Ryn

Chapter One

To become an adult dragonling in our society, draggies must claim their first life in the Trial of Blood to prove their strength.

This is Our Law.

~ From the Dragonling Grimoire

They say the Trial of Blood is an honorable thing. To win your place in our society by ripping the life from another.

Watching the two fyns snarl and slash at each other on the red-stained sand of the arena from the marble pavilion, I could really understand what they mean. Just the sight of the male dragonlings fighting made my heart speed up, the scent of sweat and blood making my veins burn with the killer instinct of my ancestors.

The fyns were evenly matched as they struck out against each other. The crowd cheered and booed as their favorites won or lost ground. Once or twice one would fall down, sending a burst of sand into the air that would obscure the view. The next second a burst of fire would alert the observers to where the two were. My heart pounded as I thought that soon I would be out there too - next, actually. I had drawn the first fight for the females.

To keep myself from starting a fight to satisfy the bloodlust creeping through my mind, I took a deep breath and focused on my hands. Thick calluses marred my palms and the bases of my fingers. A small scab from a cut on my left thumb from where I mishandled a knife earlier this week was peeling away. My skin was tanned from days of hard work under the sun, taut over muscles that I worked tirelessly to maintain.

This was a meditation practice taught to us Ryns when we learned to control our instincts in favor of rational thought. I found it a giant waste of time. Mostly because I hated anything that made sit still for more than two candle marks. Waiting and waiting and waiting for my turn to fight was driving me insane. The meditation bullshit wasn't working. I decided to appraise my possible enemies instead.

Around me were dozens of other wyks — female dragonlings — that were similarly waiting for their turn to fight. Several of them I knew and wouldn't find fighting. Most of them came from other colonies far away. We were all dressed in simple red tunics and black leggings. Not that it mattered what we wore. We wouldn't stay in this human form during the fight.

Just the thought of fighting made me giddy and made the blood lust swell. Call me violent all you want, but there's nothing better than simply living. War and bloodshed was my life's purpose, and fighting validated my worth in the world.

"Anita." The cold, emotionless voice of Lord Edik roused me from my, ah, cheerful thoughts. I looked up to see him dressed in a black and green uniform with a cutlass strapped to his hip. He wasn't handsome; in fact, he was ugly, with plain features paired with dull blue eyes and thin brown hair. A well-maintained mustache made his thin lips droop under the weight and his scraggly beard looked like wild bracken. God, I hated facial hair. Especially on sleazy old men.