Dragon Mage (The First Dragon Rider Book 3)

by Ava Richardson

  Fear? I thought with a subtle smile, as Paxala coughed a little puff of soot at the suggestion that she could even be afraid of anything at all.

  “I swear that your kind will be safe here in the mountain for as long as I can draw breath, and I hope that together, we may be able to start a new chapter in this history of the world,” the Prince Vincent called.

  “Of course their kind will be safe, uncle,” Char’s voice called down. Oh yeah, he is her uncle, isn’t he? I thought. It was easy to forget they were related, despite the similarities in their bearing and appearance. “They are dragons, and they have no one subjugating them now. They are free dragons, and we are their protectors.”

  “And what a great and fitting job it is for you, little niece,” the Dark Prince congratulated her. “I am glad that it is you, here, Lady Nefrette. You were always strong enough to stand out from the crowd, even to defy your father!” Vincent said. “I have not come here to bargain with you and these noble creatures, but to offer my aid – and look what aid it is!” He stood up in one graceful movement, raising a hand to sweep it over towards the gates, and presumably beyond. We couldn’t see his armies now from where we stood, but we could well imagine their might.

  “With the Middle Kingdom standing beside you, who could ever threaten you again, Lady Red?” the prince said, holding his two hands in front of him and clasping them together, signifying an alliance. “The dragons of Mount Hammal and the Middle Kingdom are welded together through geography and so much more. Our histories are shared, our strength relies upon each other. I swear that the throne will be friends of the mountain of dragons for as long as my kingdom lasts!”

  His words had the quality of a great speech, and I wondered if he had spent days thinking of them, or of how to talk to dragons. I had no doubt though, that his words would be remembered through history.

  Isn’t this just what I wanted, before leaving to travel with my own uncle? I thought. Safety for the dragons? I licked my lips nervously. Was this really what the prince was offering the dragons of the crater? No more wars. No more sacrifices. Being left to live in peace, protected by the throne of the Middle Kingdom forever? If that was true, then there was little need for me here anyway… I felt my heart skip a beat. Could I finally be free to live my own life, to be a ‘dragon rover’ as Uncle Lett suggests?

  The hope was almost too delicious to admit, it was everything that I had yearned for, both for myself, Char, Paxala, and the rest of the dragons here at the crater. But who would they get in charge of the academy after I am gone? I thought. Dorf, perhaps, or Lila… They were both strong-hearted and true, and I knew that they would make fine protectors of the dragons – but there was something that still irked me about Prince Vincent’s words. Could I really trust him? I suddenly realized that the prince was asking the Dragon Mountain and the Middle Kingdom to be friends, not allies. It was friends who looked after each other, who stood by each other, no matter what.

  And how could I be friends with this man, who had been at least partly responsible for so much hurt here at the monastery?

  It was Char who had the courage to say it out loud, and, as she did I felt my puny bubble of hope pop. “So, you are suggesting that you came all this way, with thousands of soldiers, and leaving your throne unguarded for the first time in history, just to impress the dragons of Mount Hammal?” She sounded skeptical, and Paxala issued a warning, grumbling hiss, so deep it echoed in my own chest.

  “Yes!” Prince Vincent stated unequivocally. He was standing with his back now straight, not backing down or refusing to meet the dragon and rider’s eyes. He was fearless, in a way, I thought. The same kind of fearless that Char was. The kind of fearless that made both of them stare straight into the face of danger and say whatever they wanted to say anyway…

  “And I came to warn them, and warn all of the inhabitants of Dragon Mountain.” The Dark Prince’s voice carried clear through the courtyard, as everyone, even the two dragons Socolia and Morax on the walls had fallen silent.

  “To warn us, uncle?” Char’s ire rose, pitching her voice upwards slightly, and the deep grumble in Paxala’s throat raised into a higher whine to match.

  “Yes. There has been word of the Abbot, and sightings of the Gold dragon Zaxx the Mighty. Zaxx has attacked villages up and down the borders of the Middle Kingdom, and I have it on good authority that the Abbot has been working against us all, undermining the throne and seeking to raise for himself an army to retake the Dragon Monastery!”

