturdy Greens, swooping and rushing through the air; the Sinuous Blues flashing and zipping across the sky – even the Great Whites soaring high above it all, like elegant, graceful, dreadful herons or eagles. And everywhere came the Messenger dragons; tiny, falcon-sized dragons that flew in flocks and swarms, screaming over the battlements, alighting on the monasteries rooftops, darting down to harry and peck at the Gold bull’s tail and back before zipping away again. It was a storm.
I was awestruck. I had never seen so many dragons flying at once – I had no idea what Paxala said to win them over, but it was clear to me that she had. The Greens and the Blues were following her lead, swooping at her side to dive bomb the olden bull as he thrashed his tail, and tried to catch them. He couldn’t use his fire thanks to Neill’s directed dragon pipes, and every time he swiped his tail – he missed my Crimson Red friend!
He couldn’t hit any of them – they were too fast-- and I was delighted that my reptilian sister had been right.
“Children! Ingrates! Pests!” Zaxx the mighty dragon bellowed, over and over again as he thrashed and twitched on the floor, the dragons falling from the sky upon him like vultures.
I would have stood there watching until it was all over, but the fight was happening right below my feet, and the gigantic beast’s body was hitting the sides of the walls where I was standing. The battlements bowed, and then gigantic blocks toppled forward as the wall gave way, sliding as if I were standing on the decks of a ship in a stormy sea, falling down to the thrashing golden body of Zaxx below.
“Pax!” I screamed, as claws as red as blood reached up to grab me.
CHAPTER 28
END, BEGINNING
The dragon pipes blared once more, waking me up from my dark dreams. But this time, the pipes did not sound harsh or hurtful to the ears. Instead, they had a sweeter, almost melodic tone like a whistle. I blinked as bright sunlight flooded my eyes.
“Ow,” I groaned. Everywhere hurt. I was lying in a cot bed, swaddled in soft linen blankets, underneath a round window.
“Skrip-ip?” Something chittered from the window, and, as I looked, one of the smaller blue and white Messenger dragons appeared, its claws clutching the stone work as it looked inside the room curiously, before returning to peck at the stone nonchalantly.
The dragon pipes peeled again, but the Messenger dragon didn’t appear fussed by the noise, and certainly not in pain. Someone had changed them so they didn’t hurt the dragon’s ears. I wondered why the Abbot would have done that.
“Oh yeah…” memories came flooding back to me about when I had last seen the Abbot. The monastery had turned against him when they had found out what he had been doing to the dragons, and he had fled. Or at least, I hoped that he had fled.
“Skreeayar!” Whistling screams of joy came from outside my window, as large shadows blocked the bright sun for a moment, before flashing past.
“What…?” I said, pushing myself up to look out of the window as the Messenger dragon hopped down into the room to investigate a wooden tray covered with a linen cloth. “Hey!” I said to it, as it had discovered a bowl of cold porridge, and some corners of bread, hunks of cheese, and fruit. The small dragonet delightedly started stealing my cheese – but I sighed, smiling. At least the little thing wasn’t terrified of me.
In fact, none of the dragons outside of the window seemed terrified of the humans. Their shapes filled the sky, swooping and flying as they chased each other in quick aerial dogfights. There were dragons everywhere, even, I saw with a start, a long Sinuous Blue draped along the line of the battlements as Dragon Monks tried to creep around it. As I watched, it thwapped its tail and hissed at them, sending the older Dragon Monks scurrying off.
“So, they haven’t completely accepted us humans yet,” I murmured, as a voice answered me from the open door.
“No, but things are much better now that Zaxx and the Abbot have gone.” It was Neill, looking pale but happy, smiling as he sat down on the corner of my bed and tried to shoo the feral Messenger dragon away from my breakfast.
“Leave it. I imagine I’ll have to get used to that from now on,” I said. “Sharing my life with dragons.”
“You already have,” a voice said in my mind, and I threw my affection and thanks at Paxala, who I could sense was sunning herself on the roof of the Great Hall above where I was resting. She had saved me as I had fallen from the walls, flying as fast as thought, to catch me in her red claws.
