Dragon Riders of Mirstone

Richard Fierce

Dragon Riders of Mirstone Copyright © 2024 by Richard Fierce

This is a collected work of fiction. All events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form without the express permission of the publisher.

Cover design by Keith Robinson

Anthology Editor: Richard Fierce

Contents

Introduction

1.Wanted: One Dragon Rider for a Persnickety Princess

2.Fire and Redemption

3.Final Night, First Dawn

4.Bloodrider

5.Unexpected Benefits

6.Riders of Ervum

7.The Night the Moon Fell From the Sky

8.The Lost Dragons of Mirstone

9.Dragon Unchained

10.Dreams of the Lost

11.Riders Rebirth

12.Rebirth

13.Wings Across Realms

About the author

Introduction

Welcome to the fourth anthology set in the world of Mirstone!

In this one, we have an array of tales spun by various storytellers, each exploring the profound and mystical bonds between dragons and their riders.

Dragons—creatures of might and myth, woven into the tapestry of our darkest fears and highest hopes—have always captivated me. Yet, beyond their fearsome flames and formidable scales, lies the true heart of these tales: the deep, unbreakable connections formed between these majestic creatures and those chosen few who ride the winds upon their backs. It is a bond forged in the crucible of mutual respect, unspoken understandings, and shared struggles, elevating both dragon and rider beyond their limits.

Prepare to be whisked away on wings of power and passion, through storms of danger and winds of change. Whether it is the tale of an ex-mercenary being saddled with the job of being guardian to a dragon king's daughter, or a seasoned warrior rekindling what it means to be a rider, each story in this collection celebrates the magical union between extraordinary beings.

Together, they rise; together, they conquer the heavens; together, they become legends.

Happy Reading!

-Richard

1

Wanted: One Dragon Rider for a Persnickety Princess

A.R. Cook

Quinn threw open the doors to the grand chamber, where a mountainous horde of gold, silver, and jewels shimmered in the torchlight like a million-starred galaxy. It was not the guardian’s first rescue, which might have explained the slight sigh of tedium.

A knight, a damsel, and a dragon. Like I haven’t heard that one before, Quinn thought. I wonder if we all should just walk into a tavern…

The tall, foreboding figure of Voranthian loomed large, and he turned to see who had intruded into his claimed domain. Iron-black scales clinked as he moved, claws clacked as he flexed his hands, and he raised high his head, atop which were two curved horns. Ah, another fool challenges me. Quickblade Quinn, isn’t it? I suppose the temptation of a dragon’s horde is too much for even you to resist?

Quinn tucked back a stray lock of brown hair. Not really, Voranthian. You can have the horde. I’m just here for the princess.

Voranthian’s dark eyes narrowed in confusion. The… what, that pale, weak thing? Honestly, I was only keeping her around for the singing. Although she’s quite shrill when prodded to sing.

From the corner of the chamber, a pair of wide, blue eyes peeked from the shadows. The sound of iron chains sliding against the floor accompanied the light grunts of struggling. An airy voice cried out, Oh, Quinn! You see, you big brute? I knew my guardian would come for me! Now you’re in for it!

Voranthian laughed, a deep, abysmal bellow. Am I? This pathetic whelp barely comes armored! And what measly dagger is that in your sheath, a blade of grass? Here I heard such rumors, that Quickblade Quinn can slay an army in one thrust, and what I get is some delusional performer playing dress up!

Quinn stretched with a long, lazy yawn. About those rumors… sure, I slay, but I’d much rather educate.

The black-scaled enemy paused. Educate? Who, me? Oh, I see. Yes, there have been many that tried to coerce me into subservience. But I made quick work of them, as I will of you.

Do what you will, Quinn drawled, gesturing come at me with one hand.

Impudent cur! With a roar of fury, Voranthian bore down on Quinn, claws outstretched in front of him to snare his quarry. Quinn easily side-stepped the bulky opponent, who barreled several feet passed and had to take a few seconds to turn around. Before Voranthian could fully pivot, Quinn retrieved a silver shield from the treasure horde and flung it, whacking the foe right in the head. There was a sharp, resonant clanging as the shield hit his horns, and Voranthian was both literally and figuratively rattled.

Now, you see, I don’t teach oversized swine like you for servitude, Quinn said, with a sharp crack of knuckles. I just think you need to learn some manners. For example, locking up the poor princess for your own private serenades. That’s rude.

