Pariah of Dragons

by Cordelia Castel

  Fyrian snorted. “You’re the one who fought a sea serpent and broke through an underwater ship. I should be checking on you.”

  I reached the top of the stairs and turned left, passing the seaweed-colored dragon. “We don’t often have separate adventures.”

  “True,” she replied.

  The seaweed dragon stuck his head out of his stall and gave me a snort of greeting. I patted his snout and said out loud, “Hello, Alga.”

  His massive head bobbed up and down. I took that to mean he was pleased I had remembered his name.

  “Does he have a bondmate?” I asked.

  “He’s a civilian,” replied Fyrian. “But I think he’s waiting for the right person.”

  “What about Stafford?” I gave Alga a wave and continued along the grassy terrace.

  “I think he and Fulmen are getting close.”

  “The silver dragon who rode with us to find the stolen eggs?”

  “That’s the one.” Fyrian lay on her front with her forelegs outstretched, like a cat straightening their spine. The sun shone on the green scales on her paws, making them gleam like emeralds. “You know what? None of these other dragons will have the kind of bond we do. It happened instantly with us.”

  With a chuckle, I said, “True.” I peered into the depths of the stall, where she stared back at me through huge, crimson eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “Heating my claws.”

  “Why?” I cocked my head to the side.

  “There’s an itch on my neck.” She jerked her head to the left. “It feels like water’s lodged under a loose scale. I wanted to pull it out and scratch.”

  “Let me try.” I clambered up her front paw, up her leg and over her shoulder until I reached her neck. “Where is it?”

  “It’s going to be difficult to point with you standing there.” She jerked her head. “Slide your sword over it, and I’ll direct you.”

  Frowning, I reached for my sword belt. “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  “Use the Parched Sword. It’s been dipped in my venom so many times, it will have dulled its blade.”

  “All right.” I pulled out the parched sword and examined its rounded tip. She was right. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to slice and cut.

  “Of course, silly. Nothing’s sharper than the sear of a hot flame.”

  I tried not to think about the sword cutting through flesh and tapped at the side of Fyrian’s neck. The scales there were smaller and smoother than the thick, ridged armor on her back, and they reminded me somewhat of the sea serpent.

  Fyrian huffed. “I’m nothing like that worm.”

  “You didn’t see it.” I pressed the blunt tip over the scales covering her neck.

  “Higher,” she said. “Serpents don’t impress me.”

  “This one made Phoenix nervous.” Steadying my feet on her shoulder, I slid the tip of the sword several inches up.

  “That’s because it was in the sea. He hates most things related to water,” replied Fyrian. “More to the right.”

  I lowered the sword. “How did you know?”

  “I have nightmares of him being drowned by spriggans as a dragonet. Right, I said.”

  “Sorry.” I moved the tip of the sword to the spot I thought she wanted me to scratch. “Like that?”

  “There should be a loose scale. Wedge the sword underneath it.”

  I drew back. “What?”

  “Don’t worry about hurting me. It’s almost loose, and I was going to scratch it off myself. Your sword will do a better job.”

  “A-all right.” Because of the time of day and the position of the sun directly over the mountain, the light in her stall wasn’t the best. I had to squint at the perfect array of scales on her neck to find one that protruded a little more than the others. Smaller than the size of my palm, it was more translucent than its neighbors, as though it had loosened itself from her under-skin and was ready to shed. Was this like having a wobbly tooth?

  “Don’t draw it out,” she snapped.

  “Right.” Furrowing my brow, I eased the tip of the blade under the loose scale and gave it a tilt. Water spilled from underneath it, making me jolt. That had to be irritating. When the last drops drizzled out, I tilted the sword further, grabbed the tip of the scale with my free hand, and pulled. “Nearly there.”

  “That’s so much better!” she said with a smoky gasp.

  I placed the Parched Sword back on my belt and slid the scale out from its nestling-place. It reminded me of a giant fish scale, except hers was a deep green, thicker, and with edges that could cut with enough pressure. “It’s beautiful. Do you lose scales often?”

