Wings of Change

by Lyn Worthen

  Egill nodded. “Yes. But you are good company, dragon.”

  “I like hearing about your gods,” the dragon said. “I wish I could meet them. Have you seen them?”

  “Sometimes, when the night is clear,” Egill said. “We witness the gods in the sky. Magical light gleams across their shields. It is magnificent.”

  “Really?” the dragon said. “I always thought those lights were dragons in the sky, waiting to awaken.”

  “Awaken?” Egill asked. The creature had mentioned something before about its kind falling asleep. “Did you come from the sky, dragon?”

  “Hmm? Oh! No, not me,” the dragon said. “I sleep in this thing you called Geysir. I like that name.”

  “But you are awake now,” Egill said.

  The dragon made a quiet rumbling sound. “No, not really,” it said. “All dragons are sleeping. Our world was going to end, you see. A huge mountain was about to fall from the sky and end the world. Kind of like your Ragnarok, I suppose.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We went to sleep,” the dragon said. “We merged our bodies with the earth and sky and sea, and we entered the world of dreams. I’m dreaming right now. It’s just I happen to be dreaming about being awake.”

  This idea almost made sense to Egill. He frowned. “But… you said dragons might awaken one day. Truly awaken?”

  “Yes,” the dragon said. “That was what we were promised by our queen. Someday we would return from our dreams and reclaim the waking world.”

  Egill blinked in surprise. Perhaps the return of dragons would be the time of Ragnarok… or perhaps they would come back after the world was reborn. Before he could ask more, the dragon let out a long sigh.

  “I’ll be going back into my deep dreams soon,” the dragon said. “I’m never able to stay in this world very long.” The creature nudged Egill in a friendly way with its vast head – it nose was surprisingly soft. “But I’ll be sure to dream about your gods! And if I cross into the dreams of other dragons, I’ll tell them about Odin and Asgard and all of them.”

  “Thank you,” Egill said. “And I… will tell my people about you, dragon of Geysir.”

  The last light of the day faded from the western horizon, leaving behind a clear sky filled with stars. Egill caught a flicker of green from the north, then turned and pointed into the heavens. “Look, dragon!” he said as the first streak of the aurora danced across the firmament. “The gods grace us with their presence!”

  But the dragon was gone.

  Egill looked this way and that, but he found no sign of the great winged creature who had listened so avidly to the stories of the gods. Finally, he turned back to the bubbling pool of Geysir and bowed. “We were well met, dragon.”

  What would he say to the people back in the village about this? Who would believe him, when he had no proof of what had happened?

  Brynja would. Egill smiled at the thought.

  He had not vanquished the dragon in battle, so he would not be able to claim himself to be the greatest warrior in Iceland. But in a way, he had vanquished the dragon with his stories of the gods and their adventures.

  “The greatest storyteller in Iceland,” Egill said. He liked the sound of that. He had a feeling Brynja would like it, too.

  Egill gathered his sword from where it had fallen, then set off across the broken plains of Haukadalur to join his horse. Though it was full night, he had no trouble spotting distant Trausti munching on tufts of grass. In the sky, the brilliant hosts of Asgard – or perhaps dreaming dragons – lit his way.

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  Erin Fitzgerald is Ohio-born and raised on a steady diet of Disney and C.S. Lewis. By day she works in academic publishing as an editor, at night she attempts to wrangle her story ideas into something cohesive. When that fails, she turns on the Xbox and shoots virtual monsters. Her very first novel (unpublished) was young adult historical drama, but she found her true love in her next story: fantasy. Trial by Fire is her first published story.

  About this story, Erin says: “Trial by Fire was primarily inspired by a piece of art I found posted on social media: Initiate by Ilse Gort features a huge red dragon being ridden by a fierce-looking young woman. I saw it long before I wrote the story, but it remained in the back of my mind. When I saw the call for this anthology, pieces of a story began to coalesce.”

  No dragon-themed collection would be complete without at least one tale about dragonriders, and the twists in Erin‘s debut story will not only keep you turning the pages, but hoping to read many more from her.