Once he regained his composure, Voranthian raised his clenched fists high, planning to smash Quinn’s skull. The swordfighter, again, dodged the attack as Voranthian’s fists slammed into the floor, riddling it with cracks.

Be careful, Quinn! Princess Camellia called, as she tugged at the chains binding her to the wall.

From a secret tunic pocket, Quinn withdrew three long, silver pins. Let me introduce you to my lessons. Lesson one: Bigger does not mean better. In fact, being bigger makes you react slower.

Quinn demonstrated this as Voranthian came in for another blow, but his claws met only air. In an almost dance-like fashion, the guardian waltzed out of the way and snuck behind him. Lesson two: stealing is a crime, even if it is a dragon horde. The royal dragon family took centuries to amass their fortune, and you have no right to take it.

Voranthian growled, turning to lash out again. Who cares if I steal the horde of some stupid dragons? It’s mine now! I don’t have to serve my idiot king anymore. I can buy my own kingdom!

Lesson three: Always be a courteous host. Locking up the future dragon queen is a big no-no, even if you call yourself a knight.

This time, Sir Voranthian felt it – a small sting in his armpit, one of the few places his scale mail armor did not protect him. He realized, as Quinn raised two empty hands, that the pins were gone. No, not gone - stuck in the back of his neck (lesson one), the side of his knee (lesson two), and his armpit (lesson three). He faltered, realizing that the pins had been soaked in some drug. He fell limp to the ground, as his horned helmet fell from his head and clattered on the floor. His clawed gauntlets, which often proved to be as deadly as his sword, proved useless now as he landed face first with a heavy thud.

Woo hoo! I knew you’d best that beastly knight, the princess called. You’ll have to teach me those moves someday, Mistress Quinn.

Quinn walked over to the captive, withdrawing a lockpick from her belt pouch. She located the rusty padlock that kept the princess in chains and began picking at it. There’s plenty you’ll need to learn as a dragon queen, Princess Camellia. For one, don’t take on a knight by yourself until you’ve grown a bit more.

Princess Camellia hung her equine head, which given her long, serpentine neck, was nearly down to her toes. Her cherry blossom-pink scales had not yet hardened with age, but her slender wings had recently grown in their flight feathers. Roughly the height of a moose at the shoulder, she was a far cry from the stature of her parents, but she could be a handful, nonetheless. I know, but dragons are supposed to protect the family treasury. And with Mum and Dah away—

Don’t worry, that’s why they asked me to protect you, Mistress Quinn said, as the padlock to the chains clicked open. She gently unwound Camellia from her bindings. You can help me drag this lug out of here. Traitors to the crown usually fetch a reward of 10,000 gold coins. After Lazulo and I turn him in, we can go goblin hunting. How’s that?

Camellia happily clapped her paws together. Quinn, you are such fun!

The princess’s happy demeanor, however, was not to last. She sighed as she laid languidly on the cushions in her bedchamber while Quinn sorted through their newly acquired bounty. The woman had just returned with Lazulo, her grey highland pony, who deserved a restful graze in the mountainside pasture after carrying the dead weight of Voranthian for almost a whole day to the city. The dragons of the Mooncrest colony knew to leave the horse alone, thanks to the Dragon King and Queen, so Quinn often made quick trips with Lazulo to nearby towns for supplies or spoils. The ex-mercenary had to make such expeditions by herself, of course—bringing Camellia into town would have done more than raise some eyebrows.

Why are you moping now? Quinn asked, not even bothering to look up at the dragon. She sorted the reward into thirds, two of which would go into the royal dragon treasury, and a third for herself.

Camellia grumbled irritably. Mum and Dah will never take me seriously if I can’t even fend off one dumb intruder. Promise you won’t tell them?

I won’t tell, Princess. But don’t be so hard on yourself. You haven’t been trained to deal with knights, rogue or otherwise.

Well, maybe I should be. Camellia lifted her head. Until I can breathe fire, I should have other means to defend myself. Oooh, how about a mace? The spiky kind! You could get me one of those, can’t you?

Quinn gave Camellia a stern look. No respectable dragon goes about smashing things with a mace. And you’re a dragon royal. You have your duties.

