Chapter Text
Three dragons with scales of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies stood before the assembly gathered before them. Their Riders, the first three in over a century since the demise of the Old Order, had taken their places before their respective dragon: Eragon with Saphira, Arya with Fírnen, and Murtagh with Thorn. Although the Red Rider and his dragon had joined the new academy only twenty years after its founding, being personally tutored by them over the course of a decade—and their knowledge of arts best left unremembered—had granted them their position with the leaders. Six pairs of wizened eyes scanned the assembly before them with no small degree of pride and familiarity.
Within the expansive confines of Edoc’sil Hall were all the Dragon Riders of the New Order, as well as a sizable portion of the wildling dragons; through tall and rectangular windows along the western wall shone the clear afternoon sky, the light bouncing off the multitude of dragon scales and casting glittering reflections everywhere. With the bonded dragons were their Riders, all of the four races of Alagaësia. The eldest of them had long since graduated, and some had taken upon them students of their own; while the youngest, despite being in their adult ages, had only arrived for their training within the last weeks. Even so, this event was of a truly momentous and unprecedented occasion that no one would dare miss.
Standing between the assembly and the Elders were sixteen individuals, eight Riders and their respective dragon. Of the Riders there were two representatives of each race: Skëdan and Eldadrí of the elves; Ulugra and Kougrahz of the urgals, both of whom were Kull; Kvaûm and Helvada of the dwarves; and Timna and Ben of the humans. As the representatives gazed proudly into their eyes of their teachers, the dragons held themselves tall and regally before their elders, each having groomed themselves extensively the night before.
Eragon lifted his head and all physical and mental communication ground to a halt. “Dragon Riders, we gather here today for a momentous occasion.” His voice rang clear through the stone halls. “Sixteen of our own will travel beyond our lands, following the sunrise, to document any civilizations they come across. Most importantly, they will act as ambassadors not only for Alagaësia, but for the New Order of Dragon Riders.”
At his final words, the dragons coiled back their necks and bellowed their congratulations into the space of the hall. With them the elves, the urgals, the humans, and the dwarves cheered.
Saphira slightly unfurled her wings and all went silent. To the dragons she was Mother, having spent a great deal of time passing on her lessons to them both in the eggs and well into their lives, and so she garnered great affection and respect from them; to the Riders she was just as motherly, as well as wise and strict. Her sapphire eyes focused on the eight Riders and their dragons before her, and with her mind open to all, she questioned in her authoritative voice, Do you all understand the task which we are giving you? Do you understand that you will be sent into the unknown to fend for yourselves and for one another? Do you understand that there are unprecedented risks to this mission?
Together and as one in the Ancient Language, Rider and dragon replied, “We understand.”
Then Fírnen, his voice deep and rumbling through their minds: Do you understand that, as ambassadors, your every action and word will reflect upon Alagaësia and the Dragon Riders, for good or for ill? Do you understand that, should any individuals of the eastern lands come to Alagaësia, you will be remembered as a first impression for us all?
"We understand.”
Then Thorn, his baritone voice surprisingly gentle and musical: As Dragon Riders, no matter where you may land, do you understand that your duty is to spread peace through your words and actions? Do you understand that it is your duty to protect the innocent and show no partiality for one side or the other, no matter the bonds you may have forged?
"We understand.”
Arya, once the Princess of the Elves and now an Elder alongside her emerald Fírnen, dipped her head only a fraction in approval. “Then we give you our blessings, Dragon Riders. We have trained you well and you have enacted justice throughout Alagaësia on our behalf. We have great faith in you to act appropriately.”
Lastly, it was Murtagh’s turn to speak. The half-brother of Eragon, Murtagh had been an Elder of the Dragon Riders for the least amount of time, but everyone who knew his story respected him greatly. Despite all the pain he’d been through, Murtagh was kind and helpful and was quick to warn students about the dangers of magic and arrogance, citing events of his past under the dragon-killing King Galbatorix. “You all will depart in two days’ time. May good fortune rule over you, peace live in your heart, and the stars watch over you. Dragons, protect your hearts, and protect your Riders. May the sun ever be at your back and the wind always under your wings.”
The sixteen individuals bowed.
Cheers and roars shook the mountain and disturbed birds in the immediate area.
After the ceremony was concluded, the eight pairs were congratulated a thousand times over. Once that was finished, the chosen Riders went to ensure they had packed everything, from multiple changes of clothes to extra weapons. Although the three current leaders had met with them personally only the week prior to discuss their mission and to be given the choice to refuse, to have everything officiated set the choice and the following risks into the uncaring stone of reality.
That night, the eight pairs met together with the Elders in the Chamber of Hearts, a relatively small, secret chamber sung deep into the mountain where the Eldunarya were kept and protected. The chamber was furnished with desks and chairs of elven make, and from the walls hung silken portraits of dragons. Upon a table lay eight Eldunarya, each of respectable circumference: sunset gold, violet, crimson, magenta, spring green, stormy gray, wisteria, and sky blue. All gently pulsed with the life force of the dragon souls contained within.
Instead of the half-brothers and Arya, it was the elder dragons who took control of the meeting.
Saphira nodded at the eight gemlike spheres, opening her mind to all present. As discussed with each of you, here are the eight Eldunarya that will ride with you into the unknown. Split evenly between wildling and bonded, they will act as council and will provide you energy when they see fit to do so.
Then Saphira, Fírnen, and Thorn leveled upon the Riders an intense stare of such a degree that even the dragons held in a shiver. Protect them with your lives, young ones, Fírnen, the Prince of Dragons, said. Our hearts have been abused once, and the wrath of a thousand dragons will rain down upon the fool who does it again. If there are dragons in the unknown lands you will find, it is possible they will not understand the significance of the Eldunarya, even more so for the races that may live there.
Kougrahz, Kull Rider of Dezkegh the Brilliant and the eldest of all the chosen Dragon Riders, stepped forward. In the Ancient Language he said, “We will guard the Eldunarya as if we were ferrying dragon eggs, Elders.”
Good, said Thorn, dipping his head only slightly. That is all we ask. Now, each of you take one, and place it within your saddlebags. They are not to be seen.
Each Rider did as ordered, taking one of the glowing dragon hearts and, with great tenderness, placed them within the confines of the saddlebags.
Once they returned to their rooms within Mount Arngor, the Riders wrapped their Eldunarí in furs, blankets, or in leather to act as extra padding, some even going as far as to introduce themselves to the jewel-like hearts. Only four responded: Brulu, whose heart was storm gray; Aldul, whose heart was crimson; Zoroa, who was wisteria; and Heldivyr, who was the color of spring growth.
The next day, multiple blank, thick, leather-bound books and journals were gathered and enchanted with magic against withering and all forms of damage, as were graphite pencils and kneaded erasers created from tree sap. Mirrors were enchanted to contact any chosen Elder as well as to never break or suffer damage. Extra saddlebags were strapped onto the saddles of the dragons. Public and private matters, few as they were, were closed, though the individuals on the receiving end understood.
That night there was a grand feast in the eight pairs’ honor, the Riders enjoying pastries and plant-based meals while the dragons tore into fresh prey in a distant clearing so as to not befoul the noses of the elven Riders and teachers. After all, no one was under any illusions; it would be decades or even centuries before the eight Dragon Riders return…if at all.
The next day, before sunrise, the eight Dragon Riders met their leaders at the eastern shores of Alagaësia. There the final blessings were given, and the eight dragons took off into the late night sky.
