Dragons of Daegonlot - Shanlynn Walker (read after TXT) 📗

was on a journey that, if successful, could mean the downfall of all dragonriders, especially if what Trakon believed was true and there were dragons trapped within the Dragon Orb that held the rider’s dragons in thrall. If they could manage to destroy the Orb, and essentially break the hold it had over the ‘tame’ dragons, they could very well revert back to their natural wild state and want nothing to do with their riders. Daxon hoped this wouldn’t be the case for all the dragons in Goldenspine, but he couldn’t dismiss it out of hand. He thought of Roila and Obrin and how sad they would be if their companions turned on them, or simply flew away, never to return.

Obrin and Roila are good people, ‘Thira said. I don’t think Balasta or Rylik would turn on them. I don’t know if they will fly away, but I do know that dragons were never meant to be slaves, which is essentially what they have become. They deserve the chance to choose, like I did with you.

Dax flushed with pride at ‘Thira’s words. Other than Trakon, he was the only person he knew of that had actually been chosen by a dragon not under the influence of the Orb. He and ‘Thira had a true friendship, based on mutual affection and trust, not something forced on them. He agreed with everything ‘Thira said, and although he hoped with all his heart that at least some of the dragons would choose to stay with their riders, it didn’t change his mind about the Orb. It had to be destroyed. Whether the dragons chose to stay or leave, it would be their choice and they would be able to live out the rest of their lives however they chose.

Sylas plunged into the Myste fearlessly. After all, being a creature of the Myste he wasn’t afraid of what he might find within, he already knew. Most of the time the Myste was empty, completely devoid of any sort of life, but occasionally, it formed itself into something more solid to deter travelers from coming through from other worlds, or to protect other worlds from the inhabitants of Darkenfel. That was, after all, its job, its reason for existing, had been Sylas’ reason for existing once upon a time. Before he met Trakon.

The first time Trakon had seen Sylas he immediately turned to run the other way, but Sylas had simply dispersed and reformed in front of him. Before he could much more than take on solid form, Trakon had thrust forth his arm, hand open, and called forth a green blast of earth magic that had hit Sylas and somehow made his form more solid. It hadn’t hurt, had, in fact, made Sylas feel more permanent, more alive, and left him wanting more, which Trakon unwittingly obliged. After a few more doses of magic, Sylas had taken his first breath, had needed to take a breath, in fact, something he had never experienced in his brief existence, and it was exhilarating.

From that moment he had actually felt something; a deep, deep gratitude to the old man he later came to know as Trakon, for making him a living, breathing creature and not just a figment of the Myste’s imagination, a figment that would have been dispersed and forgotten as soon as the threat it was formed to take care of had been erased. After he had convinced Trakon he meant him no harm, which was no small feat in itself, they had become almost inseparable. Over time they had learned he could leave the Myste completely and didn’t have to linger on the edge, although he had to return within a week or he started to feel like he was coming apart. They had found out together that the earth magic that now resided within him had forged with the Myste and allowed him to become the deadly green flesh-eating fog that had eaten Dax’s arm, and that it could also heal.

Now he walked along beside Trakon, unseen by the rest of the party except for his slightly glowing green eyes. He watched with interest as the Myste found Trakon’s earth magic and began to feed on it, twisting it this way and that in an effort to draw it out. He whined, softly, the sound smothered as soon as it left his throat by the thick, grey abyss, and no one in the party heard his silent warning.

Trakon whirled around, sure he had felt something touch his shoulder, only to find nothing there. He didn’t know how long he had been walking in this dull, grey, shifting world, but it felt like a lifetime. Everywhere he looked all he saw was grey, and no matter how hard he strained, there was nothing to be heard. Vaguely he remembered entering this place with a large, grey dog and someone else, but he couldn’t remember who. They were probably dead now, anyway, he thought. Not him though. He never died. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t die, but there was something holding him to this life, something he could still feel even after all this time; a distant plea, a soft whisper for help.

He dropped his hand to his side and immediately felt a warm, soft tongue lick his fingers. In an instant it all came back to him and he dug his fingers into Sylas’ fur, trying to maintain his grip on reality. Ever since they had entered the Myste with Daxon and Drakthira he had been losing his mind a little at a time. Each time he had been brought back to reality by Sylas, but it lasted for only a short period.

He tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and maintaining physical contact with Sylas, but inevitably, something seemed to trip him from within the Myste, and as soon as his hand lost contact with the big dog’s fur, his mind once again wandered.

