by GARY DARBY
Crimson dragons have the hottest fire stream, able to set a grove of trees ablaze with a single pass, and their wings are the strongest and widest. They have the most stamina and are able to carry a Dragon Knight, sometimes two if necessary, far and fast.
Their dragon scales, from horned heads to their long, sinewy tails are akin to metal forged by a skilled blacksmith, and only the deadliest of lances or arrows can pass through and harm the dragon.
Pacing through the meadow, I use my short field knife to cut a large notch in a branch for each red I count. When I’m finished, I have four notches. Then I start with the sapphires. I make a smaller notch for each of those dragons so that I can show Malo the difference in the count.
Sapphires and violet dragons, or as most people call them blues and purples, are smaller than reds, but much faster in the air. Sometimes they’re used in fighting, but more often they’re used as speedy flyers to carry their riders swiftly to and from almost any point in the kingdom.
Some blues are almost turquoise in coloration. They’re sea dragons and spend most of their time in water, usually the deep oceans. Slender and sleek for gliding underwater for long stretches of time, they can fly, but rarely do, preferring to spend their time in seawater.
Phigby once gave me a book that had drawings showing merfolk or MerDraken as they’re sometimes called, riding water dragons in the South Ocean, but I’m not sure I believe the illustrations. After all, some books are pure fantasy, you know.
Only in the wild do you find emeralds or green dragons. They’re as big as reds, and their dragon fire as powerful. They can fly, but they prefer walking in the thick forests. Sometimes they’re called the Protectors or Friends of the Forest.
But that’s not what I call them. For me, cold-blooded murderers is a more apt name.
Orange and yellow dragons are also known as sprite dragons, or just plain sprites. Some are not much bigger than my hand, some twice as big as Scamper. They live almost anywhere, forest, mountains, high and low meadows, forest glens and even along the seashore, but you never find them very close to where Drach or other folk live.
They can be shy one minute and intensely curious the next. If you see one in the forest, then quickly look around because there’s a good chance that there’s probably a dozen or more peeking out from behind the leaves and branches watching you.
Seven dragon types, each the color of the rainbow.
Then there’s our golden dragon. She’s as big as any green, supposedly as fast or faster than a blue or sapphire, and as powerful as a red. Whether she is or isn’t, I really don’t care. My hope is that King Leo sends for her quickly, and we’re rid of her and the trouble she causes, at least for me.
Among the Great Houses, it is a Forbidden Law for a House to try and steal a golden from another House. If it happens, then there must be war and the remaining Houses will join the offended House’s cause against the rogue House. This has happened only once, and the transgressor, the House of Radoc no long exists, and there is no hereditary line of Radoc, nor does anyone carry that surname.
A short while later, I’ve finished my count and sadly, head back to the stead proper. Even though I had to spend my time around dragons, still it was a bit of a lark for me, and I enjoyed being away from the dull routine of sprog sitting and manure slinging. It even gave me a chance to think about my dragon jewel, but other than getting ahold of Phigby’s book, I still have no idea of what to do with the crystal.
After I finish giving my numbers to Malo, he throws my shovel at me and jerks his head toward the far row of stalls. The meaning is clear, get busy. Hooper, the lord and master of all that comes from the south end of a northbound dragon, is back in business.
I’ve just finished Wind Flame’s corral, a crimson dragon who’s finishing the last of his sky battle training and will soon go to the Dragon Knights, when I hear dragon wings overhead. If you’ve spent practically your entire life around dragons, you know that the sound that each dragon makes while skying is distinct. Just as each person’s voice is different, so is the beating of dragon wings.
It’s Wind Song, Cara Dracon’s sapphire dragon.
I quickly glance upward as Cara guides her dragon in tight circles over the paddock and barn. Her lithe body sits confidently in her saddle while her long, auburn hair streams behind her, whipping back and forth in the rush of wind. Even from here, I can see the gleam in her apple-green eyes as she guides her dragon as if they sky-danced in the air.
