The tray included a big jug of beer, which Sippy promptly knocked over, or maybe I did. Dag had put the tray on the ground because there wasn’t anywhere else, but Sippy assumed it was for his benefit, and made a lunge for the plate of meat, which was still warm, and even my mere human nose registered that it smelled really good. I lunged for Sippy and the beer went over. Dag looked at the spreading pool for a moment and then laughed. ʺI’ll take that as a sign,ʺ he said, ʺthat I’m to be stone cold sober tomorrow; but it was only small beer.ʺ
We’d get to Clare tomorrow.
Maybe it was the beer he didn’t have but Dag was awake before dawn the next day. Well, so was I. So we got up and left. I hope the horse that had the stall after us didn’t get drunk on the straw. The sleepy kitchen maid—the same one we’d seen lighting the lantern the night before—wearily found us a couple of chunks of last night’s bread, and we trudged off down the road. I loitered momentarily after Dag so I could give the kitchen maid a little coldleaf for the angry new burn on her wrist, which I was pretty sure was why she hadn’t slept very well, and told her how to use it. She looked at me, surprised, but she took the leaves, and I was pretty sure she’d do what I said. Especially when she gave me a handful of apples to go with the bread.
The overnight dew had laid the dust, and the road before us was cool and white in the dawn fog. It looked, I don’t know, magical somehow, like it was going to lead us to some great adventure. Not to a First Flight where one of the dragons would be left behind. The one my brother was with.
I’ve already said that Dag and I didn’t talk much but that last day it was like his silence had a wall around it, that even if I had said anything my words would have bounced off like arrows against a shield. I wouldn’t even have known that we’d get to Clare today except that I’d heard one of the ostlers the night before telling someone’s groom that Clare was less than a league away and they’d get there in a morning even if the roads were crowded. That and Dag’s barricaded silence told me we were close. I wanted to ask him what he wanted Sippy and me to do when we got there. I didn’t think he’d want to bring us into the Academy grounds—his dim little brother and his dim little brother’s defective pet foogit. He had enough to deal with. I started worrying all over again about why we were there at all. It was stupid to think that Sippy and I could do anything but make Dag’s humiliation more complete. But Ralas wasn’t stupid. And even Dad—even Mum—had seemed to think it wasn’t a bad idea. Take care of Dag? How?
But here I was. Why hadn’t Ralas told me what I was supposed to do?
The road was busy, but not so busy it slowed us down. Also I’m sure Dag speeded up. It was like, we’re here, might as well get on with it. I would have preferred a little loitering myself. I don’t know where Clare really began; it all pretty much ran on from the last town. It just got noisier, and there were little roads that branched off from the big road and if you looked down them they were lined with buildings too; and there were a lot of inns, and all their yards were busy. We wouldn’t have been walking till midnight last night after all.
I was getting ready to hang off Dag’s sleeve and bellow in his ear, something about if he’d recommend an inn that wasn’t too expensive but didn’t have too many bedbugs either, Sippy and I would go there and we could meet up later after Dag had checked in or whatever returning cadets did. I’d already put my hand out when I felt Dag stiffen and turned my head to look where he was looking, and saw the big ugly guy in a cadet’s uniform.
But I was too slow, and as I was about to drop back into the crowd so Dag could pretend we had nothing to do with him, Dag grabbed the wrist of the hand I hadn’t pulled away fast enough. The big ugly cadet walked straight up to us and to my surprise his face broke into an enormous smile. This wasn’t necessarily an improvement—too many teeth—but he thumped Dag on both shoulders like they were best friends and I saw Dag was smiling too, if more restrainedly, but that might have just been from being thumped.
Big and Ugly now turned to me and if he was thinking ʺWho is this gnome and what is this vermin with him?ʺ (Sippy was attached to my leg again; this town was even bigger and busier than yesterday’s), it didn’t show. ʺThis is my brother, Ern,ʺ Dag said, and then Big and Ugly thumped my shoulders too and this sure made my smile feel strained. ʺAnd this is Eled,ʺ Dag continued. ʺHe—he’s on for First Flight too.ʺ
ʺThat’s right,ʺ Eled said. ʺYou know your brother showed us all up, don’t you? He’s taking First Flight a year early.ʺ
I glanced at Dag but the smile was still fixed in place.
