My stomach dropped, but I managed to clear my throat and focus on the deep groove crossing the bridge of his nose. “Excuse me, where are all the books on dragon eggs and hatchlings?”
“Five students just borrowed them.” He reached for the wooden chest on his left and pulled out a drawer. “If you want them sooner, you’ll have to return next week or see if Dr. Duclair’s apprentice will give you access to the Healer Academy’s reading room.”
A gust of frustration welled up in my chest. How could I have taken my eyes off them and allowed myself to be distracted? I exhaled in a huge rush. “They’re only temporary students. King Magnar will be gone by the time they have to bring them back!”
He leaned forward, narrowing his good eye. “Are you looking to reserve any of the books?”
“No.”
“Then I do not see the issue, cadet.”
I glanced at Stafford for ideas, but he raised his broad shoulders into a shrug. “All right. But what happens if he leaves without bringing them back?”
He tapped his money box. “We have fines for late books.”
“But I thought Mount Fornax didn’t run on currency.”
The librarian tapped the side of his pock-marked nose. “And that is why very few people return their books late.”
“Let’s go,” said Stafford. “You’ve already got the answer to who took those books.”
I huffed and walked over to the alcove where Gobi and Rufus sat. Gobi glared at me through red-rimmed eyes, and I offered him a tiny smile. He scowled and grabbed today’s newspaper which had the headline.
LOCUSTS INVADE CAPITAL
My brow furrowed, and I squinted at the illustration of dark clouds of insects swarming over Capital Market. Why would locusts travel to a region with no agriculture? Except for the Magical Militia Headquarters’ vegetable garden, there were no crops for them to devour.
After lunch, the four of us walked up to the surface of the mountain for our riding lesson. A cool breeze meandered through the courtyard of buildings, and I glanced up. Thin clouds dotted the sky, providing scant shade from the afternoon sun. Although new dragons now presented their ideas at the underground arena, Fyrian had left the Council of Dragons meeting to join me for my lesson.
Captain Caiman waited at the edge of the cliff, sunlight reflecting off his shaved head. The red skin dye he used to make his head the same color as his crimson armor had faded somewhat, and I wondered if he’d been too busy searching for the missing eggs to re-apply it.
Fyrian stood beside three full-sized red dragons and a black dragon. Stafford waved, and Fyrian raised a forepaw.
“She’s so clever!” he exclaimed.
“You did wave at her,” I said.
“Does Fyrian speak in full sentences?” asked Rufus.
“Yes. She moved to the palace as a young dragonet to serve as Queen Cendrilla’s messenger. She and the other dragonet perched on the throne most of the time, and they could always understand everything you told them.”
Gobi snorted.
This time, instead of ignoring him or shooting him a glare, I smiled at him and said, “If you like, I can introduce you after classes.”
His lips pressed together, and he turned his head.
I glanced at Stafford, who gave me a sympathetic half-smile. It was too much to expect any overtures of friendship to work, especially when he thought I was the son of the woman who exiled his dead mother.
“What’s a black dragon doing here?” I asked. “Have any of you bonded with it?”
They all shook their heads.
“I wondered the same thing,” said Rufus. “Blacks are earth-based dragons. The slowest flyers with low to moderate fire power.”
“What else do you know about them?” asked Stafford.
Rufus rubbed his chin. “They produce a fertile dung and like to work the land. If they wish it, a stamp of their paw can make the earth tremble. Sleeping dragons of this type are powerful enough to level cities.”
“How do you know so much?” I asked.
Rufus paused. “I read my brothers books when I was younger.”
We reached Captain Caiman, who welcomed us to the first lesson as dragon mage cadets. He was a six-and-a-half-foot-tall male with the heavy brow of a half-ogre. “We cannot start until the arrival of our guest.” He raised his head and stared behind us at a point in the distance. “Here he is. Welcome, Cadet Magnar.”
King Magnar raised his chin, as though proud to be acknowledged. “Thank you, Captain Caiman. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
I narrowed my eyes. How did he know the name of our instructor? When I’d first met him, he’d mentioned having spies, but it hadn’t occurred to me that his people might have also infiltrated Mount Fornax.
Captain Caiman walked around the first dragon to a stand that held saddles. “Last week, you all got to practice riding a rapier red. It was a challenging task, and all of you succeeded enough to pass your assessments. Until you bond with a dragon, you will practice riding on reds. They are the fastest breed with the hottest and most prolific flame.”
The memory of Fyrian and me being chased by security witches on red dragons rose to the surface of my mind. We’d only been caught because Fogo, Aunt Cendrilla’s purple dragon, used teleportation to grab me.
I raised my hand. “Fyrian can outfly a red.”
Fyrian let out a cheerful snort.
“True.” Captain Caiman grinned. “The power of a mage adds to a dragon’s speed. But if one of your classmates bonds with a red or a rapier, they will outfly you and Fyrian.”
He clapped his hands together. “Everybody mount your dragons and fly five laps around the mountain, while I instruct Cadet Magnar on saddling.”
