Dragon Trials (Return of the Darkening Book 1) (2 page)

I heard the Dragon Horns blowing on the morning of the Choosing, just like everyone else. However, unlike everyone else I was already up and awake, well into my fourth or fifth hour of the day.

That’s what it is like as a blacksmith’s boy. There’s always ingots to be hauled in, bellows to be primed, wood to be chopped and the foundries to be cleaned. My dad is the blacksmith for Mongers Lane, and I have to be up before the crack of dawn to make sure the forge is ready when he starts work.

Which probably won’t be until midday if he was out at the inn again last night.
A twinge of embarrassment and shame warmed my face. My father liked his flagon of ale at the end of a working day. He also seemed to like it in the evening and halfway through the night as well.

Stop that, Sebastian,
I chided myself.
It’s not right to think ill of your father no matter how much he drinks!
I didn’t mind the work. It felt good to be up early and to get everything ready for the other apprentices and junior smiths. I even made time to chop some wood for Old Widow Hu a few doors down. I always tried to do what I could for her because the poor woman was nearly blind, needing all the help she could get.

But the dragons—I loved to see the dragons. All of my short seventeen years I had been dreaming of them— the freedom they knew of flying through the air, above the world and all its troubles, the power of every muscle, the strength of every wiry sinew. They are such beautiful creatures. They offered the steady loyalty, strength and wisdom of a horse, but with the playfulness, speed, and sometimes the temperament, of a cat.

Sometimes we work on the rider’s tack, which was such an honor, but sadly that didn’t happen often enough to please me. The Dragon Riders of Torvald usually got their kit remade and polished at one of the bigger, throne-endorsed smithies. But every now and again, a few small buckles or harness-clips filtered down our way to be seen to.

I would hold them in my hand, imagining which part of a rider’s kit they corresponded to, taking care to re-tool the fine designs etched into their surface, polishing and polishing until they gleamed as good as new. It was one of the few paid jobs that my father let me do by myself, knowing I would put the extra work in just because I loved dragons.

I’d seen a flash of one last year. A brilliant scintillating flash of blue and green that soared over Mongers Lane. It moved as fast as a hawk. For a moment, I swore I had looked up past the towering, crowded houses of the street down here and had seen it looking down at me with eyes like the golden green of a summer lake or the first flush of spring leaves. No one believed me of course. They said I was imagining it. That dragons only had eyes and noses for their riders, but it had happened. I knew it had. I’ll never forget it.

This morning, I was working extra hard trying to clear my duties for the day, hoping I might get to finish early enough to see the last few choices of the day. Everyone would talk about the choices for the next five years. How this blue dragon or that white wyrm approached their rider. Did they go on foot? Did they snatch them from their windows?

I moved the final barrow of split logs, seeing a whole collection of end-pieces, scrappy tops and tree-hearts left. It would be too much work to break them down and feed them into the kilns. Besides, they would give an uneven burn, so I loaded them onto a wheelbarrow and decided to take them to Old Widow Hu. She would be pleased for the free firewood, and Father couldn’t do anything with them anyway.

Mongers Lane was a tight little community, more than just a lane really, but not much bigger than one. The poorest district in the city, with people living in makeshift houses next to each other, cheek by jowl, my ma said. I knew it wasn’t much, but I liked living here. The people were honest.

Old Widow Hu had a hovel poorer than most, a collection of mud and brick walls and wooden beams almost leaning against the stronger houses next door. As I neared her home, in the background I could hear the cheers and gasps as the dragons must have swooped overhead. I knocked on her oddly-fitting wooden door and waited as a breeze blew down the alley behind me.

It took a little while for Old Widow Hu to answer her door, but I didn’t mind. When she did, she peered past me and blinked, then looked at my barrel. “Oh, thank you Sebastian, but you’ve already done me such a kindness,” she was saying in a cracked and croaking voice.

