Dragon Riders: Edalom, #1

By Alberto Iturralde

An Long is an outcast boy from Ha Gian, a small village at the gates of the Khaz'Tiber. After the invasion of the Darenis, An Long loses everything. Everything but his dream. And thanks to his perseverance, he manages to make a place for himself on the Sky Combs, where dragon riders are trained. But riding a dragon is no easy task, and the training has taken many apprentices by surprise. Will the young man be able to fulfill his dream?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alberto Iturralde
• Release date: Dec 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201070892

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Prologue

After completely calcining the sacred city of the Lost Jungle, the Mad Rider decided to kill himself. His body was found at the bottom of the Enclosed Sea, with a ballast tied to his ankle and Kaaldanor between his ribs.

Don Frambosio of Nistria, Shandri Wa and the Red Devastation

He was flying.

He felt the beating of his two hearts pumping his blood to the rhythm of a horse at a gallop. He liked that music because he felt just as excited. He had launched himself from the highest peaks of the Sky Combs as one who throws himself ready to conquer the world. His hands gripped the rough, black spikes tightly as he gazed at the wondrous landscape at his feet. The entire country at his feet. The Khaz’Tiber.

That was the only place where he felt truly free, and thankfully, it was a huge place: the sky. On the back of his most faithful companion. It had been a while since he had left the mythical peaks behind and in doing so, he had felt a strange sadness pinch him. He had spent his whole life there, ever since he had run the twelve leagues cross-country to alert his compatriots. He was leaving behind his nest, and also that of his companion, in the highest villages of the known world.

Then he turned, to take a last look at the diffuse, jagged line that seemed to want to tear the firmament. He was aware that it would be many moons before he would climb back up its steep slopes peeled by the four winds. ‘So long, friends.’

Below, the hillocks of the terrain were now no more than small spurs compared to what he knew. Then they became plains and small forests, and later fields of crops that appeared as a patchwork of patches of different shades ranging from green to yellow. At last, a thick line of a very light brown broke through the green meadows and behind it, the sea. The White Roadstead.

He had expected to see a white carpet, just as the elders of Ha Gian had once described it to him. However, it was blue. The light blue and crystalline color enveloped the long sandy beach and gradually darkened to an indigo tone that inspired a certain respect. Not only because of the color, but also because of the immensity that could not be seen with the naked eye. The elders always told him that the ocean was fearsome and hid the best kept secrets. It seemed to him like a gigantic blanket covering a whole unexplored world.

They skirted the entire coastline to the south, enjoying the yellow ripples of the dunes, watching the rocks that cut bays like dikes and spotting small fishing villages and dots in the sea that must have been small boats or sloops. He imagined the faces the villagers would make as they watched them pass overhead.

His, in fact, began to ache, no doubt because of the altitude. No matter how much his trainers warned him, he always lost track of time when flying. He spurred his mount in such a way as to initiate the descent, which it obeyed without complaint. The earth approached them at lightning speed. The elegant slate roofs of a secluded little village were just above the ground. The dragon’s claws tore through the sand, digging great furrows in the beach, and at last they came to rest in front of the estuary of the Turemis, the longest river in the world, so they said.

A dragon!

Holy moly!

It’s the first time I’ve seen one so close!

He waited for people to approach him. The most curious were the most daring, or the most unaware: the children. Parents called their children, worried about what mischief they might do. Playing with a dragon was dangerous. That was something everyone knew. Or they thought they knew it, because there were very few who knew the truth about dragons. And he was one of them.

He dismounted with a leap, trying to look as agile as a cheetah. His numb knees suffered as he landed and his feet would have wept at the impact if they could have. He found the sand harder than lead, but he held his ground. He stretched his legs as if they were nothing, craned his neck and exhaled a long sigh.

He’s a dragon rider! exclaimed a woman amidst the commotion that had formed.

What’s your name, rider? asked an old man, as if he was used to dealing with that kind of surprise and who stood at the head of the community of villagers.

An Long, sir.

The dragon allowed himself to be petted, although he didn’t seem to be too amused. Some children tried to climb up its sturdy legs, others rode on its scaly tail to the horrified gaze of their mothers, and the occasional reckless one sought its gaze. But the colossal animal ignored them as best he could.

You look too young to be a rider, said one of those watching from the front row.

Dragons don’t choose their rider by age, he merely replied, shrugging his shoulders.

Damn Torven, but what manners are those! Do you know where the peaks of the Tiber are, you ignorant mollusk? He must have traveled a hundred leagues at least, and you greet him with suspicion! the old man glared at him. Then he turned to the rider. I am Harald, the dean of this village. By the way, known for his hospitality. Forgive him, not all of us have the gift of the gab around here. And we are not used to receiving such honorable visitors, he paused to look at the rider and glance at the dragon lying quietly on the sand behind him.