  “An army? Where is the Abbot going to find an army?” Char called out. “Why should we here be scared of one man?”

  “He has the Sons of Torvald at his side,” the Prince Vincent said heavily, very pointedly not looking at me as he did so.

  What? I was aghast. This could not be. Why would they? My world rocked where I stood, but I knew too, that this felt all too right as well, because of course, why wouldn’t they? My father had been preparing for the day when there would be a civil war against Prince Vincent. If my father’s closest sergeants were to be believed, then my father, Malos Torvald, had even been preparing me to help the fight against the Dark Prince, and now, why wouldn’t my brothers and Malos’ ‘true-born Torvald sons’ as they had always styled themselves, carry out my father’s final wishes?

  But side with the Abbot Ansall? It made no sense. It made a mockery of Torvald honor.

  But what honor do my brothers have? I was caught in an argument with myself. They drove me out from their lands, my childhood home. They attacked the monastery when I was inside it, with no care if whether I lived or died.

  But still…. Allying with the one man who had conspired to kill our father, even when I had told them that was the case?

  They might not have believed me. My brothers have always thought I was a liar, I thought, feeling Char’s eyes rest on me as Paxala lowered herself to the floor.

  “Neill?” Char asked. “Could this be true?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I don’t know, but my Uncle Lett did say that on his travels, he had heard of the Torvalds amassing more troops…”

  The prince’s face was a mask of grim upset as he urged us, “But my friends, I can assure you that it is true. My scouts have been hearing of the old Draconis Order monks abandoning their posts, taking what funds, goods, and people as will follow them and heading for Torvald lands. There is one place, a town called Rampart which has been one of the few places to have resisted their own monks. They drove the old Draconis Order out when they started preaching rebellion against my throne, and then what happened? Their town has come under attack by soldiers and clansmen, clearly well-trained, and with several of them wearing Torvald furs about their shoulders.”

  Torvald furs. The words made my heart jolt. Like clansman furs. Like the ones worn by the bandits who had tried to kill me right here, on the foot of Mount Hammal so many years ago. I wondered just how long my brothers had been building their own private, loyal warband, even under our father’s nose. It felt like the sort of thing that they would do.

  But then, so could any soldier with a bit of knowledge of clan styles, I considered. What if this was some ploy on the part of Prince Vincent, an attempt to get us to send our strongest dragons away from the mountain, so he could attempt his attack?

  The prince gestured to us. “Lord Torvald, Lady Nefrette, the people of Rampart are engaged in a fight to the death, with the town itself under siege from their attackers. I cannot get to them without splitting my forces more, and it seems that they are surely doomed.” The prince shook his head sadly. “This is the news that I have come to give to you, lords and ladies of Dragon Mountain, and these are the dangers that I have come to warn you of. When I understood just what was at stake, I saw that the Sons of Torvald would undoubtedly attack here next, and so I came here, with as much of my armies as I could spare to offer you my friendship.”

  And to save your own throne, more like, I thought, my unquiet and upset fueling my anger. The
prince never wanted to be our friend, he just wants us to save his skin!

  I have never felt so unsure of my actions as I did then, completely at a loss of whether I was going to say yes, we will fight my brothers and save the innocents of Rampart, or no, you can take your armies and go to hell. What should I do?

  There was a thump as Char landed on the ground next to us, and beckoning me to cross the distance to stand at her side under the dragon, where we could talk a little more privately. I was surprised when I felt her slipping her hand into mine. It felt good, to know that I wasn’t alone, but once again I wondered if anything as simple as a hand would help to hold me together, as it felt as if my world was collapsing around me.

  “We must keep the walls here guarded,” Char murmured, and I nodded immediately. Of course.

  “But the people of Rampart…” I said in anguish. I had been offered all of my dreams; to fly and be free as a dragon rover if I could but convince Char and Paxala to agree, and now it was dashed once more as I realized that it was my family, my brothers, who would cause so much suffering and disaster for so many.

