A surge of homesickness welled up inside her.
Perhaps if she knocked at the door?
But what if they asked questions? What if they had heard of her somehow? What if they could tell she wasn’t a boy?
Kaeldra looked away.
Maybe there was a smokehouse. People wealthy enough to own a separate barn might have a smokehouse as well. She traced the edges of the cottage with her eyes, scanned the dark spaces on either side. Nothing. Maybe it was behind.
She walked quickly toward the cottage, alert to sounds, to movement. The moon threw her shadow across the ground. She shivered, remembering the gyrfalcon. Suddenly, atop the cottage, something moved. Kaeldra stopped, her heart pounding. She peered into the darkness.
Only the kestrel. It preened itself calmly, as if taunting the boy who thought he had chased it off. Kaeldra laughed inside herself.
And then stopped.
Inside the cottage, a dog was whining.
Shush! Kaeldra thought. Stop that!
The whining swelled to a high-pitched howl. The door banged open. Something streaked out—two things. Kaeldra tried to dodge them, but too late. A knee-high mop of fur slammed into her, knocked her down, sat on her chest. She looked up into the panting face of a shaghaired dog.
“Atta girl, Lufta!” It was a boy, the boy from the barn.
“Lufta! Get back here!” a man’s voice yelled. “Gar, you let the dog out agai—” The voice stopped.
“Yanil? What is it?” A woman’s voice.
Framed in the cottage doorway stood a tall man with graying hair and thick black brows, and a woman holding a baby. All around them, clinging to skirts and pant legs, were children, all manner of children: big and small, boys and girls.
They all stood there, staring.
Staring at her.
* * *
“Gar, and would you be getting our Coldran some pie?”
The boy from the barn leapt from the table, ran to the hearth.
“Let me! I want to do it! Let me!” A dark-haired girl collided with the boy, grabbed his tunic. “Please, please, oh, please!”
Coldran was the name that had slipped into Kaeldra’s mind when Yanil, the father, had asked. She had almost forgotten she was supposed to be a boy. “Kaeld—” she had said, then deepened her voice a little. “Coldran.”
“I can twirl three times in the air, want to see?” another girl asked. Her hair, Kaeldra noticed, was almost as light as her own.
Kaeldra started to reply, then said “Umph,” as a pudgy finger jabbed her stomach. “What’s that?” demanded the finger’s owner, a small boy.
Kaeldra moved her arm in front of her stomach, covering the cheese she had slipped down her tunic when no one was looking.
“Hof!” his mother said. “And will you sit down and be mindin’ your manners?”
The baby in her lap sucked on its fist. “Gub!” it said happily.
Kaeldra felt bad about stealing food from these people. They had invited her to their table, fed her until she felt stuffed. They had treated her not as a stranger, but as a friend.
She looked round the room, which was larger and more richly furnished than Kaeldra’s cottage. There was a stone hearth with a chimney in one corner. Oil lamps spilled golden light across pewter plates. Behind the wooden shutters, she caught a gleam of glass.
It would be nice to live here, Kaeldra thought. She wished the draclings could take care of themselves. She wished she could stay here with this family, feeling full and warm and wanted.
Something clunked on the table before her: a steaming-hot pie, bubbling with a red, sweet-smelling liquid. The boy whirled away. The dark-haired girl pouted. Across the table, the eldest girl smiled at Kaeldra, then looked quickly down at her plate.
At the front door, Lufta yipped.
“Quiet, Lufta!” Yanil said. “I don’t know what’s got into that cur tonight.”
“She can’t help it! She got bit,” Gar said.
“By a wolf,” one of the girls added.
“Or a dragon,” another girl said.
“Gub.” The baby smeared pie in its hair.
“No such thing as dragons,” Gar said.
“Says who?”
“Says me!”
“That man said so.” The dark-haired girl turned to Yanil. “The apothecary man. Didn’t he, Da?”
“So what does he know?” Gar said. “He never even saw one. He just said—”
“Children!” Yanil’s voice cut through the bickering. He glared at them from beneath his bristling eyebrows, although a touch of amusement flickered at the corner of his mouth as he turned to Kaeldra.
She wanted to ask about the apothecary, but Yanil spoke first. “So you’re bound for Kragrom, are you?”