I hate looking at dragons, whether they’re on the ground or in the air, but I fully admit, I could spend every moment of my day watching Cara on Wind Song.
And, I confess, my eyes wouldn’t be on the dragon.
Cara brings Wind Song to a smooth landing and before her dragon has actually settled to the ground, she swings her leg over its neck and slides down its shoulder scales to the ground. My eyebrows go up at the sight of her longbow and quiver over her shoulder.
It’s said that Cara is almost as good with a bow as Helmar, not to mention that she’s a better dragon rider though he’s loathe to admit that to anyone.
However, she typically doesn’t take her bow unless she’s going stag hunting in the forest and that she never does alone. She too must be carrying her bow because of the Wilder threat.
My eyebrows rise even more when I catch sight of a sword scabbard on her hip. Her blade is naturally shorter than Helmar’s. Nevertheless, I can see the hilt’s gleam. I knew she had skills with the bow as she and Helmar often hunted together, and from what I know, she was as successful as he in bringing home fresh meat.
But a sword handler, too?
With the nimbleness and grace of a doe in the woods, Cara briskly walks over to the paddock where I stand with my rake in hand. I stop what I’m doing and duck my head low as she approaches.
She opens the gate, steps inside, closes the gate and stands next to the railing giving Wind Flame the once-over before she turns and gives me a tiny nod in acknowledgment. It may have been an afterthought for her to recognize me, but even that small gesture makes me feel as if today is my Day of Miracles, and may it never end.
Cara, unlike her nasty brother, occasionally speaks to me, albeit it’s always just a cool greeting. I raise my eyes and murmur, “G’day Mistress Dracon.” I try hard not to be too overzealous in my greeting, but it’s hard not to where Cara is concerned.
“And to you, Hooper,” she answers in that low, husky voice of hers.
She settles her dark forest green tunic around her waist where it meets her even darker brown riding pants. She places her bow and quiver against the lowest fence rail before she climbs to the top rung. There, she sits by bracing herself with her soft, leather boots against the next lower rough plank.
Her eyes are very intent on Wind Flame, and she studies him from his four curved horns, clear to his spiked tail. I, of course, don’t interrupt her and stand quietly to one side. “How’s Wind Flame doing today?” she asks.
Her question catches me totally off-guard. She’s never said more to me than a quick greeting. But to ask me about a dragon, that’s a question for her father, or Helmar, or the Dragon Trainers. Not me. Then I remember that Malo said that everyone else is on guard, patrolling the boundary woods around the buildings. I glance around and abruptly realize that I’m the only dragon worker in sight.
I stammer for a bit before I gesture toward the scarlet and say, “Uh, he’s fine, miss, just fine.”
She’s listening, but her eyes are still on the red. “Did he go through his training yesterday?”
That I can answer because I saw the trainers working Wind Flame and two other crimsons through mock sky battles early yesterday morn. “Yes,” I quickly respond. “The trainers had him, Spark, and Flash aloft for quite a while before they took up their guard posts.”
“Good,” she replies. “While father and Helmar are away, I’m to get him ready to turn over to the knights in a few days.”
She jumps down to stand next
to me. “You can help,” she orders.
“Uh, me, ma’am?” I stutter. “I’m not a — ”
“I know you’re not a trainer,” she curtly replies, “but there’s no one else and father explicitly ordered me to check on Wind Flame. Besides, Helmar says you know what you’re doing around dragons.”
I don’t move. I’m too stunned. First, I’ve never been this close to Cara before. Her hair has a faint fragrance like wildflowers, and she and her clothes have the odor of honey-scented soap. She’s clean, and her clothes are spotless, whereas I stink of — well, I just stink.
Secondly, Helmar Stoudtman gave me a compliment? I’m thinking that Cara must have heard wrong. But even if it’s a mistake, if it gets me this close to Cara, may the mistakes keep coming.
“I want to check his talons first,” she commands as she moves next to the red. “They need to be filed sharp as well as his tail spikes. Then we’ll inspect his wings, make sure there’s no lice in the skin folds under wings.”