"I hate my duties! Camellia flopped her head back down on her cushions. And I hate this stinky old mountain, with its stinky old caves, full of stinky old treasure. I wanna have fun."

Quinn repressed a groan. You just knocked down twenty goblins in the underground caverns like you were playing skittles—

They’re slow. Too easy. Camellia pouted. Stinky, slow goblins.

Quinn sometimes regretted that she had read Camellia bedtime stories when she was a hatchling. The young dragon had formed an unusual attachment to fairy tales of princesses in high towers with beautiful singing voices and a penchant for flowers, pillows, and ribbons. She practiced singing during the times her parents were away to the hunting grounds, and she asked Quinn to teach her things like reading and needlepoint—which she quickly gave up on the latter after she poked herself with the sewing needle enough times. Quinn had, unintentionally, truly made a diva out of the reptilian royal, down to the princess changing her name to one she preferred instead of what her parents had in mind: Gwaedlyd the Bloody Claw? Blegh, I hate it! I choose Camellia Cloudblossom, and I won’t go by anything else! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!

Quinn still remembered the look on the Dragon King and Queen’s faces at this announcement. Why they hadn’t devoured Quinn right there and then for putting those human ideas into Camellia’s head was a mystery. She reached over to pick up a large leather pack sitting on the floor. Then how about you help me sort through Voranthian’s effects here? He conveniently left it behind. Might be something fun in here.

Camellia snorted in response.

Quinn rolled her eyes. She figured the one thing a mercenary and a dragon would have in common is the thrill of looting, but Princess Camellia was the least loot-loving reptile she’d ever seen. She started rifling through the pack. Hmm… dagger, crossbow, bolts, spoon, socks, ew—flask, jerky, another spoon, comb, small spoon, long spoon, a scroll… She unfurled the scroll, wondering if it might have any valuable information. She frowned. Ugh, an invitation to the tournament? As if any dragon could hold that lug’s weight. Anyway, spoon, spoon, what’s with all the spoons?

Camellia’s head slightly raised. An invitation to what?

Quinn began shoving the loot back in the bag, finding nothing of interest. Oh, a dragon riders’ tournament. They hold one every year in Torvel.

The princess lazily reached over and picked up the scroll. She could read a little, thanks to Quinn’s lessons, but it wasn’t the words that caught her attention. The beautiful illustration of a mighty dragon soaring through the air, with a proud, caped human rider on its back, against a brilliant golden sun… she could practically smell the clean air, feel the cool wind, see the grand expanse of green world below.

Aren’t tournaments some kind of game? Camellia asked.

Quinn shrugged. I suppose.

And the winners get pretty ribbons? Oooh, or a wreath of flowers? And everyone cheers and applauses and loves them?

Yes, I— Quinn paused, and shot Camellia a hard stare. No.

Camellia practically leapt onto Quinn, who managed to evade the excited dragon. I wanna go! Pretty pretty pleeeeeeease? Come on, Quinn! Quinn Quinn Quinn Quinn Quinn—

Quinn pushed back the princess, who was trying to give her an affectionate nose nuzzle. Your parents would kill both of us if we did. What on earth do you want to go for?

Because it’s exciting! And I’m tired of being trapped in the mountains.

You want to watch a bunch of dragons and their riders fly around in circles? Honestly, it’s one of the dullest things in the world. Besides, they don’t exactly have dragon-sized seating in those arenas. There’d be no way for you to watch.

Camellia grunted, exasperated. I don’t want to watch. I want to compete!

"Then definitely no."

The princess stuck out her lower lip in a pout. Don’t worry, Mistress Quinn. Mum and Dah don’t have to know. They won’t be back from the hunting grounds until the end of the month. And this… She held up the scroll and shoved it in Quinn’s face, says the games are during the Springsfaire, which is the first day of spring, in five days.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. How do you know spring starts in five days? You don’t have an almanac.

I can tell by the snow on the mountaintop. It’s melted a few claws’ lengths, and the moon crocuses are popping up. They always pop up one week before spring, and that was two days ago. So, there are five more days until spring. Camellia puffed out her chest and grinned from scaly ear to ear.

Quinn was rather impressed that the princess knew the terrain so well, it even told her what exact time of the season it was, but that cleverness still didn’t convince her. Listen, there is a litany of reasons you can’t compete. First of all, dragon riders and their dragons take years to train. They practically start from the time the dragon has hatched. Second, this tournament is only for competitors of noble blood. Elites.