  Trial by Fire

  Erin Fitzgerald

  In hindsight, stealing from a caballero was a stupid mistake. Nezka twisted and squirmed in the chair she was tied to, but the manacles held firm. Instead of loosening, they grew colder and colder, until she hissed in pain. When she stilled, the cold faded. Nezka glared at the closed door of the interrogation room. Of course a caballero would request dragon-magic manacles – expensive and wasteful.

  A moment later, the door swung open for the Watch Sergeant in her blue uniform and Caballero Gaspard Correa, a tall man with hair and mustache slicked back by perfumed pomade. He was dressed for winter, in long trousers, boots, and a cape over his military style jacket.

  Nezka felt a chill that had nothing to do with the manacles. Magofrio – cold mage. They were the only ones who dressed to ignore the heat of the day – they were the only ones who could. If she’d known Correa was a magofrio, she’d never have done it.

  Nezka glanced at the Sergeant but her face was blank. She turned to Correa. He looked somehow satisfied and greedy at the same time. That meant nothing good for her.

  “Nezka,” the Sergeant began, “Caballero Correa has decided to be lenient. He will allow you to repay the cost of…” she consulted a list, “the contents of an evening meal including silver candlesticks, silverware, one cooked goose, pies of varying fillings, a shawl belonging to…” The Sergeant’s eyes trailed to the name of the person that wasn’t Correa’s wife, and paused. “He will allow you to repay him,” she concluded.

  “With interest,” Correa smirked.

  Nezka snorted. “By being his whore? No thanks.”

  Correa leaned across the table, snatching her chin in his hands. Cold spread from his fingers, seeping through her skin until her jaw ached, until she smelled frost forming on her skin..

  He let her go and she shrank back into her chair, her face burning where he’d touched her.

  “Filth,” he said, sneering. “As if I would taint myself with a plebeya. No,” he said, the satisfaction returning. “My aerie is short one drakoteer for the Trials. Acquit yourself well, place in the top three, and the prize money should be enough to cover the cost of my…” his lip twitched. “losses.”

  Nezka studied him, suspicious. He wanted her to captain his frost dragon in the Trials? That couldn’t be right. Maybe he wanted another servant to clean up after the beast. She’d watched the Trials before, at a distance. Only one person ever rode the dragon – the drakoteer. She’d assumed that drakoteers and their teams were made up of a caballero’s family and lesser nobleza. Even lesser nobleza had some magical talent. Like everyone, they had reacted to a frost dragon’s touch in their childhood testing, proving their innate talent. But when it had been Nezka’s turn to face a frost dragon… it yawned at her. No magical training or elevation for her.

  “So I would be a servant,” she said in a cautious voice. She could do that. Though she wondered if he would make her clean latrines full time. Her jaw still throbbed from the force of his power, and she was still in manacles, bound to the chair. Did she have much choice?

  “Drakoteer,” Correa repeated, frowning. “I’ve already said I’m short one. Keji knows the course. His drakoteer had to retire due to health concerns. You can see why I am desperate enough to bring you this chance.”

  That rang true. The Trials were soon, which would make anyone desperate… but…

  “I have
no magic,” she said, “And what if I don’t place? That means no prize money.”

  “Magic isn’t required to ride a dragon,” he said dismissively. “Just don’t be stupid enough to not clip your harness in place.”

  So that’s what happened to his drakoteer, she thought.

  “As for the prize, if you don’t win, you’ll stay on for the next season.” His voice hardened. “I don’t make this offer lightly. Accept or refuse, but do it quickly. I have little time to waste.”

  Being a drakoteer was dangerous; everyone knew it. Yet if this “Keji” knew the course, all Nezka would have to do is clip herself into place and let the dragon do all the work, right? Also, the idea of winning prize money, of paying Correa off without being executed or going to prison, was enticing.

  She sat up, wincing when the manacles cooled in response to her movement again.

  “I’m in.”