“These are free, ma’am. I’d like to think someone might take care of my step-mam if ever she got older and had no one around.” I heaved the wood onto the pile by the side of her door. I was forced to jump back immediately as a few of the tiles fell off her roof above us.

“Oh, dear goodness!” Old Widow Hu was looking up at me.

She must not be able see me,
I thought. “It’s okay, Mrs. Hu. It’s just me, Sebastian.”

“N-no, Seb…” her voice quavered. “I think there’s someone to see
you.
” She hurriedly stepped back into her hovel.

Oh no. It must be Father.
He must be annoyed at me for something.

I turned and came face to face with the long, sinuous, muscular neck and the strong snout of a red dragon. It had golden-green eyes, eyes the color of the sun glinting off polished gold or seen through the leaves of a beech forest at midday. She was beautiful.

How do I know it’s a she?
I thought, but I knew. I just knew.

She didn’t look like a dragon to me. She looked—she just looked like herself. Not a thing, not a lizard or a beast. I could feel something stirring in my breast, my heart thumping and a lump in my throat as I raised a hand up to her.

She put her snout on the edge of my fingers, letting me touch the sensitive mouth that I knew surrounded her teeth and then huffed a warm breath of pine smoke and coal-dust over me, fluffing my thatch of hair.

You’re playing with me, aren’t you?
I smiled, blowing air back onto her snout.

With a sudden sneeze, the dragon shook its head and made a chirruping noise, oddly musical, like a bird.

“Seb! Seb! What are you doing?” a voice shouted, alarmed and fearful—my dad, his drunken gait exaggerated by the alarm and anger in his voice.

The dragon then did something I had been hoping for all my life, but never expecting. It seized me with its front feet, black talons the length of my whole forearm curling gently against me and not even hurting a tiny bit, and launched itself into the air.

“You’ve got the wrong boy!” I heard my father yell, along with the Old Widow Hu’s reply, “no, I think that it’s got just the right one!”

The spire of Hammal Mountain rose up in front of us. Everyone is going to be so jealous of me. My brothers would be because I had been chosen by a red; my father because he had never been chosen, and all my friends would stare because I would be one of the few female riders. The only other girl at the Academy, a girl named Varla, was about Ryan’s age, but hadn’t graduated yet.

Being held in the dragon’s claws was terrifying. Not that it hurt me—it didn’t hurt at all, but I could feel the cold air whipping around, over my breeches and long jerkin.
I wish I’d dressed properly for this. I kept thinking of my light cream trousers and the embroidered-green tunic-jerkin I could even now be wearing. The green would work brilliantly with the dragon’s red.

I had never been to the Academy of course, but I had heard all about it from Reynalt and Ryan. They both talked about it like it was a drag and a bore, but I could tell how secretly proud they were of going here.

The whole city of Torvald was built around the body of Mount Hammal, extending in crowded terraces up the mountain which was a giant, old volcano. The central crater had been topped with high walls that gleamed when the sun set. This was the dragon enclosure where the dragons lived and slept. The Academy where they trained the riders sat alongside the enclosure, its towers abutting the gleaming, pale wall .The Academy extended along the narrow ridge like a picture of one of those far-away, mountain monasteries.

We flew over a scattering of ancient oak trees that were larger than any house. The trees grew larger as the dragon skimmed the air toward one of the large wooden platforms affixed to the side of the Academy.

“Easy now. Easy,” I said, a little panicked as we rushed toward the rounded wooden boards with one small red flay affixed to its edge. I could see other chosen trainee riders and the Academy staff with their tell-tale horned helmets, knee and elbow bracers. The dragon shrieked like an eagle, depositing me gently on the platform with only a meter or so for me to fall. I rolled out of the short fall to be caught by someone.

“Hey!” I turned back to my red beast only to see it had already shifted and jumped from the platform, swooping down over the side of the mountain and back into the city, getting its second rider, no doubt.