I’m elite! Camellia retorted. I’m a princess, for roaring out loud!

"The dragon rider has to be of nobility, not the dragon, Quinn said. And, thirdly, a dragon needs a rider. And in case you didn’t notice, you have no rider."

The words barely left Quinn’s mouth before she knew what would happen next. Camellia gave her the biggest, shiniest, puppy-dog eyes a dragon could muster. Yooooooooou could be my rider! Camellia said in a sing-songy, sweet voice. Oooh, wouldn’t that be so fun? And I hear dragons and their riders have close bonds, like, a soul-bond kind of thing. We’d be like… sisters! Don’t you want to be my big sister?

Quinn almost chuckled at the thought—a dragon for a sister, I’d never hear the end of it—but she retained her stoic expression. I can’t be a dragon rider.

Camellia stamped one of her feet, and it shook the room. WHY NOT?? Her voice was no longer sweet.

Quinn rolled her eyes, shoving her hands into her trouser pockets. Because… I can’t fly dragonback. I’m scared of heights.

The dragon’s anger quickly softened. Oh. Well, then, I guess it wouldn’t work. I’d hate to put you in a scary position. I won’t make you do it, Quinn. Because I care about you, like I know you care about me.

Thank you, princess.

Quinn thought that would be the end of it, but Camellia’s composed façade dropped away a few seconds later, as she threw herself onto her cushions in a full-body tantrum. BUT I REALLY WANNA GO!! She smashed her face into a pillow and started sobbing loudly, a little too loudly. She thumped her tail on the floor, and her whole body heaved with each dramatic blubber.

Quinn sighed. Camellia’s theatrics were nothing new to her; if Camellia had developed her fire-breathing yet, the whole room would probably be torched by now. But the last time she threw a tantrum like this, she had caused an avalanche that covered the Mooncrest colony’s nesting grounds for weeks until the dragons could melt all the snow, and if the King and Queen came back to that… Look, I can’t be your rider. But I know someone who could find you one.

Camellia’s face became all smiles and adoring eyes. Oh, Quinn, you’re the best!

Are we there yet? My feet hurt.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Does it look like we’re anywhere yet?

She rode Lazulo as he and Camellia trudged through deep woodland, where the ground had become boggy with soft peat. Barely any sunlight could penetrate the thick canopy above, where garlands of moss danged from branches like curtains of witches’ hair. It was nowhere near the fairytale forests that Camellia had heard about—more like a place where icky ogres or trolls lived. Occasionally, a faint sound of scurrying animal feet or an ominous crow call made the dragon freeze, and she darted her gaze about in panic.

Quinn smirked. You know there isn’t anything out here that would be a threat to you, right? You’re the top of the food chain.

Well, one can’t be too careful. You say so yourself. Camellia stepped into an especially goopy pile of mud. She swallowed back a gag as she shook the mud off her foot. This would have been so much easier if I could’ve flown us to… wherever we’re going. But noooooo, my brave guardian won’t fly with me. I’ve never had to walk this much in my whole life! And now I’m dirty, and hungry, and cold, and—

You wanna play a game?

Camellia perked up. Oh, yes, you know I do!

Quinn turned and gave her a pointed look. Let’s play the ‘quiet game’.

Camellia’s expression soured instantly. I don’t like that one. You always win!

Somehow, for the next half-mile, Quinn managed to tune out the princess’s complaints until she spotted it through the trees: a shanty, crudely built from driftwood, daub, thatch, and bits of broken metal. Attached to the shanty was something like a workshop but shaped like a giant chimney, square at the bottom and leading up into a tall stack built from clay brick and stone. Smoke billowed from the chimney, which had been the marker that Quinn had followed for miles to find the place—most travelers skirted around the boglands rather than pass through them, so the owner of this dilapidated home didn’t worry about unwanted guests finding him.

Camellia wrinkled her nose. I thought I smelled something awful. I figured it was swamp brimstone or something.

There’s no such thing as swamp brimstone, princess.

Well, there is now! And it’s coming from there! The dragon pointed at the shanty. Who lives there? Some kind of witch? A troll? A swamp beast with pus-filled boils?

