I am sorry, he said, blinking slowly.
"What are you sorry for?" she asked, flopping down on the stone roof and leaning against his leg.
I could have spoken to Nehko before we left. He would have stopped us from going. Then you would not be in trouble.
She shrugged. "It's nothing I can't handle. Besides, you know I would have asked you to take me anyway."
You would have asked and I would have complied, unless Nehko ordered otherwise.
"And then we would disobey, go anyway, and I'd be grounded for the rest of my life," she finished. "It's better this way. At least she might let me off in a year or two."
Risper snorted softly. I'm sure it won't last that long. She will cool down eventually.
"I hope so." Laynin sighed. "I feel bad for letting her down." She chewed her lip. "No, that's not quite right. I feel bad because we got caught. We did what we had to do and I don't regret that. I had to go."
She rested her head against the warmth of his scaled skin and inhaled his scent. A combination of earthy scent and spices filled her senses. Every dragon smelled unique, but to her mind, Risper smelled the best.
"Ara asked if you'd ever shown me the past, in which dragons came under attack," she said, eyes closed, weariness from a long day washing over her.
He exhaled softly. You know I have not. The past is difficult. Also, you never asked.
"I didn't know to ask." In truth, she preferred to see the memory of his hatching to other, sadder memories. Even happy days with previous draakin were tempered with his sadness at their loss. He'd been connected to and lost dozens of minds before being bonded to her. Showing each was like sharing memories of a child, or a lover. After the first few, she'd stopped asking.
Perhaps you should see.
"Only if you want to show me."
The annex roof dissolved and she found herself looking down from another roof. This one was higher up, and the ocean further away. Kaylis, she decided, but the Dragonhall was still intact. Several hundred men had gathered at the base of the structure. Even from here, she noted their odd clothes. They were attired in kilts, mostly in browns and black. Over those, they wore leather armour which looked like dragon scales. Each was armed with an axe, or a curious, wicked-looking fork.
Behind them was a contraption made of wood. Several people bustled around it, attaching what looked like a large spear to a section at the rear.
A voice from amongst the men gave a shout and the spear was flung from what Laynin now saw was a catapult.
"It'll never reach," someone said.
Perhaps not this time, Risper replied.
The spear clattered against the wall of the Dragonhall, metres too low to hit anyone standing above. The draakin laughed derisively. That stopped when the attackers launched another spear, this one narrowly missing a dragon, who was forced to leap out of the way.
"They're here!"
Risper-Laynin turned to see a flood of men coming from the stairs leading from the interior of the hall. One swung an axe at a dragon before anyone else could respond. The weapon buried deep in the creature's chest, sending a spray of greenish-yellow blood across those present.
With a scream of rage, several draakin ran at the man, driving him back and off the side of the hall. He fell with a flailing of limbs and landed out of sight.
The dragons flamed the remaining attackers into cinders, but not before another spear was hurled, this time taking a draakin in the back.
Laynin's nostrils were full of the smell of blood and ashes, mingling with the scent of fear. Even in a memory, the smell was vivid and distinct.
She heard a horn sounding the kilted men's retreat before the scene faded and she was back on the annex of her own Dragonhall.
"All the Gods," she whispered. War against people with magic might be so much worse.
18
Laynin touched the knife to the neck of the sheep. Her hand trembled. The sheep blinked at her. She lowered the knife.
She should take the animal from the pen, up to Risper and let him dispatch it before eating.
Risper's memory of the dragon dying stuck in Laynin's mind. She fell asleep thinking about it, dreamed about it, and it was uppermost in her mind when she awoke.
In the memory, Laynin-Risper had been close enough to see everything. The significance shocked her and left her anxious. Risper could just as easily have died that day.
The idea of killing any living thing after that turned her stomach.
The sheep bleated and made to move away. She grabbed onto it, one arm slung over its back. It bleated again, a higher sound.
Fearful, Laynin realised.
Her dithering was making it scared. Even if she could heft it into the hard-cart without it running away, it would be terrified of Risper. It might just be an animal, but it didn't deserve to be scared more than it was.
