Dragon Legends (Return of the Darkening Book 2) by Ava Richardson Page A
Authors: Ava Richardson
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it must have been like back in the time of heroes, when the sky was split by flights of dragons, the peal of their war-horns, their banners fluttering in the air above, and the Darkening forces rising up, only to be struck down by the Dragon Riders and the Dragon Stones.
Behind me, I heard Thea laugh. I looked back to see her spread her arms out, and I knew she was feeling the same thing I was. To fly like the heroes of legend, deep down that was what every Dragon Rider longed for.
Kalax, too, seemed to be enjoying herself. She called to the winds and soared over the mountains below, her head twisting as she scanned the landscape. We could make out the occasional shepherd’s hut. Flocks of hardy sheep scattered, terrified, over the green grass as Kalax flew over them.
Mutton, Kalax thought at me. She tasted the air with her tongue, then caught the warm updrafts that buffeted the side of a mountain, using them to fly even higher. The air started to get colder, to burn my lungs and sting my cheeks, but I wasn’t afraid. Kalax knew what she was doing. And dragons have wild hearts that need the open sky.
Flying up even higher, it seemed as if I could see to the very ends of the earth. I pulled in a ragged breath. We were almost level with the highest, icicle-sharp peak. Before long, my head started to spin. Ice caked Kalax’s wings. She screeched a triumphant call at the top of the world and dove downwards. The ice patches shattered from her wings, flying behind us in a dazzling, crystal haze. The wind caught at my face, pulling at my helmets and goggles, rattling and pulling on my jacket as we swept like a bolt of lightning toward the sloping mountains.
“The battle between the Dragon Riders of old and the Darkening must have been fought here,” Thea shouted.
I shrugged. I hadn’t grown up hearing all the old stories that she had. I knew most of them now, but to me, it just looked like lots of rocks and snow and more rocks. I couldn’t help but think some of those old stories had been made up. How could anyone find anything here? And why hadn’t someone been here to search before now? But I knew the answer to that—the only way to reach this spot was by dragon. There was no way to climb up, and no way to climb down from the top of the peak, even if you could get there to start with. This one spot seemed surrounded by sheer drops.
Leaning over to one side on Kalax, Thea kept scanning the mountain as if she knew just what she was looking for. She swung out an arm, pointed and waved at one slightly flatter set of rocks that looked almost like giants. “Goblin Rocks. My family has an old painting of the battle, and it was said to have ended here.”
That was as good as any place to start. I steered Kalax to the site, which was like a low cliff, its walls like fingers of rock sticking up. If you squinted and were wearing goggles, they did look a little like goblins peering down the slopes. It was also sheltered from the cold wind, and one of the few places on the mountain where you could hold a duel—as the legends said had happened.
Kalax circled the site and dropped down onto the cliff.
“Thank you, Kalax.” I unclipped my harness and dismounted. Pulling one of the meat pies from my bag, I threw it to Kalax. She snapped it up and tipped her head to one side, asking for more. I shook my head.
Thea had already jumped down, and was lifting her pack off the back of her saddle. She’d had the sense to bring a few tools—a pick and a trowel. “Right, we’d better get started then,” she said.
The ground looked as though it had been used by wild dragons—only dragon claws could dig that deep into rock, leaving deep ruts. Old sheep bones, a horse’s skull, and a collection of scales, half burnished, lay scattered over the uneven rock as well. All signs of dragons. No wonder everyone left this spot alone—wild dragons usually didn’t eat people, but they had been known to defend their territory. Often that
Behind me, I heard Thea laugh. I looked back to see her spread her arms out, and I knew she was feeling the same thing I was. To fly like the heroes of legend, deep down that was what every Dragon Rider longed for.
Kalax, too, seemed to be enjoying herself. She called to the winds and soared over the mountains below, her head twisting as she scanned the landscape. We could make out the occasional shepherd’s hut. Flocks of hardy sheep scattered, terrified, over the green grass as Kalax flew over them.
Mutton, Kalax thought at me. She tasted the air with her tongue, then caught the warm updrafts that buffeted the side of a mountain, using them to fly even higher. The air started to get colder, to burn my lungs and sting my cheeks, but I wasn’t afraid. Kalax knew what she was doing. And dragons have wild hearts that need the open sky.
Flying up even higher, it seemed as if I could see to the very ends of the earth. I pulled in a ragged breath. We were almost level with the highest, icicle-sharp peak. Before long, my head started to spin. Ice caked Kalax’s wings. She screeched a triumphant call at the top of the world and dove downwards. The ice patches shattered from her wings, flying behind us in a dazzling, crystal haze. The wind caught at my face, pulling at my helmets and goggles, rattling and pulling on my jacket as we swept like a bolt of lightning toward the sloping mountains.
“The battle between the Dragon Riders of old and the Darkening must have been fought here,” Thea shouted.
I shrugged. I hadn’t grown up hearing all the old stories that she had. I knew most of them now, but to me, it just looked like lots of rocks and snow and more rocks. I couldn’t help but think some of those old stories had been made up. How could anyone find anything here? And why hadn’t someone been here to search before now? But I knew the answer to that—the only way to reach this spot was by dragon. There was no way to climb up, and no way to climb down from the top of the peak, even if you could get there to start with. This one spot seemed surrounded by sheer drops.
Leaning over to one side on Kalax, Thea kept scanning the mountain as if she knew just what she was looking for. She swung out an arm, pointed and waved at one slightly flatter set of rocks that looked almost like giants. “Goblin Rocks. My family has an old painting of the battle, and it was said to have ended here.”
That was as good as any place to start. I steered Kalax to the site, which was like a low cliff, its walls like fingers of rock sticking up. If you squinted and were wearing goggles, they did look a little like goblins peering down the slopes. It was also sheltered from the cold wind, and one of the few places on the mountain where you could hold a duel—as the legends said had happened.
Kalax circled the site and dropped down onto the cliff.
“Thank you, Kalax.” I unclipped my harness and dismounted. Pulling one of the meat pies from my bag, I threw it to Kalax. She snapped it up and tipped her head to one side, asking for more. I shook my head.
Thea had already jumped down, and was lifting her pack off the back of her saddle. She’d had the sense to bring a few tools—a pick and a trowel. “Right, we’d better get started then,” she said.
The ground looked as though it had been used by wild dragons—only dragon claws could dig that deep into rock, leaving deep ruts. Old sheep bones, a horse’s skull, and a collection of scales, half burnished, lay scattered over the uneven rock as well. All signs of dragons. No wonder everyone left this spot alone—wild dragons usually didn’t eat people, but they had been known to defend their territory. Often that
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