The first island was visible on the morning of their first full day out at sea. Dezkegh tilted his body into a dive towards the rough-looking, forested lands, and Ulnie the Silver-Lined was pleased to follow him. She pulled in her wings slightly, feeling how her feathers sailed and warped over the wind to sustain her cloud-white body.
Ulnie sighed the moment her four paws sank into the cool sand. Taking only a moment to relish in the sensation, the dragoness elegantly folded her wings to her sides and strutted a ways from the pack, seeking space for herself and her Rider.
She sensed Timna’s amusement and felt a small hand pat the scales of her neck. This is only the first stop, Systir.
Don’t I know it, responded Ulnie, coming to a stop a few dragon-lengths away from everyone else and crouching to allow her partner-of-heart to dismount. At least you get to rest comfortably on my back while I do the rest of the work.
Timna chuckled as she began to undo the straps of the saddle. I provide the emotional support.
Ulnie craned her head around to gently nose her human. And what a wonderful support you are, Systir.
Once the saddle was off, the feather-winged dragoness trotted off into the forest. For a time she wove her way through the trees as she first sought a private area to attend to her needs; after that she set out into the forest and scented the soil for prey. Carefully she opened her mind, feeling the land for beasts large enough to provide even a snack—only to for her mind to brush against Madainn, the sun-gold dragoness of Eldadrí the elf.
Found anything? Madainn asked wordlessly, using pulses of thought and emotion to communicate with her fellow dragon. Golden though her thoughts may be, the dull coloration reflected her disappointment, as if she expected a negative answer.
Ulnie melded her disappointment with her packmate. Not at all, she responded in kind, sending the dragoness images of the woods, devoid of animals no matter where she turned. I assume the others have answered similarly?
I’ve already spoken with Otzivask and Skarn, replied Madainn, the images of the two dragons flashing in Ulnie’s mind as the gold referred to them, and they with the others. Dezkegh is circling as we speak. The island seems small, so we may have no choice but to hunt out at sea.
Mild resignation pulsed from Ulnie. She’d already had enough of the blue waters—and it was only the beginning. As of now, the only positive thing about them was that they reminded her of the scales of her mother, of when she was young and loved to curl up against Saphira’s side and watch her memories of joyous flights and of good hunting. So be it.
Timna watched the dragons as they sailed over the ocean and dove into the waters in search of a filling meal. Only moments ago Otzivask, the dragon of the Kull Rider Ulugra, had burst out of the waters—the morning sun gleaming off his scales and the surrounding water droplets—carrying a rather large shark. The evergreen dragon practically gulped down his meal before throwing himself back into the blue.
Timna herself had taken to the sea, alongside the human Rider Ben; they had found good sticks to act as spears and sharpened them, and waded into the water to catch their fish. Once they had caught two fish, each a good size, the humans retreated to the beach. As Timna cleaned and processed the meat on a broad leaf, Ben built up a fire. He set a long, flat rock against the base of the flames, and then he left to forage.
Once the rock was hot enough, Timna set the fish fillets on the slab, pleased to hear the instant sizzling.
“It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in meat,” Ben mused when he returned with an armful of fruit and berries. As Dragon Riders advanced in their training, they were taught to listen in on the land around them, to become one with plant and animal. Through this practice they learned the value of life each animal held, how their daily lives were, in truth, no different from a person’s. Although it was first an elven cultural practice, many members of the Dragon Riders soon shifted to a vegetarian diet.
Well, many meaning all the elves and a smattering of the other races. Everyone else enjoyed their meat, even if it was only to relish in the taste and texture after so many days of fruits and vegetables.
“I think it won’t be long until we expect to see it on our plates,” Timna replied, her eyes scanning the pale sands of the beach.
Each race was segregated, the Kull ] sitting with one another, the dwarves with each other, and the elves together. The urgals and the dwarves did not seem to have a problem taking up meat, but as expected of the elves, their leaf plates held only the fruits and nuts foraged from the forest. She dreaded the day the elves would have no choice but to partake in animal flesh.
They returned their gazes to their dragons; the noble beasts had flown further away towards the deeper waters for better pickings. The dragons played as they hunted, diving into the blue only to burst out from the surface amidst a spray of scintillating droplets. Roaring and baying they dashed and swam, their voices disturbing the birds of the forest.
A time later Timna and Ben flipped their fillets with but a magical word.
“Do you think there will be people there?” Timna inquired. “Well, let me rephrase: Do you think there will be humans or even elves there?”
Ben was quiet for a moment, his brows furrowing as his head tilted downwards in thought. “I would expect to see humans everywhere. As for any elves…I don’t know. But that’s the excitement of it all, isn’t it? To see if there’s anyone beyond the four races of Alagaësia?”
Timna smiled. “It certainly is.”
Soon the fish was ready, and the two humans ate their fill.
Once the dragons had returned to shore, their bellies reasonably full, Kougrahz called everyone together to discuss the next course of action: should they remain for the day, or should they move on?
Madainn, curled around her partner-of-her-heart Eldadrí, waited for the others to speak. She personally wished to remain on the island until the next morning. Although she and every other dragon, wild and bonded, had received flight training from Mother Saphira and Thorn the Storyteller to build up their wing strength and endurance, it didn’t mean Madainn liked flying for days on end.
She could do it, certainly, and she had quite a few times in her century and twenty-nine years of life. But their mission did not have a deadline, so Madainn saw no reason to rush their flight.
Thormûngsag, a bronze dragon bonded to Kvaûm the dwarf, was of the same mind as she. I believe we should rest, he said, his voice deep like Thorn’s. We have been on the wing for a day, yes, but this may be the only island around for a long time yet. We should take advantage of this brief respite.
A few dragons growled their assent, but Sgáthan, dragon of Skëdan the elf, disagreed. I think we should leave today, before the sun sets. The sleek dragoness shifted but her scales did not gleam and glitter; instead they reflected the world around them with dangerous clarity, like a still puddle of water after a good rain, and so the world itself shifted within her countless scales. Here over the sea, as we have experienced back home, the weather is untamed and wild, so much so that even the wildlings will not contend with the sea. We only have a scant few moments of warning before the turning of the weather, and there is little here to turn away the wind as on Mount Arngor. We should move fast and swift before the sky sees fit to hinder us for days.
Madainn tilted her head in acknowledgement, as did the others. Sgáthan’s concerns were legitimate. When every dragon was still but a hatchling, Mother Saphira often warned against flying in horrid weather. Doing so, she would pull them into her two memories in which she flew into a storm; she made them feel her terror and helplessness at how the wind so easily commanded her wings, at how the wind forced her up and down in stomach-churning intervals. It was a lesson none had forgotten, and when a storm blew past every dragon made sure to dart for shelter.
Shelter that, on this flat island, was nonexistent.
Skarn, the multicolored dragoness of the dwarf Helvada, suggested, Shall we, at the least, fly to the other side of the island?
Dezkegh rumbled. I believe that would be best.
In less than an hour the dragons had been saddled. Then they departed.
As they flew low and fast, Madainn studied the landscape underneath. The trees were of various heights, some towering over the others while some were so short they left gaps in the canopy. Birds of strange varieties shrieked and scattered at the many shadows of the dragons flew by. Even from so high up, Madainn’s sharp eyesight picked out little lizards sunning themselves on the rocks, only to skitter to cover as if they thought they were worth the effort.
One day, an amused voice echoed in her mind, you will find an animal worthy of your teeth.
Madainn tilted her head to glance over her wing. Eldadrí sat delicately upon her back, her silver-blond hair tied securely and her pointed ears free for all to see. I should hope it’s soon, rumbled the dragoness. Fish are so unbelievably small, and Otzivask ate the only shark. Good thing the fish group together.