  “This will be my first as a full dragon,” she said with breathy awe.

  “Here. You should see it with your own eyes.” I climbed down her arm, landed onto the floor, and took a few steps out of the stall into the light.

  Fyrian leaned forward, her head poking out into the terrace up to her crown of green horns. “It’s more iridescent than my dragonet scales.”

  “How do you know that word?” I gave her snout a little pat. “I hardly ever use it myself.”

  “Auntie Rilla uses it all the time to describe pearls. Your little cousin likes to leave them under her pillow.” She gave her head a cat-like shake, loosening a few more droplets of water. “Thank you.”

  “What should I do with your scale?”

  “Wear it around your neck. It will be a sign of your devotion to me.”

  I smiled. “Really? Thanks!” Fyrian gave me a toothy grin in return, which made me huff out a laugh. “That’s very undragonlike.”

  She pulled her head back into her stall and rested it on her forelegs. “Go on. You’ll be late for Magecraft.”

  Excitement bubbled up in my stomach like Liquid Invigoration freshly released from its vial. It had been over a week since I had seen General Thornicroft. He probably had an interesting weapon to share or a devastating way to slay our enemies with the flames we produced from our hands. After giving her a brief hug, I bade her goodbye and hurried down to the lower terraces to his classroom.

  Stafford, Rufus, and Gobi sat on the stone bench at the back of the empty room with Phoenix standing to one side with his arms folded.

  He pushed himself off the wall. “There you are, Cadet Bluford. Magecraft class is canceled while General Thornicroft recovers from his heart condition.”

  “Thornicroft is in love with Duclair,” said Fyrian. “I heard he was pretending to be ill so she can take care of him a bit longer.”

  “Don’t make fun.” I frowned at the image of the tiny doctor fussing around an eight-foot-tall male. “You didn’t see the cross bolt go through his heart. That was horrible.”

  “Witches can heal that sort of thing in days. Trust me. He’s malingering.”

  I shook my head. She was just saying that because she disliked General Thornicroft and his silver dragon.

  “Caneo is a miserable waste of scales!” she snapped.

  “Are we going to the library?” asked Gobi.

  Phoenix rubbed the back of his head. “Our new librarian has closed it today for renovation.”

  “Should we go to the mess hall?” I asked.

  “I thought you might like to join the grooms today,” replied Phoenix. “They’ve been making bone oil and now they’ll use it to polish the hide of dragons. It’s something every rider and mage needs to learn when they’ve bonded.”

  I smiled. That sounded like an exciting class. “Should Fyrian come?”

  He smiled back. “Only if she wants.”

  “Maybe later,” she said. “Someone just told me Byrrus is flying out to meet his bondmate, the King of Dung.”

  My classmates and I streamed out of the room after Phoenix. Rufus and Gobi strode ahead along the grassy terraces, while Stafford kept to the rear, dragging his feet. His slack expression was too downcast for someone who had rescued the woman he was courting. My brows drew together, and my stomach muscles tightened. Something te
rrible must have happened in the time we had been apart.

  I grabbed his bicep. “What’s wrong?”

  Stafford frowned and shook his head, then nodded in the direction of Phoenix.

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. Had they argued about something? Both males had gentle, easy-going personalities. I couldn’t imagine either of them falling out.

  “It’s Evolene,” said Fyrian. “Stafford’s jealous.”

  “But Phoenix was the only person who could give her the power to fill the avatar. Stafford can hardly begrudge him for being a dragon.”

  “You saw Fosco’s room, didn’t you? What if Phoenix ends up falling in love with Evolene?”

  I continued along the terrace, staring down at the giant chamomile flowers. Their cone-shaped centers shone as bright as fresh yolks, and their ivory petals reflected the afternoon sun. Pulling my gaze away from the ground, I scrambled around for something to distract my best friend.

  “What about the dragonet who nearly drowned itself in the salamander soup?” asked Fyrian.

