The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) Page 6

  “Skarson will do nicely. I have answered to it for a very long time, and it would be unwise to bandy my old name about. It might raise too many questions. Now, find your manners, boy. We have a guest.”

  “I see he has found his tongue,” said Cler’d’roh. She returned to stand in front of Valaron. “Is he ready to train?” she asked.

  “I have done all I can,” replied Skarson. “He is as ready as he will ever be. There is a more appropriate place farther up the mountain,” he continued. “You and I will take the horses. Valaron will fly up on his dragon.”

  The young boy bristled at the mention of flying. “Listen here,” he said. “I don’t like this one little bit, and I certainly am not fond of the idea of taking my first flight in the dark.” A stubborn look covered his face. He stared first at the cliff and then at Skarson. “How am I supposed to learn to fly if I never practice?”

  “There will be plenty of time to practice once we reach our new camp,” Skarson answered. “For now, all you have to do is pull him in quickly and turn up the mountain to the glade. Your dragon will do the rest. Oh yes,” he added. “Try not to fall off.” Skarson laughed loudly at his own joke as he mounted the dragon’s saddle in the failing light.

  Toran turned his head to keep his friend from hearing his own chuckle.

  “You have to fly after dark,” said Skarson, “or else you risk being seen.” He pulled on the saddle to test its fit and cinched one of the straps tighter. “The flatlands are not that far away, and we cannot afford someone seeing a dragon flying in the mountains. It is much too early to play our hand.”

  Skarson showed Valaron how to adjust the stirrups. “Use your knees just like you would when riding a horse,” he said. “Lean back to go higher. Lean forward squeezing your knees and he will take you down. It really is quite simple,” he finished, grinning widely.

  “How do you know he is ready to fly?” asked Valaron. “How do you know that we will not plummet to our death?”

  “He is a dragon, Valaron,” replied Skarson. “He knows how to fly. He has simply never done it before.” His laughter echoed off of the cave walls. Valaron shook his head.

  Cler’d’roh, Skarson, and Toran left the cave and made their way up to the horses. They mounted and carefully picked their way up the mountainside.

  “He seems rather skittish,” said Cler’d’roh. “Will he be all right?”

  “We will soon find out,” answered Skarson. “This is simply the first of many fears he will have to face in the coming days.”

  “When will the dragon bolt?”

  “Very soon,” replied Skarson.

  “Does the boy have control?”

  “We will see.”

  The riders continued through the darkness toward the glade.

  Cler’d’roh glanced at Skarson. “The King sends a warning, Carloe. The Wild-Elves are gaining in strength.”

  Skarson looked at the elf through the darkness, brow furrowed and eyes turned hard. “What news do you have?”

  “Klan’d’ron wishes for you to know that a conflict is unavoidable. The warring faction is growing even in the face of exile. A leader has emerged among the Wild-Elves. They threaten the peace of Loeath’d’nah and the very kingdom itself.”

  “Who is this leader?”

  “Shaen’d’far,” she replied, shaking her head. “He is a fanatic rebel exiled many years ago for inciting clan rivalries. His followers are mostly young and easily swayed, but their numbers have steadily grown over the years. Klan’d’ron feels that they will make an attempt to take the throne before the new year.”

  “What does the King plan to do?” asked Skarson.

  “I do not know,” she answered. “He simply asked that you be made aware of the impending threat.”

  “I see,” said Skarson. “Klan’d’ron knows that I am at his service. I will do whatever I can to strengthen his reign.”

  Cler’d’roh nodded in his direction. “A most gracious offer.”

  #

  Valaron stared up the trail for a long time before he turned and looked at the dragon. “Well, it is just you and me.” He looked out into the dark sky and sighed. Fear gripped him, and he closed his eyes. After several deep breaths the young boy looked at his friend. “I certainly hope you know what you are doing.” Valaron climbed onto the saddle, adjusted the stirrups, and looked out into the dark. Summoning his courage, he used his heels to nudge the dragon forward.