With a swallow, she found the sheep's neck and drove the knife into it. Blood spurted onto her hand, hot and sticky. She grimaced and lowered the dying sheep to the ground.
"I'm sorry, I was hoping it'd be faster than this," she told it. The animal writhed around for several minutes before lying still, red staining its fleece pink.
"I may never eat meat again," she muttered. Or anything, since her breakfast threatened to depart her stomach. At least Zannis hadn't come out to laugh at her.
She rose and dragged the sheep by its back legs up and into the hand-cart.
How hungry are you? she asked, eyeing the remaining sheep.
Very, Risper replied. At least three sheep worth. He sounded apologetic.
Laynin sighed. Of course. You know, chickens would be easier. I'd just— She mimed breaking their necks.
I feel like sheep.
Do you, or did Nehko tell you to say that? she asked.
When he didn't reply, she snorted. "So he's punishing me too, is he?"
He is doing as Ara has asked. But I really do feel like sheep. I like the way their wool feels when I swall—
"All right, I don't need to hear any more," Laynin replied out loud, making a disgusted face. I think I may suggest to Ara that they shear the sheep before you eat them. It's a waste of wool.
Where would be the fun then? he asked.
Exactly. She chose another sheep at random and started toward it.
The second and third proved easier to kill than the first, but felt heavier as she moved them into the hand-cart. Her arms ached by the time she shoved the last one into place.
"All right you three," she told them, "no falling off." She took hold of the handle and lifted the back end of the cart so it could roll on its wheels. The load was heavy and unwieldy, making the going slower.
"Do you need some help?"
Travin's voice, speaking suddenly, made her startle and almost tip the cart on its side. She rolled it to a stop and straightened up to wipe her brow and rub her back.
"I didn't see you coming." She glanced around but no one was watching as far she could see. "You'd better not. I'm sure Ara would think of something worse than this if I try to shirk my duties."
"I wouldn't want to make it worse for you," he replied, his expression rueful. "I feel bad enough leaving you to face her yesterday."
"She didn't give you a choice," Laynin pointed out.
"I could have tried to argue," he said uncertainly.
"No you couldn't. She might not throw her weight around too much, but she's the most powerful person in Tsaisa. Some may say in the kingdoms. She's not a person you want to cross. Be glad she didn't make you leave Marth. If she wanted to, she could."
"Why didn't she?" he asked, cocking his head and frowning.
"I suppose she decided you weren't a threat, you just went along with me." She shrugged and then smiled wanly. "Did your mother never warn you about bad influences?"
He grinned. "All the time. I never paid much attention. The bad influences were always the most fun."
That drew a laugh from her. "I suppose that's true." With a sigh, she picked up
the end of the hand-cart and resumed pushing.
"Are you sure I can't do that for you? It looks heavy." He fell in beside her and gestured toward the cart.
"I'm supposed to do this by myself," she replied, "but after that I have to help shovel dragonet dung. Since you're a hopeful, I'm sure she won't mind you doing that with me." She smiled at his grimace.
"All right," he conceded, "it's the least I can do I suppose, after yesterday."
"I suspect Ara might get some enjoyment out of watching you do it too."
"I have a feeling you're right. I'm going to have to work hard to show her I really want to be here, aren't I?"
"Probably," she agreed. "She'll be watching us both. Speaking of watching, she didn't say you couldn't talk to Risper or me. Do you want to see him rip these poor sheep apart?" She gave a savage smile. Killing them was one thing, but once they were dead, she didn't mind watching her dragon consume them. Truthfully, there wasn't anything she wouldn't watch him do, except perhaps mate. That went on for hours, with much squealing on the parts of both dragons. She preferred to leave him to it.
"I can't think of anything I want more," he replied. "Well, maybe a couple of things."
She chuckled and pushed the cart toward the annex, under the archway and into the courtyard.
