The Race of the Firedrake

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

However, when the emperor discovered what excellent war machines dragons made, there was no looking back for the Roman Empire.

There was a reason all roads led to Rome. There was a reason Rome was so successful in both war and peace. It was thanks to the dragons.

Julius Caesar used them in his military career, the first leader in history to ever employ a dragon under human power. As time went on, the Roman army used fewer and fewer horses in battle, choosing to mount dragons and take to the air to rain fire from above on the enemy. Why ride a horse when one could ride a dragon?

But dragons were not only seen fit for war. Looking beyond the epic victories on the field, leadership in Rome began to see another use for the magnificent beasts. The famous Colosseum of gladitorial sport and chariot races that entertained thousands would soon be home to legendary games of dragon fighting, whether it was between man and animal, or animal against animal. Dragons became a great commodity of ancient Rome, bred and trained and treated for the life of an entertainer or combatant, or both. Dragons fought eachother in the arena, but sometimes gladiator slaves, criminals, and even prominent noblemen or soldiers who wished to demonstrate their skill and win fame also stood off against the dragons in the Colosseum.

Those of the dragons who were used in the arena were kept in a special holding menagerie and tended to daily. There were dragon physicians, dragon keepers, dragon feeders, and dragon trainers. There were even dragon groomers whose sole job was to make the creatures look their best before the eyes of Rome. Dragons only belonged to the army and the Crown, or to those who gained the favor the Crown and, in the eyes of the Emperor, deserved the gift of a dragon.

There was one other group of people who could own dragons in ancient Rome. These were the draconian athletes known as the Racers.

In the Valley, between the two hills upon which it was said that Rome was founded by the brothers Romulus and Remus, was where the great Race of the Firedrake was held every year. This was a separate event from the Colosseum games. Only the finest, best-trained citizens of Rome could participate in this honored but dangerous race. The Racers had to undergo a physical exam and flight test to become dragon riders in the Race of the Firedrake.

This was a true test of endurance and command over the rider and their mount. The Race began on the reigning emperor's birthday each year, stretching from the heart of the Valley across thousands of miles of land around the glistening Mediterranean, up into Germania, down into Africa, across to the Holy Lands, with checkpoints along the way where each contestant must collect tokens to show proof they had gone the entire length of the race without taking shortcuts.

The idea of the prestige and glory from winning the famouse Race of the Firedrake carried many a starry-eyed dreamer on clouds of hope that were hit hard by stunning reality. It took years of training and an ironclad will (not to mention deep pockets) in order to enter and compete in the Race. One had to be able to afford, keep, train, and pay the entry fee for a dragon in the Race. One had to brave the dangers of the Race itself while looking after their dragon. The duration of the Race took weeks, and while many dared to enter, the amount of those who returned was never equal to the amount that took part.

Yes, some raced for the glory. Some raced to win the prize money. Some raced to keep the dragon they rode that perhaps they had borrowed out because they did not own one. Every Racer posessed skill, determination, and desire to win. They flew because they wanted to.

But one boy entered the race, not because he wanted to, but to save his family.

This is his story. The beautiful dragon who became his friend. The daughter trying to please her cold-hearted father. A history of bitterness. An epic race with deadly stakes.

It was the time of Caesars and centurions. Men were prided and celebrated for their heroic deeds in battle and their prowess on the political floor, their skill in blood, blade, sport. But it takes more than that to become a hero.

When it was whispered that Nero had enlisted the help of dragons in the great Burning of Rome in the summer of 64 CE, the great creatures were slaughtered or driven from the land. So few of them remain today, it is no wonder many don't believe in dragons. We so rarely see them, after all. It is easy to believe they don't exist.

No, there weren't always dragons in the Valley. But we can be glad they once were, for if not, we would not have this story...

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"He's coming!" the small girl shouted from her perch in the large olive tree, shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun. Across the courtyard, a boy raised his head from his book. His eyes danced with excitement.

"I'll beat you, Lisa!" he called, tossing aside his tome and jumping to his feet. "I'm going to reach him first!"

"No!" she cried, struggling to get back to the ground. "You always do because your legs are longer! It's not fair!"

