Chapter Three

Autumn had arrived, but only on the calendar. It was hot and dry, the rains promised by the sages and tradition still absent. Dust swirled about Hal's feet as he tramped on, ever south toward the cities along the Chicor Straits.

His purse was full, if of more copper than silver, he had a new cloak rolled on his shoulders, and his pack held bread, cheese, and a flask of beer.

Kailas should have been content, for a wandering worker. But he felt aimless, with nothing north or south to particularly draw him, nor did any of the jobs he considered much interest him.

He heard the clatter of hooves, jumped out of the way as a fast coach drawn by eight thundered past.

Hal coughed his way through the dust cloud it left, the driver of course not bothering to slow for one more shabby wanderer, his unseen master hidden behind drawn curtains.

Such it would always be, Kailas thought, with only a bit of resentment.

There would always be those who rode in coaches, like the Tregonys of the village he'd left, and those who walked in the dust or mud.

Like Hal.

He didn't really mind being a poor nomad—at his age, almost everything was an adventure. But he'd seen the older vagrants, tottering along, joints screaming, able to eat only mush, drunkenness their only solace, without kith or kin to care about them until the day they finally died in some roadside ditch.

That was not what he wanted.

But he was damned if he knew what he did want.

A shrilling came, and he looked up, saw a large dragon, all shades of green, following the road, about a hundred feet up. He was ready to duck for cover—other travelers had told him dragons haunted this lonely road, ready to swoop, kill and carry off any solitary vagabond.

But then he forgot his caution as he saw, on the dragon's back, a rider.

The dragon soared closer, and Hal could make out more of the man on its back. He was tall, very thin, long-faced, and had a well-trimmed gray beard. He wore brown leather boots, breeches and vest, a tan shirt under the vest, and a slouch hat crammed down on his head.

He held reins in one hand that ran to ringbolts mounted through spikes behind the dragon's mouth, and was sitting comfortably on some sort of pad on its shoulder blades.

He saw Hal, boomed laughter that seemed to ring across the land below.

Hal gaped like a ninny. He'd heard of men who had learned to ride dragons, didn't quite believe the tales even though he'd briefly been on one of the monsters a month gone.

But here was proof—the man appeared in complete control of the beast, touching reins, and the dragon pirouetted through the air.

The man reached in a bag, and scattered a handful of dust.

The dust sparkled in the air, then shimmered, and letters came, floating in the middle of nowhere:

!MAGICK!

!SORCERY!

!ATHELNY Of THE DRAGONS!

SEE THE

WONDROUS DISPLAY OF

ATHELNY'S ART AND SKILL!

RIDE A

DRAGON YOURSELF

NO DANGER BUT ONLY FOR THE BOLDEST

Hal barely noted that the warning was in quite small letters.

Ride a dragon?

He tore off his cap, waved, shouted, danced in the dusty road.

Again the dragon swooped back, and its rider cupped his hands, and shouted:

"Two villages away, boy! We'll see you there… if you've got the silver!"

The dragon banked.

Hal shouted back: "You will! I'll be there!"

But, if Athelny—that must be him—heard, he neither flew nor looked back.

Hal ran after him, then caught himself, slowing to a trot and then a fast walk. Yes. He surely would be there. He wondered what it cost for a ride.

* * *

It was one silver coin too much. Hal counted his purse for the fourth time, wasn't able to improve his pelf. The sign implacably read: RIDE THE DRAGON

10 SILVER BARONS

An outrageous sum—but there were people lining up to pay it. Most were young bravos from the village, or merchants' children. Hal noticed half a dozen giggling girls in the line.

He tried to remember where that silver coin he needed so desperately had strayed. A night's lodging and a long, luxuriant bath after leaving the hopfields? That steak with half a bottle of Sagene wine he'd treated himself to? That damned cloak he'd thought a wonderful present to himself, when the weather suggested he wouldn't be needing it for awhile?

It was no use.

Even with his coppers, he was still short… and if he managed to find a spare coin in his delvings, what would he do for food on the morrow?

Glumly, he considered Athelny's show.

To someone from a big city, it might have appeared somewhat unimpressive: three wagons, one for sleeping, the other two heavy freight wagons with flat tops and ties to keep the dragons secure. Athelny had three wagoneers, plus two cunning-looking young men, not much older than Hal, obviously city sharpsters. They took tickets, made sure the passengers were securely tied in behind Athelny, jollied the crowd and joked with each other, just a little too loudly, about the rustics around them.

But none of this mattered to Hal, because Athelny had two real dragons, the green one he'd seen on the road, and a slightly younger one, in various dark reds.

