Page 42 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
The ground shakes when Fragor’s enormous talons finally settle. As soon as he folds his wings, Vaylen curls his hands into fists, and the anchoring energy disappears. In the same motion, he takes a step forward and reaches a hand up. Fragor slowly lowers his head, bringing it to his rider’s level. To my surprise, Vaylen presses his face to Fragor’s cheek and caresses the dragon’s jaw. It’s a short greeting but one undeniably filled with love. Something squirms in my gut, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s embarrassment to have witnessed what appears to be a tender gesture. It seems to me such displays of affection should be private. I would certainly not do something like that so publicly.
Without a word, Captain Stoneberg exits the enclosure. I follow and so does the Claw. A host of others emerge from similar enclosures, rushing towards a cart I noticed earlier. They swiftly untie it from metal loops staked to the ground and push it toward Fragor. It would take a couple of horses to pull it, but the animals spook easily in the presence of our great protectors—understandable, since dragons can eat them in one bite. I vaguely wonder what’s in the cart.
“That’s the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen.” The Claw glances my way as if expecting me to share the same opinion.
I shrug. “Early yesterday, I’d have agreed, but last night, I fell off Sky’s Edge and lived to tell the tale.”
“What?” The Claw looks at me like I’m crazy.
I wink, and he lets out a laugh, concluding it’s a joke. If he only knew I’ve been spat out by a dragon and told I needed amint bath. A shiver rakes across my back at the memory. I can hear my dragon’s thoughts.Holy Heratrix!
Snapping back to the moment, I follow the proceedings with interest. Blue-clad Claws work fast and efficiently, outfitting Fragor with a saddle they pull from the cart. There are many belts and buckles that need securing. Fragor suffers through the proceedings, wearing a foul expression.
Wait a minute, a saddle?Shit!That’s for me. Normally, a dragon is only outfitted with the saddlebags that hold the riders’ weapons and supplies, the rider needs no saddle.
I don’t know why I thought I would go back to Sky’s Edge in the carriage, but clearly that’s not what Vaylen has in mind. Except I don’t want my first dragon ride to be on Fragor. I want to ride Zephyros. Alarmed, I make a beeline for Vaylen and find him talking to the Captain. I wait impatiently off to the side, tapping my boot and chewing on my lower lip. Vaylen notices me but continues his discussion. After a moment, he excuses himself and walks in my direction.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I… is that saddle for me?”
“Yes. Who else would it be for?”
“I request permission to continue to Sky’s Edge in the carriage.” I figure if I’m formal, I’ll have better chances of getting my request granted.
His eyes narrow as he thinks for a moment, then he replies with a single word, “Denied.”
“Please, Sir. I want my first dragon ride to be on Zephyros.”
“That is sentimental and ridiculous,” he replies. “This is the Sky Order, not a nursery, Skysinger Wyndward. Under my command, you’d better focus on practicalities.”
Frustration fills me, making my teeth grind. I want to argue, but what can I say to that? Itisa sentimental request. We’ll be at Sky’s Edge in minutes, rather than hours. Besides, it isn’t as if we have time to waste with training time reduced to a mere two weeks.
Curtailing my anger, I say, “I understand. Thank you for considering my request.”
He turns his back on me to face Fragor, and I think I notice a slight note of sympathy in his expression, but perhaps it’s only in my imagination because he doesn’t change his mind.
21
Vaylen
Iunderstand her request better than she could ever imagine. The only dragon I’ve ever ridden is Fragor, and the memory of the first time I rode him is imprinted in my mind, an indelible mark I’ll take to the grave. The relationship between a rider and their dragon is special, pure—something to be guarded and nourished.
I hate that I have to do this to her, but under the circumstances, there's no time for sentimentalities. I wish it were different. Still, it’s not the end of the world. She will get a first time with Zephyros regardless of this ride with me tonight.
No one has been on Fragor since we bonded. He’s had countless riders before me. He’s ancient, after all. But during the last four years, I’ve been the only one he’s allowed on. It took some convincing for him to agree to a saddle for Skysinger Wyndward, but in the end, he understood. Reaching through our bond, I try to sense what he’s feeling, but he’s closed off to me at the moment. It’s not unusual for him to guard his moods, and I respect his privacy as he does mine—he doesn’t push when I block him out. I just hope he’s not angry.
I shake my head and focus on the preparations. When the Claws are done with the saddle, I inspect it to ensure every strap is tight and every buckle secure. The Claws train tirelessly. It wouldn’t do to have any sort of cargo plummeting to the ground. Heads would roll off. But it’s part of procedure for a rider to conduct a thorough inspection, and I’m nothing if not thorough.
Tugging on the wide leather strap under Fragor’s wide belly, I thank Heratrix that Skyriders don’t need saddles. Tethers keep us steady on our dragons’ heads, able to see exactly where we’re going. Dragons are only saddled when they carry passengers or supplies, a time-consuming procedure that only causes delays.
In Cinderhold, when we’re called to battle, the dragons don’t even land. Instead, we elevate ourselves to them using Tethers. I like being among the first ones to arrive when Screechclaws attack. Fragor and I relish meeting them head on and dispatching as many as possible before anyone else has a chance. Those monsters want to take Embernia from us and turn it into a cesspool of rot and decay in keeping with their tradition, but I vowed to fight them to my last breath and keep them out of our beautiful realm.
When I finish my inspection, I thank Captain Stoneberg for everyone’s service and sign her paperwork. Quickly, the cart is pushed out of the way, and everyone takes cover in the bunkers.
Skysinger Wyndward stands off to the side, looking pensive. She’s probably still thinking of Zephyros and their missedfirst. As I approach, I have the urge to tell her I understand, but it’s not my job to comfort her. I’m her superior officer, and I’m only responsible for her performance and safety.
Approaching, I ask her, “Ready?”
