The Summer Dragon

by Todd Lockwood

  “So Mabir filled in some gaps for you,” he said, with a tight-lipped smile that failed to mask his concern. “That is just as well.” The bend in his brow deepened. “I’ve long kept my faith to myself, with Mabir’s indulgence. If Bellua is the sort of man you fear he is, I don’t want to alert him to my beliefs. I know too many others.”

  “I haven’t even told Darian.” Not the only thing I hadn’t told him.

  “It saddens me to say it, but perhaps that is for the best. At least for now.”

  “Nobody knows but Mabir, Father, and you and me. We should keep it that way. We shouldn’t give Bellua any reason to watch you.”

  “Assuming I didn’t already babble something unfortunate while I slept. Something he overheard.” He looked at his boots for several seconds.

  “I want to know about Asha.”

  Fren looked up. “There are ears about, here in the paddock. We have no real reason to spend time together. I know nothing about raising or training dragons, and you have no need of saws or axes. We’d have to be discreet. But nothing could honor me more than the chance to offer you guidance, Maia—you who have demonstrated the spirit of Getig so well.”

  I shook my head. “It would put you at risk.”

  Fren’s face constricted. “I want to stay close, keep an eye out.”

  “You’ll be close enough to find easily. At least there’s that. When the time seems right, I’ll find you?”

  He nodded again.

  “You shouldn’t have to hide your beliefs,” I said.

  He crushed me in another hug. “Come,” he said, releasing me at last. “Walk me in to find your Father.”

  Routine settled on the aeries. Summer bled into fall, Getig yielded to Waeges. Leaves on the fringe of the forest turned brilliant red and gold against the dark backdrop of pines. The air grew cooler, the wind more likely to bring the ragged sky of low, rain-swollen clouds. Father and Rov continued to watch the skies at night.

  Aru and Keirr doubled in size again. Father introduced them to bigger training harnesses suited to their new girth, with substantial weight where the saddle would be. “In the wild they’d be testing those wings already,” he explained. “They might well take a long glide down from the aeries. We can’t have that. Ambitious wildings injure themselves all the time. Instead, this will discourage them and make their legs and wings all the stronger.”

  I had no contact with Fren. I would see him from time to time through the trees, but I dared not even wave. It made me angry; there was a time when Fren would have swung me up on his horse for a ride. Now we acted like strangers, because of Bellua.

  For his part, the merihem laid low and stayed out of our way, tending his Zell with surprising affection. Which made sense—she was the only friend he had here. But the depth of his apparent love for her surprised me. Emotion he never showed to his fellow human beings. I wondered if I should question my opinion of him, but shut the thought down.

  Waeges’ Day arrived, when the village lit bonfires and feasted the most needy in honor of the changing season, in the spirit of Balance. Father, Jhem, Darian, and I held a feast for Kaisi and her family and for others who had no kin of their own but supplied us with goods or labor over the course of a year. Darian and I took turns watching the qits with the dragon dams, but otherwise spent all morning and afternoon in the kitchens. None of us were great cooks, but we followed recipes that my grandparents handed down: venison stew with root vegetables and wild herbs. Pilaf with rice, berries, garlic, and onions. Yams and baked apples drizzled with honey. Rov took a portion of the feast to the militiamen on duty in the caves. Bellua and Mabir and Tulo cooked in the Temple for those less fortunate. In the end, it didn’t matter if the food wasn’t terrific. The spirit of giving was the important thing.

  Routine settled again when the holiday was over. Then, three weeks after the Feast of Waeges, the sky filled with dragons.

  THIRTY-THREE

  THE THUNDER OF MANY WINGS drew us all to the paddock. Tauman on Rannu landed first. Behind him came a dozen dragon-rider teams.

  “Korruzon’s blazing farts!” shouted Darian, his face beaming. “Look at them, Maia! Did you ever imagine such a thing? How many different aeries are represented here, do you suppose?”