“Are you okay?” A short, heavy-set boy with dark hair had caught me. He was one of the other trainees. I could tell that from his clothes, which were just a tunic and breeches, and not the gleaming armor of a Dragon Rider. He gave me a hand back up on my feet.

“Yeah—fine. Fine!” I stood and brushed myself off. I felt queasy and sick as I stood, excited to see who my fellow rider was going to be.

“Congratulations!” Other Dragon Riders, looking fine in their armor—the chest plates and armguards bright in the sun—were approaching, shouting and cheering the trainees selected. The wooden platforms opened onto a wide stone area that was the top of a thick wall. Looking around, I could see about a dozen trainees that had already been selected. They stood out because they didn’t have armor or helmets and tunics of all colors fluttered in the breeze. The Dragon Riders in their glinting armor of metal and leather were climbing to the platforms on stone stairs and were welcoming friends or family to the Academy, clapping the trainees on the back or hoisting them into the air. The crowd around me seemed particularly large, and I thought it might be because of my ruddy-golden hair, freckles and my slighter frame which gave away that I was a girl.

I heard a familiar laugh and looked over to see my brother Ryan. He came up to me and grabbed my shoulder. “You’d better get off the platform before your dragon comes back with your fellow rider!”

“Ryan, I did it!” I threw my arms around my older brother. He patted me awkwardly on the back.

“Well done, Sis, well done, but easy. I’ve got a reputation to keep.” He pulled my arms away, and led the way to the stone palisade wall where I could watch for the return of the red.

“Your dragon is the last to come back in,” Ryan said. “It’ll be the talk of the Academy, your red picking a girl of all things.”

“It’ll be the talk of the city,” said another boy. He was with the stocky kid who had helped me up. With his slicked-back, black hair and his blue shirt and breeches, I knew him at once. He was from House Veer, a family with a history of riders almost as good as House Flamma.

“Beris.” I gave him a nod. His family was mostly chosen by blues, so that was why he’d dressed the way he had. I’d known him since childhood for all the noble Houses of Torvald studied together and met up regularly at the king’s banquets and balls. We had all trained together.

“I shouldn’t be surprised that we’ve got
another
Flamma up here,” he drawled the words with a twist to his mouth. He was trying to sound joking, but I caught the edge of something else in his tone. He had never liked sparring with me and I knew he thought it was beneath him to have to fight with a girl.

I punched him in the arm for the jibe and put some muscle behind my fist. “Just shows my red has taste, that’s all.” I couldn’t help grinning. I’d been chosen and I didn’t care who knew it.

Since the dragons only choose every five years, the Academy only took in new trainees every five years, too. At twenty-four, Ryan was five years older than I, and Reynalt five years older than him. With ten years in the saddle, Reynalt was considered an experienced Dragon Rider. He had graduated faster than any other trainee, and both he and Ryan had become full Dragon Riders by coming out of the Academy with honors. But while Reynalt was one of the best Dragon Riders in Torvald, it was Ryan to whom most people deferred—he just had an air of a leader about him. Beris and two other trainees that I knew—Shakasta and Syl—did that now, tipping their heads and stepping back. Ryan had been chosen along with Prince Justin, the only son of King Durance Torvald by the same dragon, and so my brother was the navigator to the prince’s protector position on a green drake.

“Shakasta, Syl.” I nodded to the others, the guys I’d be training with. For once, I felt as though I had a
right
to be here. My chest lifted with pride and I pulled in a deep breath.

I just hope that Father sees it the same way that I do.
The crowd around me started to whistle and point to the sky. I turned to see my red making its way back to the Academy from the city, its broad wings forcing it up the thermals in easy, strong strokes. I thought the red might grow into a strong, handsome beast, if treated right and fed well.

“Who’s it got? Where is he?” Beris was saying, shading his eyes and trying to look at the dragon’s clasped claws.

“I bet it’s Fabian from House Trulo,” said Shakasta. “He’s excellent at horse-riding.”