Dezkegh led the pack of dragons at a leisurely pace, and in under an hour the eastern shores of the island came into view.
Such a small island, Eldadrí remarked. It’d be just an ink spot on the map, there only so future ambassadors know it exists as a resting place.
Indeed, and it should come with a warning that the only shark was eaten, and that the fish are small and the waters are salty.
Off the shores rounded rocks impeded the waves of the sea, and tide pools dominated the sleek-looking beach. The pack of dragons settled just on the edge of the forest, some padding off to do their own thing once they were unsaddled.
But Madainn chose to curl up around her beloved Rider as the elf began to write her log of the journey thus far.
From Alagaësia to the Sunrise: The Flight over the Eastern Seas
Eldadrí the Elf of House Tanambria | Madainn of the Golden Sunrise, Daughter of Thorn the Storyteller and Tíe of Twilight Scales; Sun-gold
Skëdan the Elf of House Grásmhor | Sgáthan Mirrorscales; Silver
Kougrahz the Kull Urgal of the Sakagvah Tribe | Dezkegh the Brilliant; Orange
Ulugra the Kull Urgal of the Bolvek Tribe | Otzivask of the Evergreens; Dark green
Timna Brennassdottir the Human | Ulnie the Silver-Lined, Daughter of Mother Saphira Bjartskular, who is also Flametongue and daughter of Vervada Crimsonscales, and Prince Fírnen of the Forest; Cloud-white
Ben Holtsson the Human | Selene of the Midnight Skies; Blue-black
Kvaûm the Dwarf of Dûrgrimst Nagra | Thormûngsag the Bronze
Helvada the Dwarf of Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn | Skarn, She of Many Colors; Gray-brown, silver, gold, red
We were chosen by the Elders of the New Order of Dragon Riders for our skill, professionalism, and seniority amongst the members of the Academy. We have been sent throughout Alagaësia to resolve conflict as diplomatically as possible, leaving bloodshed as the last possible resort. Our mission is to document the lands beyond the eastern shores of Alagaësia and to act as ambassadors not only for our respective races, but for the New Order.
I make this volume to detail our encounters along this journey. I aim to be as accurate as possible, should we return and others wish to follow in our path.
173 ABRW / 8175 AC, June 15, Day 2
The First Island
I, Eldadrí of House Tanambria, daughter of Valatería and Guladanthr, begin this account on the second day. On the first day of traveling we met the Elders on the eastern shores beyond Mt. Arngor; after the final blessings were bestowed upon us, an hour before sunrise, our dragons took to the skies over the eastern seas. Dezkegh led the pack, the rest of the dragons arrayed about him like birds migrating towards their summer roosts. Throughout the day the sea-winds were fair, aiding our beloved dragons upon our determined course.
As the sun rose on the dawn of the second day, which is today, an island stood dark against the newborn light. Dezkegh, his scales as a thousand suns, began the pack’s gentle descent towards the land. It took little less than an hour, but before the sun has fully extracted itself from the waters our dragons made landfall on a pale beach filled more with sand than rocks.
We removed the saddles from our partner-of-hearts. As our six companions began sharpening sticks for the hunt, Skëdan and I went about foraging so as to not deplete our own stores.
With that, Eldadrí went about describing the foraged fruits in great detail. The berries were a strange orange-yellow in color and grew in clusters within their bush of teardrop-shaped leaves. These berries were sweet with a pleasantly tangy aftertaste. The fruits were surprisingly vivid in color and ovular in shape; they grew along broad-leafed trees and had a taste similar to cantaloupes.
After we all ate, and after our dragons had gotten their fill of the fish, Kougrahz called us together to determine the next course of action: do we rest throughout the day on this island, or do we continue on? Thormûngsag the Bronze, dragon of Kvaum, argued to rest, citing that we won’t know when we will encounter the next island. Sgáthan Mirrorscales, dragon of my elven companion Skëdan, argued to fly onwards. We are out at sea, she argued, and sea-storms are violent and unpredictable in their approach; it was best to gain air while it was possible than to be grounded for days due to a storm.
We were divided on the issue, and so Skarn, She of Many Colors, dragon of Helvada, gave a pleasant compromise: that we fly to the eastern side of the island.
“I believe that would be best,” Dezkegh had said, and within the hour we departed the shores.
From above, the island is a moderately thick forest, some trees taller or shorter than the others, and the land is flat. Perhaps the Elders, once they are told of the island’s existence, may divine some purpose for this spot of land. Perhaps after a decade or so of singing this island could host a city exclusive to Dragon Riders as Vroengard was for the Old Order; perhaps it could be a place for private study, a location where more dangerous artifacts are housed and protected from the public. Flying at a leisurely pace, the island is an hour’s flight from west to east.
The eastern side of the island is much like the western. We unpacked and settled with our respective dragons.
I write this now, sheltered under the wing of my Madainn. I can see Kougrahz preparing a mirror to speak with the Elders of our current location. I expect a resolution to our prior debate—to rest or to continue—before mid-afternoon, as it is currently late in the morning.
Madainn wishes for all dragons following in the path of our wings to know that Otzivask ate the only shark, the fish are small, and the waters are salty.
That is all for now.
Much to Sgáthan’s approval, the pack was off by mid afternoon.
The wispy clouds sped by underneath her great wings, the sea moving at a slow pace towards her tail. The sun bore down at her back, hot and miserably humid. By now, a few hours into the flight, the boring island was long gone.
A smoldering sigh billowed out from her nose. At least, over land, Sgáthan could see the landscape change from mountains to trees to fields to lakes. At least, over land, she could see the rough outline of rock separating itself from the vast expanse of the sky, providing her some vague calculation of distance and time. But over the sea there was nothing to provide her any such calculations; the sea appeared to stretch on forever into a void of its own, as if it hoped to swallow up the dragon pack into its endless belly.
Yet onwards the pack flew.
Evening.
Twilight.
Night.
As the crescent moon reached its zenith, Sgáthan turned her green eyes to the glittering sky. It occurred to her then that the stars watched over the world, as did the moon and the sun; they knew how big the world was, they knew what awaited the pack. Yet they were silent about such knowledge and would be until the end of time, offering only directional and seasonal guidance.
Sgáthan sighed.
Twilight.
Dawn. Clouds obscured the last of the night’s stars and caught the first gloomy rays of the day. A gentle headwind blew over the seas, causing the dragons to pump their wings to maintain their speed.
Morning. Day three.
The winds calmed somewhat as the sun drew its lower half over the sea. Although the golden skies were cloudy, the slight haze suggested rain later on, or cooler and humid weather. Sgáthan steeled herself, rolling her wing shoulders with a low rumble, though she knew the rain had yet to come.
Thormûngsag knew their ancestors-given luck had finally run out when dark clouds rolled ahead and the fresh scent of rain hung thick in his nose. Underneath the billowing structures the sea was dark and foreboding, the once-still waves churning under harsh winds, the only light coming more from white-hot bolts of lightning than from sunbeams that were lucky enough to pierce the clouds.
Above, the sky was swallowed into shades of white and blue-gray, lightning arcing to and fro within the great tower that was the heart of the sea-storm. Thunder rumbled distantly like a great dragon waking itself up from a weeks-long rest.
Dezkegh’s mind reached out to the pack as he began to ascend with powerful flaps of his wings. Steel your wings, he pulsed wordlessly, his determination filtering into his companions. Remember Mother Saphira and Elder Thorn’s warnings and advice. Look for currents in the clouds to guide your flight, and stay with the pack!
