by Dan Allen
The strythe were heavyset and powerful—with enormous saber fangs—and very aggressive.
“The problem is feeding them,” Terith said. “Strythe hunt mountain goats. We have no prey for them out here so close to the Outlands.”
“Or at least dral—why can’t we raise dral instead of fruit dragons?” Kyet asked, or whined—it was hard to tell with teenagers.
The strong-armed dral were the feared predatory dragons that clung to the cliffs of the megaliths. With wings disguised as great ivy leaves, they waited for fruit dragons to poke their noses under the ivy looking for fruit, and then seized them.
“I don’t like dral,” Terith stated. “They aren’t as loyal, or as intelligent as fruit dragons.” His mind churned as he considered what had to be done. Kyet had not yet faced battle with the Outlanders. In only a few months, in high summer, he would ride by Terith’s side to stop their invading bands. Terith had to know that Kyet would follow any order without hesitation.
More importantly, Kyet had to know that.
“How can you expect to win the challenge with Akara?” Kyet asked. “This year’s race will be all about the climbs. You need one of the fishing dragons. You need a velra.”
“All the trained velra in the Montas are already owned by riders,” Terith said. “None of them will lend out their velra for the challenge. It’s too dangerous. Besides, I have plans.”
“Why not bargain for one of the crossbred racers?” Kyet insisted. “They haven’t got quite the climbing strength of the velra, but better top speed. You could make up the difference on the long stretches.”
“Kyet,” Terith said plainly. “I’ve never lost a race, ever. And I’ve fought in seven summer campaigns against the Outlander horde. Why should I worry about this race?”
“Pert,” Kyet mumbled under his breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing . . . it’s just, I overheard from the watch at Erden that Pert was riding in the challenge.”
“Pert,” Terith said in a low voice, flexing his hands into fists. “Very well. I’ll keep that in mind.” He leaned the spear casually toward the young rider. “Kyet, kill that dragon. Now.”
Kyet turned to Terith, eyes wide and horrified.
“Quickly. Do it.”
Kyet seized the spear and hurled himself at the dragon, thrusting the long spear through the open door of the cage.
With reflexes unmatched by any other creature in the Montas, the dragon leapt backward.
But there was no escape in the small space between the open cage and the cave wall. Kyet’s spear punctured a lung as it rammed through the young dragon’s chest.
The wounded dragon reared its head back and gulped air, preparing to let fly a gust of furnace-intensity flame. Before it could, a second bladed shaft plunged into its scaly underside, straight through its heart. A wheeze escaped the dragon as its body shuddered and fell still.
Terith dropped the end of the spear he had thrust into the dragon and grabbed Kyet’s shaking shoulders. “Well done.”
“Why?” was the single word that escaped Kyet’s lips.
“Now you know,” Terith said. “You can kill. You can follow any order. You’re a rider.”
Kyet took a shaky breath and flexed his fists to suppress the trembling in his fingers.
Terith waited as the teen coped with the sudden death of a dragon he had raised from an egg.
“I murdered it.”
“No,” Terith said, “the opposite. A timid dragon endangers its rider in battle.”
Kyet nodded and yanked his spear free, a last savage act that gave him a shudder of remorse.
“Worst of all it would have made weak breeding stock,” Terith said, “undoing everything we’ve worked for.”
Kyet knew it, but the task was tantamount to killing a friend.
“Sorry I missed,” Kyet said, shaking his head in frustration and disbelief. “We almost lost it there. They’re so fast.”
“You trust me,” Terith said. “Now I trust you.” Terith looked Kyet in the eyes. “See for yourself.”
Kyet’s eyes flared with the white light of the awakening as the young truth seer searched Terith for any sign of doubt or deception. His countenance changed, as if Terith’s own confidence had flowed into him. His young face hardened with a look of determination. “Yes, sir.”
Terith turned to leave. “And you know,” a smile crept onto his lips, “dragons aren’t the fastest thing on this megalith.”
“Yes, chief . . . er, champion—I suppose you aren’t chief yet . . . that’s still Ferrin. Anyway, good luck at the feast,” Kyet called.
The glorious and ominous sound of the word chief rang in Terith’s ears as he climbed back out of the keep and up the stone steps.
There was only one chief of the Montazi, but the time for change had nearly come. Terith could feel it. This time, this challenge, a new chief would be chosen.
“I’m ready,” Terith whispered to himself.
The awakening chose the chief; he had no choice in the matter.
Whether the sign was given this year or not, Terith was proud of what he had accomplished in Neutat. His riders were disciplined and skilled. The Outlander invaders had never reached the village on his watch.
On top of that, Kyet had passed his improvised test. To Terith it was like his left arm suddenly having more strength.
Coming to the top of the stone stair and stepping into a clearing, the never-defeated rider found himself cornered by a small army.
He ran his hand through his short-cropped sandy hair and gritted his teeth, eyes darting from one side to the other, his posture losing none of its swagger.
“I see I’m outnumbered,” he said to the gathered militia.
Mischievous grins broke out among the otherwise stone-faced assemblage.