  “Excellent idea!” I gave Stafford a nudge on the arm. “Have you heard?”

  “What?” replied everyone.

  “A dragonet flew into the mess hall, saying it had been attacked by Asproceros.”

  Rufus harrumphed. “That murderer would never show his face here again after what he did. Paniscus was my brother’s best friend.”

  “Niger’s?” I asked.

  He gave me a hard stare I couldn’t interpret. “No, Livens’.”

  “Oh.”

  Phoenix opened a door, letting out a gust of cool air, and we stepped into a hallway that contained a mural of dragons in battle against ogres wielding giant halberds and witches shooting at them in groups of six. Gas lamps, strategically placed on the wall to resemble dragon fire, provided dim illumination. I drew in a sharp breath. This had to be a scene from the Great Dragon Revolution.

  “The dragonets still haven’t fully recovered from the plague.” Phoenix shook his head. “I expect a few of them are still having nightmares.”

  I stopped at an image of Aunt Cendrilla flying through the air wielding her flaming magestaff. Were the nightmares how Fyrian was able to dream of Phoenix being drowned by the spriggan?

  “It’s rare for dragons to wander into the dreams of other dragons,” she replied. “Those elixirs jumbled everything up.”

  In the dragon quest, General Thornicroft had shown me where dragons kept their fear of spriggans. “The witches are probably furious right now about Evolene’s escape. I’ll bet they’re giving Mr. Bacon and the librarian an extra hard punishment.”

  We continued along the hallway until we reached a door-sized opening in the wall, where a stone platform rose from below and disappeared up past where the opening ended. Next to it stood another opening of the same size, except the platforms moved downward. I squinted and rested my fingertips on my chin. The platformed appeared to move up and down a pole that pierced their middles.

  “What’s that thing?” I asked.

  “Everyone calls it the tea stand,” replied Phoenix. “It’s a way for multiple people to move up and down the mountain together. It removes the awkwardness of poles or chutes.”

  I nodded and folded my arms across my chest. A contraption like that reminded me of afternoon tea served on tiered plates. When my cousin Chrysus was a baby, he magicked away the stand, and the tiers collapsed, squashing the scones beneath.

  “H-how does it work?” asked Gobi.

  “The pole holds magic that moves the platforms up or down the mountain while keeping them certain distances apart.”

  “What happens if you touch the pole?” I asked.

  His lips thinned. “Don’t touch it.”

  “I’ll go first.” Stafford stepped on a downward platform, folded his arms, and stared at his feet. The old Stafford would have smiled and waved, but I supposed he was too preoccupied with thoughts of Evolene to bother about something as trivial as a new way of traveling down the mountain.

  “Me next,” said Rufus, who strolled onto his platform. He stared at us and gave a grunt of approval. “It is safe.”

  Gobi wrung his hands. “Would you like to go first, Bluford?”

  I blinked. This was the most polite he’d ever been to me. Had he finally changed his mind about this one-sided rivalry? A memory rolled into place from the evening Niger and I spent in the Warrior Queen. Niger, disguised as me, gave Gobi an ogre handshake so domineering, it brought tears to the boy’s eyes. I gave him a tight smile and said, “See you later.”

  When a platform reached floor level, I stepped on. It rumbled a little underfoot, but the ride down to the bottom level was smoother and much more pleasant than the pole or the dragonet chute. We passed several hallways, an empty classroom, and even someone’s sleeping chamber. I stepped forward, trying to get a better look, then noticed the inch-thick layer of dust over the furniture. The room probably hadn’t been used since the building of Mount Fornax.

  Moments later, I reached the ground level. Bare sandstone made up the floor instead of the usual meadowland. This was probably the dry side of the mountain, beneath where Captain Caiman taught dragon riding. Stafford and Rufus stood side-by-side, not exchanging any words, and I stepped off the platform, which disappeared down to another level.

