The Summer Dragon

Bellua turned to Father, unable to hide his surprise. “I didn’t know they would send Juza.”

  Father placed both hands on the parapet. “I want to speak with their commanding officer, whoever he is. And the refugees’ leader as well.” He scowled. “So the Temple is involved in earnest now.”

  “When weren’t they?” I said, before I could stop myself.

  Bellua’s lips twitched with unspoken words.

  Father nodded, then looked over his shoulder at me with volumes of questions and concerns in his eyes. But he said nothing.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE LEADER OF THE JUZA settled on the bridge, and his dragon sauntered toward us in the half-light. Its face was crimson, as were the wings it stretched and folded. Yellow bands twisted through the rust on forelegs, chest, and shoulders, and rippled like flames as it walked. Old stories told of dragons that breathed fire; if those tales were true, they should have looked like this magnificent animal.

  The Juza kept a breed of dragon to themselves, the Torchbearers. All the Juza rode Torchbearers. By some accounts they were the offspring of Korruzon Himself. Could this be one of those? Did they breathe fire? If so, it would explain the other name for the Juza—the Keepers of the Flame.

  The Juza rider unbuckled from his harness and climbed down. His armor and the clothing beneath it, his sword belt and scabbard, his bow and the quiver at his hip—all were black as smoke. Only the white sash around his waist and the bright red fletching of his arrows broke the theme. He was stocky and square, closely shorn with a razor-sharp hairline. Gravings much like Rov’s covered his face and neck.

  “I’m prelate Addai,” he said, with a crisp bow. “Where is Bellua? I bring orders for him from the Temple.” His accent was strangely sharp, his mannerisms more so—the strut of a rooster in the body of a bulldog.

  “The inner courtyard,” Father said. “Captain Rov is with him, and the leader of the Cuuloda refugees—”

  “This is the boy, Darian?”

  Darian looked apprehensive. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “And that would make you the daughter,” said Addai, turning to me.

  “I’m Maia, yes.”

  He looked me up and down, inspected Keirr. His eyes were sharp and small, like punctuation marks within the pattern of gravings. The hairs on my arms rose.

  He turned to Jhem. “And you are . . . ?”

  “Jhem, sir. I’m Tauman’s wife.”

  “Of course. The stunning red hair. My pleasure, ladies, gentlemen.” He turned to Father. “Who will see to my animal?”

  His animal?

  “I will,” said Jhem.

  Addai gestured and clicked to his mount. “The others are this way?”

  Father nodded and gestured him in. He marched past us into the courtyard.

  Jhem’s jaw dropped as she watched him go. She held up a hand for Addai’s unnamed mount to sniff. “He didn’t even introduce us.”

  Darian shrugged. Father threw me a glance loaded with meaning, including I don’t care for this guy, but especially be on your best behavior.

  I touched Jhem’s arm in passing and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She nodded thanks with an angry eyebrow cocked. “Let me know what happens.”

  We followed Addai in and waited to take our places at the table. There was another man already seated.

  The refugee leader had a belly that sagged over his belt, jowls that hung like flaps on either side of his drooping mustache. His clothes appeared shabby at first but on second look showed gold threads and lustrous fabric; a man who’d known wealth and easy excess, starved by circumstances into a shadow of his once substantial self. He sat across from Father at the courtyard table and paused in wolfing down the food before him, perhaps remembering that table manners were among the garments worn by civilized folk.

  Cairek looked away, as if the man’s hunger made him uncomfortable. Rov and Tauman watched the newcomer in silence. Darian took in everything with eager interest.

  Addai stood at Bellua’s side, handing him a scroll sealed with red wax. “Merihem, here are your orders.”

  “Thank you.” Bellua frowned and broke the seal.

  I sat beside Mabir. It was the first time I’d seen him in weeks. “Mabir! Why don’t you come by more often? I’ve missed you.”

  He gave me a cautionary glance. “I am old, child, and I travel at the mercy of others.” I could barely resist leaning in to whisper questions, but if my lips so much as twitched, he shook his head no almost imperceptibly.