Quinn rolled her eyes. I’m going to stop reading you those bedtime stories. They’re giving you a wild imagination. She dismounted Lazulo and started to walk up to the shanty, but Camellia blocked her way with her tail. The dragon mewed anxiously, wringing her hands together. Quinn patted Camellia’s tail. Relax, there’s nothing so beastly in there as you think. Although ‘troll’ is a remarkably good guess.

The mercenary knocked three times on the wooden door, which trembled with each knock as the rusty hinges threatened to give way. A gruff, raspy voice barked from within the shanty. Go away! If you’re looking for the main road, you’re so damned lost, even the Wayfarer Gods can’t help you.

Camellia’s body went rigid, and her ears flattened against her head. We should leave.

But Quinn waved it’s fine and called through the door. It’s me, Grandpa.

A long moment of silence passed, before the sound of a latch sliding came from the other side of the door. It opened an inch, and an eye framed by sallow, wrinkled skin peered out. Dear Gods, ain’t seen you in ages, Quinn. His voice suddenly dropped low, heavy with suspicion. What’s all this, then? Lookin’ to pluck a few guilders from my pockets? Times is tough. I ain’t a baron, you know.

Last time I saw you, you were the one asking for the handout, Quinn reminded the old man. Anyway, my friend here needs some help. She needs a dragon rider scout. And before you ask, yes, I’ll make it worth your while. She reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew a small coin purse, which she jingled enticingly.

The door opened farther, and what appeared to be mostly man stepped out. Mostly, since parts of him were not flesh and blood, but metal and glass. While his one good eye had an iris of dark brown, the other was made of amber glass with emerald-green swirled into it, set into an eye-plate of copper that covered the upper-right side of his face. His left hand was crafted from steel, with long spindly fingers compared to the bulky sausages of his fleshy right hand. One leg was an iron peg from the knee down. What else of him was flesh or fake, it was hard to say, as he wore a long-sleeved tunic, dark trousers, and a heavy boot on the good foot. An ash-gray cowl covered his head and shoulders, and a leather apron was tied around his waist. He was shorter than Quinn, although that might have been due to his hunched-over stance.

As long as you’re here, he grumbled, snatching the coin purse from Quinn, Would you mind windin’ me? It’s such a pain in my arse to reach around to do it. He turned around to reveal, sticking out through the back of his tunic, a series of wind-up keys placed in spots down his spinal cord. Quinn turned each key fully around three times. A soft clicking came from within the man, and he slowly straightened up with a few cracks of bone and grinds of metal. There we go. Now… He turned back around, and only now noticed the dragon sitting a few yards away. What’s with the giant flamingo?

Camellia stared at the clockwork man with wide eyes—it was hard to tell if her stare was in fascination or horror.

Quinn went to her and reached up to pat her shoulder. Grandpa Edsel, this is Princess Camellia Cloudblossom. Her parents are the King and Queen of the dragon colony in the Mooncrest Mountains. She wants to find a dragon rider.

The old man pursed his lips into an amused grin. Oh, has she, now? For one of her guard-dragons, I suppose. Not the first time those dragons have hired human help, eh? He snickered, jabbing Quinn in the side with his elbow. Those Mooncrest lizards are a funny lot.

Camellia cleared her throat, holding her head high and extending her head crest in regal splendor. Actually, my good m…man? I am in the market—figuratively speaking, of course—for securing an experienced dragon rider from a reputable lineage for myself. I also require at least two references to vouch for their good character and work ethic.

Edsel gave Camellia a cock-eyed glare, and then he proceeded to laugh so hard he nearly hacked up a lung—or whatever might have been installed in place of a lung. Ah ha, that’s a new one! I ain’t never seen any dragon so prissy in all my life! Barely out of the egg, are you now? And so proper-like. Usually, I just get a, ‘give me what I want or I’ll bite your head off’ from you reptiles, but you’re more snoot than snout, ain’t you?

Camellia grimaced and lifted her nose into the air. You forget yourself. You are speaking to a princess, and I don’t have to demonstrate patience with the likes of you, even if you are Quinn’s grandfather. It is only because I like Quinn so much that I don’t… uh… that I don’t tell my Dah and Mum how rude you are to me!

Oooh no, you wouldn’t tattle on me, would you? The old man clutched a hand to his chest in mock fright. Oh, poor old Edsel, being snitched on by the world’s largest plucked turkey!