Meanwhile Thormûngsag was aware of Kougrahz speaking to the Riders in the Ancient Language: Remember Eragon-elda’s spells for sound dampening and air, and Murtagh-elda’s spell for directing the lightning away. We do not know how large this storm is, and we shall take no chances.
And so, dragon and Rider prepared themselves for the ordeal ahead. Words tumbled from the lips of the Riders, calling forth the air bubble within which to breathe and combining with it the spells for dampening the peals of thunder and redirecting lightning that would flash too close for comfort. All the while the Eldunarya had tethered themselves to their chosen pair, providing the Rider the energy necessary to complete and hold the spell and the dragon with the stability they needed to fight the wind.
Higher,
higher,
and higher still the dragons flew,
and still the heart of the thunderstorm loomed ominously ahead, the flat plateau above stretching around for miles at an incalculable height.
Mother Saphira had flown at such a height nearly two centuries ago, many decades before the bronze’s hatching, when she had flown to Vroengard. There, at the top of the world, she and Eragon-elda had found that the sky was hollow like air and that the world was but a great sphere.
Thormûngsag wondered if he would see that, too. What an honor it would be upon his blood, and what a memory he would get to share! His Rider, Kvaûm, would be the first dwarf to see the world from above!
Blinding light flashed, and though the thunder was muted the great bronze still felt the shock in his bones.
But first, the storm.
Darkness soon enclosed them, pushing away the silver of the storm’s pillar-like heart; even with some measure of sunlight reflecting through the highest clouds, the pack connected their minds to one another with thin mental threads so as to be aware of the others’ relative positions. A constant haze of rain pelted the solid-seeming shield of the air bubble while the bubble muted the roar of the storm.
Up and down, up and down the storm drove the pack, uncaring to their vast store of energy and to their shielding spells. Although the invisible bubble provided air and allowed the dragons to cut through some degree of the winds, the storm was undeterred and still managed to force the dragons into corrective maneuvers.
Skarn had flown in three large storms in her century-and-ten years of life, and each and every time she was reminded that she hated it. Dragons belong and the air, yes. But should they fear getting struck down by light, or having their wings painfully twisted by the wind? No.
But though she hated it, her pride would never allow her to admit defeat.
And not just her pride, but Dezkegh’s determination and the Elders’ utter trust in her, in them all, to complete the task given to them.
So when the violent winds pushed at her bubble, Skarn, She of Many Colors, partner-of-heart to Helvada of Dûrgrimst Vrenshrrgn, growled and pushed back, fighting and succeeding in keeping her place in the sky.
And for an eternity she fought the wind until, at last, the darkness began to brighten.
First to a bluish gray, then to blue-white, then to the comforting white the clouds were known for. The sun peered at the pack above a sea of clouds, casting long and dramatic shadows back towards Alagaësia.
Skarn relaxed her muscles as Heldivyr’s energy receded from her, and she made sure to give the ancient wildling’s Eldunarí a pulse of gratitude.
She rumbled to her Rider in the dwarven language, And thank you, too, for the protection spells.
Helvada smiled, the fierce love she felt for her dragon strong in their bond.
Their wings and flight paths now steady, the pack flew on.
The sea of clouds slowly broke from the horizon to reveal only the sea.
Evening.
Twilight.
Night. The skies were still and cloudless, only the fattening moon and the countless stars shining overhead. Below many wings the ocean didn’t so much as ripple, and so it reflected the skies above with startling, dizzying clarity. The pack committed the scene to memory, for it appeared as if they had finally reached the void of the ocean; but instead of an empty space that was blue and hazy, it was a pleasant darkness filled with twice as many stars and two crescent moons.
Twilight.
Morning. Day four. The dragons were nearing their limits, constantly remaining awake with only their Riders and the Edunarya to provide them energy.
Afternoon. Clouds billowed into existence in the skies, the crosswinds buffeting the dragons and their passengers even at their high altitude. The Eldunarya began feeding the pack their energy while the Riders uttered spells to lessen the wind to a manageable amount.
Evening. The winds still raged, the clouds ripped asunder just as quickly as they mended themselves. As the sun lowered its bloated body towards the western horizon, as the east darkened with the void of night, a line of ridges against the southern horizon could just barely be seen.
Selene, the night-blue, moon-eyed dragoness of Ben, alerted the pack. I see what could be land to the south.
Heads turned. Even with the energy provided by the Eldunarya, the pack knew they could not battle the winds forever; and even if the winds abated within the next few hours, it was only a matter of time before the pack dropped one by one from lack of sleep. Not only that, but their Riders needed to stretch out their muscles and attend to their magically-suspended needs.
Dezkegh altered course and opened his mind to everyone. We will dive to escape the wind. Prepare yourselves…now!
Wind lashed and whistled against scale and skin alike as the dragons threw themselves into a steep dive. Wings as flat as possible and bodies ramrod straight, and their Riders leaning forward in their saddles to reduce drag, the great beasts arrowed through the skies, through the growing clouds and against the wrathful wind to reach the calmer gales they hoped would be present closer to the waters.
But, as Mother Saphira warned through her memories, it was good to keep a healthy distance from the deep blue, for there were beasts in the ocean that could swallow a dragon whole.
Through her the pack knew of the Nïdwhal, the sea-dragon cursed with eternal hunger. Through the Eldunarya of Mt. Arngor they learned of the kin who’d been ensnared by those needle-like teeth and dragged howling into the icy depths. They did not want to tempt whatever lurked in these unmapped waters.
For all the days they’d spent out at sea, for all the countless leagues that had passed underneath their many wings, the flight towards the southern landmass did not seem to decrease by any amount. The land remained stubbornly fixated to the edge of the world, absorbed into the sky and the sea in the darkness of night. Not even the waxing moon could provide sufficient light to calculate distance.
Wings flared to temper their descent, however, as the dragons arced out of their dive over the lowest, broken clouds, they noticed stars disappearing behind jagged voids. These voids progressively swelled in size as the minutes slid by.
Mountains!
The dragons flared their nostrils and flicked out their tongues but they caught no scent; the crosswinds allowed them no respite. Stretching out their minds with their Riders and the Eldunarya revealed only the fish in the sea, the thousands of little animals on the beach, and the multitude of animals in the swaths of forest they could sense.
Even so—it was land, and the dragons were ready to rest their wings and receive a day’s worth of sleep.
It wasn’t raining under the clouds, but the winds were still violent, though not as bad as they were at a higher altitude. Selene kept up a steady, burning rhythm as she beat her wings against the wind. The violet Eldunarí in her saddlebag, Zoroa, wasn’t going to help her this time, having withdrawn into himself during her dive. That suited Selene just fine—she truly was grateful for the old one’s assistance, but she wanted and needed to overcome her limits on her own.
Like now. She was aware of Ben channeling some energy to her through their bond, and it was just enough to keep her vision from doubling.
Selene wondered if her pack felt the same, but knew they’d never bend their prides enough to answer. She wouldn’t have.
It took less than an hour to finally make landfall, though with the dragons struggling to remain awake as well as fighting the wind, the hour might had well had been two or three. Even flying high above the trees the Dragon Riders could hear the rustling and creaking of the forest below, a soothing, natural lullaby which pulled at the dragons’ eyelids.
The pack flew over the wave-churned beach and over the boundary of the forest, heading for the star-eating shadows that were the distant mountains, though Selene thought she could make out rolling hills here and there.