"Hopefully he won't leave too many bloodstains. I don't fancy spending the rest of the day washing them out of the paving stones." Laynin tipped the cart, upending the sheep onto the ground.
"I'm starting to feel sorry for those sheep," he remarked.
She replied lightly, "It's a little too late for that." She wheeled the cart back out of the way and pointedly stood picking blood out from under her nails.
"Would you like a knife for that?" He moved to stand beside her, his expression as teasing as his tone.
"I'm not that bad," she said with a laugh. She liked to be independent and had never been overly feminine, but she wasn't quite ready to clean her nails with a blade.
He chuckled. "That's good, because I don't have a knife."
"What sort of bard are you then?" She shielded her eyes and watched Risper unfurl his wings.
"The kind who is a lover, not a fighter," he shot back.
"Touché."
Risper's landing whipped up wind, sending her hair every which way.
"You might want to step back a bit." She took her own advice as the dragon grabbed hold of the first sheep in his jaws. His teeth closed over it, snapping bone with a crunch similar to a raw vegetable. The squelch which followed made Laynin grimace before Risper began to chew, grinding the front half of the animal before the rest fell free.
"Well, no one said eating was pretty," Travin remarked.
She looked over at him and grinned. "You can leave if it's too disgusting for you."
"No, it's… Yes, it's disgusting, but in a fascinating way. I've never been this close to a dragon while they ate before. It's amazing." His face was a mask of utter fascination.
"I'm starting to think you wouldn't mind clearing up dung, just so you can be close to the dragons," she said.
He gave a theatrical sigh. "Guilty. Are you saying you're any different?"
"Not at all," she replied, "but dung is never pleasant, no matter what it came from."
"That's—" He stopped short and recoiled as Risper bit into the sheep's head. "I may not eat mutton again."
She murmured her agreement.
19
One of the few bathhouses in any of the kingdoms, Tsaisa's was old and decorated with chipped and fading frescos. Once open spaces with baths all visible from anywhere in the interior, had long ago been walled off to allow privacy. Men bathed in one section, women in another. Parents with children used a third.
Travin shared the men's space with only one other man, who seemed determined to pay him no attention. The lack of interaction was fine with him. He had no desire to make conversation. Rather, he was occupied with getting the stink off his skin with cleaning oil. Shovelling dung was not glamorous; he hadn't expected it to be, but the smell clung to his skin. The oil, scented with subtle spices, was certainly preferable.
He dribbled a small amount onto his palm. Smooth and slick, the smell tickled his nostrils, threatening to make him sneeze. He sniffed the sensation back and started to rub it into his skin.
His thoughts wandered to Risper and Laynin. The dragon had happily eaten his fill and waddled off to sleep, leaving only fistfuls of wool lying about here and there.
"Now for the fun part," she'd said, pulling a face.
Travin was glad his response to thinking about her was hidden under the water. He quashed the sensation by thinking about Ara, and the way the woman had walked past while they'd worked. As Laynin suggested, she had indeed seemed pleased he was undertaking the chore.
She'd walked away and he turned to see Laynin smiling at him.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing." She shook her head and chuckled to herself.
"Come on, tell me what's so funny," he insisted, "don't make me dump this all over your boots." He swung the shovel over her feet.
She snorted. "You wouldn't do that."
"Are you sure?"
"Are you five years old?"
He hesitated. "Maybe."
She burst out laughing again. "I'm laughing because you looked scared of her."
He lowered the shovel slightly. "Scared of who, Ara?"
She nodded, eyes shining.
"And you're not?" he asked before tipping the dung into the handcart and leaning on the handle of the shovel.
"Scared? No. Intimidated, probably. I admire her, without a doubt. Most people do if they know what's good for them."
"I have that much sense," he said. "Can I ask you something?"
She eyed him warily. Fair enough given they hardly knew each other. "I suppose so."
"I know your family doesn't believe in Euru, but I'm just wondering what you believe? Do you worship anyone or anything? Apart from dragons," he added to lighten the tone before the conversation got too serious.