  # # #

  Nezka tilted her bolero hat against the sun. She’d been in prison for only a few hours and the afternoon was hot as she followed Correa to his aerie. He’d watched her in the carriage, but it had been her first time in one pulled by a quartet of wingless drakes – the smaller cousins of the competitor dragons – and she’d been too busy enjoying the speed of them zipping along the road to care.

  Now she stood at the entrance to the aerie: a low area between the mountains which dipped down further following the river where it widened to flow through the canyon, marked as Correa’s only by a simple wooden arch bearing his name and crest. Correa strode in, not looking to see if she would follow, then stopped. She almost ran into him, getting so close she felt the prickle of cold air on her skin before she took a hasty step back.

  Peeking around him, she saw a familiar blue shawl around the shoulders of Caballera Jacaranda Rivas – who, last night, had been too occupied to notice the shawl’s absence.

  “Caballera Rivas,” Correa said, “What an unexpected meeting.”

  “You arrived sooner than I expected,” she said, though her eyes twinkled. “Fortunately for you, the guards you employ are not as susceptible to distraction as you are.”

  Nezka took a step back as the space around Correa chilled so quickly that the air began to crackle.

  “Oh, are we playing at who’s the best magofrio again? How tiresome.” Jacaranda sighed, snapped her fingers, and the air around them within a ten foot radius was cold enough to snow. Nezka began to shiver, and the caballera finally noticed her.

  “Ah! The thief! You were quite good, yes? Too bad about that guard coming back so early from his break.” She paused, fingering her shawl, continuing to ignore Correa who was so stiff that Nezka wondered if cold mages could freeze themselves into blocks of ice. “I must admit I’m curious as to why you chose my shawl. It rather sticks out amongst the items you stole.”

  Nezka was so surprised to be addressed that she replied honestly. “It reminded me of one my mother used to wear.” Then she remembered who she was, and who they were and snapped her aching jaw shut.

  Jacaranda tilted her head, studying her, then unclasped the shawl and tossed it toward Nezka. “Keep it. I have a feeling you’ll need the extra warmth.” She walked past them, then looked over her shoulder, this time glaring at Correa. “You’ll need it to block the stench while you’re here.”

  Nezka fingered the shawl, too stunned to speak. She glanced at Correa, but he seemed to be collecting himself. The air had stopped crackling.

  “Hurry,” he snapped and kept walking, leaving Nezka to swing the shawl over her shoulders and catch up.

  They walked through the canyon, passing two caves carved out of solid rock: nests for two frost dragons, obvious by the thick layer of snow covering the rim of the openings. Both of them were out flying, said a retainer who saw Correa coming and volunteered the information in a breathless rush. Correa nodded and kept walking, Nezka following, confused. One dragon was normal for a nobleza. He had three?

  The last enclosure was the largest and the filthiest. Whatever servants he had cleaning up after the dragons, it seemed this one was the least favored. Piles of livestock bones, some still with meat attached, sat strewn around. There was a strong odor from the cave, like a neglected animal pen. Oddly, it was the only dragon cave without snow or a cooler temperature near it. Was the dragon sick?

  Correa turned on the retainer who’d followed them, still babbling. “What is the meaning of this filth?”

  The retainer cringed. “Keji refuses to leave the cave. He… snapped at laborers who tried to clean.”

  Correa scowled. “You’re in no danger from him – my protection extends to all of you.”

  “Yes, caballero,” the retainer’s head bobbed, “but the laborers were recent hires. They hadn’t tested the lengths of the protection before—”

  Correa frowned. “I’ll get him out. Get it cleaned up when he goes flying.” He paused, then glanced at Nezka as if remembering she was there. “This is Keji’s new drakoteer. Get a harness. She’ll need it in a moment.”

  “Yes, Caballero!” The servant sized her up in a glance and hurried away.

  Nezka watched, fascinated. How did Correa think he was going to get a dragon to come out if it didn’t want to?

  “Stand back,” he snarled. “Or you’ll get caught in the frost zone.”

  Nezka hurried closer to the boulders lining the edge of the enclosure. Correa stood with his hand extended toward the cave, forehead furrowed. Suddenly, Nezka heard a sharp crack and a squeal of pain that echoed from the cave.

