Tailwind (The Dragon Rush #1)

CHAPTER ONE

I fell through the sky on a dragon that wasn’t mine.

The cream of the sandstone cliffs deepened to gold as the sun grazed the horizon.

The sea rippled like fire underneath us as I tipped my head back and flung my arms wide.

The sky was mine. Well, it truly belonged to Gottyk, the dragon I was riding, but neither of us could be there without the other.

The leather straps at my waist went taut as he changed direction and my ass left the seat of my saddle, pulling me back into focus. I leaned forward once more, gripping the reins that followed the length of his serpentine neck, attached to the bridle on his head.

‘Are we going to have some fun or not, buddy?’ I called out to him. My voice may have been muffled by my helmet, but his hearing was more than good enough to catch my teasing.

In answer, he arched himself upwards and pumped his wings harder, taking us towards the evening sky.

I squinted as the light reflected off of his bright orange scales.

It took a moment for the augments in my helmet to dim the visor.

I grinned despite the cheap equipment, knowing exactly what he would do.

We’d played at this game since he’d been big enough for me to ride two years ago.

We climbed high enough that the peninsula we’d launched from down below was smaller than a finger.

Despite the sun, the air here was cold, thin enough for me to start losing heat.

A gentle warmth began to spread out from my chest thanks to the flight-suit augments.

The copper threads embedded in the lining of the suit tried their best to carry power from the suit’s arcanite, but my left leg remained cold.

Feelings like hot and cold didn’t matter though, they paled in comparison to what came next.

Gottyk stopped flapping his wings. He tucked them into his sides, brushing my calves.

Without the power of his wings carrying us up, it was time for gravity to bring us down.

Yet there was a brief moment when the ground had no hold on us.

My stomach flipped as every part of me lifted slightly, weightless.

It reminded me of what it was to be alive. To be free. To fly.

Then we fell.

Gottyk pointed his nose at the ocean below, an arrow slicing through the air. I crouched closer to his back, doing my best to become one with the aerodynamic spikes that trailed along his spine. The wind had been strong before, but it was nothing compared to this.

The air itself fought against us, trying to rip me away from Gottyk.

The thrum of resistance vibrated through to my core.

My hearing became thick from the air-pressure change, before popping to leave me lightheaded.

All the natural forces of the world rallied against me, telling me I didn’t belong up there … Yet there I was.

The flight suit did its best to compensate, applying pressure to my legs to stop my blood rushing away from my brain. It tightened around my neck and shoulders, anchoring my head in place.

I silently thanked the ancient humans who’d decided to experiment with the shiny, mysterious arcanite that now powered my helmet and flight suit. Without them I’d have been broken and unconscious many times over, or even worse, slow.

The ocean rushed towards us with a speed that set me alight. Even under my helmet and padded suit I could feel the air blasting against me. I could have lived in that feeling forever.

‘Don’t be a wuss this time, Gottyk!’

He tightened his wings further, committing to the plummet. Speed was everything to him too. He was a racing dragon born and bred.

Gottyk did as I’d goaded and pulled up at the last possible moment. He flung his wings wide, launching the water into a fine spray from the boom of air. He let out a trumpeting coo, sounding far more adorable than a dragon ought to.

Droplets scattered across my visor. The setting sun flashed in my eyes a dozen times, multiplied by the water.

‘Oh, shit!’

I’d lost track of time. Again. Gottyk needed to be in the aviary before the sun set to rest before the race tomorrow. My stomach flipped again, but this time it made me feel heavy. I needed to make sure he was ready for his rider.

His real one, not me. I wasn’t a rider anymore.

The racing number painted on to the membrane of his right wing wasn’t mine – eighty-two belonged to someone else. The sponsor logos that decorated his left wing funded the team that had hired someone else to fly.

Tapping Gottyk’s side with my left foot and a gentle tug on the reins was enough to direct him back to the cliffs.

My heart sank as we rode over the rippling waves.

It was never enough. A spare hour to exercise Gottyk on the days he wasn’t racing.

A training session to test the new saddle design because that bastard rider, Thorne, hadn’t shown up.

It was like begging for scraps from the most delicious meal someone else couldn’t be bothered to eat.