The red dragon was sprightlier, constantly trying to take off with the other, the one Athelny was giving rides with. Earlier, the red one had shown his tricks in aerial acrobats, which Hal had seen the last of.

Both monsters were well-tended, scales brushed and oiled so they gleamed, wings shining, talons polished.

Hal had already noted Athelny's riding-pad, a flat saddle tied to two ringbolts drilled through the dragon's neck carapace. Now he saw a second saddle mounted behind the rider's, this one fitted with leather shoulder straps.

If these dragons were his, Hal thought, he wouldn't demean them by giving bumpkins rides for silver.

He would be the bold explorer, finding lands no one from Deraine would know, perhaps even visiting Black Island that the boastful Roche claimed as their own, reputedly the home of the biggest, most dangerous black dragons, a breed unto themselves.

His practical side jeered—and what would he use to feed his dragons, let alone himself?

There were two bullocks, lowing as if knowing their fate, tied behind the wagons, and one of the teamsters had said they would serve as dinner for man and beast.

"Pity they don't breath fire, like tavern talk would have it," one of the teamsters had told him. "That way, we could get 'em cooked in th'

bargain."

Perhaps, his dream ran on, he could find a rich lord to sponsor his explorations.

If not, and he must make his way giving jaunts for his wages, he would cater to the rich, and charge accordingly, giving long flights to lords and their ladies. He'd learn about the country around him, and lecture and be thought wise.

And wasn't it you, not long ago, thinking of how much you despised those rich? I do, Hal thought. It's only their gold I lust for.

Suddenly he grinned.

Nice dreams, he thought, remembering the wanderer's weary joke: If I had some ham, I could have some ham and eggs, if I had some eggs. All I need is some money, some dragons and some wagons, and I'm as good—better, maybe—then Athelny.

Meantime, it's him up there, darting among the clouds, a squealing girl hanging tightly to him, and Hal down here, slumped against a wagon wheel, without the money for even a few seconds aloft.

"Why ain't you in line, since you was so innarested in dragons?"

It was the teamster he'd talked to earlier. Hal thought about it, told her the truth.

The woman nodded.

"Athelny charges fair coin for his pleasures, he does," She thought a moment. "Course, there's always a way for someone who's not afraid of work to earn a lift."

Hope came.

"Work's no stranger to me," he said.

The woman looked about. "I could be a shit, an' ask if you'd mind killin'

those beeves we've got tied up… but I ain't.

"Tell you what. By th' way, m'name's Gaeta. I handle the business, day to day, for the show. Our wagons're filthy. I'll have Chapu—he's that fat one over there—drive 'em back to that river we forded.

"You'll find some rags and a bucket from the wagonbox over there."

Hal was on his feet, hurrying toward the wagon she'd pointed out before she finished.

"So you're the lad who's been shining m'wagons for the last half-day, eh?" Athelny asked. He had a bluff, hearty voice, and wanted the listener to think he was one of the upper classes, Hal thought.

Nothing wrong with that, his mind went on, as his fingers linked the two straps, once saddle cinches, that would hold him firm in the seat behind Athelny.

"Have to do you a return, then, and give you a proper ride," Athelny said. "If that's what you want. Or would you rather have the nice lift, the smooth sail, and the gentle landing such as I've been giving the girls of this burg all day?"

"Whatever you want, sir," Hal said.

"Thought you might want a little excitement, which is why I changed saddles for Red. But if you get sick on me," Athelny promised, "you'll think cleaning those wagons was a jolly sport."

"I won't," Hal said, and told his stomach it'd best obey or he'd put nothing in it for the next year, damnit!

"Then hang on."

Athelny slid easily on to the pad in front of Hal, grabbed the reins and slapped them against the dragon's neck. The beast snorted, and its wings uncurled, thrashed, like distant thunder.

"You interested in flying one day?" Athelny asked over his shoulder.

"Yessir." Hal didn't mention his momentary flight over the hopfields.

"Then I'll tell you what's going on. M'dragon, Red, here'd be happier if he had a height to sail down from, instead of having to lift all by himself.

"Another thing that's makin' him a bit unhappy is how hot and muggy

'tis. You'd think, with the air thick like this, a dragon's wings'd have more to push against, and would take off easier.

"But not. Demned if I know why. Now, he'll start trundlin' forward, and then stroke hard, and here we are!

"Airborne!"

Indeed they were, and Hal saw the remnants of the crowd grow smaller, and then he could see the wagons, and then the village.

"We'll climb up for a time," Athelny said, still not having to raise his voice. They weren't moving very fast, so there was little wind rush.

"Now, we're up a couple of hundred. We'll give Red a bit of a relax here, and circle while we're still climbing.

"Not that he believes he needs it for what he knows we'll attempt.