Okay, that’s enough! Quinn thwacked Edsel on the back of the head. Stop it before you make her cry. Now, do you know anyone around here who might make a good dragon rider, or not?

Edsel rubbed the back of his head, grousing. Any reason her ‘nanny’ won’t—

Quinn shot him a death glare. I’m not a dragon rider, remember? My fear of heights?

Edsel raised an eyebrow at her. Riiiight. So, what’re you wantin’ a dragon rider for? Looking to enlist in the royal troops? Or are you just lookin’ for a pet?

Camellia frowned. If you must know, I’m going to compete in the dragon riding tournament in a few days, and I can’t do that without a rider.

Edsel’s amusement switched into bewilderment. The tournament? Quinn, you’ve told this one she’s loony, right?

Quinn sighed irritably. You can’t tell her ‘No’ once she’s dead-set on something.

Well, ain’t my business if she wants to bust every bone in her body. He rubbed his chin in thought. "There’s a spot in Stonewell right outside these boglands that’s a good place to start. But let me make something clear, princess, he said, his demeanor hardening as he fixed his good eye on Camellia. This has nothin’ to do with references, or good lineage. I’ve seen the most pathetic riders come from renown family lines, and the best come from nothing. This is about heart. I can spot a true rider from a mile away, so you trust my judgment and don’t get all haughty with me, got it?"

The dragon gulped but maintained her poise. Y-yes. But it’s still my choice in the end, so what I say goes.

Deal. Edsel gave Camellia a quick glance-over, up and down. So, where’s your harness and saddle?

My… what?

The old man wiped a hand over his face. By the gods… wait here, I might have something in the workshop that’ll fit an overgrown prawn.

The sound of lances shattering as they clashed against shields made Camellia flinch. She had heard of jousting before but hadn’t understood it was quite so… violent. She was watching from a safe distance, of course, at the tree-line of the forest that was a stone’s throw from the outdoor arena down the hill. Quinn stayed with her, while Edsel had gone down to the arena to scout out the combatants of the day. He had told them this was an unsanctioned jousting arena, a place where anyone could train, noble or peasant—for a small fee, of course. One had to provide their own horses and armor, and the only weapons allowed had to be made of wood and be sanded blunt so as to avoid any fatal injuries. The peasant sons who saved up enough money for their own equipment would come here for a chance at jousting that they wouldn’t get otherwise, and the noble sons enjoyed showing off in a more rugged setting away from their parents’ invasive eyes—a bit of scandalous freedom.

I hope they don’t have any ale down there, Quinn groused. If so, he won’t be back for hours.

This thing is so itchy! Camellia complained, reaching around to scratch under the leather saddle strapped to her back. It’s too tight! And must it be so ugly? Maybe some leather roses sewn along the sides, or some silver bells—

Saddles need to be a little tight, so they don’t shift during flight, Quinn said. And it’s purely for function, not a fashion statement.

It wouldn’t be a bad idea to make them a little fashionable, Camellia retorted. After all, I want to look my best when I win the tournament.

How about finding a rider before deciding you’re winning anything? Quinn narrowed her gaze on the arena. They could see the action well enough, but it was tricky to determine who was who. See anyone promising?

Oooh, I like the one in the green tunic! the princess said. Her eyesight could see farther than Quinn’s, and she was watching the various pairs of fighters with keen interest. He’s very handsome, for a human. And he’s a good fighter, which must make him brave. Or maybe the one with the red sash, he’s the tallest. A tall rider would look good on me. But maybe the one in the light blue would match my scales better—

Dear gods, Camellia, you’re talking about them like they’re accessories!

The dragon gave Quinn a curious look. The dragon does all the work on a dragon riding team, right? So what else is a rider for?

After a time, Edsel came trudging up the hill, which was no easy feat for him with only one good leg. Eh, it’s slim pickings from this group of pups. I asked the proprietor who seemed the most promising warrior, and he says it’s the boy Aeros. His father’s Lord Valence, who comes from a long line of soldiers. Seems a bit green to me, but there’s potential. Handles a horse like he was born in the saddle.

"I am not a horse! Camellia reminded him. But which one is he? Please say he’s the pretty one!"

Edsel rolled his good eye. He’s the one in the armor, with the blue and yellow tabard.

