Twenty Seven
Rohan
“So much blood has spilled already, how could we ask for more?” the king shouts, and the crowd yells and cheers while I stare at my dragon.
Two each, he said.
Only one can come back.
So our dragons raced.
They fought, did anything to get ahead through the circles to reach their tenth lap.
The final lap.
No rules existed to get first place.
They clawed, they scratched, they barreled into each other, clashing mid-flight to fall to the sands below.
All the while the crowd cheered for more blood, and us, the Dragonbonds, had to watch from below as they gave it everything they had.
“I know your time is near, don’t race, old one, enjoy this flight instead.”
That’s what I told him before they set off, Blaise at his side, purring and comforting him even as grief wrapped around us.
“I’m sorry it has to end this way, with the metal upon your face.”
He purred.
“I’m sorry for failing.”
He’d nudged my head, his chest rumbling so much my own vibrated with it as we said our last goodbyes.
And then the whistle blew.
They had ten laps. Ten laps to get in first place and fight each other for it.
Blaise gave it his all, the red dragon holding his own, but selfishly, my eyes stayed on my green one.
He gave me one last bump, and then took flight on his old wings.
He circled the Enclave, above the race in the center as he spun and dipped, letting his wings guide him one last time.
It was a show of his life in that flight, a dance to Morana to meet her.
And then he slowed down.
His movements became more sluggish, later to respond to his turns.
And then, as other dragons dropped in their battle against one another, he fell with not a single wound on him.
The other dragons respecting his time had come.
Then he’d crashed to the ground in the center, eyes closed, chest still. Wings wrapped around himself. Black ribbon tied around his front leg claiming him as mine…
And I haven’t looked away since.
The king drones on with the results as Blaise rumbles at my side, and I stand closer to him, stroking his face.
He came second. He flew well, fought well for that placement.
But there is no victory here.
Sigrid gained first place with Celeste, but they too, grieve the dragon she lost. Asha, a red one.
Third place went to Varan, he lost a green one and Durruk came fourth, losing a blue one— Falvor.
Karag came last, Minor was the red one he lost.
The crowd continues to cheer.
We won’t lose people from this round, as we lost dragons instead.
Some part of me doesn’t know what’s worse.
There is no right answer here.
If they are on two legs, or four, or none, if they are part of my clan they are part of my clan.
And none should die.
But they’re dying.
And there is nothing I can do to stop it.
I walk forward with Blaise at my back, not stopping until I reach Alter.
I stroke his scaled face, just below his ear, and then I move to his leg, my hands touching the black ribbon before I look at his closed eyes, his scales cold.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, throat tight. “You flew well. You made Blackscale proud.” Blaise purrs, and I step back, heartache wrapping around us. “Rest now, old friend. May Morana guide you.”
Blaise roars his sorrow, it’s a haunting sound, and in the distance, I can hear them.
My dragons roar back their acknowledgement, their grief.
Their loss.
The other clan’s dragons join in, a song of their own as they all roar, the crowd silent.
I look up to the balcony the king is on. His beady eyes narrowed on mine, the small smirk upon his face.
He will pay for this moment.
I’ll make sure.
I vow it.