“When the wall fell, we all thought Zaxx would be crushed under the rubble.” Neill nodded to one entire third section of the Dragon Monastery wall, which was completely open to the elements. The snout of a Great White could clearly be seen snuffing and pawing at the masonry blocks, some as large as a house. “But when the Whites dug down into it--” Neill shook his head. “Zaxx had broken into the cellars, and then into the tunnels that honeycomb Mount Hammal. We think that he must have crawled out to the wilds, as we followed his trail right through the mountains to the near foothills before we lost it.”
A chill rushed through me. “So, Zaxx is still out there then?” I thought. “He’ll want revenge for th
is.”
“Yes, he will. But not as much as the Abbot will, I think,” Neill said gravely, shaking his head again at my questioning glance. “No sign of him either, although one of the other monks thinks he saw Monk Olan stealing a cart and horses from the stables, just as the walls were going down and dragons were everywhere. My money’s on Olan rescuing the Abbot, and them both fleeing the monastery to some hide out somewhere.”
“We’ll have to find them,” I thought, remembering the terrible infernos that I had seen the Abbot command.
“We will, Char, we will…” Neill said, reaching down to pick up one of the apples from my dragon-ravaged breakfast. “But for now – we should enjoy the fact that we are here, we are alive, and the dragons have a real home again.” He nodded out of the window, where the flights of dragons raced and soared through the skies above the Dragon Monastery.
END OF DRAGON DREAMS
THE FIRST DRAGON RIDER BOOK TWO
Book Three, Dragon Mage, will be out November 2017.
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Learn more about the kingdom of Torvald and its dragon riders in Ava’s epic fantasy series, Upon Dragon’s Breath Trilogy. Keep reading for an exclusive extract from book one, Dragons of Wild.
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BLURB
In a time of darkness, unlikely heroes will rise.
The once-peaceful kingdom of Torvald has been ravaged by evil magic, forcing Riders to forget their dragons and their noble beasts to flee to the wilds. Now, anyone who dares to speak of dragons is deemed insane and put to death. Into this dark and twisted land, Saffron was born sixteen years ago. Blessed with the gift of dragon affinity, she has been forced into a life of exile, secretly dreaming of a normal life and the family she lost.
Scholarly and reclusive, Bower is the son of a noble house on the brink of destruction. His mission is to fulfill a mysterious prophecy and save his kingdom from the rule of the evil King Enric, but all he wants is to be left alone. When he meets Saffron, Bower gains a powerful ally—but her magic is too wild to control.
Their friendship might just have the power to change the course of history, but when the Dark Mage King Enric makes Saffron a tempting offer, their alliance will be shaken to the core.
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www.AvaRichardsonBooks.com
EXCERPT
Fire, Blood, and Sword
The Salamander Prophecy:
“Old and young will unite to rule the land from above. Upon the dragon’s breath comes the return of the True King. It will be his to rebuild the glory of Torvald”
Vance Maddox
The city is in uproar. I have never seen the like—even in the old days when the wild dragons would raid from the north. Never has there been so much terror, so much bloodshed and so much anguish. Screams fill the air as people are thrown from their homes. The ringing of bells, the call of the Dragon Horns, and above it all the fire and shriek of the agonized, enraged dragons.
Another beam from the roof splinters and explodes in a shower of sparks on the flagstones at my feet. I dodge to one side. Through the gap in the tiles above I see the red and orange scales of something vast and threatening. The dragon tries once more to get at us inside—to get at me!
“Protect the prince!” I call to the guards, all of them Maddox men and women like myself: tall, light-haired and pale-skinned. They have that rangy look those of the Maddox line never seem to quite outgrow.
“Captain!” The guard chief gives me a quick, stern nod. Gone are the smiles and the fine tunics that marked this small group of bodyguards as ambassadors. We’ve all thrown aside finery, replacing it with the hardened steel and iron armor of my family.
A hissing roar comes from above. The red-orange dragon once again throws its weight onto the roof. We can all hear the intake of its breath like a giant bellows.
“Flame shields,” I call, falling to one knee and holding up the specially-treated oval shield over my head, and not a moment too soon as a firestorm bursts into the hall from the dragon.
One of my guards is not so lucky. He screams and the stink of burning hair and flesh choke the hall. The dragon’s fire is fast, incinerating him in seconds, leaving ash floating on the air.
