The morning had come and gone like any other before it. The sun rose from beyond the Eastern horizon, far beyond the lush budding Spring fields of the Iron Expanse, beyond the frigid coast of the Eastern Arm, and further still than the lost home of the Sylvan. It would arch into the sky, beyond the highest peaks of the highest points of the Smoldering

Rock and further still than the untamed peaks of the Savak. Further, even then, the bravest of Drake Riders dared venture. Its heat bore down on the land as surely as the tides receded. We’d set out just past dawn, the dew-covered grass trampled beneath my leather boots. Sleep still clung to the eyes, which I fought to keep open. My pack rattled away on my back in tune with the march of my Lord and The Lesser.

The monotonous tone was occasionally broken by the singing of the two drakes which circled overhead or by Igniran’s young rider. He liked to sing, Jason, he wasn’t any good at it, but he liked to sing nonetheless. It’d felt as if he’d sung every twelve miles since we’d left the Moonlit Pass. He’d sung of “The Blood Angel’s Ascent,” “Gold and Bones,” “Ash and Chains,” “Scarred Platinum,” and countless songs of beautiful women he’d never met. Every time his mouth would open, Ser Ozran would roll his eyes in his skull and illicit a disapproving sigh. He enjoyed it, though we both did, despite our protests at our tone-deaf lord.

“Almost there now,” came Ozran’s voice through the silence. His voice was gruff and tired, much like his appearance; it didn’t accurately portray the strength of the man. Ser Ozran Mabin the Lesser wore a head of shaggy brown hair with streaks of gray. A scruffy brown beard decorated his jaw, broken by a burn scar along his left cheek just below his ear. His eyes were tired, the color of dull steel. His shallow cheeks almost made him appear sickly despite his otherwise vibrant skin. He wasn’t particularly tall nor short, his clothes a simple coal black tunic beneath a steel chest piece and a sage green cloak. You could be forgiven for not recognizing him as a knight if not for the sword at his side.

“Finally…” the words left my mouth in the form of a sigh. We’d been traveling for weeks, making our way from one side of the continent to the other. I should count myself lucky that it only took us this long to get this far. If not for our shortcuts on drake’s back, this trip may have taken twice as long.

“Come on, Micky~ Don’t act like that. You can’t tell me this isn’t better than loitering around in Dragon’s Peak all day?” Jason’s reply came bundled with a gentle punch to my left shoulder, causing me to stumble forward an extra step or two. Before I could respond, his arm was already around my neck, pulling me in. He practically dragged me now as we walked, his laughter ringing in my ears. Jason Ignister, the heir to Smoldering Rock, future Lord of Dragon’s Peak and Warden of the West, the prodigal son. Jason is everything a Lord would want from a son, an excellent swordsman, born to the saddle, horse or drake, intelligent, adaptable, and eager to explore. At only twenty-one years old, he’s proven himself to be a fantastic young knight, having been knighted six years back as a reward for coming second place in a tournament in the Eastern Arm. A head of stylish dark brown hair, eyes the shade of emerald green, and features that make women swoon at first sight.

“Easy to say when you don’t have to walk every mile, Jace!” My reply came out more laugh than I intended; I couldn’t help it. He was like an older brother to me, which almost felt strange to think, considering why we grew up together. And yet his family is still the only family I’ve ever known.

A firm hand ripped me from Jason’s embrace, depositing me on the other side of Ser Ozran.

“Knock it off, you two. Best you get on your best behavior, my Lord. This close to Bortus, we could run into any number of Lords or Ladies.” Jason sighed, gently running his thumb along the brass pommel of the ancestral blade at his side.

“Lighten up a little. I know how to act around other Lords, Ozran.”

“Just a reminder, My Lord. With your father remaining home, it’s up to you to represent your house at these games.” Ozran’s cold eyes were directed forward, not glancing toward Jason as he spoke. “The last thing any of us want is to leave a bad impression on behalf of your father after all.”

Jason would take a deep breath, nodding his head as his only response. His spirits dimmed but not diminished. Adjusting my pace, I gave him a reassuring pat on his back, to which he flashed his award-winning smile at me before speaking.

“How do you feel, Mic-?”

“That means using the names your mothers gave you. Not your childhood nicknames for one another”, Ozran interrupted, to Jason’s annoyance. Ozran was traveling with us for a few reasons, primarily because he was himself a master of formalities, an area in which Jason lacked.

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“Mikal~” Jason would emphasize, his eyes narrowed toward Ozran, who already was paying us little to no mind, “How do you feel?”

“A little nervous - My Lord.”