Titus laughed and turned toward the patio entrance, feigning a dramatic running position. The younger girl made it out of the tree with a grunt, lifting her skirts as she started to dash toward the patio herself. Titus gave her a few seconds' head start with a good-natured grin, then ran after her.

They rushed down the length of the house, narrowly avoiding stumbling over a couple of servants washing the floor of the vestibulum, the entrance hall. Titus yelped as he slipped on the wet mosaics, sending him into a sliding spin.

"Arg! Not fair!" he shouted as his sister raced past him, turning her head with a laugh. Titus managed to stay on his feet, but by the time he was steady again he was already not the first to fling his arms around a tall, gray-bearded man entering the vestibulum. Lisa had won this time.

"I see you bested your brother this time, my dear," he said with a laugh as he handed off a heavy leather satchel to another servant waiting by the front door. "Has he grown slower of late?"

Lisa grinned as she hugged him. "More clumsy, maybe." She cast Titus a mischievous smirk. He approached, shaking his head.

"A fine way to treat me," he protested, reaching out to ruffle her dark hair. She ducked and batted away his hand. "After the head start I gave you."

"I'm as fast as one of the Racers. Don't you think so, Father?" She turned pleading eyes toward the bearded man's face, and he chuckled, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

"You would outdo them all in the Firedrake Race," he said, his deep voice warm and caressing. He patted Titus' shoulder as they walked past him, and the boy fell into step beside them, with their father in the middle.

"Speaking of the Race, how is that one dragon faring, the mount of the emperor's son, Father?" Lisa asked eagerly. Their father worked as a clinical caretaker for dragons. In fact, he was the most famous dragon surgeon in Rome, and had even been sent for by the palace to do his work.

Father’s steps slowed, and his forehead puckered. “Her health has not been good of late, I’m afraid. And what’s even more concerning is that she is due to give birth any day now. Perhaps even tonight. I want to go and check on her one last time and be there in case she does lay the egg tonight. Which is why I can’t stay for dinner.”

Lisa stuck out her lip in a pout, but then her eyes lit up. “Can I go with you, Father? Please? I've never seen a dragon birth. Please, can I come?”

“I have attendants to assist me at the surgery, Lisa. And you're a little young to be that close to the dragons.”

“But I want to see her!” Lisa skipped forward and started walking backward in front of her father. “I know she must be absolutely beautiful. Please, Father?”

“Why do you want to go be around those old dragons so much anyway?” Titus broke in. His own palms started to sweat at the idea of being up near one of the firedrakes. “They can eat you up in a single gulp, or burn you to ashes in one breath!”

Lisa glared in annoyance at her brother, then turned pleading eyes back to Father. “I promise I won’t be in the way, and I’ll do everything you tell me.”

Father stopped walking and sighed, running his tongue along his lower lip as he studied his daughter's expectant face. Fondness and concern shone out of his eyes.

"You're too young, my dear." He reached out toward her, but she groaned and flounced off toward the courtyard. "I never get to do anything I want," they heard her grumble.

"However, son..." Father turned to Titus. "I would like you to accompany me this evening."

Titus' heart stuttered. "Me, Father? Why?"

"You are nearly of age to begin your training in the dragon surgery, Titus. It would serve you well to gain some field experience."

"But, but, Lisa is the one who loves dragons and studies them all the time. I don't." Titus clenched his fists and released them repeatedly at his sides. "I'd rather choose another profession to train in, Father."

"Why do you fear them so?" His father narrowed his gaze. "Truly, Titus, there is a respect and danger, yes, but taking care of dragons is very rewarding and contributes to our society and way of life. With the proper training and supervision, care, and knowledge, you will shine in this profession."

Titus tightened his mouth and cut his eyes away.

"It's one of my greatest wishes that you would continue my work when I am too elderly to do it anymore," said Father, patting his son's shoulder. "Don't you want to have a career to take care of a family one day and bring honor to your empire?"

"Of course, Father." Titus rubbed the back of his neck, then crossed his arms, rubbings his elbows. "I just...It's just..."

Father watched him intently.

"Felix, you're home!"