“I’m to be apprenticed,” Kaeldra said. “To a blacksmith my grandmother knows there.” She listened to the lie as she said it, to see if it sounded true.
“What’s that?” Hof asked, tugging at her coin purse.
Kaeldra smiled and gently detached his fingers from the purse.
“I’ll be goin’ that way myself,” Yanil continued. “Well, not all the way to Kragrom, but I’ll be cartin’ some brew to Regalch, by the Kragish Sea. You could bide a night or two with us, couldn’t you? And ride with me as far as Regalch? I could book you on a vessel bound for Kragrom. It’d be a boon to have another man along.”
Kaeldra gaped, so astonished she couldn’t think what to say.
“Yes, please stay,” the eldest girl said. She smiled, raised her eyelashes, then lowered them again. With a jolt, Kaeldra recognized her look. It was the kind of look that Mirym exchanged with Wynn. A private look. A girl-to-boy look. Kaeldra gulped and took a spoonful of pie.
“What’s that?” Hof was reaching for her hood. Horrified, Kaeldra felt it begin to slide off her head.
“I can dance the jeika, want to see?”
“The man said—”
“Did not!”
“Quiet, Lufta!”
“Gub!”
The smile froze on the eldest girl’s face. Yanil’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. Even the dog was quiet.
Kaeldra grabbed for her hood, but too late.
“He’s a girl!” Hof said.
“I—” Kaeldra choked. The words stuck in her throat. She groped for something credible to say, something to explain why a boy would wear his hair in a braid, or else why a girl would pass herself off as a boy. Dimly, she heard a squawking of hens, a mooing of cows, the braying of a mule. At the table, no one moved.
Suddenly, the kestrel screamed. The dog set up a frenzy of barking and scratching. The cows were bellowing now; the hens screeched.
“What in the name of—” Yanil jumped up and ran to the door. There was a scraping of benches, a pounding of feet.
Squeezing into the doorway, children crowded all around her, Kaeldra saw the draclings.
They were flying.
They drifted, wobbling, through the air, then flamed down at three panicked rabbits. Embyr flopped down on one, then dragged it wriggling and kicking along the ground. Pyro missed, landed snoot-first in the dirt, lunged, and heaved himself down upon a rabbit.
“By the sun’s blessed rays,” Yanil whispered.
Kaeldra’s legs refused to move. She willed them to go, but they wouldn’t. Then the kestrel called again, and she was pushing past the family, she was out in the barnyard.
“Flee!” she shouted to the draclings.
“Flee!”
chapter 15
He who tasteth of power
Weaker fare will nevermore content.
—Kragish proverb
Kaeldra ran.
There was a commotion behind her, shoutings and squawkings and barkings. “Stay here,” Kaeldra heard, and, “Grab the dog.”
“Come on!” she yelled at the draclings. She made for the woods at the far side of the clearing. The draclings loped along beside her, limp rabbits hanging from their mouths.
&nbs
p; “Run!”
They were halfway across the clearing when the dog’s frustrated yips changed to furious barking.
“Fly!” Kaeldra screamed. “Drop those stupid rabbits and fly!”
But the draclings would not let go of their prey.
Kaeldra looked over her shoulder to see the dog hurtling across the field, narrowing the gap between them to a tiny strip of dirt. Synge had fallen behind; the dog made for her and leaped.
“Synge! Drop it! Fly!”
But it was too late. The dog landed on Synge’s back. Synge let out a scream. Pain ripped through Kaeldra’s shoulder. Synge’s pain, she thought. Not mine.
Kaeldra turned and ran toward the dog. “Stop that! Stop! Go home!”
But the dog, though not large, was determined. Snarling, it buried its teeth into the dracling’s soft shoulder-scales. Synge whipped at it with her tail, screamed pitifully, rolled over on the ground. A swarm of birds converged overhead, swooped at the dog. The dog hung on. Synge twisted and flailed and lashed her tail. Still the dog hung on.
Synge was weakening, Kaeldra saw. A bright red stain trickled down her foreleg. Her screams diminished to soft whimperings. Her tail flopped to the ground, lifted, hit down again with a thud. It lay on the ground, quivering.
