“It’s all Kashet’s doing,” Ari replied, but he looked up, then, and behind the weariness, seemed very pleased at Vetch’s wide-eyed admiration. “I’ll admit we’ve practiced just that move, in case something like this happened. This was the first time we’ve caught a man, though—it’s always been bags of chaff before this. Have you ever seen a dragon take a goose in flight?”
He waited for Vetch to reply; Vetch shook his head.
“No? Well, it’s something they do in the wild, pulling their head and neck back, then snapping it forward while flying, like a heron catching a fish. I’ve taught Kashet to do that, only to bring his head in under what we’re trying to catch rather than snapping at it with his jaws, then to raise his head and fly up a little at the same time. If we’ve got the balance right, what we’re aiming for slides right down his neck onto my saddle where I can steady it.” Ari shook his head, and Vetch gaped as he tried to imagine just how much control and coordination—and cooperation on Kashet’s part!—that would take. “Needless to say, no one else can do it. Another of my little eccentricities that the others put up with in the past; none of them ever had the imagination to see that it could be used to rescue a falling rider. I suspect there won’t be any more sniping remarks about it after this, though.”
Sniping remarks? Never had it even passed Vetch’s mind that his own Jouster, so highly thought of by Haraket, might be on the receiving end of any criticism. After all, from what he had overheard, Ari was widely thought of to be the most skilled rider and Jouster in the compound. So why would anyone criticize him?
But it appeared that Ari’s unorthodox ways were enough to make him as much of an outsider among the Jousters as Vetch was among the dragon boys.
Vetch snapped his mouth shut, and nodded, and watched as Kashet left his water trough half-emptied, dove into the sand, and rolled wearily in his hot sand wallow. “Reaten won’t be flying for weeks,” he offered. “So the priest says.”
“The Commander of Dragons will have a few choice words with him before he’s able to fly,” Ari said with grim satisfaction. “And I suspect that he’ll consider himself lucky to have that crack over the back of his head; the Commander just might take pity on him because of it.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” Vetch asked.
“At the least, they’ll both be personally reprimanded by the Great King’s Commander of Dragons and might be dismissed as Jousters for their carelessness.” Ari’s lips thinned, and his jaw tightened; Vetch had seldom seen him angry before this, but he was definitely angry now. “As raw as they are, it isn’t as if they can’t be replaced. They both should have known better, but of the two, Seftu’s rider is the most to blame. A male shows the mating urge much more graphically than a female. I would have seen it, if they hadn’t only just gotten up into the air. I thought all that jockeying about was Reaten and Horeb trying to impress me with fancy flying, and having no luck at it.”
Ari paused, and Vetch wordlessly handed him the wine for another small, moderate mouthful.
“In fact, anyone who had anything to do with Seftu and Coresan should have seen the signs,” Ari continued. “There’s going to be some sharp words all around before this affair is over, and maybe some dismissals.”
Seftu’s dragon boy probably knew that; he’d been tending Seftu for the last two years at least, and should know all of the protocol and rules that governed not only the Jousters themselves, but everyone connected with them. Certainly he knew more about it than Vetch did. That was probably why he hadn’t done more than protest weakly when Vetch robbed him of his burden; shock, and the fear of being dismissed, had left him so stunned he completely forget Vetch’s lowly status.
Or else, being dragon boy to the hero of the hour had suddenly raised Vetch’s status.
“Seftu’s safe enough; back in his pen,” Vetch was able to report. “His rider—Horeb—I don’t know where he is, but his dragon boy was on the way to the Jousters’ Courts with food and wine.” Dangerous to go further than that, or mention any speculations of his own. He was still just a serf, after all. Anything more, well, that could be taken as gossip about his masters, and even Ari, tolerant as the Jouster was, might feel he had to take some sort of action at that point. So he kept himself quiet.
“Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if Horeb was at least demoted back to the training classes. Reaten just might find himself sent back to the ranks, too, no matter how much the Commander pities him. In any event, he’s going to be bedridden for a while. Which will mean that Coresan won’t be ridden for weeks. Just as well. Coresan will be impossible to handle for that long, or at least until she rids herself of her eggs.” Ari closed his eyes and held out his hand; Vetch put the wineskin into it, and Ari took another mouthful. This time, he kept the wineskin. “It could be worse. Let’s hope the others have learned a lesson about paying attention to their dragons’ behavior, anyway.” Ari had a fourth, very long pull on the wineskin; Vetch thought there was a grim satisfaction in his expression. But he was more interested in what Ari had said than in what his expression might imply.
“Eggs?” Vetch asked, as a wild thought entered into his mind. Dared he think he might be able to get hold of one—if there were any at all? But if he could—after all he’d been learning from Ari—“She’ll lay eggs now? How many? Who’s going to mind them?”
“Nobody,” Ari sighed, and his shoulders sagged. “I would, if I could, but no man can tend and fly more than one dragon at a time if it’s to be done raising the dragons from the egg. What a waste! Of course, they’ll probably be sterile—wild dragons mate a dozen times or more for a clutch of two or three and Coresan only mated once today—but you’d think that someone would be interested in trying to duplicate what I did when I was Haraket’s helper! But no. This has happened before, although without the accident, and other than the one egg that hatched Kashet, the eggs were just taken away and left on the refuse heap.” His gaze turned scornful. “Of course, warriors can’t be bothered with playing nursemaid to an egg and a dragonet, and they can’t simply assign the task to their dragon boy and expect to come take over from him when the dragon fledges.”
“They can’t?” Vetch breathed, hearing his own wild thoughts confirmed, hearing that the sudden plan that had burst into his mind might be more than a mad dream.
“No, they can’t, not when a dragon’s been raised from the egg by a man,” Ari replied. “Not even if you drugged him with tala. A dragon raised wild thinks all humans are the same human; a dragon raised from the egg knows better.” He turned a fond gaze on Kashet, who was now stretched out flat on the top of the sand, spread out like a rug. It was a very peculiar posture, one that said volumes about how tired and cold Kashet was after that flight. Vetch couldn’t imagine how Coresan had had any fight in her at all, after the mating, if Kashet was so exhausted. “The dragon that’s raised from the egg is a dragon that won’t fly for just anyone, will he, Kashet?”
The dragon raised his head, just a little, and sighed.
Ari laughed. “Like a falcon egg-reared, or a cheetah taken before his eyes are open, a dragon hand-reared is loyal only to the one who nurtures him—a hand-reared dragon is not like a dog, who will hunt with any man who knows his commands.”
Kashet rolled over on his back and twisted his long neck around, eying Ari for a moment, then snorted with what sounded like amusement.
At that moment, a number of disparate bits of information came together for Vetch, like broken bits of a wine jar flying back together again and giving him the shape of the thing.
First—Ari had studied to be a scribe, and as a scribe, had been sent here to serve in the compound. A scribe was needed here, certainly, but he must have had a great deal of free time. Many Jousters could read and write on their own, and wouldn’t need his services.
Second—Vetch recalled Ari had said that he had “found” a dragon egg—and after all he had learned, Vetch couldn’t imagine anyone climbing into a nest after a dragon egg! He a
lready knew, of course, that Ari’s education had been cut short before he could be recruited into one of the Temples. He had thought that it was because Ari had hatched Kashet, but what if he had things backward, that Ari had been bound over to work here first, and only after serving as the compound’s junior scribe and learning all he could about dragons, had he hatched Kashet?
Third—Vetch had the key fact that he had not known before this, that a Jousting dragon had escaped to mate and lay eggs at least once before today. That changed the shape of his speculations, entirely.
Ari must have served here and become interested in the dragons for their own sake, then perhaps he rose to become one of Haraket’s helpers, either in his capacity as scribe or because of his interest in the dragons and their ways; that would account for the unspoken bond between the men.
But more times than not, any boy in training to be a scribe ended up attached to a temple, not attached to the Jousters’ Compound. What had led to Ari’s needing to leave his studies? Because he wasn’t that old, yet he had been flying Kashet for years—so he had to have hatched Kashet while he was in his teens. So he couldn’t have truly finished his education as a scribe.