They both turned as a woman in a flowing white stola walked down the open hallway toward them, her face beaming. Father's eyes softened, and a broad smile lit his face as he stepped forward to meet her.

"Valeria, my heart." He took her in his arms and embraced her tenderly. Titus watched his parents with a half-smile that dropped to a troubled frown when he looked to his mother's arms around Father's neck. Thick white masses of scar tissue ran from her left wrist all the way up her arm, disappearing into her dress and peeking out by her neck, tracing up nearly to her ear.

Titus felt a pang of sadness and closed his eyes. It wasn't fair. No one as kindhearted and selfless as his mother should ever have to endure the suffering she had.

"Are you sure, my love?" Mother was saying. "This is the third night this week you won't be home for supper."

"I wish it were different, Valeria, but I really want to be with this dragon tonight." Father stroked her cheek. "She's been in poor health and due any time to have her young. I need to be with her when that happens."

"Well, you do know best." Mother placed her hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. "But we will miss you tonight."

"And I, you." Father took her hand. "But I will be taking Titus with me as well." He turned them both around to face the boy.

"Really, Titus?" Mother said in surprise.

He shrugged and tried to pull up the corners of his mouth. "Father wants me to gain some experience before I begin my training."

"What a wonderful idea!" Mother walked over to him and kissed his forehead. "I am so proud you, son."

Titus nodded, his eyes on the scars covering Mother's arm.

"Come, let me get the instruments I'll need and we shall be off," said Father briskly. He kissed Mother's hand and strode off, clapping Titus on the shoulder in passing.

Mother put her hand on his head and stroked his hair. "Listen to your father. He is a wise and caring man. You'll do well to learn from him."

"Yes, Mother." Titus bowed his head and walked away wondering if he could somehow muster a grueling stomachache in the next five minutes that would keep him in bed for the rest of the night.

Fortune did not favor him in such a way, and Titus found himself accompanying Father to the palace shortly after. Many gladiator dragons were kept in stalls around or below the Colosseum, but imperial dragons that belonged strictly to the royal family had their own special enclosures and pastures behind the palace walls. Guards stood at attention. Wranglers and handlers exercised and corralled the dragons. Groomers were busy cleaning, other workers were bringing in large amounts of food for the dragons, and soldiers and Racers were visiting their mounts and training on them.

Titus looked around in awe and fear as he followed Father toward the end of a long stable. The smell of dragon dung, fresh hay, meat, sweat, and smoke stung his nostrils. Roars both soft and loud ground against his ears, along with thuds and the clatter of chains keeping the dragons in their stalls.

One thrust its head over the door of its stall, nearly into Titus' face as he passed. He yelped and jumped back, adrenaline screaming through his veins. Heart thudding and hands shaking, he stared up into the long, scaly face of a large, emerald-colored dragon with deep, black eyes gazing back at him. It huffed and blew, almost like a horse, then drew back its head into the stall.

Father had turned around when Titus yelled, and hurried back.

"What's wrong, son?" He looked at the stall door where Titus was still staring, then back at Titus. "What happened?"

Titus swallowed and bit his lips together hard. Chest heaving, he blinked and said, "I'm fine, Father. Just a big, dumb dragon startled me. That's all."

Father's mouth opened, but he stayed silent as Titus marched past him without more comment.

The stall they approached had two guards and the insignia of Caesar above the door. Father greeted the guards as he entered, but Titus kept his eyes on the floor.

The stall was dimly lit with lanterns hung from the high ceiling. It was nearly as large as the family courtyard at home. Hay was strewn on the floor, along with many, many pieces of gold that glinted in the light. The money was an added specialty which not many could afford to spend on the comfort of their dragons, even though most who owned one knew gold coins were the surest way to make their mount feel content and relaxed in their bed.

Titus stayed behind Father, but he peeked around him to see where the dragon was, and his breath caught when he saw her.

She was twice the size of a stallion, with a beautiful hide the color of an autumn evening in the woods. Even the faint lantern light could not detract from her rosy beauty. Her long tail lay curled around her body, the end of which split out into three spines on either side. Her head, which rested on the floor, had a lovely crest, but Titus found himself looking at the grim talons protruding from her front feet by her head.