Sippy from behind me was craning his long neck toward Eled, or anyway Eled’s trousers. Foogits’ nostrils are like gathered or pleated, and foogits make the most revolting noise when they blow out through them to clear the way for new smells, and he was doing it a lot lately, because of the extra town smells, I suppose. But he sounded like he had at least forty nostrils when he did it now. Eled glanced down. It was a long way down for him so maybe he really hadn’t noticed Sippy before. ʺClear skies and great dragons,ʺ he said. ʺIt’s a little dragon. He yours?ʺ
Nobody calls foogits little dragons except in folk tales. Eled had to have been being sarcastic, but I couldn’t hear him doing it, so I muttered, ʺHis name’s Sippy.ʺ
ʺHey, Sippy,ʺ he said, and offered his hand to be snuffled, which was gallant of him. Sippy came out from behind my legs and tried to frolic, which is what he usually does when he’s decided he’s made a new friend, but there wasn’t room, so he banged into all our knees in turn a couple of times and subsided with a wounded look at the hurrying passers-by who were cramping his style. Eled laughed. It was a nice laugh.
ʺI’ve never heard anyone call a foogit a little dragon,ʺ Dag said, who knew the same folk tales that I did.
ʺDidn’t your dad ever—ʺ Eled broke off, looking embarrassed. I’d already noticed that Eled didn’t have the manner of a carpenter’s son.
ʺEled’s dad is a dragonrider,ʺ Dag said calmly to me.
ʺAnd my mum’s oldest brother and four of my cousins,ʺ Eled said, grinning again. ʺAnd both granddads and all four of their granddads. My dad has two brothers and two sisters. And all of their first sons went to the Academy. And three of their daughters. And one second and one third son. I’m the youngest first son in this generation—and I have four older sisters, and one of them is a dragonrider too. I had the worst childhood you can imagine.ʺ
I didn’t mean to laugh, but I did, and for the first time since Dag had come home and told us about Hereyta, some part of me I couldn’t name stopped feeling quite so gloomy.
Eled looked pleased, and even Dag’s smile softened a little.
ʺIs everyone else here?ʺ said Dag.
ʺPretty much,ʺ said Eled. ʺA few of you with a long way to come are still on the road.ʺ
A long way to come trailing extra cargo, I thought. And can’t afford coach fare. Not that any coach would take a foogit.
Dag nodded.
After an uncomfortable little pause Eled said to me, ʺMost of us First Flighters get back early from this break. We can’t stay away. Everybody else turns up at the last minute like normal. First Flight itself happens first day of term. We’re supposed to get back one day before to check our gear over one last time, not like we didn’t leave it in blisteringly perfect order, and to look our dragons over too, but the dragonmasters have been doing that while we’re on leave a lot better than us dumb cadets can. A lot of the dragonmasters say that we shouldn’t be allowed to come back early, because we fret the dragons. Most Academy dragons take First Flight every year.ʺ
Dag’s silence was getting louder and louder.
Abruptly Eled added, ʺI’m hungry. Let’s go back to halls and get something to eat.ʺ
They set off but I just stood there. Sippy started to follow them and then stopped when I didn’t move, looking at me and them and back at me again.
ʺCome on then,ʺ said Eled, ʺno reason to block traffic,ʺ as a great rumbling cart
went by and Sippy shied into me so violently he nearly knocked me down.
ʺI—er—Sippy and I will go to an inn if you’ll tell us which one,ʺ I said. ʺI mean, cheap.ʺ
ʺNot necessary,ʺ said Eled. ʺNobody does it much lately but in my dad’s day First Flighters always brought someone from home to see them off. It’s good luck.ʺ
ʺNot foogits,ʺ I said, stubbornly standing where I was. I held on to a handful of Sippy’s ear to make him stand still. This would work for approximately two minutes but was good for emergencies.
ʺNonsense,ʺ Eled replied. ʺExactly what they are is lucky.ʺ
Maybe fool’s luck, I thought. Maybe sometimes that’s good luck.
ʺMy aunt keeps foogits,ʺ said Eled. ʺI’ve always liked ’em. I miss having ’em around at the Academy.ʺ
Dag was smiling again, but he looked genuinely amused. ʺIf Eled says you and Sippy should come, you’d better. It’s easier than arguing with him.ʺ
Eled grinned a slightly different kind of grin and I thought, I just bet people don’t argue with him much, and I wondered when Eled had befriended Dag and what Fistagh thought about it.