The dragon lifted her head higher to look, and she eventually spotted the one. He is… shiny. And tall enough. And he is quite good with a lance. Yes, I could make that work.

But is he going to panic if he sees a dragon? Quinn asked skeptically.

"No one will panic if they see this one, Edsel said. But I’ll talk to ‘im. I’ll tell ‘im a dragon rider from the tournament can’t participate anymore and is looking for someone to fill in. Say his dragon’s got to compete in order to be considered for the King’s Keep. I’ll see if he’s interested. And if he is, I’ll bring ‘im over, but for gods’ sake, don’t say anything." He shot Camellia a stern look, then turned around and walked down the hill.

Yeesh, your grandfather’s a grump, Camellia muttered.

Quinn leaned her back against a tree. Can’t blame him much, given what he’s been through.

Camellia knitted her brow in confusion, but then it dawned on her. Oh, I see. How did he, you know, lose all those… parts? Was he in a war?

Actually, yes, but that’s not how he got dismembered. You… probably don’t want to know how.

"If you’re going to put it that way, then yes, I want to know! The dragon crossed her arms. You can’t say ‘you don’t want to know’ and not expect me to want to know even more."

Quinn sighed. Dragons.

Camellia placed a hand to her chest, her jaw dropping open in mortification. Noooo! Which dragons? Not Mooncrest dragons!

No, not Mooncrest. But not all dragons are like you. Quinn stared down at the arena. Keep that in mind when you’re in the tournament. Those dragons are trained to win, by any means necessary.

Camellia’s face paled a little. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin in resolve. Thank you for the tip, but I’m still doing it. After all, I’m a princess. Trained dragons or not, they will know to treat a royal with respect.

Quinn shook her head but was silent. The tournament would be a lesson for Camellia, one way or the other. She’d either come out of it a little more humbled, or too frightened or humiliated to ever venture away from the Mooncrest Mountains again. And frankly, either would be good for her.

Is that a… pink dragon? Aeros Valence gawked at Camellia with pure awe. Those are supposed to be extremely rare! Whoever caught her was extremely lucky, or blessed by the gods.

Camellia couldn’t help but smile—this boy knows a special dragon when he sees one!—but she kept quiet while Edsel spoke to the young man, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. Aeros was of modest, sleek build, with cropped blonde hair and hazel-green eyes. His infectious smile was so pure, it could have turned pigswill to spring water.

Nah, this one was acquired as an egg, Edsel said. The owner says they thought they were buyin’ an earth drake egg. It was a one-in-a-million chance. But you can see why they want this dragon in the tournament; no doubt the king would pay a handsome sum to have her in his Keep. But he wants to show she also has dragon riding potential—she’s a bit on the young side, but she’ll put on a show for sure.

Aeros glanced over at Quinn. Are you her owner?

Quinn huffed a laugh. No one owns Camellia. She does what she wants.

Camellia gave a quick nod in agreement, lifting her nose in the air.

I… see. Aeros grinned. I’ve never ridden a dragon before, so I’ll need some practice. Has she been trained?

Not a lick.

Aeros blinked in surprise. And her owner wants to enter her in the tournament now? I think they should wait a few years until she’s trained. How does Camellia feel about this? He looked at Camellia. You can speak, can’t you?

She was born mute, the poor thing, Edsel quickly cut in.

Camellia shot him a dirty look.

But I’ve been assigned to train you both, Edsel added. Used to train new rider blood in my day. I can get you up to speed on the most basic challenges in the tournament. The flight course, the agility track, target shooting on dragonback. Easy stuff.

That sounds fine by me, but it’s still important to know how she feels about it. Aeros looked Camellia in the eyes. I can see you understand what we’re saying. Do you feel like you’re ready? Because if not, then I won’t agree to it. But if so, then I will work very hard over the next few days so we can both be as ready as possible. Nod for yes, or shake your head for no. Do you want to do this?

Oh, he’s so sweet. But so young, Camellia thought. It doesn’t feel right to give him so little time to prepare. But I want to compete so badly! She nodded.

Aeros nodded back, and after a moment of thought, he took a breath and smiled. All right then. My family has lots of open field on our estate. We can train there. My father is away on business, so the timing is perfect. We’ll start first thing in the morning.

"Glad to hear it, boy. Let us work out the details over some dinner at the local tavern, eh? My treat. Quinn, look after