Free The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) by Daryl Yearwood Page A

hands. “What was that all about?”
    “He is maturing.”
    “Will he grow out of it?” said Toran.
    “No,” replied Skarson. “It is called bolting. He is now driven by his wild nature. This is one of the reasons training is so important.” Skarson glanced at the dragon. “It is a dangerous time.” He tossed more wood on the dwindling fire. “He already answers to you, but you will have to add the finishing touches to make sure there is no question of his obedience.”
    They sat and watched the fire until the tea was gone.
    Valaron broke the silence. “I suppose we should start on that tomorrow.”
    Skarson nodded. “That would probably be a good idea.”
    #
    Valaron awakened with a start.
    “Get up.” Skarson threw another stone and hit Valaron in the shoulder. “Get up. Your breakfast is getting cold.”
    Valaron stretched, walked up the rise, and sat by the fire. He took the offered plate and began inhaling his food.
    “Did Cler’d’roh return?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.
    “She slipped into camp well after your dragon was asleep,” replied Skarson. “She is not here now, but she will be back soon. Elves spend their mornings by themselves doing whatever it is elves do. It is a private ritual that they cling to from ancient times.” He shrugged his shoulders and added, “I have found that it is best not to ask too many questions.”
    Valaron looked down the hill. The dragon stretched his wings and neck. “Will it be safe now for you to stay? ”
    “It will never be safe for anyone,” answered Skarson, “but he should be more tolerant now that you stopped him from killing us.”
    “More tolerant?” said Toran. “That is not much comfort.”
    Skarson ignored him and looked at the young rider. “Valaron, there is one thing you must never forget. Your dragon is a cold-blooded killer . A beast . A ruthless, cunning, and merciless predator. He is one big muscle with teeth, talons, and no conscience!” He pointed at the dragon. “That monster is king of all he surveys, and you are the only thing that keeps him from killing everyone in sight.”
    Valaron sat in silence. The dragon stretched his jaws, and then snapped them shut with a loud pop. For the first time, the dragon rider saw the killing power that his friend held. He truly was a beast. Valaron felt small and insignificant.
    “He can never be left in the care of another,” Skarson continued. “That is why lone dragons had to be killed. With the loss of their rider, a dragon’s true nature is unleashed, and it will begin to kill. If you die, so must your dragon.” Skarson paused. “I will see to it myself.”
    Skarson poured more water over his tea leaves. “When Cler’d’roh returns, your training will begin in earnest. She is a master warrior in the King’s guard, so I am afraid you may be in for a tough time.” He smiled at some private joke and gave Valaron a sidelong glance. “I hope you are up to it,” he added, a gleam in his eyes. Skarson and Toran stood and walked down to take care of the horses.
    Valaron attacked a second plate of food and leaned back to relax while sipping his tea. He quickly straightened when he heard, “I hope breakfast was to your liking.” Cler’d’roh stood beside him. He had not heard her approach across the open glade. Valaron jumped to his feet and answered, “Yes! Sorry, you startled me. Yes, it was nice. Thank you.”
    The elf was even more stunning in the light of day. A short coverlet stopped at the tops of her thighs. She wore leather leggings and deerskin ankle boots. Her red hair was loose, and it fell softly across her face, covering one of her eyes, adding to her air of mystery.
    A large leather belt was fastened around her small waist by a gold buckle, and from it hung a long, thin sword that angled back to the ground behind her. Its hilt was covered in gold with stones inlayed into the pommel. A matching dagger was thrust in the other side of her belt. A small