So we flew back to shore, silent and stoic. I could forget about it all when we flew, but landing meant returning to reality.

The golden rock of the cliffs was a warm welcome, at least. The wind fell away as we entered the cleft between the peninsula and the mainland. The second-rate flight suit failed to keep up with the shift back to low altitude, making me sweat more than the beach tourists further down the coast.

Ahead lay the cave entrance high up on the cliffside, shadowed in gloom compared to the wide open freedom of the sky.

I let Gottyk land us neatly. The landing zone was over one hundred feet across, more than wide enough for the two full wingspans of him and his sister. The stone floor was shiny enough to reflect the arcanite light strips above us despite the constant contact with dragon talons.

Forked orange banners lined the stone walls of the cavern entrance, fluttering as they caught the breeze. The Kiestral racing-team colours of orange and white could be found everywhere throughout the headquarters.

Despite being a keeper, not a rider, I still felt pride for my part in the iconic team. It wasn’t just about the dragons and riders; Volitant was a team sport and Kiestral had a long and storied history.

After detaching the saddle straps from the belt around my waist, I slid from Gottyk’s back.

A few of the other Kiestral team staff lingered in the landing zone, prepping the crates of augments that would be used to monitor the race the next day.

The brushed bronze seemed dull without its usual glow.

I pulled off my helmet, severing the connection it had to my flight-suit arcanite. It was unremarkable in every way, a boring round dome without any adornments.

My hair was plastered to my forehead from the botched cooling system, taking it from dark brown to black with sweat. I shoved it back out of my face and pulled the rest out of the collar to brush at my shoulders and cool down my neck.

Rushing, I shrugged off the flight suit – the same bright orange with a white stripe from my left shoulder to my foot. Real riders got the suit of armour to go on top too. Another reminder of what I couldn’t have.

Not that I was bitter.

As a keeper, it was my job to see to the needs of the dragons. To feed them, clean them and raise them. To make sure that they continued to be perfect racing specimens, capable of winning races in Volitant, the most revered racing series across the continents.

That was all. That was where it stopped for me. I knew keepers were valuable, but I hadn’t wanted this to be my career.

So I led Gottyk through the tunnels back to the aviary. It all looked the same – smooth cream stone walls and ceiling that blended together in one arc. Recessed lights spilled orange across the polished floor while strips of white lit them from above.

The only way I could ever tell where I was going was thanks to the giant paintings of the team’s history. The famous dragons of the past – all Kiestral orange – from the snub-nosed dragons of the Heavyweight Era to the whiptails that had dominated a whole decade of racing.

Those and, of course, the riders who had raced them to victory.

My shoulders tensed as we rounded the corner to the entrance of Gottyk’s aviary.

Huwin Thorne’s portrait hung next to the wide double doors, swiftly undoing the work of a relaxing hour of flying.

The portrait was more than flattering – he retained the power of his youth while showing, somehow, the wisdom of age.

All relative, of course – thirty-seven was only old by racing standards.

I shouldered open the doors for Gottyk and braced myself.

The lingering smell of dragonbreath greeted us, like a giant match had been lit and blown out just before we arrived.

The warmth of the underfloor heating filled the room, making it feel cosy despite its cavernous size. No one else was there.

I flexed my shoulders as Gottyk left my side and immediately rolled in the copper pellets heaped on the right side of the room, penned in by a low wall that marked out his sleeping stall.

‘Let me take your kit off first, buddy.’ I followed him after swiping the timer from the workbench, years of practice helping me find balance on the tiny cylinders of metal that lined the floor. ‘Or I’ll be spending all tomorrow morning shaking your bedding out of your saddle.’

He straightened up, holding the pose I’d taught him as a hatchling. One hand hovered over the first buckle as I started the timer with the other.

I unclasped the straps and hauled off the saddle.

I pulled away the reins and bridle. I brushed him down with his favourite wire brush.

I polished his talons. I cleaned around his double-lidded eyes.

I hauled the kit back to the hooks on the wall.

I swept the loose copper pellets back into his stall. I stopped the timer.

‘Five tenths of a second faster than yesterday!’ I whooped, undoing the sweeping I’d just done.