by D K Drake
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It wasn’t. The Destroyers, including the first female to ever rule, kept the throne in their bloodline for 1000 years, starting with Rehoboak. He was brutal and kept the throne for three hundred years. His successors became more and more ruthless, each trying to outdo the bloodbaths of the previous king. Or, in Mari’s case, queen. She actually ruled twice, but not in successive years. She lost the throne in 2600 but regained it in 2700.
“By the year 2900, the dragons were in danger of extinction. Had Victoria, a Protector, not rescued four eggs, snuck through the portal and became the Protector of those four baby dragons, we wouldn’t be sitting here today.” Ravier paused. “Your mother can trace her heritage back to Victoria.”
“So I have royalty in my blood from both my mom and dad?”
“Yes, you do. But that doesn’t mean anything. Here, you have to earn royalty, not inherit it.”
“Understood.” Javan nodded, but he still liked the idea of having royal blood. “So how long did Victoria keep the throne?”
“A century. Then Itrich, a Collector, took over, followed by two Hunters—who were brothers—and Calvin, another Collector. He was my great-grandfather’s great-grandfather.”
“So that would make him my great-great-great-great-great…nevermind.” Trying to figure out how many generations separated him from the Calvin guy was too confusing.
“No one won the Battle for the Throne in the year 3400, setting Calvin up for a second term. But a Destroyer, who had come the closest by slaying three dragons, made Calvin his fourth kill and usurped the throne. His son Lancert ruled next, and Lancert’s son Quartu ruled from 3601-3700. The combination of their three-hundred year reign led to a massive decline in the already small dragon population.
“In 3700, less than fifty dragons remained, and Kenton and Omri were among those who battled for the throne.”
Javan sat up straighter in his seat. Ravier was starting to use names of people who were still alive and whom Javan recognized. “Kenton, as in the dude I met on earth, and Omri, the jerk who’s king now?”
“Yes.”
“What happened? Please tell me Kenton won first and that Omri’s only king now cause he won the next competition.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“So our guy lost?”
“In a way.”
“How can you lose ‘in a way’?”
“With a week left in the competition, both men were tied at three stalkers each. Kenton needed a Dawn Stalker, and Omri needed a Dusk Stalker. Kenton found and rode his Dawn Stalker, finishing his collection first. He was on his way to the capital to claim victory when Omri stopped him.
“Instead of capturing his required Dusk Stalker, Omri had captured Kenton’s wife Carolin. He had a knife to her throat and threatened to kill her unless Kenton traded Eli, his Dusk Stalker, for Carolin.”
“Kenton made the trade, didn’t he?”
“Yes. But even though he cut off Eli’s tail, he’s never had complete control over that dragon. He keeps it locked away, knowing its true loyalty lies with Kenton.”
“We have to rescue that dragon.”
“The only way to do that is to win the throne by gaining your own dragon collection.”
“Then enough of this history stuff.” Javan closed his notebook and stood. His mother, father and now this dragon were depending on him. “Teach me how to collect dragons. Now.”
Chapter 17
Collecting Basics
“T
his is stupid.” Javan stood ten feet off the ground on one of the lowest okty perches in the barn. He was swaying back and forth on the round piece of wood barely wider than his foot and clinging so tightly to the rope attached like a trapeze swing to the high ceiling above that his knuckles were turning white.
Thanks to Ravier and one tiny little pebble he used to disturb the slumber of one big okty, all twenty five okties that lived in barn were now flitting and floating all over the spacious place.
“This is practice,” Ravier said. He was sitting in a chair by the wall sipping a cup of water.
“I’m supposed to land on the backs of one of these okties as they fly by?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy!”
“That’s what Collectors do. Only when you’re attempting to ride a dragon, you’re in a tree hundreds of feet off the ground. You have to stay there for hours or days on end without giving away your position while waiting to land on the back of an unsuspecting dragon who would like nothing more than to tear your skinny little body to shreds.”
“Dragons are bigger and easier to land on than these okties.”
“They can also fly, teleport and run with incredible speed. Trust me. These okties are much easier to ride.” Ravier put his cup down and crossed his arms. “Jump on the next one that flies by. If you miss, don’t break any bones when you hit the ground.”
“Thanks for the advice.” Javan was hoping for more helpful instructions like how to time his jump or how to choose what okty to ride.
At least Ravier wasn’t making him practice from one of the twenty or thirty foot perches. Javan was much more likely to break a leg falling from that height.
Minutes passed. All the okties that flew near him were either too high up to jump on or at the wrong angle for him to be able to land squarely on its back.
Finally, Javan noticed a pure white okty floating near ground level under the frantic flying of all the winged creatures above her. He knew it was a female because her wings were round; the male wings were more angular.
“Come on, come on,” he said, waiting for her to coast under his perch. The second he saw her head under his feet, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and jumped.
She must have seen him coming because she spiked upward. His hands grazed her wing, but the rest of his body missed the animal completely. He slammed into the hard dirt floor, his right side taking most of the hit.
Ravier leaned forward in his chair. “You missed.”
“Glad you noticed, O great teacher.” Javan spit dirt out of his mouth. “I don’t know what happened. I should have been able to land right on her back.”