No, Kaeldra thought. This can’t be. This can’t be happening. She flung herself at the dog, dug her nails into its fur, tried to pry it off Synge. The birds were diving, pecking at the dog. Still, it hung on. She pummeled it with her fists; it twisted savagely, bit Kaeldra’s arm, then again sank its teeth into Synge.
Kaeldra cried out. She clutched at her arm, slid away from the dog. Blood seeped up between her fingers from an evil-looking gash.
Embyr and Pyro pawed at the ground, snorted smoke, twitched their heads as if shaking off bees.
“Do something!” Kaeldra sobbed. “Attack! Bite!” She reached to touch them with her mind and felt a paralyzing confusion of pain and fear and rage.
She jumped to her feet.
〈Flame!〉
The draclings stared.
Kaeldra closed her eyes. In her mind she called up a candle. The wick blossomed into flame. She focused on the flame. Shadows blew across it, tried to distract her, tried to snuff it out. The dog snarling. The voices calling. Someone running toward her across the field. Kaeldra held fast to the flame.
〈Flame oh flame oh please please flame.〉
Bright-rush!
The dog howling. The stench of burning fur. Kaeldra opened her eyes, saw the dog drop down, then leap again for Synge.
Kaphoom!
Rearing up on hind legs, necks arched, nostrils flaring, Embyr and Pyro breathed fire. Blue flame shot through the air and engulfed the dog, then tumbled across the damp field, hissing and smoking until it fizzled at last at the forest’s edge. The dog was gone. Where it had stood only a moment before, a black, mangled heap lay smoking on the ground. There was a nauseating stench of charred flesh and burning fur.
Kaeldra’s stomach heaved. They killed it. They truly killed the dog.
She tore her eyes away from the smoking carcass and ran to Synge. The flame seemed not to have touched the dracling, but her shoulder oozed blood.
Kaeldra was bending to comfort Synge when the rock hit her back.
“Ouch!” Kaeldra whirled around.
“They killed my dog! They killed my rabbits! I hate them!”
It was Gar, the boy. He stood not three cart-lengths away, fists clenched, eyes filled with tears. Across the field, people were shouting and running toward them.
Embyr and Pyro reared again, faced the boy.
〈No,〉 Kaeldra said to the draclings. Her bloodbeat rang loud in her ears. 〈No. Absolutely do not. No.〉
The draclings glanced at her, and her mind was flooded with a churning agitation, a powerful urge to breathe fire.
The draclings looked back at Gar. Their nostrils flared. Gar froze, his eyes widening.
Kaeldra walked slowly to the boy, careful to do nothing to startle them. “Stand still,” she whispered. She moved in front of Gar and reached back to hold his trembling hands. Dimly she was aware that the people had stopped. They, too, stood frozen, as if afraid to move.
Staring at Embyr and Pyro, Kaeldra made a picture in her mind. They were in the woods, eating their rabbits. The meat was tender and juicy.
Pyro dipped his head. Slowly, with the grace of a cat, he lowered his talons to the ground. He picked up his kill and made for the woods.
But Embyr reared up higher. Smoke billowed out her nostrils.
〈No, Embyr. No.〉 Embyr glared back at Kaeldra, and she knew from the look in the dragon’s wild eyes that Embyr was no longer hers to command. Embyr would do as she pleased, and Kaeldra could only watch.
A cold wind gusted against Kaeldra’s back. The dragon’s tail twitched.
Then Embyr slowly lowered herself to the ground.
Kaeldra let out a breath. She picked up Synge’s kill and followed the draclings into the woods.
Behind her, she could hear Gar sob.
* * *
It was raining.
Drops slapped against the dense tree roof. One escaped through the branches, splashed cold on Kaeldra’s head.
She huddled on a soggy stump while the draclings tore and gulped their prey. She averted her eyes, trying not to think of how horribly the dog had died and how nearly the boy had met the same fate.
The dog attacked them, Kaeldra told herself. And they didn’t kill the boy.
Still, something had changed. She felt a new awe for her charges and, mingled with it, fear.
Kaeldra’s arm throbbed painfully. She had bound it and Synge’s shoulder with rags torn from the bottom edge of her tunic, but already both wounds had bled through. She had thought it safe to stop since it was past sundown, and she had heard no one following. The searchers would likely wait until dawn.