  The moved to the edge of the cliff and the dragon launched himself into the air. His great wings beat against the currents that swirled around the rock face. Valaron let out a sharp cry. He watched the cliff fall away into the black of the night. His stomach rolled and churned as they fell through the darkness. The dragon’s wings caught an updraft, and they quickly began to rise. Remembering what he had been told, the young boy pushed his right knee in hard while leaning back in the saddle.

  The dragon wheeled in the air and flew up into the night. The air was cold as they flew through the darkness. Valaron’s fear slowly lessened. He began to feel less apprehensive on the back of his massive friend, and a sense of calm settled over him, taking away the feelings of panic. Valaron realized that the dragon was sharing his feelings of confidence with his rider. The ground rushed by below them in the darkness. The new dragon rider was thrilled beyond anything he had ever known before. He was flying, moving through the sky like the falcons that ride currents high above the fields behind the farm. His long hair blew in the wind, and his clothes flapped around him, snapping in the stiff breeze. The cold air smelled clean and fresh. It reminded Valaron of a late spring morning when the frost sits heavy on the ground. Tears formed in his eyes from the sting of the wind. They flew higher and higher.

  Valaron and the dragon soared through the darkness, enjoying the crisp air. The dragon’s wings carried them toward the stars shining and twinkling overhead. At last, they topped the crest of the mountain range and dipped over the other side. A long, low valley spread out before them. High mountains loomed behind and swelled to dizzying heights, tops lost in the dark sky. Soon, Valaron was able to make out the glade far below and to their left. He leaned forward, squeezed his knees against the dragon’s sides, and they plunged toward the open grassland.

  The dragon folded in his wings to let gravity take over. The glade rushed up at them through the darkness. They plummeted toward the ground, and Valaron let out a small shout of alarm. Wind whistled past his face, and his ears popped loudly as they fell toward the ground. Dragon and rider shot downward like an arrow. Fifty feet from the ground the mighty beast fanned his wings and beat them against the air, landing gently in the glade. Valaron’s breath came fast and hard. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Wide-eyed and full of wonder, the newest Guardsman gently rubbed his dragon’s neck.

  Valaron slid from the saddle, landing on the damp grass. He was filled with exhilaration and realized that his fears had been for nothing. The dragon responded to his slightest nudge. He knew that flying would soon be second nature.

  He removed the saddle and sat down to wait for the others. Valaron thought about the path that was being laid out before him and wondered if he was up to the task. So much had happened so quickly. His whole world was turned upside down. He thought about his parents and wondered what they had been like. Valaron imagined his father’s approving look, and a sudden sadness covered him as he thought of the loss Valdanor must have felt at the death of his dragon. He could understand the horrible loneliness that the Lone Riders endured, forever separated from their true friend and companion. Valdanor had suffered a double blow with the death of his wife. Cortain’s recollection painted the picture of a man pushed to insanity by his grief.

  With the vision of Cler’d’roh fresh in his mind, Valaron had a picture to frame the thoughts of his mother. He imagined her smiling face, lines forming at the corners of her bright, green eyes. He wished that just once, he could look into her face; hear her voice. His mood darkened when he thought of her de
ath at the hands of a Mort, her baby still new in her arms.

  Valaron’s thoughts turned to Cortain and the new life his uncle had tried to make for both of them. Love for Cortain grew stronger as he thought of all the sacrifices that had been made. Valaron finally felt his anger give way to a deep admiration. Cortain had given up everything. The young dragon rider was not about to let his uncle down.

  Nearly four hours later, the dragon growled. He stared at a point in the darkness of the surrounding forest. Valaron was instantly alert. A few minutes later, he heard the sounds of horses making their way to the edge of the glade and he relaxed. Skarson and the elf were nearby. His dragon had traveled the distance in less than half an hour. The speed advantage of the Dragon Guard took on new meaning. From this point on, travel would be swift, and distance would be something he would have to relearn in terms of how long it takes to fly from one point to another. The dragon had not moved. His eyes remained focused on the same spot.