Almost there, Selene, Ben soothed, sending her another wave of energy. After three days, we can all rest.
She snorted. Rest? I don’t see any wings on your back!
The human huffed. Turns out, sitting in one place for so long drains your energy! Something about storms and protecting your dragon from getting flipped upside down.
If I had the strength, she threatened half-heartedly, I’d fly us upside down till we den for the night.
Another thirty minutes into the flight the mountains were considerably nearer, and Dezkegh angled himself down to land near the closest mountain’s base.
When they landed, having curled around the mountain’s forested base for protection against the wind, it took all of Selene’s willpower to remain standing and conscious. After a preliminary check of the surrounding environment for danger, the dragons dispersed to seek a resting spot.
Selene chose a nearby grove, a healthy distance away from her pack yet still close enough that they could reach her if the need was dire. Tall grasses and summer flowers swayed with the winds that managed to reach around the mountain, their fresh and soothing scents filling the night air.
Once Selene chose preferred nesting spot, Ben dismounted and got to work releasing the saddle from her body; once it was free, she barely managed to make herself comfortable before the blissful void of sleep overtook her.
As was his lifelong habit, Skëdan was awake just before dawn.
Carefully he extracted himself from Sgathan’s bulk, rolling up his sleeping bag and carrying it out from the shelter of her body to be packed into the saddle. Then he began the four stages of Rimgar, stretching out the terrible kinks in his body as the sky and the forest steadily brightened.
Finished now, the skies a gloomy blue-gray and the last of the stars swallowed by te light, he opted to take a leisurely stroll with a saddlebag strap looped over his arm, seeking a source of water to bathe and wash his clothes in.
The new day had seen fit to lessen the winds, as only a gentle breeze ruffled the leaves and carried the delightful scents of the flowers. Skëdan planned return to this patch of woodland with one of his books, which he titled Traveling from Alagaësia to the East: A Comprehensive Log of Stars, Flora, and Fauna back on the first island when he’d chosen to write about the food he had foraged. He wanted to intricately draw flowers and berries and the occasional animal in the manner of his father, Nönwenrí, who was a respected botanist and a great friend to animals. Likewise, if they were still here after nightfall, as they likely would be, the elf intended to draw a star-map in the manner of his mother, Tháni, who devoted her art and attentions to the nighttime sky.
And in addition to plant studies—the thought struck him—the young elf would bring back seeds for his father’s garden and astronomical trinkets and trivia for his mother.
He may as well dedicate all his eventual knowledge to his family line.
What a sentimental little elf you are, a tired yet amused voice purred in his mind. So engrossed in his thoughts Skëdan was he didn’t notice that Sgáthan had awakened, if only for the time being. He could feel drowsiness dragging her back into the depths of the dreaming world.
The moon-haired elf harrumphed, but a smile formed on his face as he continued his search for water. I…suppose I am. For family, of course.
He felt their bond shudder as she rumbled in amusement. Indeed. But…while we are on the topic, I wish to dedicate something not only to Mother Saphira and the Elders, but to my kin as a whole. Something that will benefit us until the end of time.
The love she felt for them, and for him, made Skëdan halt. To speak again took significant effort. We will find something, Sgáthan. We will be remembered for ages to come.
It took less than twenty minutes to find a river, even less to bathe, change his clothes, and wash the previous set. Drying his washed clothes with but a word, the elf returned to Sgáthan, who had long since returned to her dreams, and restrapped the saddlebag to her saddle. Then, taking out his log and some writing utensils, Skëdan retreated a ways from the sleeping dragoness, and he began to draw.
It was first his father who sparked within him the desire to draw. Nönwenrí’s sketches alone had been lifelike, only one breath away from leaping off the page—and when he finished his weeks-long art pieces, it was as if one stared at an extension of life itself. The family gallery, from one wall to the next, was filled with paintings and colored sketches of plants and animals, and of Nönwenrí’s favorite places in the forest in every season.
Nature is life, Nönwenrí had always said. Capture the spirit of your subject with your pen, and you will bring to life your artwork.
And so Skëdan did.
Tempered by well over a century of practice, his hand glided to and fro over the paper as fluidly as water over a smooth stone. Even coiled up as she was, Sgathan held a dynamic form, her wings casting interesting shadows over her head and body while her scales played against the light. Behind her lay the forest, shaded by its canopy, a dark wall against Sgáthan’s shining light.
His linework done, Skedan began filling in the values, expertly separating the lightest colors from the near-black of the shadows. Miscalculations, few and slight as they were, were easily corrected.
And when he was finished Skëdan uttered a spell to ensure the art would not smudge.
Despite it being only a sketch, it appeared as if Skëdan had made a fairth, a window through which one could see this exact moment of time with great clarity.
Underneath the image, which took up the upper half of the blank page, the elf began to write in the ancient language.
For three days Sgáthan Mirrorscales has been on the wing. For three days Mirrorscales has graced the skies since the afternoon she’d departed the first island, battling two storms and wrathful bouts of winds. And now here the great dragoness lay, resting from her ordeal whilst bathed in morning sunlight, her nostrils breathing in the pure and sweet air of the tender grasses upon which she rests.
Satisfied, the elf gathered his items and wandered into the woodland, searching for his next subject.
To say Dezkegh was tired was an understatement. In truth he wanted nothing more to sleep for a week. The sunlight beaming against his eyelids made such a desire impossible, unfortunately, and the orange dragon was too comfortable to shelter his head under a wing.
Speaking of his wings, they burned as if liquid fire had seeped between his scales and taken up residence within his muscles. That was good, he knew, as the limbs would only be stronger for the next days-long flight. But that meant he could not fly for a time, lest his fatigue return and cause him to plunge into the sea. Brulu, the bonded Eldunari held within his saddlebag, had helped him significantly, but even the storm gray elder-heart had so much energy to spare, and he certainly would not approve of Dezkegh throwing himself back into the clouds so soon.
But not just himself—his pack, too. Dezkegh was the largest and eldest of the dragons chosen to map out the East, and so the welfare of the pack lay upon his honor. How could he face Mother Saphira and the Elders, as well as the other dragons, and say that his deliberate actions caused the needless deaths of the pack?
A thick plume of smoke blasted out from his nostrils. Dragons had laws concerning packs, and this law reigned supreme: the alpha tended to the pack first, himself last; his honor was built upon how well he cared for them, and how much they respected him in turn.
And never let it be said that Dezkegh the Brilliant, partner-of-heart of Kougrahz the Kull, was an unworthy alpha. Pack law would demand his death—or, at the least, the shredding of his wings.
Sighing, the dragon reached out for his Rider, whom he found a significant distance away hunting some game. From the ram’s memories Dezkegh saw that the day’s hunt, which he tracked with Ulugra by his side, was some type of boar-wolf with notable fangs descending from its upper lips. Though far from the size of an urzhad—a mountain bear the size of a fully grown dragon—the bar-wolf was still taller than a normal urgal and would provide both Kull more than enough meat to sate them. He also knew that Ulugra wanted the beast’s hooked fangs while Kougrahz had called for its silver-blue pelt, and both wanted as much jerky as they could possibly make.
Kougrahz spared him a moment. Awake already? he inquired in the rough urgal tongue.
For a time, Dezkegh replied in kind. My wings burn and I cannot, in good conscience as an alpha, have the pack return to the skies anytime soon. I have decided upon three days of rest. We can debate when the pack is awake.
So be it.
Dezkegh lessened the connection, though he took interest in the hunt. It was only after the Kull made the kill, and had begun to process the meat, that the orange dragon allowed his consciousness to slip.