  “I have no idea.” Many were gathered here, in full Dragonry regalia. Every dragon had sigils painted on the surface of their wings in big, bold strokes. Harnesses shone with polish, the saddles were bedecked with quivers and pouches and metalwork of various functional sorts. Many of the mounts wore armored plates on their shoulders and necks. Spears were strapped along their spines, atop the folded “kite” that was a rider’s last resort should his mount be killed in the air. More than half the riders were armored—one of them a woman, to my surprise. They wore swords on their backs and crossbows at their sides. Long spikes poked out from the plates on their shoulders, and several more thrust out from their backs. I knew from Father’s stories that they were meant to deter the claws or teeth of an attacking dragon. I pictured these warriors assaulted by Horrors, and a chill moved through my ribcage.

  Darian grinned back at me. “I see at least four aeries that I can tell, and a couple of them look like Riat dragons, don’t you think?” His enthusiasm didn’t feel right; I found the spectacle ominous, not exciting. Despite my unease, it thrilled me to see some of our babies home and safe. I wondered if they would recognize their parents, or if the parents would know their qits.

  I pointed. “That one for sure looks like Grus, but with Shuja’s coloring.”

  Darian whistled low. “Wow. This is great! Look at all the top bows! I’ve always wanted to see one.” Several of the saddles bore huge, elaborate crossbows mounted in front, with a hand crank on the side, a boxlike structure on top full of arrows, and complicated machinery everywhere between, including cables in channels in the dragon’s harness. “So the dragon can cock the bow with its elbows,” Dare explained. “All these years we’ve been listening to Father’s stories and selling qits to the Ministry, but this is the first time we’ve had the Dragonry here, in our paddock.”

  I felt Keirr’s head press against my side, and I reached around her neck to scratch under her chin. Her eyes were wide as she wrapped a wing over my shoulder. “Hoo?” she said.

  “They’re Dragonry, Keirr. Military.”

  She looked up at me in confusion. I think she expected names, but this was impossible to explain within the confines of her vocabulary. “Many names,” I said. “Many names.” She pressed closer. This was something huge and new, completely outside her experience. She clicked, and clicked again.

  Tauman and Rannu trotted in our direction. “Make way!” he shouted. “We’ll need every bit of the paddock to get them all in.”

  Darian and I retreated to the bridge and tried to name the aerie each dragon came from as it landed.

  “Adaz aerie, in Evir,” said Darian. “It looks like Zell—lean and dun, with speckles.”

  “And those three could almost be littermates—from Sando in the north of Treven.”

  Darian’s voice fell. “Several there from Cuuloda.”

  “Yep.” The sight of them put a lump in my throat. Dark and muscular, like Shuja. He’d come from the aeries in Cuuloda. A stark reminder.

  We watched in silence for several minutes, until Darian pointed. “What’s the aerie in Kaul?”

  “I don’t remember, but that one’s a long way from home.”

  “They’re Dragonry, Maia—they’re all a long way from home.”

  “Not those two. I swear that one belongs to Grus, and that one to Athys. Look at how they hold their heads high and look all around. They know they’re home. I swear they do.”

  Then Jhem ran past us as Tauman slid down from his saddle. She leapt on him, wrapping her legs around his hips. He engulfed her in his arms, spinning her around with his face buried in her neck. She laughed.r />
  I laughed. Darian laughed.

  “Are you well?” Tauman asked her.

  “Yes! And Coluver is well, and Audax has behaved himself, and Athys will be overjoyed to see you.”

  “Where’s Father?”

  Jhem held his face in her hands and kissed him before she answered. “At the caves, with Rov.”

  “I need to go tell him that we’re here, then.”

  “No! Don’t go. Not yet.” She enfolded him in her arms again and laid her head on his shoulder. Weeks apart had softened the hurt feelings, it seemed. I grinned, and caught Darian beaming, too.

  “I’ll go,” said Bellua, suddenly beside me.

  Tauman looked up. “You would do that?”

  “Of course. Your dragons are weary. You all need a rest, and food and water.”

  “It’s not only us.” Tauman’s smile vanished, and he relaxed his hold on Jhem. She released the grip of her legs to stand beside him. “There are refugees approaching on the north road, from Cuuloda.”