“I was nervous during my first tournament too. Well, the first one away from the rock. It’s… a lot at first. A lot of people you don’t know, banners you don’t remember waving in the air. Older men and women who know way too much about you.” As he spoke, my stomach began to churn, and my heart rose into my throat. “But! It’s no different than the celebrations we’ve had at the rock. They might give you some looks, but no one is going to harass you. Ozran will keep ’em back when I can’t. Right, sir?”

“Right, my Lord. He’s exactly right. I’ll keep them from making you uncomfortable and remind them of their manners if they forget themselves.” Ozran’s eyes glanced away from the road; while his lips didn’t curl, his eyes shone like a million smiles. I couldn’t help but let my lips respond in kind, smiling at their reassurance.

“Thank you, my Lords.”

“Just relax, enjoy the festivities. Don’t flirt with too many noble ladies and squire for me like you always do. Lance, when I ask. Sword when I ask. Help me don and doff my armor. Easy, right?” I nodded my head, my smile never fading.

*** *** ***

He was right. Of course, from the time we first entered between those two wooden pillars, it was exactly what he said. There was a familiarity to it. The lines and lines of tents, some plain, others checkered, most striped. The grounds were filled with people. Some noble dressed in their fine silks that we’ve grown accustomed to. Others were knights in shining armor, swords at their sides, helmets hanging from their hips or beneath their arms. Some less-than-savory individuals in dark leather armor on their bodies, concealing the daggers at their sides or armor. And through them all the hordes of people who made this possible, the peasantry.

They were the ones who’d shovel the horse dung and put up and maintain the fields of banners hanging proudly in the sky. They were the ones who’d made fantastic feasts every night for several nights. They’re the ones who’ll lick and scrape their teeth against the ground for the crumbs of what’s left behind.

Back home, Lord Ignister hated that. He hated to see his people go hungry. Hated watching their cheeks go gaunt from hunger in the Winter. Watch them claw at their bellies while his family and all his drakes never knew hunger. He’d do what he could. Told me my father did, too, for the people of the Astral Isle. Here though? Looking at the faces of these people, I wasn’t so sure.

The nobles and knights were fed well enough - they always are. The peasants went around carrying food or just looking in awe of it all; however, they were leaner. Not as lean as they’d be in Winter, for sure, but leaner.

A firm grip fell upon my shoulder, followed by a sharp tug. I whipped my head up and around to see Ser Ozran looking down at me. His tired eyes filled with disapproving compassion.

“Remember what I said, boy. We are guests. Here to observe, learn, and enjoy the many vices of our Eastern brothers and sisters.” His hand left my shoulder as we made our way through the crowds. He would motion forward and my eyes would follow the motion of his palm to the crowd slowly forming around us. Their eyes were wide-eyed, filled with equal parts fear and awe. Backpedaling when we drew near and coming closer as we left. Their eyes fixated on the two mighty beasts, Igniran and Telitrax. They trotted beside us on either side of their respective partners. Their tails dragged through the dirt and mud, heads staring at the mass of people.

Igniran, or “Stingwing” as Jason likes to call him, was a juvenile. His scales held a reddish hue, with dark black stripes along his body. His horns were black and protruded straight up and back from his brow. He was a proud, showy beast, as was typical of drakes of his kind. He held his head high and made showy displays to any who got too close. Though a soft tug quickly stopped those on the reins by his master.

Telitrax was a different beast altogether. She was quiet with flat green scales, her head never ceasing its movement as she watched the crowd. She was larger than Stingwing by about half. She was already done growing, a breeding adult who’ll probably lay a clutch next mating season.

Telitrax moved her long neck, bumping me on the shoulder, urging me forward as if to reinforce her partner’s point. I quickly collected myself. I’d grown accustomed to her manhandling over these past weeks.

“I understand, Ser.” A soft pat on the top of my head, was all the reassurance I was given as I was ushered deeper into the sea of bodies.

The tent that served as our quarters was massive, big enough to fit three curtained-off areas to act as rooms and a central meeting area. The meeting area was completed with a simple wooden table and three chairs. Not that we’d be expected to spend much time in that area beyond planning through schedules or strategies for the melee. The “walls” were a simple beige with red vertical stripes stained by water damage to the canvas and deterioration. The air could whistle in from a splattering of tiny holes from the roof, primarily on the leftmost wall in my “room.” Most likely moths, or maybe they used this tent as padding for arrow practice?

Regardless, it still beats sleeping at the mercy of mother nature for another night. The second we split off to unpack, I dropped to my cot like a sack of potatoes. My sword clattered to the carpeted floor alongside my backpack. My vision was black by the time my sword found its balance.