I picked a saddle from the stand and climbed up Fyrian’s foreleg. This one looked thick enough to possess more than the basic enchantments, such as cushioning and protection from the elements.
“If you want to improve as a rider, you shouldn’t be using a saddle at all,” said Fyrian.
“We can practice bareback riding later.”
Her wings rose into a tiny shrug. “Suit yourself.”
“Stay still for a minute.” I settled the saddle on the spot between her wing bones and pulled out their thick, leather girths. They expanded, and one wrapped around the base of Fyrian’s neck while the other looped back around her wings and wrapped around the top of her chest.
Since we were the first to get saddled up, Fyrian launched herself off the edge of the cliff. The saddle’s enchantments didn’t stop my stomach from lurching as she soared into the air, but it did dampen the effects of the wind rushing through my ears. I gazed up at the clouds, not needing to squint, and my heart soared. Riding with Fyrian was one of the most exhilarating experiences, but it was nothing compared to our bond of friendship.
Fyrian leveled out, and with a few mighty flaps, her wings cut through the air like blades. She flew counter-clockwise, passing over the rocky part of the mountain’s surface where another instructor demonstrated to cadets how to lasso a dragon. I supposed these were students in the Tamer Academy. The breeze rustled my hair, blowing dark blond strands into my face, and I smoothed them behind my ears.
“All right.” I rested my palm on the base of her neck, where her scales were as smooth as polished leather. “Once we pass over the Healer Academy building, we’ll practice diving.”
“That’s cheating,” she said. “What if you’re in a situation where you have to fly another dragon?”
“You’re right.” I pulled on the reins, and Fyrian swooped down over an orchard of Golden Callisti apples.
She blew out a plume of smoke. “They smell disgusting.”
“How?”
“Bitter.”
I pulled down the reins, and she rose to the skies. “Is that better?”
“Much. What’s next?”
I pulled on the left rein, and she flew away from the surface, over the terraces. We passed over sections covered b
y lush forests, streams, and waterfalls. An adjustment of the reins got Fyrian flying close to the trees, so I could examine their fruit. I recognized figs, giant grapefruits, avocados and mangos among smaller plants and vines growing bananas and kiwi fruit.
“I’m glad the locusts didn’t do too much damage,” I said.
“Master Solum says they destroyed a quarter of the plants.”
Before I could ask about Master Solum, Rufus sped past on a red dragon, followed by Stafford.
“Are we going to let them overtake us?” she asked.
I grinned and pulled on the reins. “No!”
Fyrian raced past them, and I let out a whoop of triumph. We continued at a high speed until we completed a circuit of the mountain’s surface. As we approached a grove of Golden Callisti apples, I spotted Gobi and his red dragon on the ground.
“Move, you beast!” he yelled.
The red dragon’s tongue curled around a branch with the dexterity of a mammoth’s trunk and stripped it of all the golden apples. I flew higher, not wanting to seem like I was gaping at his humiliation.
We practiced a barrel roll, which made the blood rush to my head and spots appear before my eyes. “I don’t want to do that again.”
“You’ll have to get used to it.”
The image of us being chased by security witches on red dragons flashed into my mind. Back then, Fyrian’s maneuvers had been what had kept us from getting hit by their spells. “I suppose you’re right.”
By the time we completed the next lap and flew toward the ledge we used for flying practice, we found the black dragon hovering ten feet off the ground. I glanced down at King Magnar, who sat atop the dragon.
“Can I use your eyes for a minute?” I asked.
“What for?”
“I want to see his expression.”
Fyrian snorted a plume of sulfur-scented smoke, and my vision changed. A wide array of colors opened up to me, along with the sweet scents of ripe bananas.
I sighed. “It must be so great to be a dragon.”
“Not when you’re flying above an orchard of Golden Callistis.”
“You like sour things, don’t you? We’ll go to the lemon trees next.”
Fyrian lowered her gaze, giving me a view of King Magnar sitting on top of the black dragon, grinning like a crocodile. His breathing was shallow, and he held the reins so tightly, his knuckles turned white.
His sisters gave him a round of applause from a bench they had created.
I shook my head. Why did he steal dragon eggs if he was afraid of heights? Fyrian released the vision, and I steered her around a section of terraces that grew corn. “Any progress on the search of the eggs?”
“The gray dragons want to raid the Noble Houses to sniff out the eggs, and they’ve convinced the reds to lend their firepower.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. Master Fosco and the purple dragons put an end to that scheme.” She let out a long, smoky sigh. “Now he’s trying to get permission to expand the search to the Glacier Islands.”
The Glacier Islands were a set of three islands off the northern coast of Steppe. It was a small nation that Aunt Cendrilla inherited prior to the Great Dragon Revolution. “I have a feeling the eggs are probably still on the mountain. We need to search in places where magic can’t penetrate.”
“But a gray dragon’s nose can reach those places. That’s why they want the reds to burn the Noble Houses down first.”
I shook my head. Dragons could be extreme at times. “What’s Master Fosco doing to stop them from trying again?”
“Keeping everyone busy on searches, so they feel like they’re doing something,” she replied. “The dragonets are also scouring the mountain. There’s nowhere they can’t reach.”