  Bellua stepped to the rail of the bridge. “I don’t see them.”

  “You will. They’ll be along soon enough.”

  “You left them unguarded?”

  “Oh, they’re not alone.”

  A squat brown dragon with bowed legs came toward us, with armor plating on his shoulders and chest. A thin ribbon of white fabric wafted on a slender whip, mounted to the saddleback; its rider was a “ribbon officer,” the leader of this talon. He dismounted and approached us.

  His skin was not nearly so pale as the milky-white skin of the Harodhi, but not so brown as ours. He was tan with freckles on his cheeks and hands. I knew of these people—they lived far north and east, in the mountains of Idwal. He made me think of Jhem in his coloring, though he was tan and yellow, not red. He wore no gravings other than the bond mark and a double talon of rank on his right arm. Hardened leather armor covered his chest, shoulders, and thighs. He plucked a dragon-leather helmet with attached goggles off his head and tucked it under his arm. His short-cropped hair was so light as to appear almost like straw. I’d never seen the like. He held a hand out to Bellua.

  “I’m Sergeant Cairek ad Seijas, good merihem, an’ this is my mount, Taben ad Gath.” His dragon nodded. “Pleased t’ be here at last.” He had an oddly pleasing accent.

  Bellua took his hand and bowed. “Bellua ad Reitleh. Welcome! Welcome. Do you have a communication for me?”

  “Nay,” said the Dragonry sergeant. “Were you expecting something?”

  Bellua looked concerned. “Yes, I was.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be along shortly, then,” said Cairek. “Where is Captain Rov?”

  His apparent lack of concern tightened Bellua’s frown. “He’s in the caves with the broodmaster. I assume Tauman filled you in?”

  “Aye, he did.” He turned to Jhem and held out a hand, bowing ever so slightly. “You surely are Jhem? Your husband told me many good things about you, ma’am.”

  Jhem took his hand and bowed in return. “He probably told you about all my awful qualities too, then.” Tauman’s mouth drew tight. He was awful to Jhem about half the time, critical and unrelenting. But she probably shouldn’t have been so glib.

  Cairek let the jibe go without comment, turning next to Darian. “An’ this would be young master Darian, with his new charge . . . ?”

  “Aru,” said Darian, scratching his qit behind the ear before he remembered to bow and take the sergeant’s hand.

  “He’s a handsome character, i’nt he?” Cairek’s smile was easy and pleasant.

  Then he turned to me, bowing deeply. “I take it you are Maia. Getig’s Maia, hey?”

  My face burned with sudden embarrassment. I glanced at Darian, and his face reddened with an emotion that also pinched his brow and puckered his lips. Then I glimpsed Bellua, who stared down at me with his mouth pressed into a straight line. I didn’t know how to respond. At last I took Cairek’s offered hand. “Yes. Pleased to meet you.”

  He bent to Keirr’s eye level with a look of wonder transforming his face. “An’ this would be the wilding then, hey?”

  Tauman harrumphed. “Some might say that Maia is the wilding.” I wrinkled my nose at him.

  “Keirr,” said Keirr.

  I scratched her neck. “That’s her name, and she wants you to know it.”

  Cairek grinned, but didn’t look away from her. “We’ve heard your story as far away as Ebrolin, m’lady.” His tone was soothing, his delivery so relaxed that his voice had a calming effect. I liked him immediately.

  “Really?”

  “Aye. I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance.” He stood. “We have refugees from Cuuloda close behind. They want to meet you as well, I think.”

  I glanced at Bellua again. He stood stiff and ruddy-faced, his eyes drawn as narrow as taut wire.

  “I’ll start the food,” said Darian with a sidelong look at me, then he darted toward the storehouse.

  “This will put a strain on resources,” said Tauman. “We’ve gone from six adult dragons to eighteen, with brood season approaching.”

  “It’s harder than that,” said Cairek. “We’re going to need a place to pitch tents for dragons an’ riders alike. An’ given the lay of things, we’ll need to clear forest to make room. I’m sorry for the hardship, Mr. Tauman, but it can’t be helped.”