But there would be searchers. Of that, she felt sure.
Pyro licked his mouth and sucked at his talons, savoring the last trace of meat. Soon Embyr and Synge had finished as well.
High above, the kestrel called.
〈Let’s go,〉 Kaeldra said.
A thick, white mist curled about the tree trunks. The kestrel called often, muted, as though wrapped in wool. Kaeldra could not see the bird and so felt her way toward its sound along narrow animal tracks or through sodden underbrush. After a time she gave up listening for the kestrel, for the draclings moved infallibly toward its call.
Soon, her boots and stockings were soaked. Damp soaked into her tunic; cold seeped in through her skin to her bones. She had left everything at the cottage—her cloak, her blanket, her snares, her food—everything but her coin purse, which was tied to her belt. She had no idea which way they traveled—whether the kestrel still led them toward the Kragish Sea or simply away.
At last they came to a clearing, where stood a rundown, half-timbered building. Amber light leaked from its windows, illuminating silvery needles of rain. Drawing closer, Kaeldra saw a sign hanging above the door.
An inn. It must be an inn.
She reached down to touch her coin purse. At least she still had that. She did not know how much a night at an inn would cost, but it couldn’t be more than what Granmyr had given her. There would be a fire and blankets and a bed.
Synge nudged her hand. Her bandage was bloody and dark. She must hurt, Kaeldra thought. Her own arm throbbed from the dog bite, but Synge’s wound was worse.
She took a last, longing look at the inn. 〈Come on.〉
They followed the kestrel around the edge of the clearing to where a muddy road passed by the inn. Several carts clustered there. Their horses were gone; the inn must have a stable.
The kestrel preened itself atop one of the carts. It was an odd conveyance, completely enclosed like a large lidded box. Faded red paint peeled off in flakes, giving it the look of a man too long in the sun.
Perhaps the kestrel meant for them to go inside. They would be out
of the wet and hidden from searchers. If the owner had stopped at the inn . . .
Kaeldra tiptoed to the front of the cart. The draclings skulked at her heels. Slowly, she pulled herself onto the carter’s bench. It creaked. The draclings scrambled under the cart.
Silence.
Kaeldra turned and peered inside.
It was dark at first, too dark to see. But the smells wrapped around her like a cloak. Ringboll and tinewort, the smell of wet fur. Axle grease, picklefish, pond scum, and smoke. There were smells that pricked at the edges of her memory; there were smells she had never smelled before.
Kaeldra hesitated. What kind of cart was this?
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw that the cart was narrower inside than it had appeared from without. No one seemed to be in it, although she could make out a lumpy pile on the floor in back. Kaeldra moved into the cart, groped her way toward the pile. Gingerly, she touched it.
Blankets. A straw mat.
The carter must be staying at the inn.
It was a strange place, but a dry one, and the kestrel had chosen it.
〈Come,〉 she called.
The draclings slunk into the cart. Kaeldra spread out the blankets, crawled onto the mat. The draclings burrowed in beside her.
Just for a while, Kaeldra thought. I’ll wake before daybreak, before the carter returns.
On the roof, rain softly drummed. Nestled close, the draclings thrummed.
* * *
The ground was moving.
It lurched beneath her, jolting her awake. There was a clattering racket, a hubbub of rattles and jingles and clinks.
Kaeldra opened her eyes.
The walls were moving. Jiggling. No, not the walls, but an astonishing jumble of bottles and jars on shelves. Floor to ceiling. Front to back.
The ground lurched again, and they leapt into the air, then clanked down hard.
The cart! It was moving. She was still in the cart, and the cart was moving.
Kaeldra sat up. She checked to make sure all three draclings were there, sleeping beneath the blanket, then turned to the front of the cart. On the driver’s bench a man in a faded tunic slouched in the morning sunlight.
What kind of cart was this?
A crude, wooden lip at the edge of each shelf kept the jars from falling off. Kaeldra plucked a green ceramic jar from a shelf near her, turned it round in her hands. It smelled ripe and rank, like decaying things in a bog. In a purple glass bottle behind the jar, a huge floating eyeball leered at her.
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