The flames last only a brief second, but already my arm aches from the force of the dragon’s breath. Maybe my brother and late father were right—how can any human live near such dangerous beasts, let alone build a city underneath their nests? This is the day that my brother, Prince Hacon Maddox, has decided to overthrow the rulers of Torvald and seize it for himself. May the storms guide me; I have sworn to help him.
“Up! Up and to the prince!” Lowering my shield, I stand and leap forward, knowing we have only a little time before the orange and red dragon will be able to breathe fire down on us again. I catch a glimpse of the charred armor of the soldier who has died, melted now into slag. I don’t even know his first name.
No time for misery or cold feet now. We run through the long hall, feet pounding and armor rattling. Above us, dragons pound at the roof and walls and roar. Luckily for us, but not so lucky for Torvald royalty, this palace has been designed to withstand rogue dragon attacks. Its many halls are reinforced stone, shot through with metal bars. The king and queen’s best protection will become their prison.
Turning a corner, we face the next phalanx of Torvald guards, all wearing the imperial red and purple of the Flamma-Torvald household. Scars show how many battles they have fought, and their stance is that of fighting men and women.
But Flamma-Torvald, for all of its might, for all of its fame throughout the Three Kingdoms, has grown soft. The Maddox clan hails from the furthest east some generations ago. We’ve fought every tribe, every bandit and every upstart warlord between here and the ends of creation. The people of the Middle Kingdom have no idea what we can do—or what strange and terrible things we have already done.
“Death to the traitors!” shouts one of Flamma-Torvald guards, throwing his longsword forward in a jab that would have skewered me were it not for my reflexes. I catch and turn the blow, spinning to step inside the man’s guard.
A kick to his solar plexus sends him back. He falls, sprawling onto the floor. My second-in-command dispatches him with a solid thrust of his blade. The battle is fast and hard. I spin and parry. I hack until my sword no longer connects with armor and tissue and bone. Half my guard has been slain by the time we’re done, but all the Flamma-Torvald troops have fallen under our blades. My men and women look as though they have been drenched in red by the time that we finish, and I lean on my sword, panting.
“Sir?”
Looking up, I see one of the women of my guard pointing to the brick dust and mortar raining down from above us. She is right. We don’t have time for even a breath.
Ahead of us is our goal—what looks to be the ornate, wooden double-doors of the throne room. All this carnage has been planned months in advance by Hacon, my brother by our late father—and by me as well. Hacon and the Iron Guard are to be inside the throne room, seizing the king and queen, while I lead a group of soldiers through the palace halls to deal with any Dragon Riders we might meet.
Hacon has said the people of Torvald have no chance against us. I’d thought that mostly bravado. It is only now, standing outside the doors of the throne room with blood dripping down my blades that I start to believe. H
ow long have I heard him and father rail about the day we would take the city? I never truly believed it possible.
Even now, I can hear Hacon’s shouts. ‘They are abominations! Dragons are evil, vile creatures—and they have enslaved the entire Middle Kingdom through their control of House Flamma-Torvald!’ Our father never tired of repeating those same rants.
Why should I feel uneasy now?
The twin doors of the throne room open. Two of the Iron Guards step out, their full-plate suits looking like the scales of dragons and gleaming in the torch light. Behind them, I see the opulent throne room of House Flamma-Torvald. A ring of the Iron Guard surrounding King Mason and Queen Druella Roule.
The carpets of the throne room seem washed in blood. Bodies of the royal guards lay hacked apart. The stench is almost unbearable. Looking at the blood, my stomach clenches and turns. It wasn’t meant to be like this. It wasn’t meant that so many should die. What have we done?
From behind his prison of blades, King Mason shouts, “How could you? We welcomed you to the citadel! We gave you a home!” I hear tears in his voice as well as anger.
My brother, his black hair revealed with his helmet off, walks to the window. Outside, dragons swoop through the sky as the city burns. Just a scant few years ago, we came to this citadel with our Iron Guard as a fine gift for the ‘glory of the dragon-king.’ King Mason had been pleased then, giving us high places at court, installing our Iron Guard at every city gate and guard house. Little did he know this day would come, when our gifts would spring into action under our orders, seizing power and delivering the city to us.
Turning away from the window, Hacon smiles. His face seems sharper than ever, narrow and long. “Call off your dragons.” Hacon points his sword at the queen. “Or she will be the first to die.”
Dragon Dreams (The First Dragon Rider Book 2) Page 25