He found himself back with Rakisa, her beautiful blue scales shining in the sun as she flew with him over Darkenfel. This is why I can’t die, he thought to himself as they soared above the clouds, because Rakisa still needs me.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, not understanding where it had come from. Rakisa obviously didn’t need him, she was right here with him and they were flying as they always did. She dipped beneath the clouds and began to spiral towards the ground, slowly and lazily. Just before they touched down, Trakon saw Jessa come running towards them, a big smile on her lips, her eyes shining with excitement. “I found it!” she said, breathless.

“Found what?” Trakon asked, reaching out to embrace her. She smelled so good, just like she always had, like sunshine and fresh clover. He held her close to him, breathing in her scent, and a small tear escaped from his eye and trickled down his cheek. He brushed it away, quickly, surprised that he was crying when he was so happy. He looked at the tear clinging to his finger, saw the sun shining through it, the rays breaking apart inside to come out in a small rainbow of colors so bright he could only call them…

“…True colors,” he whispered, closing his eyes tight. A tiny voice in the back of his mind was screaming at him, warning him, but he didn’t want to let go of Jessa, didn’t want to lose her again. Without opening his eyes he felt the darkness gather around him and he heard her laughing, not in joy or jest, but maliciously, as he had heard her laugh once before, a long time ago. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and took a step back.

Jessa stood before him, but not as he remembered her. Her face was twisted in a snarl of victory and in her hand she held a staff with a brightly glowing yellow orb. She walked past him, and when he turned to see what she was doing, he found her standing over Rakisa, brandishing the staff and chanting huskily. As he watched, the orb began to leech the very color out of his dragon friend, until all that was left were translucent scales. From where he stood he could see the blood running through her veins, her massive heart pumping it strongly from one end of her body to the other.

With all of her color gone, Rakisa roared in protest and tried to lunge at Jessa, but the staff wasn’t through with her. Now that her color was gone the staff began to absorb her very being. It looked like an invisible hand reached out and grabbed Rakisa by the tail, pulling her into the orb which was swirling faster and faster. Trakon watched, helpless, as she was dragged inch by inch into the Orb that was now a frenzy of blue and yellow, the colors churning so fast they blurred into a brilliant green.

Just before Rakisa was pulled completely into the staff, she turned her head and looked at him, her eyes wide with fear. Free me!, she roared, her claws scrabbling, digging up huge tufts of earth as she tried to get free, before finally disappearing completely into the Orb.

Once Rakisa disappeared, Trakon’s feet unglued themselves from the ground. He ran at Jessa and tried to wrest the staff from her grip. “Let her go!” he shouted, still trying to wrap his mind around what she had done. This was not the Jessa he had known, but instead a warped, hateful shadow of the woman she had been, the woman he had spent many nights with, walking and holding hands, talking about their dreams and where they were from, making love under the light of Darkenfel’s six moons.

Looking into her eyes he realized that woman he had known was gone, had been transformed by jealousy into this creature before him, this thing that had somehow figured out how to trap dragons and bend them to her will. He struggled harder for the staff, desperation lending him strength. Just as he thought he might get it from her, a large yellow and green dragon landed behind him and roared in defiance. He turned slightly to the side so he could see the dragon out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to let go of the staff.

Trakon gave a final heave, his feet planted firmly on the ground, and for just an instant Jessa lost her grip on the staff. In that split second, a voice in his head begged, Kill her. Free us. He whipped his head in the direction of the yellow dragon and saw sadness and confusion, as well as a determination in its eyes. It took a step towards Jessa, taking a deep breath to stoke its internal fire.

Jessa had stopped laughing the moment the staff left her hand. Quick as a fox she leaped forward and grabbed the staff again, and Trakon heard her chant something under her breath. When he looked back at the yellow dragon, its eyes burning with hatred and rage, he knew it was once more under her control. Instead of blowing fire that would have burned both him and Jessa to a crisp, the dragon swiped at him with its foreleg, a claw catching his robe and tripping him, the staff slipping from his fingers as he fell.

He landed hard on his side, but quickly regained his balance and began to run as fast as his legs would carry him. He was no match for a dragon. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw the yellow dragon take flight after him just as he felt a warm, wet substance on his fingers. Glancing down to see what it was, he saw Sylas dancing around and barking excitedly, staring at something off to his left.

Realizing he had drifted off again and that he was