Page 86 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
Lelantos tucked, and they dropped out of the sky. It was a dive like no other, already close to the ground and with no wings to control it. There was a heart-stopping moment of falling, of knowing exactly how fast they were going because she could see the ground so close rushing to them. She was slammed into the saddle as his wings zipped back out, stopping their headlong fall.
Lelantos’ checkpoint turn was masterful — the barest stop on the ground — just enough for him to curl his powerful legs andjump back into the sky with speed, muscling his wings to regain altitude. More dragons were coming into the checkpoint, and they needed to get above them.
No more stupid fights. No more fire. It was time for the final sprint.
It was with great satisfaction that Valeraine saw the black dragon being swarmed in the midpoint fights. It wouldn’t be the frontrunner anymore, instead doomed to be injured by the incoming hoard of dragons.
This race was more violent, more full of fights, than she had ever experienced. It was daunting, and exhilarating, and gave her the sliver of hope that they were in the running yet if everyone else had also gotten slowed in the brawls.
As Lelantos rose above the crowd, higher and higher, she couldn’t tell who was coming or going to the checkpoint, who was ahead of her and who was behind. There was a crowd of dragons, roiling around the hill, but with eddies that might have been dragons propelling themselves in the correct direction to the finish. There would probably be deaths in that morass — of dragons and of dragoneers.
Other dragons had the same strategy as hers — trying to rise above the pack — but didn’t climb as high as she and Lelantos did, and sometimes didn’t climb fast enough not to be sucked back into a squabble.
It was hundreds of dragons, fighting for the sky, losing track of their objective of winning. Or maybe they had always been here for the thrill of the fight, for testing their mettle against the beasts.
“Faster, a little more. Once you finish, you can rest for a hundred years,” Valeraine told Lelantos.
This was their last chance. It would all be over in a few minutes.
As they flew on, the pack below thinned, and she could distinguish a few dragons in the front, focused and fast. She counted nine dragons ahead of her. Even as she watched, two of them got in a fight with each other, and another got caught by a straggling dragon coming from the other direction.
There were too many of them in the air for a clear flight path. Only Lelantos could pay the cost of going so high to avoid it all, so effortlessly.
They were gaining on the leaders of the derby.
Valeraine could do this. Lelantos could really win.
She saw the field where they had started. There were already some dragons in it, and she hoped they had been knocked out of the running early and gave up — and not the winners, already resting.
Now there were only three dragons in front of her, all starting their own dives to the finish. One of them was a burgundy dragon whom Valeraine suspected she recognized, but couldn’t be sure from this distance.
It was time.
“Dive, fly,” she whispered, and knew Lelantos heard the fervor in her heart, the desperate hope they could win this.
They dived, to the finish and to victory.
She steered Lelantos away from the fights he was spoiling for, from the dragons they weaved past.
They fell so fast that everything lay motionless. The wind pushed them back and gravity urged them on.
She clung to the pommel with one hand, hooking her other arm underneath the saddle in a desperate bid to stay on her dragon, to not die in this foolish attempt at glory.
In the whirling dervish of wind, she lost track of the competitors.
Lelantos landed roughly, dirt showering from the impact.
Valeraine was stunned in the sudden quiet. There wasn’t any wind pulsing in her ears.
They had landed. It was over.
She looked around, questioning, had she won?
Who had landed before her?
There was a familiar red dragon on the ground nearby her, with a familiar man astride.
“Longbourn,” Pemberley called, “good show.” He saluted her. Then, with a startled realization, “Where’s your —” and he gestured to his face.