  A burly, golden-haired male strode toward us. Behind him trailed two shamefaced half-ogres, each sporting black eyes. He eyed me, taking in my slender form and frowned. “Did Phoenix only send three of you?”

  I hooked my thumb at the tea stand. “There’s one more.”

  His lips thinned with annoyance. “Just four?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “That won’t do. It takes six boys to tend to a dragon. Six.”

  “Aurelius is actually quite nice,” said Fyrian. “Something else must have upset him.”

  I glanced at the cadets. “Can’t we team up with those two?”

  “They’re about to be sent away for fighting.” Aurelius grabbed the larger cadet’s bicep and gave it a gentle shake.

  “Well, he stole the dagger my sister enchanted.”

  “Take that back.” The shorter cadet’s cheeks turned as crimson as his hair. “I’ll break you apart with my fists!”

  Aurelius cuffed them both over the head, making them wince. “If you two carry on like that again in my class, the only thing you’ll be getting is my belt. My belt!”

  Phoenix and Gobi stepped off the tea stand together.

  “You didn’t tell me you’d be sending me only four boys,” said the instructor.

  “Sorry, Master Aurelius. Does that make a difference?”

  My brows rose. Was he a yellow dragon? I gave him a second look. He had seemed like a half-ogre to me, but on second glance, his brow was a little lighter and more human, like Stafford’s.

  “I suppose they can tend to the blue dragonets,” said Master Aurelius. “A group of them hid in a pond overrun with sludgeweed, claiming that someone tried to grab them.”

  A gasp slid from my lips. “Asproceros!”

  His golden brows drew together. “How did you know that’s what they said?”

  “A green dragonet flew into the mess hall, saying the same thing.”

  Master Aurelius shook his head. “Group nightmares. It’s making the little ones imagine things. Come on. Let’s get you some waterproofs.”

  “Make way for the tamers!” boomed a voice from behind.

  We all stepped back. Snarling in a cage elevated by six witches thrashed a wild-eyed dragon whose scales were as pale and iridescent as pearls. The wild dragon turned to me. It paused, eyes widening as though he recognized me and tilted his head to the side. Then it made a small head shake and returned to thrashing and snarling.

  Chapter 4

  I stepped back, staring at the unusual dragon flailing in its cage. With each movement, light caught its scales, reflecting every color in the rainbow. As the witches passed, the dragon stilled. Its nostrils
flared, then it pulled back its scaly lips and snarled.

  I turned to Stafford. “It seemed to know me.”

  He raised a brow. “Do you think so?”

  “That’s a male dragon,” said Fyrian.

  I stared after the dragon, who twisted back to glare at us and let out a ferocious roar. “You can tell by looking?”

  “And from his voice.”

  “Are you speaking to him?”

  She paused. “No, but somehow, he’s bellowing in the back of everyone’s mind. Wild dragons aren’t usually allowed to do that until they’ve been tamed.”

  The witches hovered the cage further into the dry section of the mountain, and a group of tamers wearing steel-colored armor followed them. A couple of them limped, a sign that capturing the strange-colored dragon hadn’t been easy.

  “Come along.” Master Aurelius raised his arm in the opposite direction to the tamers. “I’ll show you your new charges.”

  We followed him along the base of the mountain, passing stall-sized alcoves in the sandstone, where teams of six males wearing green leather scrubbed and polished dragons of varying states of cleanliness. I had always thought the grooms visited the dragons in their stalls, but it made sense to have the dragons fly over whenever they needed pampering.

  A filthy dragon landed in front of Master Aurelius, dropping clumps of dung onto the ground.

  “Have you finished your shift?” asked the dragon master.

  The dragon shook its head.

  “I won’t have you wasting grooms’ time.” Master Aurelius shooed him away. “Come back when you’ve finished work, and we’ll give you a clean.”

  The dragon dipped its neck and let out a pathetic warble. There was something familiar about the huge creature, but I couldn’t say what.

  Fyrian snorted. “He slipped in a mountain of dung. Serves him right!”

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “That’s Byrrus.”