I still don’t move. She just spoke more to me in the last few moments than in the twelve seasons I’ve been here. I have one foot in heaven, and the other’s in hell. I’ve thought feverishly about having a conversation with her since I first noticed that girls are delightfully different, and Cara the most wonderfully different of all.
But now that the moment has arrived, I can’t move, I can’t speak, afraid that I’ll make a complete fool of myself. I whip my head around, hoping that one of the trainers or even Malo has made his way back to the paddocks, but there’s no one in sight.
I turn back to find her staring at me with a frown on her face. She cocks her head to one side and slowly says, “You do move, don’t you?”
I swallow, place my rake against the railing and mumble, “Uh, yes, Miss Cara, I do.”
“Good, now get over here and lift up his front talons so that I can see.”
As I scurry over to Wind Flame’s head, Cara commands, “Wind Flame, up!”
The big dragon obediently rises to his feet, and I duck under his neck to hold up the first of his three huge talons on his left foot. One by one, I hold up the other two, holding them until Cara nods at me. We repeat this with each sharply pointed and curved talon until Cara gives a final nod in satisfaction.
It doesn’t take long for us to inspect his wings, his horns, his tail spikes, the fitting for his neck saddle and reins and finally his body rivets. Once finished, Cara gives the dragon a good scratching between his eyes while crooning, “You’re a good boy aren’t you, Flame?”
She steps back, gives him one last scuff between the eyes and announces, “He’s ready. Tomorrow, give him a good washing with a stiff brush so that his scales shine.”
“Yes ma’am,” I dutifully answer.
She strides toward her bow and quiver, quickly dons them and says, “Thank you, Hooper.”
“My pleasure, Miss Cara,” I murmur.
She starts to open the paddock gate when she suddenly stops and turns back to me. She eyes me for a moment before saying, “Phigby tells me that you like books.”
I can’t tell by her tone if she’s saying that’s a good thing or not. I hold my gaze down as I mutter, “Yes, Miss Cara, I do.” I raise my eyes and say, “But I don’t get too many chances to read, not with the work here, and all.”
I see a little gleam in her eyes. “He also told me that when you’re down in the lower meadows during the winter you often come to his shop during the night, just to read.”
Uh, oh. I’ve been caught. Master Phigby just opened the barn doors and let the dragons escape. I’m in for it now.
She must have seen the anxious look on my face for she laughs lightly and says, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Besides, I know of only one other person who sneaks out at night to visit the bookstore just to read.”
“Really?” I ask. “Who’s that?”
“Me,” she answers with a straight face. We stare at each other for a moment, before smiles creep over our faces that turn into wide grins.
“So,” she asks, “what do you like to read?”
I shrug my shoulders in response. “Oh, most anything, I guess. Master Phigby and I have a deal. When I have the time, he picks out a book for me, and he lets me select one for myself. Of course, I choose those that have the most artist drawings and illustrations. He calls them children’s storybooks but I like to look at the pictures.”
I frown and grouse. “He chooses books that talk about math or science, or history. No pictures, either.”
She throws her head back and laughs. Have you ever heard a beautiful melody that’s carried on the wind? Or wind chimes in the breeze? Put the two together and that’s Cara’s laugh.
She delicately covers her mouth with one hand as she laughs again. “You too?” she says. “I thought I was the only one that Phigby pulled that stunt on. Drives me crazy, too.”
I smile at her and say, “Well, since he told on me, I’ve heard that you’ve read all of his books, some two or three times.”
She sighs in answer. “It’s true, I have. I can’t wait till he gets a new book so that I can get my hands on it.”
“He has a new book,” I immediately answer and stop with my mouth open.
I’ve gone and done the exact opposite of what Master Phigby ordered of me. He specifically told me not to mention that book of his to Cara. Helmar was right, I need a tight leash on my mouth. I’m doomed. When Phigby finds out that I’ve spilled his secret, I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t turn me into a pumpkin or a mush melon at the very least.
“He what?” Cara demands. “When did he get it?”
