Skyrider of Renegade Point

by Erik Christensen

  “How will I get him home?” asked William. “He can’t possibly fly on such scrawny wings.”

  “Our crafters have designed a harness that will secure him to a drone’s back,” said the Ambassador. “Your flight home will be long and cold. With luck it will survive the flight. We have fed it what we can, but it eats little, and grows weaker by the day. The queen could not wait for your regular meeting time for fear it would be too late.”

  William heaved a deep breath. “Let’s not waste time, then.”

  The sickly dragon was led through the tunnels to the summit entrance, the only entrance with enough room for all the dragons involved. The crafters coaxed it onto the waiting drone’s back, snapping chains and braces to secure it. The poor thing shivered, something William had never seen a dragon do before, and it dawned on him that maybe it lacked the fire breathing he’d witnessed in every other class of dragon. He felt pity for it, but at least it wouldn’t torch his house.

  He was about to mount his own drone when the Ambassador approached. “May I say how much I admire you, William Whitehall?” he asked. “I hope I don’t sound condescending, but the queen is relieved, and that pleases me.”

  “I’m glad we can still do good deeds for each other, Hermes,” he said.

  “The queen promised you a reward for your service. She added a small gift in the hope that it will express her appreciation adequately.” A crafter approached at the Ambassador’s bidding and handed William a small sack. The weight alone told him it contained iron bars, but a subtle sound from within aroused his curiosity. A smaller pouch rested inside, and when William opened it he gasped in shock. He reached in and withdrew a small gemstone, one of several dozen of various colors and sizes. It looked like a ruby, but its name was less significant than its beauty, glistening in the bright sun like a drop of blood on snow.

  “This goes beyond simple appreciation, Hermes,” said William, his eyes still wide with surprise. “I am in the queen’s debt, regardless of whether my guest thrives or not. I’m sure she must know what these are worth among humans.”

  The Ambassador stared at him with a blank expression. “She is well aware of their trade value. Are you?”

  “Well, not precisely.” William closed the sack and slipped onto the waiting drone’s neck for the long flight home, a giant satisfied grin on his face. “But they must be worth at least a small fortune, right? I’ll ask Jack and Ruskin about it. I can’t possibly be mistaken about this.”

  Chapter 7

  “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sir.” Ruskin gazed across the dining hall table at William with a look that could only be described as pity. “The iron bars—those are worth plenty. But these gemstones…well, they’ll fetch a few silvers each but not much more.”

  William stared in disbelief at the stones strewn across the table, spilled in a triumphant flourish moments before. “I don’t understand. All my life I’ve been told jewels are valuable. Are they fake?”

  “No, they’re real all right,” said Jack as he inspected one with a magnifying glass. “But the dragons sold so many that prices plummeted. Remember, these are literally garbage to them. They have no need of gems, which is why we found them littered on the tunnel floors. Once they got the idea that humans value them, they offered them in trade for livestock, which is how the sheep farms at Quinn’s Post got started. When the prices dropped, the farmers started insisting on iron instead.”

  “So why haven’t iron prices gone down?” asked William.

  “They have,” said Jack. “But not nearly as much. Iron has almost infinite uses, and we still don’t have enough. Ruby, emeralds, and diamonds are pretty—but that’s it. You can wear only so many jewels before you start looking silly. Many nobles even refuse to wear them now, that’s how cheap they’ve gotten.”

  William shook his head in disbelief. “How do you know all this?”

  Jack laughed. “Remember years ago, when you asked me why I went to Deacon’s for news? Don’t those two questions seem to answer each other?”

  William sat back in his chair, a dejected look on his face. “So, Padma not only dumped her offspring on me, she had me take out her trash too?”

  “Where is your new pet anyway?” asked Jack.

  “Oz has him outside in the sun to warm him,” said William. “And he’s not a pet so much as a…well, I’m not sure what he is precisely, but Padma compared him to a foster child. What I don’t understand is why she gave me trash as well.”