She shrugged and bent back to her work. "Not really. I mean, when you think about it, it seems like every town has its own gods, or version of the same god. Tsaisa has, what, three temples? Four maybe. How would anyone even know which of those is real?"
"I suppose that comes down to belief," he said. "You believed you'd bond a dragon before you did, didn't you?"
"I hoped I would," she replied, "I didn't dare go beyond that. I mean, I wasn't going to assume. I've a copper braid you feel the same way."
"You'd win, so I won't take that bet," he admitted. "But I have faith that if it's meant to be, it'll happen."
"That's all any of us can do," she said. "I prefer to worry about today and let the rest sort itself out."
He gave a short nod. "That's probably a good idea." In theory. Perhaps he was naive or misguided, but he still preferred to let Euru look out for him and his future. He suspected she wouldn't be coerced, at least not now.
He had dropped the subject and went back to shovelling.
The man sharing the bath climbed the steps, wrapped a towel around his waist and left. The sounds of other bathers in the bathhouse echoed, reminded Travin that he wasn't entirely alone. Still, it felt nice to have the room to himself. He leaned back and submerged his hair while in his mind's eye, he pictured Laynin sharing the bath with him. He rinsed out his hair and shook his head to clear his mind. Thoughts like that only led in one direction, and he suspected that would be frowned upon here.
He pushed the thoughts and response away and rose to grab his own towel.
"Hey stranger, we were starting to think you left town." Gallia greeted Travin as he entered the tavern.
"I think your words were, "got driven out of town by a jealous husband," Sami said helpfully. "Or wife."
Gallia rolled her eyes playfully.
Travin pulled out a seat and sat beside them. "Thank you for having so much faith in my judgement," he said dryly, "and di
scretion."
"Any time." Gallia lifted her glass in a toast and sipped. "What are friends for?"
"Some days I'm not sure," he retorted. He grinned when she stuck her tongue out at him. "Euru will snip it off," he said, as his mother used to when he did the same thing.
"They'd have to catch me first," Gallia replied. "So, where have you been? What have you been doing? Or should I say who?"
"Alas, there is no who. At least, not yet." He told them about the flight he'd taken to the south, and the time he'd spent with Laynin. "She's not like anyone I've ever met."
"That's what they all say," Gallia said, but she twined fingers with Sami and gave her a soft smile. Both women were smitten with each other, that was clear to see. He was happy for them.
"That doesn't make it untrue," he said, "but why would a draakin bother with me?"
"Why wouldn't she? You're nice, not too bad looking and mostly, you don't stink." Gallia's eyes shone with mirth.
"Well, when you put it that way." Travin put his hands on the table, palm down, ready to stand and get a drink. He froze, hearing another draakin, Luthin if he recalled correctly, speaking from the table beside theirs.
"Aye, it's true. The king of Marth said he'd take refugees. Seemed genuinely concerned about them."
Travin couldn't make out what his companion said, but Luthin nodded in response.
"He's already mobilising troops and sending them to the border. Some are going east, but some'll come to Tsaisa. Ara is none too pleased, but said as long as they keep out of her way, she'll keep out of theirs. King of Eritsa is sending troops south too."
"Eritsa and Marth, fighting together?" Luthin's companion asked, sounding incredulous.
Travin ventured a glance. The speaker was a grizzled man whose skin had seen a lot of sun, and had tanned until he looked like dried leather. His eyes suggested he was younger than he appeared.
"They're usually too busy with their border squabbles to bother with doings down south."
"They're worried about Rosharias." Luthin shrugged. "Enough to put that behind them for now."
Travin looked to Gallia and Sami and frowned. Luthin's friend was right to be sceptical. Border skirmishes between the two kingdoms had taken place on a more or less regular basis for as long as anyone could remember. Taking part was a rite of passage for young cadets, and those who lived in the border towns. Although they rarely escalated into full-blown aggression, people were killed every few years. Things would go quiet for a while after then, until something would spark trouble again. For the two to put aside a long history of animosity gave Travin a shiver he struggled to suppress.
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