Daenero

Parry, then thrust. Block with the wing guards. Try to trip him with your tail. Almost… almost…

Daenero crashed to the ground, the loamy black soil of the Wispwillow Grove spraying across his glittering wings.

Sear it, he thought. I shouldn’t even be here.

This pale Skydancer was not of his clan. None of the dragons he’d lived and trained with these past months were. His clan, the dragons he had chosen to make his family after leaving the Sunbeam Ruins of his birth, were far away to the south. Most dragons found the Snowsquall Tundra’s frigid temperatures inhospitable, but Daenero missed the scrubby trees and ice fields even more than he had expected.

Daenero wasn’t sure how he’d ended up so far from home. As the most promising warrior in a mostly peaceful clan, he had agreed when the clan’s leaders had voted to send him to take an apprenticeship under a stronger warrior. That had been before he had heard which clan he was going to.

One of the clan leaders—he still wasn’t sure who—had a relative in Shadowbinder’s distant lands who knew a Skydancer that was rumoured to be a master swordsman. Few dragons had ever trained with weapons the way Moondust had and, although the silvery dragon rarely spoke of his past, Daenero had heard rumours of a brush with death in the illicit exalt markets that plagued Sorneith. The Skydancer, it was whispered, had been sold into slavery and only narrowly escaped. He had come to be one of the first members of this clan living in the wood-lined tunnels of an ancient tree, but had never forgotten his past. He had mastered weapons in a way few dragons could match, determined never to return to the markets.

So Daenero trained. And he lost, every time.

It was some small comfort that Moondust’s handful of other students lost just as often, and just as badly, as Daenero did. Still, he should be better. No dragon should be able to turn his superior size and strength against him like Moondust did, but his teacher simply didn’t seem to care.

Parry, then thrust. Tail swipe, then—Daenero tripped over a root he hadn’t even seen, and found himself stumbling. Moondust was on him in an instant, and he tasted the Grove’s loamy soil for the second time that day.

Moondust looked down at him coolly. “Again,” he said, and turned to walk back to his side of the makeshift arena.

I should be better than this. Daenero roared, hurling himself at the Skydancer with everything he had. Moondust spun back toward him faster than Daenero could follow. He barrelled into the smaller dragon anyway, but compared to the swordmaster he was hopelessly slow.

“Surprise.” Said Moondust, settling his feathers back into place. “A good tactic. If I was another dragon, that may have worked.”

Daenero flushed with pride as Moondust turned away. He didn’t even see the Skydancer’s tail until it slapped against the side of his face.

“Surprise.” Moondust said again, striding from the practice grounds. “Works both ways. You are all dismissed.”

Daenero sighed, then hurried after the older dragon. Marcavia, his usual sparring partner, made as if to follow him, but Daenero brushed past her without speaking.

“Sir—” he started, but Moondust cut him off.

“I know, Daenero.”

“You… know, sir?”

“Yes. Gudrun had a messenger from your clan last night asking that you be returned to them as quickly as possible. The same one, I believe, that brought you your letter.”

“I’m sorry to leave without finishing my training with you sir.” As he said it, Daenero realized it was true. He would miss this place, but even that could not dampen his excitement to be returning south.

“Don’t worry son. You’ve done well. I’m proud of you.”

“I have?” Daenero was stunned. He hadn’t felt like he’d been doing very well.

“Any dragon can grow stronger. What is impressive is the dedication it takes to reach the skill level I see in you. That move today was impressive. Not perfect, but still impressive.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now get going. I think you owe farewells to a few dragons before you leave. And I know Marcavia will be furious if you leave without saying anything. She hates being without competition.”

“Yes… yes sir.” Daenero hurried back toward the clan’s strange Heart Tree, his mind already soaring back toward the glittering expanses of his frozen home.