Indeed, the next day the pack agreed that three days, including the current, were sufficient. After a morning hunt and a breakfast of jerky, the Dragon Rider pulled out a mirror to speak with the Elders. Although Kougrahz had contacted Eragon-elda the previous day to inform him of their position, urgal and dragon alike wished to recount to their teachers the flight thus far.
After activating the scrying spell, the pair were greeted to blue scales and folded curtail of membrane, and an empty portion of the study Eragon-elda used.
Dezkegh reached out his mind, knowing that, so long as the dragon is visible through the mirror, they could be contacted. Mother Saphira, he greeted, speaking in the ancient language. This is not a bad time, is it?
A blue head snaked around the scales, two eyes of the same color staring at the mirror, before the great dragoness stood and gracefully whirled towards the mirror. Not at all, Dezkegh, Kougrahz, she replied as she padded closer, her thoughts alight with pleasure at seeing her former students. How do you two fare?
We are well, Saphira-elda, Kougrahz said, smiling. We have decided to rest on this land for three days until we take flight again. We wished to tell you of all that has happened since we departed the island, as we have spent three days on the wing.
Very well.
And so, with Dezkegh sharing the brunt of the memories, the pair informed the sapphire dragoness of all that had occurred. She took it all in without comment, though she seemed pleased when informed of how the Dragon Riders handled the storms. Finally, with the announcement that the pack would be resting at their current location, the eldest of the skulblaka dipped her head in a nod.
I am truly glad you have made it thus far, young ones. Yes, you deserve your rest, for I fear that this is only the beginning of your journey.
Dezkegh rolled his shoulders with a rumble. So be it. We will only return to you stronger.
Saphira nodded, and when she spoke again, her thoughts were colored with pride and love. Tell everyone that I am proud of them. Was there anything else?
Kougrahz shook his head. No, Saphira-elda. We only wished to update you and the Elders regarding our position.
I will tell them.
The Dragon Rider gave the final farewell, and he ended the spell.
At the end of the three days, the pack took to the skies. This time, much to Otzivask’s pleasure, the Dragon Riders were not greeted with the flat, unending surface of the sea. No, before them the land rose and fell with mountains and forests, and in the distance a river glimmered under the midmorning skylight.
Clouds blotted out the blue of the sky, rendering the expanse silver and gray. The air was hot and heavy with moisture.
The previous evening, after everyone had eaten, the pack convened for the next course of action: Should they continue east or explore this land? Without their Riders the dragons had taken to the sky the prior morning to scope out the land, each heading a different direction—and they theorized that either this land was significantly larger than the island, or it was a continent of its own.
At the debate, the majority vote by dragon and by Rider was to explore. For the dragons, they wished to see what prey the foreign lands had to offer. Were their hunting techniques up to par? Would the same strategies work on such radically different prey, or would they have to alter their techniques somewhat? Even better—would they have to come up with new techniques altogether? What new scents would this new land have to offer, and would some be similar to those of home? And most important of all—were there dragons here?
As for the Riders, they simply wished to wander about the new terrain. The Kull desired a good hunt, a worthy story to recount to their brethren, and plenty of bones and fur to pass around as evidence of their tales. The elves wanted to catalogue plants and gather seeds and nuts in the ancient elven tradition of collecting a world’s worth of flowers and trees for Du Weldenvarden. The dwarves sought to study the rocks and compare them to the ores and stones of Farthen Dûr, and if any were found to be interesting, the stones would be packed into the saddlebags. The humans, however, desired a change of scenery, even curious to how a community could live out in these mountains and hills.
After two hours of flight, the mountains flattened into plains and rivers. Great furrows split the earth; some had, countless years in the past, decayed into cavernous holes, gray-brown and green with stone and grass. Many rivers fed into these gouges in the earth, the more shallow of them graced with silver mists spilling up from the dark. Black and gray and brown, birds flocked about the rock walls, having built their nests on the sheer rock face.
Otzivask tipped his nose downwards to gaze within the heart of a chasm as the pack flew over it. Easily hundreds of feet wide, the furrow in the earth as just as green as the land above it, outlined with the brown and gray of its rock walls. Meandering lazily through the chasm was a river as silver as the sky, mottled only with the flight formation of the dragons. Birds flew to and fro, squawking and screeching, all of them too small to be even a morsel.
He snorted. What prospect was a bird when there were boar-wolves and big deer?
After another hour of flight the rivers swelled in size, many coalescing into a few raging flows. The silvers of sky and river melded into a single expanse…only to soon be broken by a dark horizon. Rumbling filled the air as the miles passed underneath and the horizon increased, but not a dark patch could be seen in the sky.
In mere moments the pack sailed over a great waterfall. And fall it did, for the silver sprays cascaded down a sheer cliff down into the thriving forest below.
With great bellows trumpeting from their throats, the dragons dove.
A week of lazy flights and ground exploration led the pack to the easternmost coast of the landmass. Golden light beamed down upon the glittering sea, alighting the pale sands of the coast and casting the broadleaf forest in a calming, ethereal golden-green glow. Water lapped at the shore, the palm-sized, rounded rocks under the surf decorated with rippling sunlight.
To the south the coast stretched onwards, providing more prospects for the ambassadors. Before them, bordered by water, lay another landmass. Forested as well, it stretched more to the north than to the south, its mainland slipping into the horizon. A decision had already been made the day previous, when the new lands had been found: they would go southward, see what was there, before returning to the north and flying for the new land. However, if they were to come across definite marks of civilization, they would abandon the plan to return north to complete their Elders-given objective. As always, the Elders had been updated, the Riders taking care to contact them at an acceptable time.
And so they continued south. As the days passed the daily temperature increased, the humid air becoming painfully dry; the Dragon Riders made good use of the ponds and rivers they came across. The trees became sparse and rocks began emerging from the soil, most imprisoned by tree roots. Soon the pack as forced to travel by evening and camp for the day.
Two weeks in, and the reason for the worsening sun became evident. It was as if the forest hit an invisible boundary and the world began anew.
A…desert?
One would expect golden sands for a desert, wouldn’t they? A few rock pillars here and there, standing tall as eternal sentinels, and beautifully malformed arches curved over one another? Over the years on various missions, the Dragon Riders had been sent out towards the mainland of Alagaësia, and they all had bore witness to the Hadarac Desert, the homeland of the dragons. They vividly remembered the rolling sand dunes, the wavy, static ripples of the dry earth; the occasional tuft of grass, the prickly cacti that came in a great array of sizes and shapes, and the sparse cluster of trees.
But this?
Streaked with soft, pale pinks and warm creams, slabs of rock jutted out from the earth, poking up every which way as if the earth had been disturbed by a great event thousands of years ago. Spaced here and there were trees the likes of which not even the Eldunarya had seen, for their trunks were smooth and shone as polished wood and they stood straight like saplings, yet branches exploded out from their very tops. Some of the strange trees, however, were as trees should be, gnarled and twisted and leaning to or fro, yet their trunks were smooth as well. On the nearest trees short, hanging vines could be seen, as if some sort of nut or fruit had been attached and had long since fallen—indeed, the sands and rocks surrounding the roots of the trees were littered with strange seeds and likely wilted flowers.
The dragons rumbled, shifting their paws in anticipation, and Dezkegh’s mind reached out to all. Our movements continue as it had: we rest for the day and move out in the evening.
Everyone agreed and settled under the shade of an old forest tree, the Riders attending to the saddles while the dragons prepared themselves to scout the strange new desert.