  Skarson, Toran, and Cler’d’roh rode into the clearing and dismounted at the top of the glade. The dragon dropped his head and straightened his neck along the ground. He growled again and snapped his jaws in their direction.

  “What’s wrong with you?” This was a side of his friend that Valaron had never seen.

  Another low, rumbling growl ended with a fierce hiss that cut through Valaron like a knife. The sound was paralyzing.

  The horses reared and bolted, but the dragon ignored them, his attention focused on Cler’d’roh. She slowly backed away. The beast took a step forward and hissed again. The elf glanced toward the trees, her eyes filled with desperation.

  “Place your hand on his neck,” called Skarson.

  Valaron looked confused.

  “Do it now, Valaron, or he is going to kill us.” Skarson’s voice was emotionless but firm. The Lone Rider’s eyes were locked on those of the dragon.

  “I don’t understand. Why is he doing this?”

  The dragon took another step forward and stretched his wings to their full width. A deafening roar shook the ground, and his muscles tightened as he prepared to attack.

  “Do it!” screamed Skarson.

  Valaron’s hand shot out and landed on the scaly neck.

  The dragon stopped. Everyone stood perfectly still. Total quite filled the glade, and Valaron listened to his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. After several seconds, the dragon snapped his jaws, hissed again, and then turned his head to look at the young rider. The beast’s dark eye was filled with the look of a ruthless predator. Looking back at Skarson and Toran, the dragon snorted and flapped his wings in their direction. He turned back to Valaron and offered an ear to be scratched.

  Skarson sank to the ground. Toran stared at Valaron, and Cler’d’roh was nowhere to be found.

  #

  “We were delayed,” said Skarson, “because we found your mystery savior.”

  “What do you mean?” said Valaron.

  “We found the one who pulled you to safety when you were about to fall, his body, that is.”

  “His body?”

  “Yes. The one who pulled you to safety was Vaelor. He survived his battle with the Morts, and apparently stayed hidden all of these years so that he could tend to his dragon. It was Vaelor who saved your life.”

  “But you said you found his body. How did he die?”

  “Vaelor took his own life after his dragon died,” said Skarson. “Apparently, the loss was too hard. Sometimes the grief is unbearable, and he followed the same path as many others before him.”

  Valaron was stunned. He could imagine the overwhelming sense of grief that would drive a Lone Rider to take his own life. The bond was so strong that the loss of a dragon would drive a man do extremes.

  #

  Toran and the Lone Rider made camp while Valaron stayed with the dragon. Growls sounded in the dark, but there were no more violent displays.

  “You stay here,” Valaron said as walked toward the fire; looking back to make sure the dragon kept his distance. Shining eyes accompanied the occasional growl.

  “Have some tea,” offered Skarson.

  Valaron took the cup and used it to warm his hands. “What was that all about?”

  “He is maturing.”

  “Will he grow out of it?” said Toran.

  “No,” replied Skarson. “It is called bolting. He is now driven by his wild nature. This is one of the reasons training is so important.” Skarson glanced at the dragon. “It is a dangerous time.” He tossed more wood on the dwindling fire. “He already answers to you, but you will have to add the finishing touches to make sure there is no question of his obedience.”

  They sat and watched the fire until the tea was gone.

  Valaron broke the silence. “I suppose we should start on that tomorrow.”

  Skarson nodded. “That would probably be a good idea.”

  #

  Valaron awakened with a start.

  “Get up.” Skarson threw another stone and hit Valaron in the shoulder. “Get up. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  Valaron stretched, walked up the rise, and sat by the fire. He took the offered plate and began inhaling his food.

  “Did Cler’d’roh return?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.

  “She slipped into camp well after your dragon was asleep,” replied Skarson. “She is not here now, but she will be back soon. Elves spend their mornings by themselves doing whatever it is elves do. It is a private ritual that they cling to from ancient times.” He shrugged his shoulders and added, “I have found that it is best not to ask too many questions.”