“You spooked her, made too much noise getting off the perch. You lack stealth.”
“I can be stealthy.”
“Prove it. Get up and try again.”
Ravier whistled, and a pink okty with one dotted black streak across her left wing landed in front of Javan. “Here we go again.” Javan hopped on, rode back up to the perch and transferred himself to the wooden swing. “Be stealthy,” he said, working to stabilize himself.
He was just about to launch himself onto an orange and black male okty when a giant of a man burst through the door. The man filled the doorway from top to bottom and side to side. Scraggly red hair and a beard to match hung just past his wide shoulders.
“Where’s the kid?” His booming voice flustered the few okties who had settled back onto their perches. “Hannah told me I needed to come meet the kid.”
“Hamilton, would you get in here and close the door?” Ravier waved his hand around. “I don’t want any okties escaping.”
“Sure, sure.” He stepped inside and closed the door. That’s when he noticed Javan. “You must be the kid.”
“Yup.”
Hamilton, whose head was only a few feet lower than the perch, walked over to Javan and reached up to shake his hand. “Hamilton’s the name,” he said. “My sweet granddaughter Hannah talked her tongue off bragging about you, kid. She said you’re going to collect dragons, save your mama and win the throne of Zandador.”
The more he talked, the faster he talked. The faster he talked, the harder he shook Javan’s hand. Javan had to fight to keep his balance, and that made it hard to focus on anything Hamilton was saying.
“We haven’t had a good battle of the throne in centuries,” Hamilton continued, “and I had to come be a part of it. I’m here to help with your training, kid.”
/> As Hamilton let go of Javan’s hand, Ravier stormed up beside him. “Not necessary, Hamilton. I can handle his training.”
“I’m sure you can.” Hamilton slapped Ravier on the back. Javan chuckled when Ravier stumbled and nearly fell from the friendly blow. “I’m only here to assist. What do we have to work with here? How’s the kid in hand to hand combat?”
“Useless. No experience.”
“What about weapons? Better with blasters or swords?”
“Neither. No experience with anything.”
“A Collector who doesn’t know how to fight? Seriously?”
Ravier shrugged his shoulders. “He’s been coddled on earth. His weak upbringing leaves us with a pretty hopeless Collector competitor.”
“Hey!” Javan said. “I’m standing right here!”
Yelling didn’t do any good. The men ignored him and continued their conversation. “He might have some redeemable skills,” Hamilton said. “How is he in the woods? Good instincts?”
“He walked right past ola berries when we had no food in the woods and nearly got himself sucked into a lake of swallowing sand in the quagmire.”
“No survival skills, either.” Hamilton shook his head. “What can he do?”
“I can take care of myself in the woods,” Javan said. “I used to camp all the time back home in Montana.” Once again, the men ignored him.
“Nothing.”
“Surely he can do something.” Hamilton snapped his fingers. “The four S’s. How would you rate him in the four S’s?”
“Okay. Let’s see.” Ravier held up his index finger to start counting. “First is strength. Look at him. He’s a stick. He has no strength.”
“Speed. What about speed? With his frame, he might be quick.”
“Perhaps.” Ravier shook his head. “I don’t want to speculate. I’ve never seen him run.”
“I’m fast,” Javan said. “And agile.”
Both men looked up at him, then looked at each other. “Kid says he’s fast,” Hamilton said. “That’s a start. How about stamina?”
“Lousy,” Ravier said. “We took a little walk the other day, and I thought I was going to have to tie him to my waist and drag him behind me.”
“A little walk?” Javan had to defend himself. “That walk lasted the entire day, and I kept up with you.”
Ravier scowled at Javan. “Barely. You sure did a lot of complaining along the way.”
Javan opened his mouth to argue, but this time he had no defense. He wasn’t exactly shy about letting Ravier know how much he hated having to walk all those miles to Torix.
“We’ll give the kid credit for a little stamina.”
“Fine,” Ravier said. “But he gets no credit for the fourth S, stealth. He’s so loud up there on that perch that no okties will come near him. Then he spooks the ones that do.”
“We can work with this.” Hamilton started pacing. “He’s got speed and stamina. We can build strength and help him develop stealth. You’re an expert with any kind of weapon, and no one’s a better fighter than me. Between the two of us, we can teach him how to be a fighting machine.”
“A fighting machine?” Javan nodded. “I like the sound of that. But who’s going to teach me how to ride dragons?”
“That’s where I come in.” A small man with stooped shoulders, thinning white hair and spectacles spoke softly from behind Hamilton. “I can teach you everything you need to know about tracking dragons, surviving in their habitat, riding them and caring for them once you have collected them.”
“Astor?” Ravier ran to the man’s side and led him to the chair Ravier had been sitting in to watch Javan. “When did you get here?”
“Moments ago. I would have been here sooner, but Hannah had difficulty waking me.” He chuckled and looked at Javan. “My apologies, young Collector. I’m a very sound sleeper.”
“So you’ve collected dragons yourself?”
“Oh no, my child. I’m not from the Collector Bloodline, but I have assisted many Collectors in their quest to win the throne.”
