Page 1 of Forcing Fate

Prologue

Year 870 After the Alliance of the Dragon Men

The crowd gathered in the amphitheater. Excitement flitted across the multitude, each person restless for the main event. Bards led in happy choruses, which some of the crowd joined in, and jovial chatter filled the air. Stark rays of summer light illuminated the sandy arena, caressing the colorful globes huddled in the center.

Dragon eggs.

Each egg held its own distinct hue. Colors and shades ranged from the darkest black to the brightest scarlet and emerald. Some shadowed the deepest blue, a mirror image of the night sky, while others portrayed the purest white, untouched by flaw. Some were bright, while others were earthy and mottled.

In a wide circle surrounding the eggs, sat the young Dragon Men, humans schooled and versed in all things Dragon Kind. Years of training prepared them for this day. The Masters only selected those who excelled in every aspect of their schooling. They were the best of the best. Chosen to be Dragon Men.

They sat on the sand, hands folded and backs straight, waiting for the first crack of an egg. Adult dragons leaned over the rooftop, crooning down at the brood. Once in a while, a dragon would stretch its wings, crowding the others. Roars and screeches erupted as they settled back into place. Their claws scraped against roof tiles, just as anxious to witness the first signs of hatching.

A female dragon, the color of deepest purple, whined and craned her head, attempting to get a better view. Her Rider, a slight fellow with tawny hair perched beside her. He stroked her violet scales and spoke hushed, soothing words.

Crack!

The sound reverberated through the arena. Conversations ceased. All song and festive chatter came to an abrupt halt and every set of eyes fixated on the clutch, searching for the source, heralding a new generation.

A gray egg, mottled with mundane brown splotches, shuddered free of the rest. It wobbled a short distance from its siblings and soft gasps of wonder coursed through the crowd. Even the dragons held their breath in silent anticipation.

Crack! Crack!

Fractures split and spider-webbed its surface as it trembled with the effort of the cramped dragon struggling to escape its prison. People lifted onto their toes to peer over each other, all eyes trained on that single egg—the firstborn of the clutch.

Pop!

A small shard broke loose, revealing a petite, stubby nose. The grayish-brown snout halted as it hit the outside air. After a moment, its tiny nostrils flared as it took its first breath. A forked tongue flicked out, tasting the foreign world.

The egg lurched and a clawed foot broke through, tearing away pieces of shell. It let out a squeak in anger at its confines. Someone in the audience jested, claiming it to be a feisty devil. Polite, quiet laughter followed.

Stone-colored eyelids slid back, revealing golden eyes, as the new dragon shivered off the last bit of shell. It shook its fragile wings in awkward jerking motions, letting them stiffen and harden in the sultry summer air. After tucking its wings close to its sides, the dragonling turned in a slow circle, studying the ring of Dragon Men. With bated breath, everyone wondered which it would choose to be its Rider. Then the little dragonling did something peculiar that had never happened before. Its bright eyes flared as it snorted and backed itself into the clutch with cautious steps, cowering amongst its siblings.

It backed away… from the Dragon Men.

Murmurs spread through the onlookers. Above, dragons clicked in wonder. Perhaps the dragonling just needed time. New hatchlings were usually quick to single out a Rider, eager to begin the bonding that would last their lifetimes.

Never had a dragonling backed away from the would-be Riders.

One egg after another hatched. Brightly colored dragonlings of red, green, blue, and stark contrasting ones of pitch black and the purest white took the attention off the little one. They all squealed and waddled over to Riders, drying their wings and nuzzling eager hands.

The dragonlings were new to the bond, to this world, yet they had the instinct that drew them to certain Riders. These clutches always chose the next generation of Riders. They always bonded to the ones the Masters had chosen, the ones who had excelled in every aspect that would be a Dragon Rider’s life.

As excitement over the new dragonlings subsided, if only marginally, focus once again returned to the first dragonling. The little golden-eyed hatchling stood in the center of the broken eggs. Its eyes flashed with distrust as it gazed upon the other dragonlings with their Riders.

One Dragon Man remained.

He sat cross-legged on the sand, his soft gaze sought the young beast. Riders never approached a hatchling. The newborn creatures had always come to the Rider. The Rider did as he had been trained—he sat and waited.

A bell chimed in the distance. Traditionally, this would be the time in which the Riders would take their young bonded dragons and feed them for the first time.

Yet, this year there was an anomaly.

A Master stepped from the side, approaching the would-be Rider, who still sat on the ground, dragonless. He gave a careful berth to all newly bonded, as was customary, to let them acquaint themselves with one another. Low and curious chatter filled the air, the crowd puzzled by the antics of the dragonling and Rider.

The Master bent low. His white hair fell over his face, shielding his mouth from prying eyes. He whispered something to the young man, then straightened, backing away with his fierce blue gaze trained on the back of the dragonling.

With a frown, the Dragon Man rose to his feet. He brushed the sand from his trousers and stilled, studying the hatchling. Slowly, the little beast turned his head, looking over his back at the Rider, tail thrashing with agitation. Its big, bright eyes took the Rider in and it whirled, facing the Rider head on.

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