This was something Eldadrí had been working on for weeks now: how to transfer a memory onto a book’s page as one would create a fairth, despite the fact that she lacked the necessary ink. A blank journal she carried with her had taken the full force of the experiments, and as she flipped through the pages it was filled with interesting mishaps: warped images of flowers and animals; memories that took up entire pages, much to the elf’s disapproval; and memories that, despite the defined boundary Eldadrí had sketched for them, had spilled out into the blank page, swirling as though with watercolors.
Yet she kept trying. The rectangular boundary seemed to work best; perhaps it was her wording that needed work?
In the journal, on a fresh page, a new boundary had been sketched. Eldadrí made sure the lines were straight, the rectangle parallel with the sheet of paper. With the image of a pure white flower in her mind, the elf maiden uttered her spell.
“Let that which I see in my mind’s eye be replicated within the graphite boundaries of the frame I drew on the page.”
Before her very eyes the rectangle she drew began to fill up with color. In less than two seconds the memory had been successfully duplicated with not even a warping or blending of color and shape.
In awe, Eldadrí ran a finger over the image, her touch gentle. The memory felt as paper should, but the graphite smudged.
After a few more test runs, each time with the graphite magically set, Eldadrí took her log in hand and walked close to the boundary of grass and sand and rock, settling down on the root of a crooked forest tree. She flipped to the thirteenth page, which still had ample space for an account—although she had not written for every day’s events and speculations, she had still gathered thirteen pages worth of content—and began to write.
173 ABRW / 8175 AC, July 12, Day 29
The Pink Desert
Here she sketched out a broad rectangle underneath the day’s title, set the graphite in place, and allowed her eyes to scan the alien desert, using her fingers as a frame. As they had desired, the dragons were scouting the land, all considerable distance away and sniffing about the rocks and the trees. Then, uttering the necessary spell, she transferred the memory into its portion.
Notice the image! Of course, I need not tell you; I only wish to brag for, as I have written in the days past, I have suffered two weeks’ worth of frustration and a sacrificed journal to ensure my memory is accurately transferred onto paper. Rest assured that I will be using this spell more often in my recounts and documentations.
As you have already read, this day’s account is titled “The Pink Desert”. You see the titular desert above, the barren land indeed pink in color as a spring wildflower. They are hard to miss, as their scales shine as the finest of gemstones, but our dragons can be seen in the distant background. They have chosen to scout the land, while we, their Riders and partners-of-hearts, have chosen to rest.
Although I know that the height of the summer season encroaches upon us, each day burning more with the fury of the sun, I call this land a desert for its emptiness. As with the Hadarac Desert, the Pink Desert sways and ripples with the sweltering heat rising from its compact, shattered ground. The desert extends far to the south—as we are currently heading southward—and I imagine we will be at the mercy of the sun and the dry winds for a while yet. As detailed before, we will be traveling by evening and night, when the blistering skies are at their coolest, and camping for the day.
Trees, the likes of which I have not seen illustrated in even the eldest of Du Weldenvarden’s botanical encyclopedias, grow in this desert in sparse abundance. I shall describe them here. Later on, when opportunity presents itself, I shall include an image of one from a personal perspective.
And so she did, relying upon her memory and Madainn’s eyes and nose to describe the desert-tree to the best of her ability. Finished with that, she turned her attentions to describing their current location, even going as far as to insert an image into her description, showing all her future readers the forest that stretched to the north as well as her companions in the near distance. Then Eldadrí ended the day’s log and returned to where Madainn’s saddle lay.
Under the moonlight, the rocks shone silver. Where the colors were lightest, however, the rocks seemed to glow. Strangely, even the big-smooth-desert-trees seemed to catch the young moon’s light, the bark like beacons under the stars.
Thormûngsag found it beautiful, a location worthy of great beasts such as he. Even now, the trees so large the pack could roost within the branches without fear of encroaching upon one another, Thormûngsag knew that, had he been a wildling who had chosen to see the world, he would take this place as his territory and roar his dominance and power to all who could hear.
Numadrum, the wildling elder-heart within his saddle, sent a pulse of agreement. Communicating in pulses of thoughts, emotions, and sensations, he said, My bloodline is one of few who can truly claim the desert mountains as home. We were there when the grasses swayed under the winds—here an image filled Thormûngsag’s mind, the holder of the memory ancient beyond words and long dead: the old slate-gray dragon stood within the cave he had clawed out with his very talons, watching the tall grass and the vibrant spring flowers which filled the expanse ripple under the cool and gentle breeze—and we were there as the land dried under the harsh sun and our kith sought more plentiful territories—and another image, this one from Numadrum’s many-greats granddam: in the very same cave the tan dragoness lay, the sun’s light heavy yet pleasant upon her scales, and she overlooked the rolling hills of sand disintegrating under the wind’s merciless caress. We were hardened by the change, more ferocious and aggressive even for dragons. We ruled the mountains, our matriarchs ordaining traditions and enacting justice as they saw fit—elderly females filled Thormûngsag’s mind, their heads high, their brows set, and necks gracefully arched; their bodies muscular, battle-scarred, seasoned, and their wings broad and elegant when folded by their sides. Sky blue, black, gray, purple—a multitude of colors flickered as the images passed. These females were Numadrum’s ancestors, his many-greats granddams, many-greats aunts, and his distant cousins—all those who were chosen to become elders and protectors of the mountains. Males fought to breed our females every mating season, and females sought to carry our blood and legacy.
Yet, the magenta elder-heart continued, his thoughts thrumming with curiosity, had we flown from the land and found this desert, we would’ve claimed it as our bloodright and killed all opposition. A fierce and untamed pride saturated his final pulses of thought, and if Numadrum could roar, the skies would’ve quaked and the animals would’ve cowered under the power of his bellow.
Thormûngsag rumbled loud enough to entice the curiosity of Ulnie and Timna; they glanced at him for but a moment before returning their eyes to the alien landscape. I did not know the mountains had a hierarchy of bloodlines, elder, he pulsed, weaving his confusion and interest into the impressions of thought. Is it possible that the foreign wildlings will have a hierarchy as well?
Numadrum did not respond for a time, his magenta consciousness swirling. Then, Likely. Phantom dragons filled the darkness behind the bronze’s eyes, their scales colorless and features varied in speculation. Hierarchy or not, be wary, for wildlings live more by instinct than reason. Against the golden sands of the desert were a pack of three wildlings—wine red, dark twilight blue, and summer green; crouched and ready to attack, they faced the Numadrum and his pack of males, one of which was his nestmate. You’ll be competition. Food—a freshly-eaten bison carcass—shelter—a warm cave, a sandstorm raging about outside—mates—two bulky males fighting over a watching female. If they don’t drive you away, they will try to kill you.
Then they have another thing coming. Thormungsag responded with an image of his own, of the phantom-wildling attacking him and his Rider; the great bronze was reared up on his hind legs, mouth agape in a roar, while Kvaûm sat frozen upon his back, a harmless defensive spell forming on his lips. We may be tame, but we are still dragons.
Indeed, hatchling. Bonded or tame, we have claws, teeth, and our flame.
They had, as surely as the sun was hot and the sands were pink, landed on another continent.
On the first day of flying, allowing the winds to determine their speed, the land was relatively flat. The strange, fat desert-trees sprung up here and there, some so large they could fit all the dragons between their sprawling branches. Small animals, recognizable as deer and antelope but definitely unlike those in Alagaësia, pranced through the underbrush, skittering away as great shadows passed over them; and every now and again the pack saw large hooved animals, solitary in nature, crane their long necks to dine upon the very tops of the trees. The pack had encountered only a single, oasis; the Riders used their combined magic to dig basins into the earth, and then to summon water from the soil underneath.