  “Out, Keji!” shouted Correa. “Or I’ll do it again.”

  Within the cave, darkness shifted, crawling toward the light, and Nezka let loose every swear word she knew.

  “That’s not a frost dragon!”

  Correa didn’t look at her but his lip curled. “Keji’s mother is a Wild dragon. A useless attempt at breeding. The only get she had was with another wild bull that flew in under cover of night. This… failure is the result.”

  The beast that emerged from the cave was a dragon, though it was like none Nezka had ever seen as a spectator in the Trials. Frost dragons were sleek and slender, graceful in the skies, but more long than large.

  This dragon was built like a brick: a rectangular head whose scaled mouth contained teeth longer than her arms; the body too was different: muscular and solid with large, leathery wings folded against his back, and thick legs tipped in claws. Reddish orange with a thick stripe of bright turquoise along his sides, fading to eggshell white on his belly – he matched the red striations of the canyon.

  “He’s beautiful,” she breathed, but neither of them heard her. One of the dragon’s eyes was closed, frost covering the red eyelid.

  She gasped. “You’ll blind him!”

  Correa snorted. “Hardly. It takes a substantial amount of cold to do that.” He glanced at the dragon. “But repeated bursts? Yes, it could blind him.”

  The dragon growled but otherwise made no other motion. Correa held his fist a moment longer, then dropped it. In the sun, the frost on the dragon’s eye began to melt.

  “Keji, this is Nezka. She will be your new drakoteer for the Trials, or longer depending how you place.” He placed his hands on her shoulders.

  “Hey, what—” She tried to jerk away, but Correa held firm and then the cold magic hit her as if someone had doused her with a torrent of chilled water.

  “Oh,” she breathed, trying not to gasp for air as her knees gave out. Correa surveyed her critically.

  “That was only the protection spell – quit acting like a child. You’ll be safe now.”

  Nezka’s head popped up. “Safe?”

  “Keji isn’t a reliable racer yet. He needs further training. You won’t get hurt around him unless you’re stupid.”

  Nezka scowled. She understood now: she was the expendable one, a temporary drakoteer to get Keji used to racing. Then, when she’d injured herself, she’d be unable to pay her debt and she’d be Correa’s indentured servant. She’d be
his slave in all but name, and all Correa had had to do was extend “mercy.”

  The retainer arrived with the harness. This close to the dragon, she could see metal rings as big as her hand clipped through the thicker scales on Keji’s neck. At first she was incensed, but then she realized that the rings didn’t seem to be causing him pain. Perhaps the ends of scales were like human nails – clipping them off didn’t hurt.

  “Get her set up,” Correa ordered. “I’ve other business to attend.”

  “Yes, caballero.”

  The retainer outfitted her in the harness, showing her how to buckle it on over her tunic and trousers.

  “The shawl you can keep if you tie it tight, but the hat needs to stay here. You’ll lose it the moment he takes off.”

  Nezka scowled and took off her battered hat. “How am I supposed to see? I’ll be sun-blind.”

  He handed her a pair of tinted goggles, like she’d seen glassblowers use, though not as clumsy-looking. They slipped on over her head, snagging several black hairs.

  “These three,” he said gesturing at the lowest clips dangling from her harness, “are essential. The other two—” he pointed at the two longer leads, “are backups in case the others fail.”

  “Fail?”

  He smiled. “It doesn’t happen as much as the gossip rags would have you think. Take care of your equipment, and it’ll take care of you. We’ll go over maintenance when you get back. Better use the daylight while you can.” With that, he led her up to Keji. With resignation, the dragon lowered his head and extended his front leg so they could clamber up onto his back.

  The retainer was already at the dragon’s neck before he realized Nezka hadn’t followed. He turned and frowned down at her. “The light is fading. You should at least get in one practice flight today to get used to the altitude.”

  Nezka swallowed. A moment ago, this whole draktoteer thing had been theoretical, but now she could feel the heat from Keji’s body. One of his eyes – turquoise, like the stripe along his side – glanced down at her, and she could swear his next huff of air had the tinge of amusement to it.