  Bellua unfurled the scroll and looked up at Addai. “What about my things?”

  Addai caught me watching them. “Read first,” he said, meeting my eyes. “Then I’ll explain.” I matched his gaze, studying him, trying to catch any quirks of behavior that might reveal his mind. His gravings, I now saw, weren’t like Rov’s at all. More intricate, more square and choppy, embellished with flames around the perimeter.

  Bellua’s expression became opaque as he began to read.

  Father held an arm out toward our hungry guest. “Everyone, meet Borgomos, head of the Merchant’s Guild in Cuuloda.” Only now did I note his Staff of Office, leaning against the arm of his chair. Fancier than our local Headsman’s staff, it was fashioned of ebony, grooves and empty holes indicating where precious inlays had once adorned it. The symbol of office that should have topped it was missing. Only two holes remained where it was once attached. Why would his Staff of Office be stripped of its jewels?

  “Addai ad Rasaal,” the Juza leader introduced himself with a bow. “We met briefly, this morning, in fact.”

  The Guildmaster dabbed his lips before he spoke, as if to confirm his former affluence. “And I thank you for your escort.” He started to rise.

  The Juza leader waved him back down. “Don’t get up. You’re famished. Eat.”

  “It embarrasses me to eat alone.”

  “Think nothing of it,” said Father. “It’s the least we could do for you after your long journey.” He and Addai remained standing.

  “I thank you, sir. And, Broodmaster—”

  “Call me Magha.”

  “Thank you, Magha, for your kind hospitality and your care for my folk. I’m eager to know what we can do for you in return.”

  “It’s almost winter,” said Tauman. “The only new food coming in will be whatever harvest the fisherman catch.”

  Father nodded grimly. “You’re right. But I’ll not turn folk away. We’ll tighten our belts. Cairek? Your men can hunt?”

  “If you mean do they know how, aye, of course they do. But we’re not here to feed refugees. We’re here to defend the aeries an’ guard the cavern until it’s sealed.”

  “You’ll have to help feed yourselves.” Father fixed Cairek with a stern eye. “I raise dragons for the Dragonry, and that requires resources. I’m a charitable man, but Riat is not a charity, and I’m not a quartermaster. Our supplies are going to be stretched to the limit when brood season hits.”

  Cairek dipped his tawny head once in deference. “Understood, Broodmaster. We’ve foraged before.”

  “There’s more news that may affect the way we handle this,” said Tauman, leaning elbows on the table. “Korruzon and Emperor Ahriman have instituted a new policy.”

  Father’s eyebrows pinched together. “What’s Ahriman up to now?”

  “Charters.”

  Father slapped the table in disgust. “This again? I thought we’d rallied and defeated this notion.”

  “We did, but it took every aerie last time, remember, and Cuuloda was the strongest. Ahriman wants the outlying aeries to apply for charters. Take on investors and expand.”

  “And how is that going to help us now?”

  “With investors, we can buy food from farther afield, bring it in. Cover the shortfall and still expand.”

  “With debt that must be repaid
.”

  “We’ve already added a breeding pair.”

  “They won’t be breeding for another year.”

  “I know, Father, but hear me out. If we take advantage of this opportunity, we can emerge stronger than ever.”

  Father scowled at him. “These aeries have been in the family from before counting. I won’t give ownership to a bunch of wealthy strangers. Ahriman demands too much control.”

  “It may be our only way. Like it or not, we depend on Ahriman’s gold.”

  “And Ahriman depends on our expertise in retur—”

  “And it may be the only way you can afford to help the Cuuloda refugees.”

  Father glanced uneasily at Rov. “So much for your promise that I’d be repaid for expenses.”

  The Captain was impassive. “The Ministry communicates that the next wave of reinforcements will bring grain and forage to supplement the winter stores.” He turned to the Guildmaster. “However, your sudden appearance effectively negates the boon.”