  “They’re not trash exactly,” said Ruskin. “I’ll take these to a woman I know who can cut and set them. I expect you’ll get the most money for them that way.”

  William sighed and picked up a large, clear stone that sparkled in colorful glints from deep within. “I like this one. Can your friend turn this into something special? I’d like to give Melissa a nice wedding gift.”

  “You could give her a green dragon,” said Jack with a smirk.

  Ruskin held the clear gemstone up to the light. “A diamond—the biggest I’ve ever seen. Clear as a raindrop on a rose. Not three years ago this would have been worth a king’s ransom. I’ll see what the jeweler can do. It will cut into your proceeds; are you sure you want that?”

  William nodded. “It sounds like I wouldn’t get much anyway. I may as well get something nice—what on Esper? Who’s that screaming?”

  “It sounds like Mrs. Gracey,” said Ruskin. “It’s coming from the garden.”

  William dashed the length of the hall and snatched his sword from the far wall. He then sprinted to the manor entrance, arriving just behind Jack and Ruskin. Together they raced around the manor to find Mrs. Gracey pointing and screaming at the foster dragon. “Oh, look what the beast has done, my lord, just look!” she said. “The whole garden, torn up! Not a scrap left, all the roots eaten, and spring bulbs destroyed!” She waved her arms in distress at the carnage. “And that boy didn’t stop it!” she added, pointing at Oz, who stood distraught in the middle of the garden. “He let it stomp about like a Clydesdale, destroying everything. Such a disaster!”

  “I couldn’t stop it, my lord,” said Oz, his eyes wide with anxiety. “It’s too big, and it wouldn’t listen to me. I was walking with it like you told me, and as soon as it sniffed the garden it went crazy.”

  William surveyed the damage. The garden was nearly wiped out, and they would have to sift through the soil to find out if anything was left. The gardener was nowhere in sight, otherwise William was certain he’d get an earful from him. “This is my fault,” said William. “I should have made a harness to prevent something like this, but he was so sick that I didn’t bother. Oz, you said he went crazy—was he simply digging?”

  Oz shook his head vehemently. “No, sir. He was eating. Everything—onions, carrots, beets, dirt, pieces of wood—”

  Mrs. Gracey swatted Oz with her apron. “Those were stakes for the spring peas, you imbecile.”

  “Nobody here is an imbecile,” said William in a stern voice. “What we have here is a problem to be solved, not a disaster. The garden can be fixed, and—oh, King’s boots, now what?” A crowd had gathered at the edge of the manor grounds, drawn by the commotion, laughing at either the dragon, the destruction, or both.

  “Is it just me, or does the dragon seem better?” asked Jack.

  “Oh, Mr. Doran, don’t joke,” said Mrs. Gracey. “There’s nothing good or better about it. Lord William, you must get rid of the beast, or it will destroy everything you hold dear.”

  “Mrs. Gracey, calm yourself,” said William. “Not an hour ago it could barely move. Now it can’t be stopped. I think our new guest is a vegetarian. It didn’t thrive at home because they fed it nothing but meat. What we need to do is—Ruskin, can you please get rid of that rabble?”

  Ruskin peered at the crowd, then looked back at William with a shrug. “They’re curious, my lord. And possibly concerned for their own gardens, seeing as how yours got demolished.”

  William sighed with impatience. “Fine, but m
ake sure they keep their distance. We don’t know how Clyde will react to crowds.”

  “Who’s Clyde?” asked Jack.

  “The dragon. Mrs. Gracey called him a Clydesdale, so I decided to name him Clyde.”

  Mrs. Gracey moaned in despair. “Oh, I suppose you won’t be getting rid of it now that you’ve gone and named it. I’ll speak to some of the farmers to see what greens I can buy, but this will cost a pretty penny, my lord, given your own appetite. Many a penny!” She hurried away in a huff.

  “She’s not wrong, sir,” said Ruskin. “If this thing is capable of eating a garden’s worth of vegetables in a sitting—oh, King’s backside, what is that smell?”