Near morning of the second day revealed a shifting of scenery: rounded boulders graced the land, the trees became smaller and more spacious, and tufts of rough desert grasses and other plants sprouted unimpeded. During the day the dragons had scouted, and continuing the trek in the evening solidified their claims about a possible canyon ahead. Circular, pillar-like rocks, formless in shape, and buttes stood like eternal sentinels over the land, and the solid ground began to dip and rise as if great rivers had smoothly carved through the rock countless ages ago. Low-growing, shrub-like trees now dominated the landscape alongside the tough grasses, and animals could be seen and sensed scavenging and grazing around. An hour after nightfall the dragons settled by a moderately-sized, lazy river, tender flora flourishing along its borders; there the dragons drank their fill of water and the Riders refilled their waterskins before they resumed their journey, the river their only guide.
Less than ten minutes later the river was joined by another, then another thirty minutes later, then more in less than an hour after. Flying to Dezkegh’s left, Skarn and Ulnie saw starlight glimmering off more channels far to the southeast.
Only two hours after they continued their flight, the combined rivers tumbled over rocks, over tree roots, and then under upraised sheets of earth, until it finally tumbled into a winding corridor of rock walls.
They had finally reached the canyon.
Like thunder, the streams of water crashed no less than a half-mile into the land below, forming the head of a river which then began to flow southward. This river, even from the dragons’ altitude, was of a significant size, one or two fingers thick from the Rider’s perspective. Frothing from the waterfalls and from boulders poking out from the depths, the river meandered lazily throughout the canyon.
Hours passed, and the top rim of the canyon widened until it was as if the earth had fallen away from the dragons; great shelves of earth, dark with a fine layer of vegetation, slanted downwards towards the center of the canyon as if beckoning the dragons to land. More rivers fell into the earth, feeding the waters below until it swelled to the breadth of a hand, the great river alternating between reflective calm and frothing rapids.
Like a snake the river slithered along its path. At some areas the river straightened, at others it appeared to curve as if to double back, before returning to its southern course.
As the moon slid past its peak the river branched out into five streams: two continued south, another to the east, and the final pair wound westward before coalescing back into a single unit.
The dragons continued south. As the sun rose and began its course above the clouds, instead of choosing a place to rest, the Dragon Riders instead choose to brave the heat by flying low into the canyon. Around dinnertime the canyon slowly lifted itself up as if merge once more with the land, and halfway to evening the land was again varied with cliffs and buttes.
This time, however, tall, flowing grasses could be seen, swaying lightly under the gentle breeze—a definite marker of a shift in biome. Pale silver-gold, the grasses were tufted with an almost feathery growth, and some patches of plants were paired with multiple thick-stemmed, thistle-like, yellow and orange flowers.
Dezkegh’s voice reached out to all. We rest on the plains tonight and the day after. After that we shall discuss our next action.
Selene and Skarn flew overhead as Ben and Helvada aimlessly wandered the grasses of the eternal plains. They had long since rested for the night and well into the day, and the two Riders were impatient. Ben disliked being cooped up like a chicken, like a disobedient child, for too long, even under Selene’s sheltering wing. Helvada, being a dwarf, never liked the seemingly endless expanse of the plains, no, not even of the seas; only Skarn gave her comfort in such places.
Both had felt the need to travel, to work out that agitated energy. So, with their dragons as their guides and with their minds open for danger, they ran. They ran for what seemed like hours, nimbly leaping over rocks and over what could be gopher holes, but in reality only less than a half-hour had passed.
And then they had slowed, and now they were wandering.
The plains looked the same as it had: pale green and withering yellow, a tree or a boulder here and there, desolate and empty.
Both Riders were aware of their dragonesses communicating with one another in pulses of thought, image, and emotion; the topic of discussion was incomprehensible to them, but they caught flashes of the same tall, long-necked, hooved animals from the other side of the canyon, as well as stout, tan, horse-like creatures and huge, dark, horned animals with shaggy pelts.
Then surprise and relief and confusion washed over the dragonesses, so great in degree that human and dwarf alike paused in their tracks and cried out in joy, turning to the southeast.
At last! Selene said.
Men! Skarn crowed at the same time, though the image the dragonesses sent down to their partners-of-hearts was quite the oddity indeed.
It appeared as if a man was riding a cat-like beast. The beast had a short pelt red as dried blood, wide paws, powerful haunches, and a tufted, serpentine tail which swayed with feline grace. Sheltered within the sparse shade of some trees, he sat upon no saddle that the Riders could tell, as he wore an animal-pelt over his torso that spilled over the mount’s withers. Where the man’s legs should hang there was nothing. The beast had no head, merely beginning at the shoulders yet was fully controlled by the man, as the animal stood still and patient upon a slab of silver stone overlooking a herd of humpbacked, long-necked animals and tall, spiral-horned animals.
The man was dark-skinned like Ben, perhaps a shade lighter. His short, wild black hair gave him a roguish appearance. The pelt he wore over his body, and possibly obscuring his legs, was decorated with multicolored beads. At his side, where the pelt hung free, there was one visible pocket. As he scanned the herd, his head sliding towards the dragons’ eyesight, the Riders saw that his face was rectangular in shape. Sharp cheekbones jutted out from his face, and at his chin grew a clear-cut goatee.
The beast made to lie down. Much to everyone’s shock, the man swayed upon the beast’s back, leaning forward unnaturally as the animal settled. Then he lifted his torso back up, arms at rest in front of him.
Then the dragonesses focused upon another man and beast duo, this one attending to a humpback that had just given birth. The man was burly, as was his green-furred beast. Coiling silver hair lay tied back into a ponytail, and obscuring his lower face was a long, trimmed beard and mustache. Over his muscled torso was a mere shirt. Then a slight breeze caressed the land, lifting up his tan shirt to reveal golden skin fading seamlessly in the animal’s body. Muscles flexed and shifted as the man bent his predatory forelegs and leaned his torso down to check upon the newborn.
Ben’s eyes widened. Men-beasts?
Helvada cursed. How is that possible? Why would the gods make such…creatures?
Selene cut through their confusion. We can finally fulfill our mission! No longer will we wander like wolves without territory!
Besides, Skarn cut in with no small amount of enthusiasm, aren’t you interested in their culture? Their architecture, their nests? They cannot pivot as you can, and they cannot swing their weapons lest they strike themselves. Are you not curious as to how they work around such difficulties?
They were. Horrified though the Riders may be, they were curious as to the daily lives of a race that had the torso of a man but the full body of a beast. Without another word the Riders turned and ran back the way they came, the dragons having already wheeled back.
When they returned to the camp, Selene and Skarn had already landed, and the pack was roused. With Ben and Helvada giving their accounts, the truth was undeniable. At last, after three-and-thirty days of travel, their titles as ambassadors would come into full effect. At last, they could display their near-two centuries of diplomacy and wisdom and forge a friendship between this continent and Alagaësia.
Otsivask and Ulugra pointed everyone towards a pond a few minutes’ flight away and the Dragon Riders took turns bathing and grooming for first contact the next day. Kougrahz and Dezkegh went last, choosing to update the Elders of the good news, to which Arya and Firnen, who had answered the call, reacted with great relief and excitement.
It was difficult to sleep under the near-half moon that night, as only one concept had repeated itself in their minds: They had finally reached civilization.