You've got to think for a dragon, sometimes, for he's not sure of what he wants. Then, other times…" Athelny didn't finish the sentence.

Hal barely noticed, looking down at the road he'd traveled so slowly this morning, hurry as he would, to reach the village. To either side there were trees, farmers' fields, and over there a lake he'd never suspicioned, growing from that small creek he'd forded.

Still farther out, in the blue haze of approaching dusk, were low hills, and unknown valleys.

"How far would we have to go up to see the ocean, sir?" he shouted.

"Don't b'lieve we could from here. Get as high as we could, where men and dragons have trouble breathing, their wings not lifting as they should, I still don't think we'd even see the province cap'tal, let alone any of the Strait Cities."

"Oh," Hal said, a bit disappointed.

"Why? You have people on the coast?"

"Nossir. I was just curious."

"Where are you from?"

Hal didn't feel like giving his biography.

"Not much of anywhere, sir. Some time back, up north."

Athelny turned, looked at him closely.

"You're just on the road, eh?"

He didn't wait for an answer, turned back.

"Now, we've got some height to us. Note how Red responds to the reins.

Tap him on the left side of his neck, he turns left. On the right, unless he's in a mood, he goes right.

"Flying, when the weather's calm like this—and when your beast's well-trained and in a proper mood—is easy as walking.

"Other times… Well, that's why there's so few dragon-masters."

It was a new word.

"How many are there?"

Athelny shrugged.

"Good question. P'raps a dozen here in Deraine, maybe more. I've heard there's some just flyin' for rich lords' pleasure, around their estates or wandering afar, just exploring for the sights."

That was for him, Hal thought.

"Roche has more. Quite a few more. Their queen's interested in anything new. I've heard some say they've got a hundred fliers, though I think that's a bit many for easy belief.

"Sagene… maybe ten. Their barons don't seem interested in anything other than their own pleasures and arses. Though I've wondered if there might not be gold to be made across the Straits, showing what a good honest Deraine flier can do.

"Enough of such. Now, hang on, for what we're doing is a climbing turn, taking us back the way we came."

And so Red obeyed, and the village came into sight again.

"Now a diving turn…"

The ground grew closer.

"Hang on, for Red's going to loop."

Hal was hanging from his ropes, looking up at down, as he had riding the dragon in the hopfields.

He couldn't hold back, but let out a yelp of pure joy.

"Good boy," Athelny approved. "Mayhap you are cut out for a flier.

Now we'll do a series of rolls."

The world barreled about Hal, and his stomach made a mild protest, which he ignored.

"Excellent, m'Red," Athelny approved. "You'll get the blood of one steer for that in your meal this night.

"Now, what do you think of this, son?"

Red suddenly dove, again reminding Kailas of his previous adventure.

Just below them were the show's wagons, and there were dots getting larger, becoming horses, people, as they closed on the ground.

But it was all quite remote for a few seconds. Then the earth was rushing up at them, fast, faster. Athelny was pulling back hard on the reins, grunting with effort.

The dragon's wings were spread flat, braking the long dive, and rattling loudly.

Then the ground was below them, not fifty feet, as the dragon's dive flattened, and then, once more, Red climbed for the skies.

"Did you have your eyes closed?"

"Nossir."

"Then, did you notice how the world seemed to be coming up at you quicker there at the last?"

"I did, sir." Hal was pleased that his guts were silent now.

"Good. When that happens, means you're within a couple hundred feet, too close, and you'd best be recovering from your dive, or you're about to spread yourself neatly over the landscape.

"Which is not considered proper by any worthwhile flier."

Athelny put Red through a few more turns, these more gentle, then brought the dragon in on the grassy field, braking with its wings, and landing gently on its four legs.

Hal unfastened his straps, and Athelny slid off the beast, gave him a hand to the ground.

"Have you a job around here?"

"Not yet, sir. I was the one you waved at, when you were coming up the road. Tomorrow I guess I'll start looking."

"You still think you might want to learn to fly?"

"I'd do anything, sir."

"Hmm." Athelny was about to say something as Gaeta came up, rethought.

"Did this boy do a good job as it 'pears to me?"

"He did," Gaeta said.

"It'd be nice to have everything always this neat, wouldn't it?"

Gaeta shrugged.

"You're welcome to stay and eat with us," Athelny said.

"Thank you, sir. And… and if you're looking for somebody, I'll work harder'n anybody, sir."

"We'll see," Athelny said vaguely. "We'll see."

Hal's hopes sank.

But in the morning, when the show moved on, there was a place in one of the wagons for Hal's pack, a bench on the side for him to ride on, and leather harness for him to be rubbing neat's-foot oil into, even if there still was never a mention of what his job actually was, or what his wages might be.