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- Herausgeber: Spiral Publishing, Ltd.
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
Wyja, Senior Dragonkeeper of the Upper Abramshire Academy, tends to young dragons and keepers alike.
Each group challenging, and exhausting, in their own way.
Unwelcome change sets in when dragon birthrates drop to dangerous levels.
No one knows why.
Can Wyja solve the problem before it’s too late?
An excerpt from The Last Dragonkeeper:
The End of Dragonkind?
“Is it true?” one of the other girls said. “About no more dragons?”
Wyja wished she could sooth and reassure them, tell them things far out of their control would be all right.
But only for a second. This was not the time for coddling young keepers far past such niceties.
“Relas speaks truth,” Wyja said. “The dragon birth rate is dropping. We’re trying to figure out why. Anyone else heard rumors from home?”
They all muttered, glanced at each other, and shook their heads. Only Relas and Leela stayed quiet. Wyja raised her eyebrows and held out one hand. Leela finally spoke.
“My parents are farmers, down in the great flatlands. They’re afraid they won’t be able to trade without the dragons. For fish or wood or healing herbs, many of the things they need.”
Wyja hoped this was a chance worth taking.
Letting the situation get much worse was definitely too much to risk.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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For Jackson
My expert on the mysterious ways of dragons.
The Last Dragonkeeper
Kari Kilgore
Spiral Publishing, Ltd.
Chapter 1
Sometimes Wyja wondered if being senior Dragonkeeper was worth the hassle.
Especially on cold, rainy days at the Upper Abramshire Academy, highest training academy and the highest human residence in the fair land of Allsentia.
Cold, rainy days like this one, for example.
The treeless mountains rising all around the relatively flat ground of the academy hid behind fog and mist. The purple stone that built those high peaks and most of of the solid ground under Abramshire only broke through the relentless gray every few minutes. Long enough to make sure the observer knew just what they were missing.
The barren, normally dry conditions so high up in the Abrams range were a great boon for young dragonlets learning how to control their fire. And for young keepers learning how to take care of themselves away from home for the first time.
The dry, windy mountains weren’t much help at all when it came to aging gracefully. At least not to Wyja’s eyes when she glanced in the mirror every morning or evening, wondering when the last traces of brown would give way to white in her hair. She’d gotten good at ignoring the wrinkles and lines that had long ago marked and defined her face.
Squinting into the wind for decades hadn’t helped preserve her skin any more than the lingering chill damp of the rainy season helped achy knees beat up by a lifetime of serving the Honored Dragon Brigade.
Wyja stood outside the broad plateau where those young keepers-in-training lived, most staying the full ten years it took for their dragon companions to grow and mature. She sometimes thought both groups of youngsters caused more trouble than they were worth, but she never said that out loud. Not even to her own dragon, Dalto.
Her creaky black leather dress uniform seemed like overkill for an ordinary surprise inspection of those huts. Her normal tough-but-flexible brown bovine hide flying gear or even her wool cold weather gear might have made more sense. But even for a predictable bad weather activity, Wyja believed some respect for rules must be observed.
She had her own reasons for presenting an impressive sight today, reasons she’d shared with Dalto and no one else.
The wide circle of four huts sheltered a purple stone and crystal sculpture in the middle, same as what seemed like every open space at the academy and all the courtyards in the far distant royal city of Branch Meade. Those ancient builders must have gotten bored, or else they couldn’t stand to waste the leftovers from their hard rock-cutting labor.
The sculpture in this circle was tall like Wyja, but unlike her it had curves and soft edges. Appropriate for what had been the girls-only area many long years ago when Wyja was a trainee, with the sculpture for the old boys’ area more angular and sharp. Old-fashioned as all get out, and outdated to boot.
The academy hadn’t bothered separating young keepers that much over the last few years. Not enough young humans in residence to cause serious trouble.
Not nearly as serious as the depressing lack of young dragons that needed keeping.
Wyja’s partner dragon rested his pebbly moss-green head on his front feet, the rest of him curled around the sculpture. Even on the ground, his head nearly reached her shoulder. He opened one sparkling brown eye about the size of her head.
Like all good mountain dragons, Dalto carried most of his length in his head and tail, with his torso more broad and compact behind wings almost as wide as he was long. Easily strong enough to carry Wyja, any supplies she might ask him to bring, and a couple of landbounds if she absolutely had to.
Dalto held the same stubborn belief as Wyja: that he was no pack or transport animal for common goods or common landbounds. Leave that to the chattery equines, who lived so far away in the Estanoa Mountains that neither of them had ever met one.
