Dragon Orb (Dragons of Daegonlot, Book One)

By Shanlynn Walker

At 16 years old, Daxon knew he was too old to be chosen to be a dragonrider. On his way home one night he was surprised when a wild dragon's egg was left in his care by the largest dragon he had ever seen. Agreeing to raise and protect the as yet unhatched egg, his hopes to become a dragonrider once more blossom, but again, fate intervenes.

When the young dragon hatches, Daxon's world is turned upside down and thrown into chaos. After learning of a mysterious orb and the possibility that it might hold all the dragonrider's dragons in thrall, he is determined to not let the same fate befall his young charge. He must find a way to protect the hatchling from the fate of the other dragons and a way off of Daegonlot before it's too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanlynn Walker
• Release date: Jan 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310316173

Shanlynn Walker

Shanlynn Walker lives in Kentucky with her two Doberman Pinschers. The inspiration for Sylas, the wraith-like dog from the Myste, came from her fawn Doberman, also named Sylas, and he is now a main character in her Dragons of Daegonlot series.

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Dragons of Daegonlot: Book One

Dragon Orb

By Shanlynn Walker

Copyright © 2015 by Shanlynn Walker

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This story is a work of fiction. Names and characters are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Printing, 2015

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Survivor

Adopted

Conflict

Chapter Two

Hatched

Hatchling

Chapter Three

History Lesson

Chapter Four

Riiele

Chapter Five

Danger

Chapter Six

Departure

Chapter Seven

Crash Landing

Company

Chapter Eight

Trakon

Chapter Nine

Friendship

Chapter One

You may trod me in the very dirt but still, like dust, I’ll rise.

~Maya Angelou

Survivor

The dragon climbed to the top of the hill, her last surviving egg clutched gently in her huge jaws. Exhausted by the long trek, she gingerly placed the egg on the ground and curled herself around it, half closing her eyes as she rested. From her vantage point she could see the town of Goldspine sparkling in the valley below.

Goldspine was not a huge town given its location on top of a floating island vaguely resembling a dragon’s head. The island itself was known as Daegonlot and it was the last place the dragons roamed unmolested. Few people knew of its existence, and fewer still knew there were still dragons living upon it, and fewer than that knew there was an actual town nestled within its central valley. The old dragon knew this had not always been the case. She could remember when dragons and dragon riders were tolerated, and even welcomed, in Darkenfel. But that was long ago, when the races and kingdoms were starting to emerge from the Myste and discover each other, before the bitter wars were waged for land and homesteads.

The dwarves and the elves were old races, although the dragon could also remember when they first emerged, or evolved would be more appropriate. The elves had evolved from the ancient fey until they were as separate from the fey as a rock is to a mountain. They had lost much of their innate wild magic, but what they retained was still powerful. The old dragon doubted there was an elf alive that really knew their true history. It seemed as time went on they forgot more and more of where they came from until they became convinced they had just always been. But the dragon remembered.

She also remembered the dwarves who had once been lost rock spirits known as the mimotan. They had lost their homes during the massive land movements that split Daegonlot from the lands below and had wandered, lost, for many years before starting to convene and evolve into flesh and blood creatures.

Snorting, the dragon shook the memories from her mind and peered down at Goldspine again. She was dying. She doubted she had another day of life left in her. This did not scare her. Over her long, long life she had seen many wondrous things as well as many terrifying things and she knew that eventually all creatures died. She had outlived every single other dragon she had known when she was young. For the past few months she had been growing weaker, losing all appetite, and had been given to dozing off for long periods at a time, lost in the past that was held in her mind. It was for this very reason that her other eggs had perished. Most of them had been scavenged by other animals, taken while she was lost in the past or getting water from the lake. The one she was now curled around was the last of the nine eggs she had laid and she knew she would not live to hatch it.

What was left of the dragon riders now lived in Goldspine, separated from the rest of the world on their floating island. She knew they would have the knowledge to care for her egg. Lowering her head, she gently nuzzled the onyx egg. Small veins of crimson and purple wound through the shell and small silver spots covered the surface. The old dragon had never been bonded to a rider and had never wanted to be. She had been born wild and lived wild her whole life and that was what she wished for her hatchling. But she knew if she left her egg in the wilderness and died before it hatched it would not survive. Even if by some miracle it did survive there would be no one to teach the newborn how to hunt or how to fly.

She blew out a small stream of fire to warm the egg and gently reached out with her mind to the tiny consciousness inside. She thought it was a male hatchling. The tiny life already had a willful mind and an assertive personality, bordering on aggressive. With the mental link still intact, she poured her knowledge and memories into its tiny mind, hoping it would retain at least some of the knowledge she possessed. It was still quite young for such complex transference, but she had very little time left to pass on her vast stores of knowledge and she wanted to give it the best chance for survival she could.

Feeling even weaker from maintaining the link with her young, the dragon gently closed her jaws around her egg again and, spreading her massive wings, launched herself off the cliff toward the town below.

Adopted

Daxon was walking home. Once again he had attended a Hatching, and once again, he had not been chosen by any of the five newborn hatchlings. Already sixteen years old, he knew it was unlikely he would ever be chosen. Most hatchlings chose their riders right out of their shells, and most of those selected were not more than twelve. Some were as young as six. This gave both the hatchling and the chosen rider plenty of time to grow and learn together, as well as to solidify their bonding. Even though Daxon was obviously of Elven descent due to his slanted eyes, slightly pointed ears and delicate bone structure, he was still just as tall as a human boy of sixteen, although probably more slender, and the chances of being chosen at this stage were slim to none.

Even worse than not being chosen were the looks of pity from Borl and Sikir. They both knew how much he wanted to be a dragon rider. Ever since they had taken him in when he was just a young child of five or six years old, stumbling and alone in the surrounding forest, all he had ever talked about were dragons. He had taken to their bondmates, Bruul and Sasha, talking to them incessantly and trying to glean any knowledge he needed to be fit to be a rider.

And here he was sixteen, well past the age of being chosen. There had been a time tonight when the last dragon to hatch, a small, slender silver with bronze claws and spine spikes, had lurched toward him and his heart had risen into his throat. It had tottered right by him to a small red headed girl who looked to