Unless perhaps he had been attending one of the temple schools, when his family fell on hard times and could no longer pay for the schooling. Hadn’t he said once that he was the youngest boy, and it was his uncle who was the head of the household? He had—he’d said his uncle, also a scribe, had made Ari’s mother his second wife after Ari’s father died.
Yes; that must have been it. All the pieces fell neatly into place. Vetch could picture it in his mind’s eye. Ari’s father sending him to school, dying, leaving his widow and son to be supported by his uncle, who eventually married her. Then, the additional strain of a second wife and children on the family finances forced Ari to become a “common” scribe before his education was complete, and he took a position here in the Jousters’ Compound. Ari must have gotten hold of a fertile egg from one of those chance matings, perhaps from the dragon of a Jouster he had served as a scribe, or gotten directly from Haraket as an experiment, or perhaps just because he’d been bold enough to take one before they put it on the midden.
Vetch knew better than to blurt out his conclusion, though. Nor did he blurt out his reaction—that what Ari had done, he, Vetch, could do. “You should rest, Master,” was what he said instead. “Your room is ready; Haraket has already seen to that.”
“And whatever Haraket sent you to tell me originally is now of minimal importance, compared with the impact all of this will have on affairs in the entire compound,” Ari said, and shook his head, crossly. “Evil spirits plague Reaten with boils! I’ll have to take his patrols now, doubtless, while he lies abed, being made much of by all his noble friends!”
Then, perhaps, he bethought him of what Vetch had told him, and his irritation eased a little. “Or perhaps not. It’s an interesting thing with noble friends; when your star is rising they are all for standing near you and bathing in your reflected glory. But when your star falls, no one can escape from your vicinity fast enough.”
Vetch just nodded; agreeing was harmless enough, but he must not say anything that could be construed as criticism of his masters.
Ari patted Vetch on the head. “Get Kashet an extra treat; you know, bullock hearts, if there are any. He more than deserves them. Then go to the kitchen and tell them I want my dinner in my room.”
“Haraket’s seen to that, sir,” Vetch said. “And he said something about a hot bath and a massage slave.”
Now Ari smiled, just a little. “Good old Haraket! Well, I’ll take him up on all of it; I’m for a cool swim first, in the Atet pool, and perhaps after that I’ll feel less like strangling Reaten, then finding Horeb, ripping off his arm, and beating him to death with it.” The corners of his mouth turned up a little more. “After all, it would be ill-done of me to deprive both the Commander of Dragons and Haraket of that privilege.”
He levered himself up off the edge of the sandpit, and as he stalked off out of the pen, Vetch noticed that he was favoring one leg. He must have injured it somehow—either in the rescue, or when he and Kashet were bringing Coresan to earth. Typical of him not to have mentioned it.
Haraket will have had a massage slave sent, he remembered. And perhaps that will help.
Vetch did as he was told, and while he was getting Kashet’s treat, he heard that, not unexpectedly, the request for someone to bring Ari his supper and someone else to see to a massage nearly brought on a fight among the servants over who was to have the honor. Ari’s very self-effacement in not lingering to be made a hero of, had had the effect of making him more of a hero than he would have been if he had stayed about to preen rather than bringing Coresan in. Or at least that was true among the servants. What those wealthy spectators had thought of Ari’s heroic efforts today—well, Vetch couldn’t begin to guess.
But there was another repercussion to all of this. When Vetch went back to the butchers to return the barrow for Kashet’s feed and his treat, there was a drama being enacted right in the center of the court.
It was Sobek, Reaten’s dragon boy, who was causing all the fuss. With all the other boys around him, he refused, sweating and trembling, to go anywhere near his charge. He described, at the top of his lungs, to an enraptured and credulous audience in the butcher court, how she had snapped at him and—so he claimed—nearly taken his leg off.
“Like a mad thing!” he cried, his voice cracking. “Mark me, she’ll eat anyone she gets hold of! She nearly ate me! I swear it!”