  Borgomos looked shocked, and froze with his napkin just shy of his lips. “I don’t wish to be a burden, obviously.”

  “There’s danger for you here,” said Rov. “The caves are still infested with Harodhi warriors and other things. Until we get them sealed, there’s a chance of Cuuloda’s fate repeating here in Riat. I recommend that you continue on to Taskis. We can’t protect you.”

  Father spoke. “And where would they go? Taskis is the nearest city that could handle them, but it’s as far from here as Cuuloda was, and with two great rivers to cross. They’ve seen hard times already, and they’re our brethren. It will be a sad day when the Dragonry leaves the people to defend themselves.”

  Rov shook his head. “I don’t disagree. But we have to be practical, and as you say that means putting the aeries first. I’m sorry, Guildmaster. I have tough decisions to make.”

  Borgomos leaned forward, both hands on the table. “Your indulgence, Captain. We’ve been through this once before already. When the Dragonry arrived downstream from Cuuloda, in Chaaladan, we became the burden. The Dragonry had priority. That’s why we’re here. I’ve already spent all but a few coins of my life savings on the road from Cuuloda, feeding my people. We lost only a few very old and very young survivors.”

  I pondered the use of the word survivors to describe persons who died along the road and noted again the missing inlays in his Staff of Office. Now I understood. He had truly given everything.

  Before anyone could interrupt he continued, louder, making it clear that he intended to be heard. “My people fled from hell. Many lost family, some of them torn and eaten before their very eyes by monsters too horrible to describe.” His face grew pale. “I was in the village below the aeries and saw very little at first—silhouettes in the sky, too many dragons to have all been from the aerie. But I assumed it was Dragonry until they descended on the village. Horrors. Attacking anything that moved. Women, children, animals. It didn’t matter.” His chin began to tremble, and he looked down at his hands.

  “Those of us who escaped did so only by luck. I fell into the river and let it take me. Eventually I crawled out on a bank, under a forest canopy, and lay unmoving for fear of being discovered. I admit that I showed no courage at all. Not after seeing—” He sucked in his breath to compose himself. “More than anything else, they eat. Insatiable. It’s the only thing that slows them down, the opportunity to eat something. Anything. Many fought back, or—like our broodmaster—killed their own to prevent worse.” He fell silent.

  No one spoke. My heart pounded as I recalled the monsters Darian and I battled in the caves.

  Mabir reached across the table to touch his arm. “Two of our own have had encounter with the Horrors, in our own mountains. We understand.”

  Borgomos looked up, directly at me, and then to Darian. His eyes returned to me, and he nodded slowly. Took a deep breath. “We heard. We heard the news in Chaaladan, and it gave us hope. First, to learn that one of the Avar of old had appeared, but then to learn that a broodmaster’s daughter had defeated one of the monsters in such a way. To claim a dragon for herself. We took heart, and we knew where we had to go first, even if you turned us away.”

  His face contorted with suppressed emotion as he looked into my eyes. “Many among us wanted to see this miracle child and her qit for ourselves.”

  I felt my face flush and knew that Bellua was probably furious. I didn’t look at him, but I couldn’t look at Borgomos either, or at Darian or anyone else. Addai especially. I didn’t know if his views aligned with Bellua’s, but already I distrusted him.

  “Certainly Korruzon watched over her in that trial,” Bellua said. There was something different about his tone. Not as strident as I expected. But I turned my face away from him, sure it reflected the fact that I wanted to crawl over the table and throttle him.

  “I didn’t do it alone,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Darian helped. And we had a dragon with us.”

  “A wilding dragon, by the reports we heard,” said the Guildmaster, “who you rode like a princess of Gadia from the old tales. And Darian, though wounded, fought like a prince.”

  “Not so much,” said Darian, frowning. “Maia saved my life, not the other way ’round.”

  “The wilding only acted to save his qit, not me,” I said.

  Borgomos’s eyes were red, but a smile now creased his cheeks. “I’m sure the story grew before it came to us.”

