The Skyborn

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Or so Rylan had always been told.

Before the days of The Great Rain, the largest airborne predator was the gold-tailed eagle. With a wingspan of almost five metres, they could dive from the highest mountain peak and pluck a newborn calf as it was feeding from its mother.

Also known as The Starfall, The Great Rain occurred centuries ago, when the sky rained fire and rock and jewels the size of bulls, and with them came the Skyborn. They blocked out the sun with their giant dragons and quelled any upset with their great swords, and they’ve ruled the land ever since.

Rylan stifled a yawn. His eyes drifted up to the ring of mountains that circled the Valley. He always loved the pink-gold sky the new dawn brought as it crested the mountains, still lightly blanketed with last winter’s snow.

“Don’t dawdle!” Jonas called from the cart ahead, trundling along the pockmarked road that took them from the family farm to the great walled city of Dallyndale.

“C’mon, daydreamer,” Kitty said with a poke to Rylan’s ribs, smiling as she fell into step beside him. “You know you’ll never ride a dragon, don’t you, Rylan?” she asked after a moment, watching his eyes scan the mountains.

Rylan sighed. He looked up again, almost willing his eyes to see the near-vertical steps the unbound Skyborn took to bind themselves to a wild dragon.

“You’re not Skyborn, Rylan,” Kitty said. Her voice was gentle and without mocking.

“I know,” Rylan nodded. They’d had this same conversation countless times before.

He sighed again. The Skyborn were not of this world; one only needed to look at them to know that.

Where a normal man might be considered tall at six and a half feet, the Skyborn were thought short if they were only seven feet tall. Their hair was the same brown or black, blonde or red as those of the Valley. But their eyes, their eyes were vibrant colours of red and gold, and blue and green and purple. They were stronger, faster, more skilled in all forms of combat, and some even possessed magic powers.

Queen Iriana was rumoured to be able to control the weather, while her husband, King Jodun, had powers of healing.

Rylan knew he wasn’t Skyborn, and as such he’d never ride a dragon, nor wield lightning, nor heal a wound. He could even reason that he wouldn’t survive the Bonding; it was said to be a brutal endeavour to bind a Skyborn to a dragon, and many unbound Skyborn died in the process, making those that survived even more admirable. But that didn’t stop him wishing for more than a farmers’ life.

“Have you heard the news?” a voice pulled Rylan from his thoughts.

Jonas pulled up the cart at the crossroads.

“What news, Bill?” Jonas asked, barely masking the irritation in his voice.

Known as Babbling Bill to most of the folk around Dallyndale for his seemingly endless pieces of gossip, Bill Harper leant on the post that he seemed to be perpetually resting against.

“The Skyborn,” Bill said, pulling from a wine skin. “They’re at war.” He smacked his lips.

Jonas sighed. Kitty frowned. Rylan moved closer.

“The Skyborn are peacekeepers, Bill.” Jonas rubbed his forehead. Rylan knew he would be judging the time they still had to travel, let alone set up the stall. “They stop wars; they don’t start them.”

“Is that so?” Bill sniffed. “What d’ya make of that, then?” he asked.

Rylan followed Babbling Bill’s arm to where two small specks danced in the sky. They looked like flies from this distance, but as they grew larger Rylan could make out two dragons and riders. Flame erupted from one of the dragons. A spear was thrust at the opposing rider. Rylan’s heart thumped in his chest.

For his entire life, the Skyborn had never fought one another. Ever. They were known to quell discontent among the populace; as Jonas had said, they were peacekeepers. But never had they taken up arms against one another before.

The four of them stood mesmerised, gazing up at the two combatants as they twirled through the air. The dragons ripped with their talons. They snapped with their jaws. They spurted flame from their maws. The riders thrust with their spears and slashed with their swords and struck with their shields.

“That’s Asterion!” Kitty exclaimed, pointing to the great green dragon. “That must be Lord Maylarch.”

“Right you are, young lady,” Bill cackled. He seemed to be enjoying the contest. “And who is it he’s fighting, eh?”

Rylan squinted. In the pale light he struggled to make out the other dragon but as it spun, the familiar gold streak on blue told him everything he needed to know. His stomach turned cold. Everyone within a day’s ride of Dallyndale knew who that was.

“That’s Prince Brennan,” he whispered. “Riding Baylon.”

The others said nothing, watching on helplessly as the great green dragon slashed at the blue-and-gold beast, and Lord Maylarch thrust his sword up under the breastbone, piercing Baylon’s heart.

With a final burst of flame, the green giant peeled off, disappearing over the distant mountains as the blue-and-gold dragon fell from the sky.