52. ROIRDAN THE VANQUISHED #2
Vanir stepped out from the line we had formed along the fence, and began clapping. Nivelle quickly shoved away from Roirdan. She gave Vanir a look that made me think she was half a second away from tearing his head off before she turned and stalked toward the gate.
The commander’s face turned beet red as he beheld all of us, the majority of whom were trying to hide our amusement and doing a terrible job at it.
“Nothing hurt but my pride,” he said, slapping a smile over his embarrassment. Across the pen, Hellfire let out a deep trill, as if in agreement.
“You’re lucky that hardware caught where it did and not a few inches lower,” Niall pointed out.
As Roirdan approached, he examined the newly formed hole in his dangling belt strap and huffed a laugh. “Yeah that would not have been pleasant.”
Silas cleared his throat. “So, what do you do with the beast now that he’s been ridden?”
Roirdan assessed his wounds as he answered.
“We let him be. He’ll get taken to the main horde in a day or two to settle in with the other newbloods.
Once they’re broken by a rider, they essentially know who their master is.
They’re just like horses. Being broken means they are accustomed to a rider, and they no longer pose a risk of putting up a fight when someone goes to mount them.
They’re easier to train after that, and they’re quick learners when it comes to responding to commands. ”
“They don’t just . . . fly off whenever they want?”
“They can, but usually don’t. When the rider takes them to the skies for the first time, they show the Dreki who is in charge. We’re basically pulling rank in their hierarchy. Once they’ve been ridden, their natural instinct tells them they answer to someone else.”
“Roirdan is the one who came up with the dagger-to-the-neck tactic,” Vanir chimed in. “He’s rather famous for it actually. And I have to say, it’s most effective, especially when you’re wrestling with a barbed tail mid-air. It mimics another Dreki’s teeth—a show of dominance.”
Roirdan patted his weapon with pride. “Never fails.”
Silas nodded, watching as the other fae males walked another young Dreki into the enclosure. “Will you break all six today?” he asked.
“I’m thinking I don’t have any other choice,” the commander said, cinching up the wraps on his hands in preparation.
Vanir clapped him on his shoulder as he stepped by. “We’ll help you. We’ve got a meeting to attend in a couple of hours.”
Niall looked over at Silas. “You’re welcome to try your hand at it. Though I will say, Dreki tails don’t discriminate between flesh and wings.”
“That’s a mistake I won’t be making again,” Remic muttered, his own wings twitching at what I assumed was the memory of whatever injury he’d previously sustained.
Silas considered the risk, eyeing the Dreki that were being led in our direction. “Maybe riding one isn’t the best option. But I’ll help in any other way I can.”
Vanir nodded. “Good call. Come on.”
Roirdan retrieved the roll of cloth he’d used to wrap his hands with, and tossed it to Niall, and the four males met the handlers in the center of the pen.
Nivelle sat perched on the fence on the far side of the enclosure, watching all the commotion, and looking very much like she required her own space. So Remic took up a viewing spot at the fence opposite her, and I climbed the railing behind him.
“I’m assuming your wings don’t heal as quickly as you would like for them to?” I tugged playfully at the tip of a feather, earning a jolt from him.
He nudged his wing back at me, nearly knocking me off the fence. “They heal, but it is painful, and the itching of the new feathers is enough to drive you mad.”
“Oh yeah, I never thought about having to grow them back.”
He shuddered. “It isn’t pleasant.”
Silas’s wings flared, catching my attention. He held a charcoal-colored Dreki in place by the long rope attached to its maw as Vanir climbed atop it. At Vanir’s signal, Silas dropped the rope and the creature launched skyward.
Niall was next to mount up. He was given a stone-gray Dreki with black splotches that covered its entire body.
If it were to lie against a rocky cliffside, I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between it and the natural stone of the land.
Its tail lashed through the air with unbridled power, provoking Niall’s shadows, which snapped back at the barbed appendage.
With the flick of his finger, the rope that bound the beast’s wings melted away into ash, and Roirdan dropped the lead rope.
This Dreki, however, did not immediately take to the sky as the others had.
Instead, it hurled itself at Roirdan, swiping with its front claws.
The commander ported out of reach, but the Dreki found him once more and sent a stream of flame in his direction.
He threw up his forearm, and lightning crackled over his skin, deflecting the flame.
The Dreki roared with irritation, then inhaled, preparing to send another scorching breath in his direction, but Roirdan pointed his fist at the beast and a bolt shot through the air, piercing its scales and singing the flesh beneath.
The beast yelped, then let out a snarl, but Niall tugged on the reins and used his shadows to prod at the creature’s wings, prompting him to fly.
He summoned a dagger from thin air and jabbed it against the Dreki’s neck, and finally, it obeyed, setting its sights on the sky and roaring its protest to the heavens as it lifted from the earth.
“That’s a nasty one,” I said as I watched Niall and the stone-colored beast disappear into the low-lying clouds.
Roirdan took another running start at the next Dreki, sliding into the saddle with fluid grace, and within seconds, he was lifting into the air, aiming the Dreki in the direction Niall had flown and yelling commands that I couldn’t understand.
“When there are several in the air at one time, the riders like to pit them against each other to train them to follow commands and attack enemies,” Remic explained.
My eyes widened. “But then won’t they see other Dreki as enemies?”
“No. It’s more of a game. It teaches the Dreki to be alert and helps them learn a quick response if they’re ever under siege in the air.”
I kept my eyes on the clouds, half expecting to see bursts of orange ignite somewhere within their midst, or hear the roars of the Dreki or their riders. When the clouds remained drifting in silence, I turned my attention back to Remic.
From where I sat, the top of his head was level with my chest, and his hair—illuminated like soft silver under the diffuse afternoon light—was ripe for the taking.
“Take a few steps backward,” I calmly instructed him.
He turned to look at me over his shoulder, skeptically. “Why?”
“Just trust me.”