Captain Caiman called us down, and we all landed and gathered around him and the dragons for a lecture.
The Captain folded his arms across his chest. “Now, Master Klauw was supposed to teach you about sun flares today, but he was called away on important business. We don’t usually get this type of weather in Steppe, but the Dragon Defense Division often gets to travel overseas on the Queen’s business.”
“Even the Unknown Continent?” asked King Magnar.
“Only a sleeping dragon is strong enough to withstand the winds around the Doldrums, but we have reached it.”
I narrowed my eyes. King Magnar had usurped his father, taking control of Savannah, then he conquered Pampas, the Midas Islands, and its surrounding islets. Was he thinking of conquering the Unknown Continent as well?
Captain Caiman rubbed his bald head. “A dragon’s eyes are twice as sensitive as ours, which is useful both night and day. But a sun flare fills the dragon’s vision with light and can be very painful. If you are caught in a sun storm without the right enchantments on your saddle, you must instruct your dragon to close their eyes.”
Stafford raised his hand. “Won’t we have the same problems?”
“You can squint. A dragon does not have that option,” replied the instructor.
Rufus raised his hand. “Captain, do goggles help?”
“They do. The first thing you need to include in your kit is a pair of goggles.”
“Why can’t all saddles have that enchantment?” I asked.
“Most do, but you could be riding a rapier red, whose saddles have few enchantments, or have damaged your saddle in battle. It is important to prepare for all eventualities.” He pointed in the direction of the sun. “Your next exercise is to order your dragon to close their eyes and carry out the maneuvers you learned last week.”
When we finished the exercise, we returned to the ledge, and I dismounted.
King Magnar chatted with Gobi, leaning against the black dragon’s leg as though they were the best of friends. I crouched by Fyrian, pretending to brush off a bit of dust from her paw.
King Magnar puffed out his chest, holding onto the lapels of his flying jacket. “Dragons have historically used the Midas Islands as their nesting grounds. That means all the eggs laid there belong to me.”
Gobi leaned forward, eyes wide.
A bolt of anger lanced through my heart. He was trying to create a false backstory for when the stolen eggs hatched within his empire. A growl reverberated in Fyrian’s throat, and I gave her a sharp nod of acknowledgment. It was time to confront the thief before he repeated that story and got away with stealing the eggs.
Fists clenched, I pulled myself upright. “Master Roopal said dragons prefer to live in rock formations like caves. Are there any caves on the Midas Islands?”
“No,” replied King Magnar.
“Volcanoes?”
His expression darkened. “No.”
Stafford and Rufus landed, and I raised my voice so they could hear what I was about to say to King Magnar. “Let me get this straight: there are no caves, volcanoes, or mountains on the Midas Islands—nowhere for a dragon to nest, yet you claim to have a cache of dragon eggs?”
King Magnar raised his chin, turquoise eyes glinting like cut jewels. “I do.”
“Is that why you took all those library books?” I asked.
“What are you getting at?” His nostrils flared.
“I think you stole the library books because you want to build an army of dragons.”
He folded his arms. “What of it?”
“And you stole the eggs from the incubators.”
From the bench, King Magnar’s sisters broke out into loud whispers. It was hard to tell what they were saying because they held their hands in front of their mouths.
Crimson stained his cheeks and spread over his forehead and down his neck. “Take that back.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? You stole the dragon eggs.”
“Retract your statement,” he hissed through clenched teeth.
“Why don’t you return the eggs you stole?”
“Very well.” He balled his fists. “I will prove my innocence in a duel!”
Chapter 11
That evening, we entered a smoke-filled mess hall. Many of the dragon warriors had returned from their searches, and they stood in a line along the largest spit roast I had ever seen. Although the skinned creature rotating above the smoking hickory logs had the head and tail of a crocodile, I’d never heard of the creatures being forty feet long.
“Do you know what that is?” I asked Rufus.
“Mourasuchus. Every so often they grow too big for the great lake and become dinner.” He hurried to the end of the line and passed a side table, where he picked up one of the two-foot platters lined with flatbread. Gobi jogged after him, rubbing his belly.
My own stomach churned at the notion of eating a reptile. I turned to Stafford, who looked a little pale. “Are you joining them?”
Stafford glanced at the table at the far right of the room. Eyepatch stood in front of a tureen of what looked like soup, his shoulders slumped with boredom. “I’ll have some of that.”
I followed him to the one-eyed male’s station and stared into the tureen of soup. A duck bill floated to the top. “What’s that?”
“Platypus and pumpkin soup.” He lifted a giant ladle containing a hand-sized foot. It was black, webbed, and had a spur curving out from its base. “Want some?”
“Bread and butter are fine.” I didn’t look at the server’s face, as he was probably scowling about my lack of appreciation for his cuisine.
Stafford shrugged and held out a massive bowl. Eyepatch sloshed a healthy serving that included a foot, a beak, and three eggs. I took two side plates that had already been loaded with bread and butter, then we made our way to our usual table in the corner.
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