  Oz pinched his nose and pointed at the dragon. “I think it’s Clyde, sir. Look.”

  Ruskin covered his mouth and nose with his handkerchief. “That is the foulest manure of any animal I’ve ever smelled. And I’ve smelled them all.”

  “This is revolting,” said William, his normally fair skin a shade or two paler. “Let’s get him away from the house.”

  The three men did their best to herd Clyde, but the dragon finished defecating before they got far. He seemed responsive, especially with William, and soon he followed them with little more than the occasional prompt. “You’re right, Jack,” said William. “He’s moving a lot better since he ate. I’m worried though; do I keep him inside or out?”

  Ruskin wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Inside, and the smell will drive you from your own home. Outside, he’ll ravage the grounds, or worse.”

  “Where are we taking him, Will?” asked Jack.

  “By the stream. I have an idea.” Moments later they reached a spot where the banks had been excavated.

  Ruskin gave William a questioning look. “The canal, sir? You really think the dragon might—”

  “It’s worth a shot,” said William as he began to gather sticks. Clyde stood quietly, watching William as he stuck them in the ground, forming a large square twenty feet or so on each side.

  Clyde came willingly into the square when called. William bent down and yanked out a fistful of grass and held it near Clyde’s snout. The dragon sniffed at the offering, nipping at the plants tentatively. The effect was immediate. Clyde dug into the turf with the same gusto as with the garden. Whenever he approached the border of the square, William stopped him and pointed to the sticks at the corners. After the third time, Clyde grasped what William wanted, and kept his own watch on the posts, never straying outside their bounds.

  “That’s a pretty neat trick, Will,” said Jack. “But what about the—”

  “Watch,” said William as Clyde squatted again. With a few gestures, William showed Clyde where to relieve himself, and the stream washed the waste away.

  “I think it’s less stinky this time,” said Oz.

  Jack’s nose wrinkled. “Easy for you to say—the breeze is blowing my way this time. And I thought the front was the dangerous end of a dragon.”

  William shook his head. “No, I think Oz is right. Maybe the meat was toxic to him and now he’s purging himself. What do you think Ruskin?”

  Ruskin shrugged. “Only time will tell. I wouldn’t let him inside until you know for sure.”

  Clyde continued to dig, eat, and poop, even after devouring all the turf, gorging on roots, soil, and even stones. The square turned into an excavation, its sides smooth, as though someone had dug a root cellar three feet deep. The stream was about to break through when William called Clyde out. The dragon, now heavy from near-constant feeding, pulled itself out just as the water rushed in.

  “That was a near thing, my lord,” said Ruskin. “But he’s done more work in one hour than ten men ever did in a day. We’ll have the canal ready in months rather than years if his appetite holds. Speaking of appetites, I need to get home soon for my supper. Can I do anything else for you, my lord?”

  William waved his assent. “No, thank you, Ruskin. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think he likes me,” said Oz as Ruskin’s figure receded.

  “He’s a tough person to please, even for me, and I pay the man,” said William. “Let’s see if Clyde will dig another.” William moved the stakes, allowing enough room for a buffer between the new section and the previous one, as well as from the stream. The last thing William needed was for a cave-in to bury the young dragon before it could recover from whatever ailed it. He doubted that even the three of them could pull Clyde’s bulk from the water if he got submerged.

  Clyde quit after a few bites, apparently sated after a mere twelve hundred cubic feet of greenery and soil. His bowel movements continued, however, and proved to be less and less malodorous, until it stank no more than horse or cow manure. It slowed eventually, and after half an hour without additional incident, William decided to risk bringing him inside.

  “Why not leave him chained outside?” asked Jack. “Wouldn’t that be safer?”

  “For me, maybe,” said William. “But not for him, and not for anyone outside. We don’t know if he’ll attack other animals, hurt himself, or wander off. He might even be strong enough to break a chain; he’s a dragon after all, and if they know anything, it’s metal. Besides, look over there.”