He couldn't deny she was a beautiful creature, and she seemed calm enough. Her sides pulled in and then expanded rhythmically in slumber. But Titus knew the threat was there, nonetheless. The fire within might lie dormant now, but could flare to life at any moment.

Father slowly approached the dragon, setting aside his medical satchel. He stood by her head and placed a hand on her side, stroking her and murmuring softly in her ear. Titus watched, interested in spite of his misgivings, then felt upset for having any fascination.

"Isn't she magnificant, Titus?" Father said in a low voice, still running his hand over the dragon's ruddy scales. "Poor thing. She has a fever." He knelt down and placed his hand lightly over her belly, feeling up and down, his brow furrowed. "She used to be a fierce queen of the dragons, a wonder in the arena. A winged warrior."

"How can you be so close to it?" Titus demanded softly. Father looked up. "Aren't you afraid of it at all?"

Father rose. "All creatures, great or small, deserve some measure of respect. It's my job to tend to this particular breed of creatures, and I will do everything I can to keep them healthy and strong. Yes, there is a level of danger with dragons, but I care more about their safety. This is something I hope you will one day understand, Titus."

Titus jutted out his chin and avoided Father's eyes. He didn't want to look at the dragon, either. Resentment was starting to bubble in his chest.

Father stood in front of Titus and put his hands on both his shoulders, forcing him to look up. "You never answered my question from earlier. Why are you so afraid of them?"

"I'm not...it's not that I'm so afraid of them...though I don't care for them," Titus muttered. Father's eyes prompted him, and he sighed. "Fine. They frighten me. I don't like them. I don't want to be around them. I mean, look what they did to..." He stopped, emotion rising in his throat and threatening to choke him.

Understanding dawned in Father's face. He dropped his hands and lowered his head. "Because of your mother," he said softly. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "Titus, listen to me. That was one dragon, one time, many years ago. You cannot place blame on all of them for the fault of one."

"But the danger rests in every one of them, Father! Even if not every dragon does what that one did to Mother, they have the power and weapons to hurt people. And I don't want to spend my career maintaining their well-being so they can continue being a potential threat." Titus folded his arms, letting out his breath in a rush.

"Son," Father began but was interrupted by a low rumble behind them. He quickly turned and hurried back to the dragon. She moved her head from side to side, another deep rumble escaping from her throat.

"She's going to lay her egg soon," Father said excitedly, probing her side again. "Titus, we are fortunate to be witness to this. Here, help me."

It didn't take long. Titus stood as far back as he could from the dragon and handed Father the instruments he asked for. Soon she was pushing, and blowing hard through her huge nostrils. Titus looked down and saw a large egg, glistening and shimmering like a piece of the moon.

Father was all awe as he reached down to lift it, as carefully as if he were holding a baby. Both hands firm around the egg, he held it out to Titus.

"Amazing, isn't it?" he whispered gleefully. "A whole new dragon life inside. Who knows what wondrous things this dragonet will do for the glory of Rome!"

Titus looked at the egg, at the bright, glimmering shell. He didn't realize he was reaching toward it until he felt the cool smoothness under his fingertips. As he touched it, the mother dragon lifted her head and let out a quiet call, almost like a cry of finality.

As father and son turned toward her, the dragon blew out one more great breath followed by a softer call like the first, then lowered her head back to the ground. She did not move again.

Father shook his head, sorrow clouding his eyes. "I am truly sorry. Having her dragonet was the last blow to her decline. I shall have to inform Prince Marcus that his prized mount has passed beyond this life." He rolled down his sleeves. Titus looked down at the egg in his hands. Where before it had been cool, warmth now emanated from it, caressing up his arms and calming him.

"What will happen to the egg?" he asked.

"That is the property of the palace," Father replied, beginning to put his medical instruments back in the satchel. "I imagine after the dragonet hatches, he or she will be raised to follow in the footsteps of the mother. Though I find it hard to believe any dragon can match her finery." He looked regrettably at the mother.

Titus could see how upset his father was by the death of the prince's dragon, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He still felt anger in his heart toward the creatures.

Holding the egg in his hands, with the unseen life pulsing inside, he whispered, "You may be just a dragonet, but you're still one of them."