“Uh,” I stammer, “well, uh — I — ”
“Hooper,” she says low, her eyes narrowed, her lips tight as if she would pounce upon me and batter the truth out, which she probably could. “What about this new book?”
I stand there with my mouth open as if I were one of the sprogs trying to catch dragonflies. Cara takes a few steps to stand just in front of me. Her eyes are intense. Beautiful, but intense as if she would bore a hole straight through me with her stare if I don’t answer.
I gulp and say, “Well, actually it’s not a new book, it’s more like — ”
“Like what?” she demands.
In a rush of words, I say, “It’s more like a book that he’s not seen in many seasons, and he needs to find it and read it because it has something to do with witches and an ode and the four moons and the Domain of Vay and — ”
“Vay!” she explodes, stopping me with my mouth open, again.
This time, I only nod in answer.
She peers at me with a puzzled expression before she slowly asks, “Why were you and Phigby talking about Vay?”
I swallow and say, “Because I saw a witch in the high meadow last night. She came out of the forest and tried to kill me.” I whine like a scared little boy. I’m probably acting like a scared little child too, I think.
Cara must have thought so too, for her eyes hold an amused look. “A witch? Really, Hooper? You think you saw a witch.”
Again, I just nod.
Cara’s face takes on a puzzled expression. “But you say the Book Master was out in our meadows last night?”
“He found me after that thing went away.” I don’t say anything about the green dragon, if she doesn’t believe me about the apparition, she’s certainly not going to believe me about a dragon spirit that glows in the dark.
Besides, I’m afraid that would just lead to more questions, and before you know it, I’ll blurt out something about the dragon jewel.
At this point, I don’t trust my mouth, at all, and for good reason.
She continues to stare at me before she firmly says, “Hooper, you shouldn’t go around saying things like that. Not with this Wilder scare going on. Are you sure you didn’t see a Wilder?”
I shake my head in answer. “No Miss Cara, she wasn’t a Wilder, believe me.”
She narrows her eyes. “Have you told anyone else about t
his?”
“Only Master Phigby,” I reply.
She fiddles with a long strand of her lush hair, still peering at me. “The Domain of Vay,” she breathes out. She crinkles her nose in a funny, but charming way that makes her appear as if she’s thinking deeply. “And a book,” she murmurs, “that talks about her.”
She sets her feet and in a commanding manner says, “You stay here. When I’m finished, we’re going to the village to see Phigby. We’ll see about this witch of yours and that book.”
She gets a little gleam in her eye. “Especially that book.” She bites on her lower lip, and her voice has an excited tone to it. “A new book and one that I haven’t read. And to think that old scoundrel has been holding out on me.”
That tears it, I’m done for. This girl has more than a love for books, she craves them. And Phigby? Forget about being turned into a pumpkin. As soon as he finds out what I’ve done, I’ll be a warty toad, or if he’s really outraged, a slimy slug.
“Mistress Cara,” I appeal, with a little catch in my throat, “I can’t do that. You have to understand, Malo would have my hide if I left my work.”
“You can if I say you can,” she declares, her eyes flashing as if I’ve insulted her. “After all, I am the Dragon Master’s daughter.”
“Yes,” I sigh, “you are the Dragon Master’s daughter.” I think to myself, I should be firm and say no because naturally Malo will be gracious and tell her, “Of course, Hooper can go.”
However, once I get back, well, I’ll be up all night to make up the work that I missed, and he’ll probably double my workload tomorrow. Plus, he’ll use his Proga lance on me to make sure that I move quickly and smartly about my tasks. Did I mention that I’d go hungry, too?
But I don’t say no. Instead, I think of how wonderful it would be to be alone, for even a little while, with the most beautiful girl in the world. Is Cara worth losing a night’s sleep over, and having to do double the next day’s back-bending labor? Even enduring the Proga and missing a day’s worth of meals?
Absolutely.
An idea slowly forms in my head of how I might avoid Malo’s punishment. With some hesitation, I say, “I’ll make you a deal. Don’t say anything to Malo. He goes to bed early so I’ll sneak out after dark.”