  Tauman nodded. “There’s another talon of Dragonry on its way as well, accompanying the masons and the engineers Rov requested for the work on the caves. They’re ground huggers with all their big machinery, so they’ll be several more weeks, arriving just before Menog’s Day, when resources are most guarded. And then they’ll need food and a place to pitch their tents, too.”

  Before I could ingest this conversation, two more Dragonry riders approached, and Cairek turned to them. I expected them to salute, but they stood casually, poking gloves into belts and loosening the straps on their armor. “All in and ready for orders, sir,” said one of them.

  Cairek held one hand toward them, the other toward us. “These are my talon leaders, Ajhe ad missed that, and Marad ad that one too. Their mounts, Deka ad somewhere and somebody av Cuuloda are at the watering trough.” Names flying everywhere. I would be lucky if I remembered Cairek, Ajhe, and Marad. The only aerie name I’d recognized was the last, Cuuloda. I liked the way they introduced their mounts, though—complete with lineage names from the aeries that gave them birth. That appealed to me immediately. A bonded dragon and rider depended on each other for survival. It only made sense to introduce them as honored persons. The men bowed and smiled as Cairek named us in turn for them.

  I thought to myself, Keirr av Riat. No, Keirr av Malik: Keirr, daughter of Malik.

  When Cairek introduced Keirr and me, the two men bowed deeply. “Honored, young miss,” said Ajhe, and “Most pleased, m’lady,” said Marad. The same odd deference I’d received from the townsmen in the caves. I bristled inside—I didn’t want to be notorious. I only wanted to raise my qit. But I bowed courteously. “The pleasure is mine.”

  “I’ll go find Rov and the broodmaster,” said Bellua. He spun and marched across the bridge to the stable.

  It took an hour for Jhem and Darian to haul enough food up the lift from the icehouse to feed every dragon, while Tauman and I manned the saddle jib. We used a cart to roll the saddles to various parts of the compound. The paddock was soon arrayed with them, each with a soldier’s kite propped open above it and their bedrolls laid flat beneath. By the time Father and Rov returned with Bellua, the riders relaxed under their makeshift tents, their mounts lined up at the watering trough or eating from piles of vegetables and meat.

  With Shuja and Cheien unsaddled and fed, we gathered at the north end of the paddock next to the gantry and looked out over the parapet to the northern plains.

  Cairek spoke with Rov. “I need your orders, sir.
”

  Rov crossed his arms and considered. “For now just post a standard watch schedule.”

  “Aye, sir. And Broodmaster, sir—”

  “Call me Magha.”

  “Aye. Magha, sir, we’ll need t’ knock down more of your timber to make enough room for roosts.”

  Father growled low in his throat. “Yes, that already occurred to me. No more than you have to. I treasure my forest.”

  “Aye,” said Cairek. “We’ll need t’ make a couple of saddle jibs for ourselves, with a little help.”

  “I can put Fren on that. He’ll give you good work.”

  “You understand, Magha sir”—Cairek looked uncomfortable— “that eventually we’re going to need barracks.”

  Father looked across the canyon between pinnacle and clifftop, at our forest, and nodded.

  “I see the refugees,” I said, pointing.

  Through the mist from the Roaring, at the edge of the stretching shadow of the mountains, a string of carts and people wound between the low foothills, riding animals and driving other animals before them.

  “That’s a long journey from Cuuloda,” said Jhem.

  “They’ve had an escort,” said Bellua. “Look up.”

  In the sky above them nine dragons circled.

  “They’re not part of my wing,” said Cairek. “We only spotted them this morning as we neared Riat. Look twice, good Bellua. They’re Juza. I imagine they have the communication you seek.”

  Juza! The Juza were Temple warriors, like the Dragonry but trained within the walls of the Maktaa, the religious school of the Rasaal. They were elite fighters, like warrior-priests. Fabled. The best of the best. The Keepers of the Flame, some called them. I’d never seen one before.

  “Why are the Juza here?” said Father.

  “It’s not unheard of for them to escort refugees,” said Cairek.

  “But not the norm. Am I right, Bellua?”