  “Neill, what do you want to do?” Char looked at me in concern. These were my brothers. She gave me that much respect to make the decision for myself.

  “I don’t know…” I said quietly, pitching my words for her ears alone. “What if it isn’t even true?”

  The hand in mine tightened a little. “Whatever you decide that you want to do, I want you to know that I will stand by you.” Char suddenly cocked her head to one side and I felt that familiar buzzing pressure in my ears. “And Paxala says that she, too, will ride with you if you choose to fight.”

  What would my friends do? I wondered, looking at Char as my mind raced. Here, before me was the Mountain Princess who had fled her father’s fortress just to look after the young and defenseless dragons. Here was the girl who had decided to raise a weak young dragon from hatchling to newt, to the mighty beast that Paxala was now, all because it was the right thing to do.

  And what would my father do? I thought. Strangely, it was the words of Jodreth Draconis which swam to mind. ‘You have a good heart, Torvald, and you will know what to do when he time comes.’

  So, what did my heart tell me? I gritted my teeth and balled my fists. Whatever game the Dark Prince might be playing, and however selfish he was really being, there could be the innocent civilians of Rampart to think about. Their lives were being destroyed by my older brothers, and by the fact that I hadn’t put an end to the Abbot Ansall and Zaxx before.

  If any of these words from the prince are true, of course, I thought darkly. “The Dragon Academy will send a scouting dragon,” I said thickly. “I myself will ride the Crimson Red here to the town of Rampart.”

  “But surely that is not enough to defeat an army and the golden bull dragon, Lord Torvald!” Prince Vincent started to scoff, but something in either my glance or Char’s made him purse his lips instead. “As you wish, Lord Torvald, Lady Nefrette,” Prince Vincent nodded and said slowly. “I wouldn’t dream of telling the Dragon Academy what to do.”

  Wouldn’t you? I thought as I turned to share a worried look with Char. At least I have my friends standing beside me, I thought.

  Part III

  Battle for the Future

  Chapter 16

  Char, and Rampart

  We flew northeast, away from the Dragon Monastery and away from the world that I had known. This was Neill’s territory, I thought, looking over my shoulder to his worried face, pensive as he stared into the grey murk of the low clouds, as if he could pierce the veils between us and the future.

  “Neill is divided.” The usually warm voice of Paxala’s mind rising against my own was cold and worried. “He feels for what he flies toward, but he thinks far away,” the dragon said, in a slightly irritated fashion. I knew well that this was close to a rebuke from the Crimson Red.

  I just wish it was that simple, I thought at the dragon as I leant lower against her neck, allowing the warmth of her body to radiate through me and bring me some small comfort. Neill doesn’t know whether to trust Prince Vincent. He doesn’t know whether to fight his brothers, I tried to explain.

  Prince Vincent’s request was a big ask for my friend. He had been so torn up by his father’s death that he appeared to be pulling in different directions: not wanting to help lead the monastery with me, but being really good at it when he was forced to, as he’d proven when he had suggested sending the dragons up in their display flight to awe the prince’s forces, and earlier when he’d been the first to react when we thought Zaxx was on the attack

  That’s what frustrates me so much! I could have cried. Neill was actually really good at leading people! His years of growing up as a Son of Torvald—even a bastard one—had left him with solid skills. And people listened to him!

  I felt it too, when my friend was consumed in the moment with passion and determination. Neill appeared outwardly calm, strong, and clear; an inspiration to all of those around him. Even the Dark Prince had seemed to listen to him, when Neill said he was going to scout Rampart, and no more!

  But how am I ever going to get Neill himself to realize the skills he has? Why is it that we can never see our greatest strengths, only our weaknesses? I thought in dismay.

  “Neill must fly for himself. No one can teach him how,” Paxala wisely advised me, and I remembered those awkward first attempts when I had tried to encourage the Crimson Red to fly, running around in the mountain meadows flapping my arms like a crazed goose. All that had happened was Paxala had chortled at me, before getting annoyed when I tried to tell her what to do.