“The Suma is nearly here, and I have to go to Ferrin-tat for the feast of the challenge. I’m afraid I can’t tell you stories tonight.”
The children of the village swarmed their champion. “You promised!”
“Tell us of the time you captured the Outlander chief!” cried a dirt-smudged boy.
“Tell us of Toran’s conquest,” begged another.
Terith folded his arms and looked at the impetuous child. “You’ve heard that one a dozen times already.” His eyes scanned over the scrawny bunch of hardy survivors. “And besides, I wasn’t even born until Toran’s conquest was nearly over, so I can hardly know if I’m even telling it right. Get one of the elders or grand matrons to tell you.”
“A legend!” one boy cried.
“A legend . . . let’s see.” Terith racked his brain. With so much on his mind, it was as much as he could manage to remember where he was. “All right. Here is the legend of all legends.”
“Yay,” a boy chirped. His tiny hands formed fists and his arms wiggled with anticipation like the branches of a bush in a windstorm.
“Sit.”
The children dropped to the ground like overfull sacks of ivy fruit.
“Long ago,” Terith began, “at the beginning of our age, before Toran, before the Montazi or even the Dervites, the Outlanders ruled the inland plains.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Mya interrupted. “You should call them inlanders if they lived in the inlands.”
“I’ll call them primitives. That’s what they were—still are. Anyway, long ago when the primitives roamed the inlands of Erdal, our enlightened ancestors came to settle here. They arrived on the backs of the great dragons—dragons so large their wings stretched across the deep from one megalith to another.”
“I want one.”
“Where did they come from?”
“From far across the Outland wastes,” Terith explained, “a place of magic and peace. The awakening comes down to us from them.”
&n
bsp; “Oh, I’ve heard this one before a hundred times,” a young girl said. “I know it by heart. The ancestors settled the plains and then the Outlanders killed one of the dragons. The rest of the great dragons left and then the settlers drove the Outlanders out of the plains, and that started the whole thing with the Outlanders trying to get through the Montas to the plains of Erdal every summer. Supposedly only when all the settled realms are brought together will the great dragons return—the end.”
“I guess you’ve done my job for me,” Terith said smugly. “I’ll just be on my way—”
“Hey, she cheated!”
“Tell us about the challenge!” cried another lad.
“Yes!” the other children echoed. “Tell us of the challenge.”
Terith rolled his eyes and raised a finger. “One more story. But you won’t get another after this one.”
The children gazed expectantly, eyes riveted in perfect silence.
“The Montas is the most dangerous place you could ever hope to live,” Terith began. He looked at each of the faces of the children. “The survival of the Montazi relies on good breeding. That is the reason for the challenge.”
“Tell us about the race part,” whispered a very young boy who was sitting on his older sister’s lap.
“Yes, I was getting to that,” Terith said, reaching out to tweak the toddler’s nose. “Only the bravest of the riders are named champions and allowed to compete in the challenge. Each successful finisher may choose a mate from among the noble eligible.”
“Oh, just tell us who you’ll choose,” Mya begged, clasping her hands together, eyes gleaming with expectation. “You must have decided by now. Is it Lilleth?”
“The race hasn’t even been run yet,” Terith hedged. “But I will tell you this. It is no easier to become one of the eligible than it is to become a champion. Eligible women must have a deep mastery of the awakening. It passes only from mother to child, so a rider must have a mate with skills equal to his own.”
“Some of the riders die in the challenge,” said one of the boys to his mop-haired friend.
“But not Terith,” the friend added, his eyes alight with faith. “He’s the greatest rider in the Montas—greater than Ferrin.”
“Perhaps,” Terith said, “But he’s getting old anyway.”
“Better than Pert, too!”
“Well, I must agree with that,” Terith said.
The boys seated in the front smiled double wide, looking as though they would burst from pride.
“The race begins one week after the welcome feast,” Terith continued. “And the feast will be tomorrow at Ferrin-tat, so you understand why I must be going.”
“But what about the race?” the mop-haired boy urged.
Terith looked over his shoulder. Two more children had come in from the rear, shepherded by his friend Tanna. She laughed at his predicament as she settled the toddlers on the dirt next to Terith and retreated to the back of the group.
“In the race,” Terith continued, excitement creeping into his voice, “the dragons must pass through all the obstacles. There are canyons, bridges and,” Terith paused for emphasis, “a long, dark tunnel. But of course, the most dangerous thing about the race isn’t an obstacle.”
“It’s the other riders’ dragons,” shouted a young boy, leaping to his feet and pumping his fists. “You have to fight them off!”
“Right. You’ve got to watch your back,” Terith said, enjoying the boy’s energy. A rider in the making.
“Why don’t you ride with a companion to keep your wing, like the others?” another boy asked.
“Because nobody else can keep up, stupid,” said the fired-up youngster.
Terith chuckled at his antics, before continuing. “The race starts at noon. The champions fly all day and all night and must return to the starting place before noon the next day to win a mate. The first to arrive back at the starting place is the champion of champions and gets the first choice from among the eligible. A bond is made if the match is right.”
“What does it feel like to be bonded?” one of the girls asked.
