by Liesel Hill
to his feet. "How did you get here, Boy? How did you come to be in that tree?" He peered accusingly into the shrub, and Canya shrank back against the trunk. The Fox's lack of reaction reassured Wenlyn he didn't see her, though one look at the Servant told Wenlyn he did.
"One of yours, Master Foxund?" Elder Nymon asked.
"He's my scullery boy. My deepest apologies all around," the Fox includes the Servant in his bow.
"Please," the Servant says, "don't punish him too harshly. Boys are curious, and there's no damage done. Now I truly must—"
The Servant froze, staring at his dragon. He turned to stare at Wenlyn, eyes wide. He shared a look with his dragon, then gazed at Wenlyn, then the Council. Something cold whispered down Wenlyn's spine.
"Is everything all right, my lord Servant?" Nymon asked.
The Servant sized Wenlyn up in a calculating way. He looked disturbed by something. Wenlyn shivered The Fox peered at him that way when trying to decide whether to purchase Wenlyn from the spring peddler. The crowd in the Square had grown so quiet, Wenlyn fancied he heard horses making water in the outer pastures.
"Yes," the Servant finally nodded. "This incident is fortunate, it seems."
"How so, my Lord?" Nymon frowned.
"My Companion has identified this boy as one who has Darmingian Blood."
Gasps ran through the crowd. Both Nymon and the Fox's mouths fell open. Despite knowing the beating of a lifetime awaited him, Wenlyn clung to the Fox. He was all Wenlyn knew. "What does that mean?" he whispered, desperately searching the Fox's features.
The Fox cuffed him hard across the face. Wenlyn's knees gave out, depositing him at the Fox's feet.
"Master Elder," the Servant came to stand beside Wenlyn. Wenlyn raised his eyes. The Servant's head towered miles above him. He sighed, looking down at Wenlyn. Their eyes meet, and though Wenlyn felt terrified, he couldn't look away. "I'm taking custody of this boy."
More gasps met Wenlyn's ears. Wenlyn swiveled his head toward the tree, looking for Canya. Her mouth hung open, fear written across her features.
"Surely you are mistaken, my lord," the Fox offered. "The boy is a slave. He has no standing in the village. His blood cannot possibly hold the royalty needed—"
"Who are his parents?" the Servant interrupted.
"Unknown, my lord." The Fox kept his eyes on the ground. "He is an orphan."
"Then you don't know his lineage."
"But," the Fox sputtered. "M-my lord, we do not even know his true age."
The Servant raised an eyebrow. His perceptive eye looked Wenlyn up and down. "The boy can't have lived more than ten or twelve loops."
"Yes, my lord Servant," Nymon said patiently, shooting the Fox a warning look. "But the boy is an orphan. Even he doesn't know his birth year."
The Servant turned speculative eyes on Wenlyn once more. A moment later, he shrugged. "It makes no matter. My Companion has identified him, and the Companions are never wrong. He comes with me."
Before Wenlyn could catch his breath, the hands of the Village Council pushed him up the side of the dragon. The Servant situated himself between the wings, then grabbed Wenlyn's hand and hoisted him up behind him.
Wenlyn attempted to put one leg on each side, as he would ride a horse. The dragon was so large, his legs simply stretched out in front of him in a V. Wenlyn's ankles straddled the Servant, but he had no leverage to hold himself on. Fear gripped his insides so hard, he thought he might vomit.
As though reading Wenlyn's thoughts, the Servant turned his head to speak over his shoulder. "Have no fear, Boy. My Companion will not let you fall. If you wish to hold onto my waist, you may do so."
He turned forward and the dragon's wings spread wide. Wenlyn slid forward and threw his arms around the Servant's waist as air whirled around him. His stomach bottomed out as the earth fell away and the three of them were flung through the sky. He glanced down in time to see his village shrink into oblivion in a matter of seconds.
The world he'd known went with it.
XXX
They flew into the sunset until the sunset faded to darkness. The wind numbed Wenlyn's fingers and his legs and back ached from clinging so fiercely. The dragon landed on a flat, grassy area atop a rock formation. The sides of the formation were sheer and covered with loose dirt and some shrubs. The Servant helped Wenlyn dismount, and when his feet hit solid earth, he felt light headed, as though he still moved.
Wenlyn moved to the side of the grassy area and looked down. He stood higher above the ground than the tallest building in Tranquil. Wenlyn gasped softly. This must be a mountain. A soft breeze came from behind him in puffs, threatening to push him over the side.