Syl punched Shakasta’s arm. “Horse-riding is hardly the same as dragon-riding, you dolt.”

The red screeched and landed on the wooden platform, depositing its bundle in a tangle of legs and messy hair. Looking at him, I made to move forward to greet my friend, but then stopped. The figure that had landed and rolled was looking up in wonder at the dragon above him. He looked all elbows and knees. He was thin, messy-haired and grubby.

“He’s not anyone I remember,” Shakasta said and shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“I’m sorry to say it, lads, but he looks a bit poor, don’t you think?” Beris said under his breath. Only those standing near him could hear, but I heard.

My face heated. This was my other rider? Beris was totally right. The boy sitting with a look of naïve wonder on his mooncalf face looked pretty poor indeed. No finery. No house crest on his tunic. In fact, his tunic was full of holes and slashes of soot and ash streaked his face, his hands and his breeches.

“By the breath of the first dragon, he hasn’t even got any shoes on.” Beris burst out into laughter, doubling over. Others started to chuckle.

Ryan stepped forward, his mouth set. “Let’s not be unfair.”

Face burning, I turned away. I felt so ashamed. How could the red do this to me? What was it thinking? It must have made the wrong choice. It just must have.

“Well, good luck, Thea.” Beris was grinning like a fool. “He looks as though he hasn’t seen a bar of soap in ages. You may have to wear a scarf over your face to ride with the likes of him.”

“Thea…” Ryan said. I knew that warning tone of voice. He was about to offer one of his sage bits of advice that I always hated.

This is going to ruin everything. Everyone will think I won’t be as good a rider because of this…this dirty rag.

I knew I couldn’t give in to humiliation. There was only one way to deal with this embarrassment. I was a Flamma and it was time I acted like it. Before Ryan could make me look weak in front of the others, I took a step forward to introduce myself to the boy. With my head held high, I gave him my best, most noble stance—the one I had learned from Mother when she addressed the king himself.
Let them see a lady in action, someone who deserves to be here.

“Friend, I am Lady Agathea Flamma. It is a delight to meet you. This red chose us both.” It wasn’t a delight, and my voice wavered slightly at the start of that lie, but I hoped I was sounding confident and that I looked nonchalant when I offered him my hand to help him to his feet.

The boy, his ridiculous thatch of dark-brown hair sticking out everywhere, grinned widely, and blushed as red as the dragon’s hide. “Wow, hey, hi—uh, it is a pleasure to meet you!” He shuffled his feet, his movements jerky, his excitement as clear as his nervousness. “You’re a Flamma? Wow—I’ve heard all about your family, you’re the best riders of them all.”

He looked like he was fighting his own nervousness. He was clearly overawed by everything that was happening to him. He kept looking back up at the dragon, which was busy preening its wings elegantly.

“Uh, I’m Sebastian. Sebastian Smith,” he stuck out his hand to shake my hand, something no noble would do, for we bowed to each other and nodded and never touched each other unless it was in sparring.

And he had just made me mad. How was he going to make a good Dragon Rider? He couldn’t even greet another person correctly. How could I possibly trust this…this dirty boy in training or when we’re out on patrol.
He doesn’t look like he’s ever ridden anything except a chair.

I could see muscles through the tatters in his tunic. He was tall with long legs and arms, and a gap between his front teeth. He had dark-brown eyes that matched his hair, but all I could think of were the smudges on his skin. He stank, too, smelling of coal fire. I forced myself to smile through my teeth, but my heart sank. This was terrible. This was all terrible.

“Candidates,” a loud, gruff voice barked. I turned, glad to look away from the boy my red had chosen to train with me. “I am Commander Hegarty and I will be your head instructor for the duration of your time here at the Academy. Roll up and listen—the time flies quite literally up here.”

I forced out a brittle smile. Standing next to the boy who smelled of fire and dirt, I knew would he probably be my undoing. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them away, but I feared I was never going to become a fully-fledged Dragon Rider.