  “Just so. Humans are too slow. Their arms too small.” Paxala nipped at my mind playfully, her worry vanishing in that mercurial way that dragons have. Other humans (stupid humans, I reminded myself) might call a dragon fickle, when in fact they were just extremely honest. As far as Paxala was concerned, she had said her piece about what Neill needed to do, and he had better get along and do it! No more prevarication or anxiety was going to change that.

  I wished I could feel the same.

  “Char? Smoke,” Paxala informed me, and I lifted my head to sight along her snout in the direction the dragon’s nostrils were flaring. I could see nothing, of course, but that was only because I had to rely upon my poor human eyesight. I waited, and soon, before too long, a slight darker haze appeared on the northeastern horizon, between two outcroppings of hills.

  “Neill?” I said, turning to tell him what Paxala had pointed out to me. My friend’s demeanor changed immediately, his eyes going from clouded and worried to clear and shrewd as he scouted out the smudge of smoke.

  “We’re in Rampart lands, for sure,” Neill called, frowning. “Can we take Paxala higher? Try to keep hidden in and out of the cloud line?”

  I nodded that was a good idea, and, before I could convey the messages to my reins and my knees, the Crimson Red had already heard our conversation and was powering herself upwards on strong wingbeats, steadily climbing into colder, fresher air as Neill and I untied and drew out the thicker cloaks we had designed for just such an ascent.

  These cloaks had been my and Neill’s idea, a layer of leather waxed and sealed on one side, with an inner layer of shorter, warmer fur; mountain hair or stoat that Nan Barrow had helped put together down in the small village at the foot of Mount Hammal. The cloaks helped insulate the human riders at high altitudes, and just feeling them work made me think at how successful we could be, if Neill only believed in himself!

  “Rampart was the old Count Pathis’s lands,” Neill informed me as we climbed, and I watched the patchwork of fields, woods and hills grow ever smaller beneath us. “He was a border count, just above Torvald Clan lands, tasked with protecting the northeast border against your father’s realm, while my father was Warden to the East.”

  “The land becomes wild between the two provinces, and that is where the Blood Duke rose, years ago, to try and steal the east from us Torvalds,” Neill ex
plained. “There will be lots of ravines and river valleys to hide in, but the land is often boggy and marshy at the bottom. We’ll need to keep our eyes peeled.”

  “You should guide Paxala in,” I encouraged him. “You know the terrain, and you can use your stirrups and foot harnesses to tell Pax.” We had affixed an array of different stirrup-like loops to Pax’s experimental saddle, which would help the rider signal changes to the dragon’s flight pattern. I wanted Neill to know that I trusted him, and that I knew that he could be a good leader.

  “Well, okay… But you can speak to her much quicker…” Neill said, sliding his boots into the loops on either side of his saddle.

  “But we need to see if this new saddle and harness works, as well,” I pointed out, and that, at last, convinced him.

  “It would still be quicker for you just to tell me,” Paxala said in my mind, only slightly affronted.

  Yes, but you said this yourself, didn’t you? Only Neill can teach himself to fly… I said to her, and was rewarded with a draconian sigh in the back of my mind before she withdrew.

  The flying was a little clunkier than if it had just been the quicksilver thoughts of me and Paxala, but I was still amazed at how quickly the Crimson Red adapted and responded to Neill’s stirrup-pushing and knee-leaning. This could actually work, I thought, picturing the other Dragon Riders, those without the luck of having the dragon affinity that I did.

  The smell of smoke below me brought me back to my senses though, as I realized that I had probably been trying to forget the danger that we were flying towards. Neill had been right, of course–what if this was a trap? What if Prince Vincent had decided to attack the monastery while we were gone?

  “Morax and Socolia are fast and strong. They will protect the monastery. And then there is also young Zenema. She will call the others if need be,” Paxala advised me.