ʺAnd besides, Tinhead,ʺ my brother went on graciously, ʺdo you really think I’d drag you all this way and then pitch you in an inn? Ralas would be ashamed of both of us.ʺ
ʺRalas?ʺ said Eled.
ʺOur wizard,ʺ said Dag. ʺAnd she’s a good one. I don’t know how our little boring village keeps her. She told me to bring Ern and Sippy.ʺ
ʺDid she then?ʺ said Eled, looking at me thoughtfully in a way I didn’t like at all. I let go of Sippy’s ear and started off in the direction they’d been walking before Eled said anything else. In a minute I was struggling to keep up—Eled’s legs must have been twice as long as mine. He said casually, ʺMy granddad on my mum’s side, he had a foogit. She flew with him and his dragon. It was rare in his day but he told me that in his granddad’s day all the dragonriders had foogits. They were mascots—they were good luck.ʺ
Dag, equally casual, said from Eled’s other side: ʺI don’t suppose your granddad had any good stories about two-eyed dragons, did he?ʺ
There was a pause full of stall-holders shouting, ʺThree a penny! Your best deal here!ʺ
ʺI don’t get it,ʺ Eled said finally. ʺIt’s making me crazier than a blind cawgilly in spring, trying to find a way to think about it. And okay, the grown-ups have to huff and blow and tell you you’re a bad boy and so on and so on—ʺ
I was startled enough to look up here, but Eled was waiting to catch my eye. ʺNo, he didn’t tell you that part, did he? He’s a bit of a brawler, your brother, when the virtue of one of his dragons is impugned. And they’re all his dragons. But that’s why he got jumped, you know? He has what Dorgin—he’s the chief dragonmaster—calls the grace of dragonriding.ʺ
ʺEled, shut up,ʺ said Dag.
ʺI knew he wasn’t telling you the whole story,ʺ said Eled, imperturbably. ʺIf Hereyta still had three eyes we’d’ve probably all expected her to get him, even if she’s old. She’s that good. She was the best before she lost an eye, and she’s been the best drill dragon the Academy ever had. And she doesn’t lose her edge even though she never gets to cycle out like the rest of ’em. That’s just it. She’s just as proud—and as merciless—as she was when she still Flew. A lot of the drill dragons numb out, they’ve been through too many beginners and all they think about when they’re here is food and sleep and when they cycle out again.
ʺI don’t know if any mere rubbishy little human is up to Hereyta’s standard but your brother is pretty close. I bet she brawled in her youth too—I bet her dragonmaster, when she was a youngling, had nightmares about her, when he wasn’t dreaming of what she’d accomplish when she was grown, if she didn’t kill off too many dragonmasters in the process. Did Dag tell you she has three crowns? She got the third one for the spear she took for Carn—that, and getting him home anyway.ʺ
ʺMaybe,ʺ I said, thinking about Ralas, ʺmaybe their wizard told them to do it.ʺ
They both looked at me. ʺThe Academy doesn’t like wizards much,ʺ Eled said at last. ʺWe’re supposed to do without what wizards do—charms and spells and so on—it’s all about dragons here. We do have a bonesetter and stitcher, but he’s only for the cadets—the dragonmasters do for the dragons—and he’s expected to keep out of sight. I can’t imagine anyone going to him for advice, or listening to him if he was rash enough to give it.ʺ
ʺWe have Seers,ʺ said Dag grimly.
ʺYes, we do,ʺ said Eled, the way you might say ʺwe have rats.ʺ
Ralas had once said of one of her scariest-looking visitors, ʺOh, he’s a Seer. They get like that. He started as a wizard—most of them do—but he didn’t stay there.ʺ She’d made a quick, ironical face, as if perhaps he should have.
Dag glanced at me. ʺThey’re supposed to read the signs and so on. The Academy won’t take you if the Seers find against you. And the Seers read for First Flight.ʺ
ʺMaybe we should try wizards,ʺ said Eled.
We were getting near what even I could guess had to be the Academy gates. We had crossed what must have been the oldest part of the town, where there were lumpy, bulgy, much-mended walls which ran in all directions and sometimes they made sense and sometimes they didn’t. But the way we were going now was getting more open and less crowded. I hadn’t realised I’d been breathing shallowly till I started breathing normally again. All those buildings and people really lean on you. The problem was that as soon as I took a few deep breaths I was zinging all over with a different kind of tension. I didn’t remember when the wall had changed from an ordinary town wall to something else, but as we neared the huge gates—big enough, I guessed, for two dragons to go through together, although it seemed kind of unlikely they’d want to—it was obvious that the wall that led up to it was anything but ordinary. There were pillars built into it at intervals, and the mended places were a lot neater, and it was twice as high, which presumably meant it was twice as thick.