"Something wrong boy?" the Servant's voice boomed at Wenlyn's shoulder, and he jumped, turning slowly toward his new master. He felt foolish. Anything he said now would probably earn him a beating.
At his hesitation, the Servant stepped forward and put a huge hand on his shoulder. "Tell me, my boy," he said firmly. He glanced over Wenlyn's shoulder at the drop off. "Are you afraid of heights."
"No, my lord. It's just…this is a mountain. I thought all the mountains were gone. The stories aren't true."
The servant dropped his hand and chuckled. "I'm afraid not, Son. This is not a mountain."
"But," Wenlyn turned toward the cliff's edge again. "We're so high up. Higher even than Master Nymon's house back home." He looked back to find the Servant smiling indulgently at him.
"True," the man said. "But the mountains were many houses high, not just one."
Wenlyn felt his eyes widen. "Were they bigger than your dragon?"
"Bigger than a hundred dragons. As high as we flew today," he motioned toward his blue dragon, which sat on its haunches in the grass, spiked tail swishing lazily. It created the soft breeze Wenlyn had felt earlier at the cliff's edge. "As high as a dragon can fly, and some higher," the Servant continued. "This," he motioned around them, "most would call a plateau. Some might call it a knoll if not for the sheer sides. It's not very hill-ish, is it?"
Wenlyn shook his head.
"No, I’m afraid all the stories are true," the servant looked toward where the sun had disappeared. "The mountains fell when Basmal made his play for power." He looked down at Wenlyn. "Long ago."
"Will they ever rise again, my lord?" Wenlyn asked, surprised at his own courage. He'd never had this much conversation with the Fox. But then, the Servant hadn't yet cuffed him for speaking. He might as well make the most of it.
"I doubt it," the Servant gave a shake of his head. "Even dragons couldn't knock over a mountain, or force it to rise again. And the dragons are mostly gone, now. You'll have to get use to heights from now on, though. You'll travel the skies a great deal from now on."
A small twinge in Wenlyn's stomach made his jaw clench, but he didn't think it was fear he felt. Despite being exhausted, he found himself looking forward to riding on the dragon's back again tomorrow. It brought a freedom he couldn't have dreamed of in the scullery.
"What are you called, Boy?"
"Wenlyn." His voice sounded small.
The Servant nodded. "You may call me Darnek."
"Yes, my lord."
He shook his head. "No my-lords between us, Wenlyn. You're still young but one day we will be equals."
"Yes, my—uh, Darnek."
"Good. Actually, now I think on it, we won't be equals. You will stand far above me. What do you think of that?"
Wenlyn didn't answer. True fear did settle on him then. Surely at some point the Servant would realize what a mistake he'd made, and send Wenlyn back to the Fox. He wished they could simply travel the skies forever.
"You have no need to fear me, Wenlyn. I want your honest opinions. You won't be punished for them here. Where do your thoughts stray?"
"I…think you must be mistaken, sir."
Darnek gave him a knowing smile. "Why must I be mistaken?"
"It's like the Fox—I mean Master Foxund—said. I'm only a Ratboy. I can't possi
bly be suited for the Harpy's Servants."
"Ratboy? Is that what they called you?"
Wenlyn studied the dirt furiously, feeling his cheeks heat. "Yes, sir."
Darnek lifted Wenlyn's chin with his index finger. "There's no need to hide from me, Wenlyn, and no shame in living. You bow your head to no one from this day forth. For in your veins runs the blood of kings."
"But it doesn't!"
"It does," he said firmly. "The dragon would not have identified you if it didn't. It's a misconception that a person must actually be a king to qualify. Some bloodlines are ancient. The Darmingian children disappeared a thousand years ago. Who knows who they married, and what paupers are their descendants? Somewhere in your ancestry there lived a king, and he passed the traits in his blood onto you. Now, you are destined to join our ranks.
"What…does that mean exactly?"
Darnek smiled again.
Wenyln thought it a friendly smile. He hoped it was.
"I can see you're a shrewd boy. Curiosity is never bad, unless it becomes sadistic. All I can tell you for now is it's significant the dragon identified you, even when I didn't."
"Why?"
"Dragons can only identify their true brothers."
Wenlyn frowned, confused. "Do you mean I'll ride him?" he nodded toward the blue dragon. "How can he be my companion? He's yours."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what?"
He shook his head. "You will understand more, I think, after the ceremony."
"Ceremony?" Wenlyn's fear must have shown because Darnek turned compassionate eyes on him.
"I know this is new to you, and swift. You must trust me, Wenlyn. Tonight you embark on a