  “I have no doubt,” Bellua said, his tone now stripped of emotion.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Borgomos. “The important thing is that it gave us hope, and strength to make the journey. For that I am grateful.”

  Now I did hazard a look at Bellua and was surprised. He didn’t look angry so much as tired. Something had changed in him since reading his orders from the Rasaal, something that shifted his outlook on the whole affair in a way I didn’t understand.

  Addai stood over him, with a look of concentration as he spoke to the Guildsman. “A sort of pilgrimage, was it?” His eyes flicked to me.

  “We knew that the first flight of bondlings comes shortly after Menog’s Day,” Borgomos said. “We’ve come far to witness Maia’s first flight with her wilding. It would mean a lot to us.”

  “Would it now?” Addai said, his face cast in stone, etched with the jagged runes of his gravings.

  Borgomos’s chin twitched for a moment. “Please understand, sir, it may seem a backward thing to one of such learning as yourself, but we took hope where we could find it.”

  “Is there not a dhalla among you?”

  “No, sir. Just simple folk. Our dhalla and all his acolytes were lost.”

  Addai said nothing, but I understood his questions with their careful tone: he sought some level of heresy, evidence that my story had turned into something unacceptable. Bellua’s report to the Rasaal no doubt colored his expectations. Addai coupled religious certainty to a warrior’s pragmatism, like all of Bellua and Rov’s worst qualities rolled into one person. Where Bellua made me suspicious and angry, Addai terrified me.

  He folded his arms. “I’m concerned with the situation I see in Riat, overrun and overburdened. I concur with the Captain that we find as many skilled laborers as remain amongst the Cuuloda refugees, then send the rest on their way to Taskis. We can’t be burdened.”

  Father looked stunned at this blunt appraisal. “Spring would be a kinder season to run them out,” he said, with no attempt to soften the sarcasm in his words.

  “We are weary,” Borgomos pleaded.

  Addai showed no flicker of emotion. “There are bigger concerns. As has been pointed out, our mission here is to protect the aeries, first and foremost.” He addressed Father. “Give them enough food to see them off. Don’t let them settle in. I want them gone.”

  “They just got here. And so did you for that matter. You know nothing about
our ability to help—”

  “I am not without sympathy, Broodmaster, but I’m here to accomplish a task, which is to protect—”

  “A heartless task, it seems.”

  “Your ability to produce dragon qits is the very first concern. I happen to be an expert in the finances of aeries—”

  “I happen to be an expert in the finances of this aerie,” Father said.

  Cairek cleared his throat. He’d been sitting and watching quietly, his brow drawn in concentration. “Protecting the aeries. That’s the reason we’re here, innit? So what threat do we face in the caverns?” His eyes moved from speaker to speaker. “Can you tell me that now? I would think it an important part of the decision.”

  Addai stood with arms akimbo. “I wish to hear this as well.”

  Father looked at Mabir, but Rov answered first. “There’s a Harodhi contingent in the caves—human foot soldiers armed with crossbows and swords. We’ve faced them on three occasions, but they’re weakening. As to the other, we don’t know what it was. There is disagreement.”

  Borgomos’s eyes grew wide.

  “Something accompanied the Harodhi on their last venture out of the deep caves,” said Bellua. “Something unidentified in Temple scripture. It attacked in ways we can’t understand or properly explain.”

  “Can you try, please?” Addai said.

  “It appeared as a shadow vaguely the size and shape of a dragon,” said Rov. “And followed a team of Harodhi skirmishers into the chamber, a place where many paths converge. It mostly hung back and didn’t finally engage us until the last of the enemy was down.”

  “Except that it attacked the girl from the beginning, using some sort of power of the mind,” said Bellua. “Or so is the story.” His tone struck me strangely again; I wondered if he chose words designed to feel out this newcomer, Addai.

  “And no one else suffered the same,” Addai said. “Yes, I read your report.”

  “I would love to know your thoughts, prelate,” said Bellua.

  “When I’ve had a chance to settle in and digest what I learn, of course.”