  Valaron looked down the hill. The dragon stretched his wings and neck. “Will it be safe now for you to stay?”

  “It will never be safe for anyone,” answered Skarson, “but he should be more tolerant now that you stopped him from killing us.”

  “More tolerant?” said Toran. “That is not much comfort.”

  Skarson ignored him and looked at the young rider. “Valaron, there is one thing you must never forget. Your dragon is a cold-blooded killer. A beast. A ruthless, cunning, and merciless predator. He is one big muscle with teeth, talons, and no conscience!” He pointed at the dragon. “That monster is king of all he surveys, and you are the only thing that keeps him from killing everyone in sight.”

  Valaron sat in silence. The dragon stretched his jaws, and then snapped them shut with a loud pop. For the first time, the dragon rider saw the killing power that his friend held. He truly was a beast. Valaron felt small and insignificant.

  “He can never be left in the care of another,” Skarson continued. “That is why lone dragons had to be killed. With the loss of their rider, a dragon’s true nature is unleashed, and it will begin to kill. If you die, so must your dragon.” Skarson paused. “I will see to it myself.”

  Skarson poured more water over his tea leaves. “When Cler’d’roh returns, your training will begin in earnest. She is a master warrior in the King’s guard, so I am afraid you may be in for a tough time.” He smiled at some private joke and gave Valaron a sidelong glance. “I hope you are up to it,” he added, a gleam in his eyes. Skarson and Toran stood and walked down to take care of the horses.

  Valaron attacked a second plate of food and leaned back to relax while sipping his tea. He quickly straightened when he heard, “I hope breakfast was to your liking.” Cler’d’roh stood beside him. He had not heard her approach across the open glade. Valaron jumped to his feet and answered, “Yes! Sorry, you startled me. Yes, it was nice. Thank you.”

  The elf was even more stunning in the light of day. A short coverlet stopped at the tops of her thighs. She wore leather leggings and deerskin ankle boots. Her red hair was loose, and it fell softly across her face, covering one of her eyes, adding to her air of mystery.

  A large leather belt was fastened around her small waist by a gold buckle, and from it hung a long, thin sword that angled back to the ground behind her. Its hilt was covered in gold with stones inlayed
into the pommel. A matching dagger was thrust in the other side of her belt. A small leather pouch trimmed in fringe strung with tiny blue beads also hung from her belt. The pouch was decorated in elven markings.

  Valaron realized he was staring and looked away, giving a nervous cough. “Did. . . Um. . . Did you cook our meal?” he asked. “It was very good.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “Thank you.” She walked over and sat by the fire.

  Valaron joined her. “You. . . . That is. Um. . . Skarson tells me,” he coughed and started again. “Skarson tells me that you are going to be training me in the sword.” He stared at the fire, his face burning in embarrassment at how tongue-tied he had become. In his mind, he saw Mal standing with her hands on her hips, an angry look covering her face.

  “We will begin soon enough,” replied Cler’d’roh, seeming not to notice his red face. She pulled out a small amount of green leaves from her pouch and dropped them in her cup. The steaming water she added turned a dark shade of green, and a pungent odor filled the air. She sipped cautiously at the hot drink.

  “This helps ease the aches and pains,” she said in answer to Valaron’s questioning look. She handed him the cup. Nodding his head in thanks, he took a drink of the dark green tea. It was bitter and sweet at the same time. There was a heady aroma that reminded him of the tea that Skarson drank when the weather was wet and cold.

  “Thank you,” he said as he handed the cup back to her. There was the distinct aftertaste of cloves and something else that he could not quite identify.

  “You will get used to it,” she said. “It will be most helpful for the training we will be doing.” She smiled and Valaron suddenly felt much better. He could not be sure if it was the effects of the tea or her disarming manner that improved his mood, but he was definitely feeling rather good at the moment.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Fair city, Loeath’d’nah.

  Unseen through the ages.

  Beauty hidden to prying eyes.

  Veiled amid the forest;

  Unchanging with the seasons.”