My mind went blank and I started walking jerkily, like my legs were trying to turn me around and run me away, which they probably were, but I was too scared even to think about that. There was a guard at the gate although the gates were open. The wall there was twice as wide as I was tall. ʺClear skies,ʺ Eled said to the guard affably.
ʺAnd to you,ʺ replied the guard. His gaze lingered on me and Sippy, but he didn’t say anything. I was still on the other side of Eled from Dag. Eled put his hand on my shoulder and pointed with the other, saying, ʺThat way.ʺ I’m sure the guard thought my presence was his fault. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed.
Sippy and I got some funny looks and both Dag and Eled said ʺclear skiesʺ or ʺheyʺ to what seemed to me to be a lot of people but probably wasn’t. The food halls were nearly big enough for dragons, and nearly empty, or maybe they just seemed that way because of their size. Eled evidently was hungry and Dag and I should have been but weren’t, and Sippy got most of ours. When we left the halls Sippy staggered after us, obviously wishing he could lie down somewhere and sleep it off.
We stopped just outside. ʺYou’re going to go see Ansilika,ʺ said Dag. ʺShe’s always anxious before a First.ʺ
ʺTrust you to know that,ʺ said Eled. ʺYes. I would’ve come back early anyway but maybe I came back a little earlier still because I knew she’d be worrying. Probably about me. ‘Can that great oaf stay in the saddle on the day or will he dishonour his family’s proud name?’ But I’ll see you there later.ʺ
ʺYes,ʺ said Dag. ʺAnd Ansilika won’t let you fall off. You’d have to jump. I’ll see where to stow all of us and then I’ll be along too.ʺ He turned away and I glanced at Eled before I followed. I knew I should say something but ʺmy open-handed thanks, excellent sir,ʺ which would probably have been the correct form, or anything else along those lines, felt like it would sound the opposite.
ʺSee you,ʺ said Eled.
ʺYeah,ʺ I said courteously.
He hesitated
. ʺIf you want to know something about anything around here, you can always ask me. Dag’s maybe a little obsessed with dragons.ʺ
I glanced at my brother. Tell me about the brawls, and about grace, I thought, but I didn’t say it. ʺYeah,ʺ I said again. ʺThanks.ʺ
ʺIf your brother calls you Tinhead, what do you call him?ʺ
ʺGeezer,ʺ I said.
Eled laughed.
ʺHis sisters call him Ogre,ʺ said Dag. ʺDyla told me. She’s the one graduated from here.ʺ
ʺAnd I keep forgetting to grind her bones for my bread,ʺ said Eled. ʺFamilies—who needs ’em?ʺ
As I followed Dag it seemed to me his shoulders were squarer than usual. We went into a slightly less huge building and climbed a lot of stairs, all of our feet making funny noises on the tiles. We had wood floors at home, and Dad’s workshop was packed earth. ʺThis is mine,ʺ Dag said on about the ninety-fifth landing, and pushed open a door. I fell in after him, gasping. ʺYou can have the bottom bunk in case Sippy wants to join you.ʺ Dag didn’t even sit down, and he wasn’t breathing hard. He dumped his pack on the upper bunk and looked at me. ʺI’m going to go see Hereyta. D’you want to come?ʺ
I was sure I should let him greet her in private, but I rolled up instantly off the bed where I had flopped and said yes. It wasn’t even anything to do with not wanting to be left behind in a really strange place and wondering what I would say if anyone knocked on the door looking for Dag. I wanted to meet Hereyta.
The dragon hsa were on the far side of the training fields which meant a long hike, although the training fields went on and on and on out to either side of us a lot farther yet than what we were walking across. I wondered if a piece of this ground was used for First Flight or if it happened somewhere else entirely. Dragons have tremendously powerful wings to get themselves off the ground at all, and they really lash ’em. And gods help any mere paltry human caught in the backdraft. So maybe the First Flight field, where there would be a whole lot of dragons stirring up storm winds, was some special separate place. In which case I wouldn’t see it. Whatever it was like in Eled’s granddad’s day.
Fire: Tales of Elemental Spirits Page 21