“I imagine it is a lot like kissing,” Terith said to a chorus of laughter.
“Yuck.” Several boys’ faces contorted with disgust.
“Terith,” Tanna chided, “bonding is not like kissing and you know it.”
“All right, so it isn’t like kissing. It’s about sharing your awakenings. You have to let go of everything and share yourself, mind and soul, with your mate.”
“Still sounds gross,” mumbled one of the boys.
“And then . . .” Tanna prompted, obviously enjoying seeing Terith have to talk about romantic things.
Terith swallowed and continued. “Then the bonded couples keep a summer of promise and are married in the fall when the dragons mate and leave for the sacred plain.”
“Will you win?” asked Mya. She was slight in her physique, but indomitable in spirit, the likeliest of the Neutat children to become eligible, given a few more years.
Terith’s words came with a confidence that surprised him. “Yes.” He smiled. “I will win, because I have help that no other challenger can match.” He looked over the young of Neutat. “I think that about covers it. Off to home now, all of you, before the scorpions come up from the canyons to feed.”
The young scattered obediently out of the clearing, some stretching their arms out and running around like they were dragons and others firing imaginary arrows at them.
The last to stand was not a child, but a childhood friend.
“Tannatha.”
The leather-working seamstress smiled weakly. She gathered her long skirt in the front with one hand. Her words came haltingly. “Did you ever feel like . . . like your future lies somewhere else? I mean . . . outside the Montas?”
Terith narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Why?”
“No reason. I . . . well, I just came to wish you good luck.”
Terith nodded and gave a smile. “You know, Tanna, I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t for you.”
His friend shrugged her shoulders. “Actually, I always hoped you would lose the challenge.” She gave an unconvincing laugh and smiled sadly.
Terith avoided asking why she wanted him to lose, but it appeared the unbidden reason was going to come out anyway.
Tanna blushed. “It isn’t that I want somebody else to win. I just thought if you lost you would . . . come back here and stay.”
“You mean, settle down in Neutat and choose a mate?” Terith asked.
Tanna rocked on her ankles again looking like something inside her was trying to find a way out through her heels. “It sounds strange, but I always held out this needle of a hope that you might decide there was more to me than leatherwork and stitching. I . . . I guess it’s just a silly girl’s dream I never grew out of.”
She’s admitting to a secret lifelong crush on me? Now?
“I know I’m not like Ferrin’s daughters,” Tanna admitted. “I haven’t got the breeding to have the awakening. The nearest I ever came to glowing was having an oil lamp blow up on me.” She brushed a strand of matted brown hair away and locked eyes with him. “Still, I always felt this something about you.” She waited for some acknowledgment, some resonance of shared feeling.
Terith scratched the back of his neck wondering what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this kind of conversation. “Tanna, you’re five years older than me. And besides, I thought Werm fancied you. You seem to like him well enough.”
She shrugged. “I . . . I do. It’s just . . .” She looked up into the milky early evening sky. Her pause grew into an awkward silence until she whispered softly, as if afraid of the words. “Sometimes you have to let your dreams die, so you can wake up and live your life.” She looked away, blinking back tears.
Terith took a breath and
waited. He certainly didn’t need Tanna complicating the political situation. “Tanna, really—”
“Terith, your future is more important that you realize . . . I wish I could explain it.” She turned away and wrapped her arms around her own waist.
I’d better say something nice or I’m going to regret it, he thought.
“Tanna, you know I really appreciate you making all my gear. If there is anything I could do to repay you, I would—I will,” he said, realizing how empty the words sounded. “But you know how it goes. I ended up a rider, and then champion, and now I’m about to ride in the challenge. If I finish in time, I’ll have to choose one of the eligible.”
“If that’s supposed to make me feel sympathy for you, it isn’t working,” Tanna said sourly. She flipped a lock of hair behind her shoulder. “How you get stuck in these terribly terrific situations . . .”
“Tanna, I didn’t know all this would happen. We have to find a way to make the best of it. We’re Montazi. We’re survivors.”
“I know,” she said. She unfolded her arms and put one hand on her lower back while the other hand squeezed the bridge of her nose. There was some kind of internal battle going on. Terith had seen it when Tanna faced a barrel of strong mead with an empty mug.
“Tanna, you’ll be all right,” Terith said. It sounded pitifully hollow.
Her mouth opened to speak, but she choked back the words. She turned as if to leave, but paused. “So . . . who are you going to choose?”
“Tanna!” Terith exclaimed in exasperation. Of course it was Lilleth, but how could he just announce it? And what if he lost and Lilleth was chosen by another? Would he want Enala to know that he would have rather had her sister?
The pent-up angst came to a head as he blurted out, “How should I know who I’m going to choose?”
A woman stepped into view on the path a few yards from Tanna. Her feet moved soundlessly over the smooth flagstones. She wore a white dress tinted with the unmistakable pale blue of the afala blossom. It curved gracefully around her figure to a beaded bodice. The long, loose sleeves swayed as she stopped on hearing Terith’s voice. The branch of a broad fern shaded her face, but Terith had no doubt who it was. In that moment he knew he had made a desperate mistake.