He flashed another flag—red with a gold stripe.
“Wing down!”
At once, the dragons dropped back down, all of their long wings working to keep them in place.
Professor Humbolt put us through our paces. He had us go left, then right, then he had us all dive sharply, at once—a frightening but exhilarating sensation.
I gasped as the ground raced towards us and I started to rise out of the saddle, but a strong arm slid around me and Ryse murmured in my ear,
“See? That’s why I wanted you sitting in front of me.”
He held me tight against him until M’alex pulled back up at what felt like the very last minute, and we resumed our position, hovering in midair.
Then it was the students’ turn to show flags. Professor Humbolt called out instructions and we showed the flag he wanted.
I waved my flags high, being sure he saw me and got every one right, much to my relief.
Then there was a final flag—white with an orange stripe.
Ryse gave a long, low whistle.
“Have you ever ridden on a flaming dragon?” he asked me.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Well, you’re about to. Get ready—we’re doing a fly-over of the Burn Pits.”
The Burn Pits were located on the far side of the Old Drake—an area of charred and blasted stone and volcanic ash where the dragons practiced flaming. I had never seen them in person, though I knew the upperclassmen flew over them every day during practice.
To avoid confusion and possible injury, we were going one at a time. I watched as the common Browns, then the common Blues and Greens went first. Their fire wasn’t very strong. The flames they produced were red and orange, like the fire you might build in a hearth at home and their jets of flame barely reached ten feet in front of them.
Then came a Bronze-wing—his fire was much hotter and reached farther. It was lighter orange in color. The two Silver-wings in the class could shoot a gout of flame twenty feet into the air and their flame was so hot it was pale orangish-yellow. Then came the only other Gold-wing in the class—he shot a gout of flame twenty-five feet or thirty feet through the air and the color of it was white hot.
“Get ready,” Ryse said in my ear. “We’re last but we’re going to be best. M’alex heats up a lot when he flames but he won’t burn you,” he added.
As he spoke, we swooped over the Burn Pits. M’alex opened his great mouth, and I felt a surge of heat rising from the enormous body underneath me. A gout of flame so white it was tinged with purple shot through the air. I estimated that it had to be fifty feet long at least and it melted the rocks below us to liquid.
I drew in a breath of pure wonder. M’alex really was exceptional—a once in a lifetime dragon. I felt his pride in the fury of his own flame as it rushed through him and Ryse’s pride at his mount’s pure power and grace.
It was a life-changing moment and I knew I would never forget it.
When we finally landed back on the Flight Terraces, I slid to the ground with Ryse’s help. M’alex’s mouth was still steaming and he was puffing white smoke rings from his flaring nostrils, so I hugged his scaly foreleg instead of his neck.
“Thank you,” I said, looking up at him. “That was…amazing.” Then I looked at Ryse. “Thank you, too. He’s one of a kind.”
A strange look crossed his face.
“Funny—that’s what he said about you.”
“Really?” I asked, frowning. Why would M’alex take an interest in me? I still didn’t know.
“Really.” He stretched. “Anyway, I’m glad you like flying with me because you’ll be doing it every day from now on.”
“What?” I nearly squeaked.
He nodded.