“Have any of them succeeded?”
“One. Calvin. I served on his counsel and helped care for his dragons during his reign. Another should have succeeded: Calvin’s grandson, Kenton.”
“Whoa. Kenton’s super old, and you were alive to help his grandfather? You must be way super old.” Javan said.
Astor chuckled. “I have been around for a while.”
Javan wondered just how old Astor was but had a more pressing matter on his mind. Turning his attention to Hamilton and Ravier, he asked, “What about you two? Have either of you collected a dragon?”
“Well…ummm…no,” Hamilton said, shuffling his feet and averting his gaze.
Ravier, however, stood straight up and looked Javan directly in the eye. “My father denied our Collector heritage and raised me according to Omri’s rules. I never had the opportunity you have now to learn about collecting dragons.”
Javan sat on his perch and swung back and forth. He bit his lip and studied his collection of teachers.
One was so old he couldn’t stand for more than two seconds.
One was big and boisterous and was likely to squash the life out of Javan in the process of teaching him how to fight.
One was grouchy and bitter and didn’t believe in Javan despite the fact they were related by blood.
And none of them had ever collected a dragon of their own.
Javan’s chances of success seemed to grow more impossible by the moment.
Chapter 18
Target Practice
“U
p! Up! Up!” Ravier flooded Javan’s room with light and stripped him of his covers. “Enough sleep. We’re wasting training time.”
Javan squinted against the bright lights, curled into a little ball and checked his watch only to be reminded that he no longer owned a watch. Since he had yet to figure out how to read the triangle clock made of the four Stalker scales that apparently told time based on the color of the scales, he moaned and sat up. “What time is it?”
“Dawn Stalker feeding time.”
“So that means it’s what, six o’clock? Why couldn’t you just say six?”
“You need to start thinking of time in terms of Stalker feeding times. It’s something you must constantly be aware of, especially when you have your own collection. Now get up, get dressed and meet me in the training room.”
Ravier disappeared, and Javan collapsed back on to the bed. He covered his eyes with his arm and wondered how he was going to survive the day.
Long after Hamilton and Astor left last night, Ravier had made Javan jump off that stupid perch dozens of times. He grazed a few okties, but not once did he land on anything except the hard dirt floor. His body felt like one giant bruise, and he was afraid he might cry if he had to try to ride another okty today.
But his mother’s life was depending on him.
Replaying the sight of Micah carrying her away brought Javan to his feet. He was the reason she got caught. He thus had to do whatever it took to rescue her.
He just hoped he didn’t end up with a body full of broken bones; that would make saving her rather challenging.
◊◊◊
The sun was just beginning to rise as Javan made his way across the yard, through the okty barn and down into the training room.
The life-sized human and animal targets that were spread all over the place last night were now grouped together and shoved to the far left corner. That left a clear line of sight to the circular paper targets Ravier was attaching to the wall opposite the wall of weapons in a nice, neat chest-high row.
The man already looked irritable and grumpy.
“Where’s Hamilton?” Javan asked. He had taken more of a liking to Hannah’s grandfather than his own and was expecting the good-natured man to be around to help lighten Ravier’s constantly dark mood.
“He’ll be here later.” Ravier finished hanging his last target and met Javan at the
wall of weapons. “Our first order of business is matching you with the right weapon. Every Collector has one go-to weapon, and we have to find yours.”
“Sweet.” Javan’s eyes lit up and his soreness faded away as he reached for the bow and the quiver of arrows. “I want to try this first.”
Ravier nodded. “A classic choice. Many Collectors have been excellent archers, your father included.”
Javan strapped the quiver across his back so that he could easily reach the feathered end of the arrows with his right hand. Then he inspected the long wooden bow that extended from his head to his thighs. “My dad shot this bow?”
“Yes. He shot with such speed, ease and precision that you didn’t even realize he had taken the shot until the arrow was lodged in his target.” The pride in Ravier’s voice fell away when he addressed Javan. “Load the bow and shoot. Hit the target on the back wall.”
“Which one?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just pick one.”
“No problem.” Javan had learned how to shoot arrows at summer camp a few years ago. This bow was bigger than the one he used back then, but mastering this weapon should be easy.
Javan loaded the first arrow and attempted to pull the string back.
It wouldn’t budge.
“Um,” he said, “I think this bow is broken.”
“It’s not broken. Pull harder.”
Javan bit his bottom lip and tried again. Nothing. On the third try, the string gave a little only to immediately return to its taut position. The arrow tumbled pitifully to the floor.
Ravier picked it up. “This isn’t your weapon. Put it back. Let’s try the spear.”
“Give me one more chance.” Javan took the arrow from Ravier, loaded the bow and pulled the string back as far as he could. That turned out to only be a few inches. His hands and arms started shaking. He could no longer pull or hold his current position, so he released the string and fired the arrow.
The arrow flew all of two feet.
“The sword,” Ravier said, taking the bow and arrows from Javan and handing him a long, hefty sword. The tip of the handle to the tip of the sword spanned the distance from Javan’s shoulders to his toes. “This is my preferred weapon. You were admiring it the other day. Now let’s see if you’re any good at using it.”