Xandor of Fortlaa

I knew the moment I saw him that he was the one.  One glance into his ochre eyes, and I just knew.  It didn’t matter that his fangs hadn’t started to grow yet, or that his wingspan was smaller than average, even at his age.  He was my dragon.

“How much?” I turned to the shopkeeper.

“For that diamondridge? Eighty-seven and five.”

“No, no, not that one.”  I tugged at his sleeve and indicated the small, shy-looking drenn.  “That one.”

“Oh, come now, Leia, you can’t be serious!” he laughed.  The shopkeeper and retired Trainer was an old friend of my father’s, by the name of Toma.  “That runt?  Why, I was thinking of putting him down!  Surely you, Leia, of all people, know a good  fighting dragon when you see one. Take this whipflight, here.” He moved to the edge of the enclosure, pointing out a silver-blue dragon preening her wings.  “Great scale strength, exquisite hearing and sight, even for a dragon—“

“Toma, my father is the greatest Dragon Master in all JemaliA, and it is my destiny to take his place when the time comes.  I must choose a First Dragon, as you know, and this drenn is the one I choose.”  Toma pursed his lips.  “I do know a fighter when I see one, trust me.”

“But… Leia, he is so weak,” Toma insisted.  He knew he was losing ground fast.  “Hatched early, at the new moon.  One battle would slaughter him within the first three minutes!”  He could see I was resolute, and sighed.  “Well, if you won’t change your mind about this dragon, I would suggest a different path for him… not fighting, no, some thing like—“

“How much is he, Toma?” I pressed.  He sighed heavily again.

“For this runt, seventy and eight.”

I dug in the leather pouch that hung by my waist.  “Seventy and eight, done,” I said, slapping the wooden coins into Toma’s rough palm.  I placed my other hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “You won’t be disappointed,” I swore.

The old shopkeeper raised an eyebrow and went to fetch a halter, shaking his scraggly old head.  I approached the burnt-orange dragon, hands clasped in a gesture of peace. It wasn’t necessary to let him know I wasn’t threatening, though; the moment I stepped through the glistening blue barrier between us he sprang to his small feet and strode forward.  His snout brushed my forehead.

I had heard of Dragon Masters bonding with their dragons, but I never expected anything like this.  The smooth scales sent a wave of pure energy throughout my entire body, and I felt myself begin to glow.  Reflected in the drenn’s catlike eyes, I saw the spot on my forehead where he had touched me pulsating with a brilliant turquoise light.  It was too bright to look at. I closed my eyes and felt the power of the dragon coursing through me. The other dragons lifted their heads and one by one let loose their low, droning, celebratory hum. My dragon’s mind entered my own and whirled about, making us one.

Toma returned, wide-eyed. “Great Mondarr,” he murmured, staring at the mark on my forehead.  “The Suine, sign of the Dragon Master. Truly, Leia, this drenn… you’re….”

I grinned at him through the halo that now surrounded the dragons and I.
“We won’t let you down.”  My voice sounded far away in the midst of the dragon hum. “I promise.”


That was seven years ago. I remember all the days of training Xandor and I had put in to make him the fighting dragon he was today.  I snapped the wingshields in place and smoothed the fine hair covering the webbing.

“You ready, Xandor?” I whispered.

Sienna whorls leapt in my mind’s eye: he was nervous. But along with that were navy blue streaks, so I knew he was prepared to take on the huge task that lay ahead.

“You can do this.”

He filled my head with confident bands of deep red.

Xandor’s armor was in place.  His adrenaline was high; all seven dragon senses tingling within my brain. The crowd outside was roaring with anticipation; no one had ever seen Xandor of Fortlaa fight before.  Our opponent, Scornon of Lembre, they had heard of, and seen him crush many other dragons into the dust of the arena.

Trumpets blared.  I sent Xandor the biggest wave of encouragement and confidence I could muster, and found my place in the Trainer’s Box on the right side of the field.  I felt all traces of anxiety vanish in Xandor as he charged into the arena, stirring up the rust-colored dust and growling intimidatingly.  His mighty jaws opened wide and an earth-shaking roar boomed out from beneath the bronze helmet. The crowd seemed pleased with this new competitor.

Scornon entered from a set of double oak doors at least eighty feet high.  Unlike Xandor, he prowled onto the dust keeping low to the earth, sizing up his opponent.  The Suine on my forehead glimmered, and I suddenly realized I could hear the two dragons below me communicating. 

Scornon growled deep in his throat.  He taunted Xandor cruelly, calling him things like “runt” and “little lizard”.

Xandor did not appear fazed, though I sensed his acute irritation.  He stared coolly at the tarnished silver dragon opposite him.

"You’d be surprised how much power a runt like me can pack," he countered.

Scornon hissed with cold laughter. They circled slowly around each other in the sand.

In the stands to my left, someone was saying how badly “the orange one” was going to lose.  I resisted the urge to punch her, or at least tell her to shut her face.  I turned back to the battle.  Xandor hovered at the edge of my consciousness, sending occasional inklings of color.  I was aware of his muscles tensing to spring, and wondered if Scornon felt it too.  Apparently not.

Xandor’s attack came out of nowhere for him.  The older dragon flinched with surprise as iron battle talons raked his metallic hide.  With a guttural snarl of pain and fury, Scornon struck at Xandor’s hindquarters and the fight was on.

The original purpose of fighting dragons was to channel their power so they wouldn’t destroy farms and such, like in the days of Saint George.  Over time it evolved into different things for different dragons and Trainers.  For some it was still about channeling aggressive instinct.  For others it was all sport and fun.  Many wanted fame and glory.  Xandor fought to prove himself.  Dragons are very proud and hate being called things like “runt”, and he also knew he was the one to help fulfill my destiny as Dragon Master.  He fought for himself.  He fought for destiny.  He fought for me.

It was clear that Scornon had met his match. Every exposed patch of hide had been sliced by Xandor’s talons.  The crowd was on its feet, bellowing and shouting and stamping.  I sat calmly in the Trainer’s Box, watching the most famous fighter fall before my own Xandor of Fortlaa. Then time stopped.

Scornon was on the ground, moaning.

Xandor stood over him, one foreleg raised, wings spread to their full extent.

Spectators yelled to Xandor to finish the old glascale off.

"No."

Xandor’s emotions he sent me were so strong I felt sure everyone in the arena must know what he was thinking now.
         
"I will not kill scornon."

Xandor released his wings and stood back, oblivious to the crowd’s objections. With a noble shake of his head, the dust-stained champion shook his helmet onto the arena floor.  It fell with a heavy thud in front of Scornon’s wide snout.

I understood.  Xandor had fought well, and had proven himself as the new greatest champion in JemaliA.  He was no longer a runt.  That was all he had come for, and now he was truly sorry for the damage he had caused in his pride.

Some dragons, Xandor among them, are related to phoenixes, and in this way their tears have healing powers. Thick, golden tears rolled from beneath the leathery eyelids and dripped onto Scornon’s tattered neck.  The disappointed crowd howled as he slowly regained his strength and a low hum resounded in both dragons’ throats. 

They took to the sky then, Xandor and Scornon, bronze and silver, night and day, now closest comrades forever, never to return to the arena.  Laughing, my Suine shining like the morning star, I finally spotted my old friend standing below me in the stands.

“Toma! Toma!” I cried.  He looked away from the circling dragons in the sky as I threw myself into his arms.  “I told you,” I murmured.  “I promised we wouldn’t let you down.”

He was speechless.  He traced my Suine with a forefinger, and with a slight inclination of his head he murmured reverently, “You have trained him well, O Dragon Master.”

High above, Xandor said good-bye.