  Jack and Oz followed William’s gesture to where a cluster of villagers stood gawking from a distance. “You mean they might show up with pitchforks and torches?” asked Jack.

  William shrugged. “Or poke him out of curiosity. I want to know how he behaves around people before I let him near crowds.”

  “Hear that, Oz? We’re guinea pigs,” said Jack.

  Oz looked up in confusion. “What’s a gimme pig?” asked Oz.

  “I’ll explain later,” said William. “Could you ask Mrs. Gracey to serve supper in my library tonight? I want to eat, read, and go to bed in that order, as soon as can be arranged.”

  “Right away, sir. Uh…the dragon…do I need to keep watching it?”

  “Not now, Oz. I’ll handle him until further notice.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Oz, his face beaming with relief.

  Jack nodded towards Oz’s retreating figure as he and William followed at a slower pace. “I have to admit I was wrong about him. He’s still a little soft in the head, but at least he hasn’t beaten you up yet.”

  “You didn’t really believe he would do that, did you?” asked William.

  Jack shook his head and smiled. “I was sure he would steal something. Remember what Ruskin said about drunkards and their habits.”

  “Have you ever seen him drunk, though? I know his father drank all the time, but as far as I can recall, I’ve never seen Oz with a beer, or even smelled it on him.”

  “Well, Ruskin’s pretty sure Oz will be back to his old self soon enough. Say, do you mind eating alone tonight? Ruskin invited me over for supper and cards.”

  “He did?” asked William, a note of surprise in his voice.

  “Yeah. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  “No, I’m just—well, I’ve never known him to socialize. He’s all work, all the time.”

  “You should get to know him better, Will. We’ve been trading stories about Hattenstock for the past two weeks.”

  “Ruskin’s from Hattenstock?”

  Jack rolled his eyes at William. “King’s blisters…the accent didn’t give it away?”

  “I haven’t been all around Esper like you have, Jack. I don’t know all the accents.”

  “Well, you could have asked him. Like when you hired him, for instance.”

  William sighed as they reached the front door. “I suppose I could have, but it didn’t seem important at the time. Look, enjoy your evening with Ruskin. I’m too exhausted to be decent company tonight anyway.”

  He waited a moment as Jack departed, debating whether to bring Clyde inside or not.

  His reverie was interrupted by Jack’s voice. “Will!”

  William looked up to see Jack calling him from the end of the path. “What?” he asked.

  “When you
talk to people, don’t just talk about what’s important to you.”

  William stared back at him, befuddled. “What do you mean?”

  “Where a person’s from—that’s pretty important too, at least to them.”

  He stared back for a moment while Jack turned on his heel and continued down the path. William fumed at Jack’s parting shot, but how could he have answered? Jack had been visiting for no more than a month and already knew more about Ruskin’s personal life than William learned in three years. He turned back to the dragon with a sigh. “Come on, Clyde, let’s go in. But let me know if you have to go out and…you know.”

  Clyde followed as William trudged through the hallway, past the dining hall into his personal library. He noted with relief that the fire was lit and already warming the chilly room. He looked around and nodded to himself with satisfaction. It was the one room he didn’t regret splurging on, with its own fireplace and three walls lined with bookshelves, a few small pictures Melissa had drawn, and mementos from his time in Rebel Falls. Two chairs flanked a small table, one more worn than the other. William flopped into the well-worn one and watched in amusement as Clyde circled around before lying on a small rug. William half-expected him to bark, so dog-like were his mannerisms.

  Oz arrived and delivered a tray. “Mrs. Gracey asked me to bring your supper, sir. She says she doesn’t want to go anywhere near ‘that beast’ as she calls it.”

  “Thank you, Oz. I suppose I don’t blame her. He’s a dragon after all, and not a small one. But she’s seen drones before, and they’ve never harmed anyone. Look at him there, lying in front of the fire. If you didn’t look too closely you might mistake him for a faithful hound sleeping contentedly beside his master. Mmm…Mrs. Gracey does know how to cook a duck, even if she’s tired of it.” He attacked his plate with single-minded hunger.