“That is because she mistook you for a goat, with all of your silly bleating,” Haraket boomed from the door to the courtyard, where he stood, legs braced slightly apart, arms crossed over his chest, a fierce and disapproving frown on his face. Vetch shrank back against the wall, but already his mind was a-whirl with a possible idea. “What is all of this foolishness, Sobek?” Haraket continued. “And disobedience—saying you will not tend to your dragon—”
“And I won’t!” Sobek cried hysterically, both hands clenched into fists, his face a contorted mask of fear and defiance. “I won’t, you hear me! My father is a priest in the Temple of Epis, and he’ll have something to say about this!”
“Your father is a cleaner of temple floors, and you may go back to him in disgrace if you say one word further,” Haraket thundered dangerously, his eyes flashing and his brow as black as a rainy-season storm. Vetch sucked in a breath; Haraket annoyed was dangerous enough, but Haraket enraged? Was he about to see Sobek beaten? If so, it would be the first time he’d seen anyone beaten, even the slaves, since he came to the compound.
But Sobek had been pushed too far; his fear was no act, and he had gone over the edge from fear into panic. He snatched the eye amulet off his neck, and threw it to the pavement, where it shattered into a thousand pieces. The noise of it shattering could not possibly have been as loud as it seemed. It sent a shiver over all of the dragon boys and servants crowded into the court, and even Vetch was not immune. “Send me back, then!” he screeched, as the shattered pieces glittered on the stone. “Go ahead! Better that, than to be torn apart! I care not, Haraket, I will cut papyrus, I will beg for my bread, rather than go into that killer’s pen!”
But if Sobek had been pressed too far on this day, so had Haraket. And Haraket had authority.
“Out!” Haraket roared, “Out of my compound, out of my life!” Step by step he advanced on Sobek, his face red with anger, so outraged by the dragon boy’s rebellion that he was about to lose control of himself. “You are dismissed, dragon boy, little boy, little coward! Run back to your father, pathetic scum! Go and cut papyrus for a pittance, for that is the only position you will ever hold to put bread in your mouth!”
His arm shot out, pointing toward the door. The hand trembled, with suppressed rage. “Run away like the frightened child you are, before I lose my mind and beat you black and blue to give you bruises to take back with you! Run! Run!”
&nbs
p; Sobek ran; bolted for his life past Haraket, bare feet slapping on the stone, fleeing for the outside world and presumed safety.
Silence fell over the courtyard, a silence broken only by the shuffling feet of the other dragon boys. Hanging in the silence was the certain knowledge that someone would have to take care of Coresan until Haraket found another boy to tend her. And Coresan, at her best, was no Kashet. At her worst, well, she was evidently so unmanageable that Sobek had chosen disgrace over continuing to tend her.
This was the opportunity, all unlooked-for, that Vetch had not dared to hope would be granted to him. He leaped upon it and seized it with both hands. “Overseer?” he said, into the leaden silence. “I will tend Coresan along with Kashet, if someone else will mend harness, pound tala, and clean Jouster Ari’s room for me. I will need that sort of help. Feeding, tending, and bathing two dragons will not be easy; it is hard enough at the best of times, but it will be much more difficult, when one of them is Coresan, a dragon newly-mated. But I will do it for her sake. There are no bad dragons here,” he added boldly. “Only mishandled ones.”
A collective sigh arose out of the huddle of dragon boys. They gazed at him in awe, and was it—in sudden respect? Yes, it was! Vetch kept his eyes on Haraket. Now was not the time to take advantage of that.
Haraket’s brow cleared a trifle. “You? Coresan is no Kashet, boy. She has always been a handful for Sobek with that tail of hers, and as you said, she is going to lay eggs, which will make her even more difficult—”
“But I have been around females about to whelp all my life,” he countered, raising his chin. “My father was a farmer. I believe that I can tame her a little. Perhaps more than a little.” He allowed scorn to come into his tone, for the first time ever. But Sobek was now, in Haraket’s mind at least, in utter and complete disgrace, just like his Jouster. Dragon boy and Jouster had both failed, and failed as badly as it was possible to fail and not die. Criticism of Sobek would fall on ears ready to hear it.
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