“I am sorry,” the woman said with a short shake of her head. “I get lost in my thoughts now and then. Forgive me. Your dragon must be very hungry. What is her name?”
She turned back to Tyber and lifted the tray again, presenting it.
“Rius,” Tyber said, lowering the sack of feed to his side.
“Rius,” the woman repeated and nodded as if in approval. “A good name. I am Belon.”
Tyber blinked, waiting for her to add to the name, to list some exotic sounding city from far beyond the borders of Cadwaller.
“And you?” Belon asked, lifting her eyebrows. “What are we to call you?”
“Tyber,” he blurted, then swallowed quickly. “Tyber of True Ga—the mother city. I’m from the mother city. Of Cadwaller.”
Belon smiled, then shook her head slightly as she approached. “Strange custom, that. Your city has no name? It is just the mother city?”
Heat blossomed across his face. He looked at Rius as if she might save him, pull him out of this situation before he managed to cram his foot further down his throat.
“Here,” Belon said as she moved closer and presented him with an array of fresh, raw steaks spread out neatly across the tray. “My father wishes our protectors to be strong and well-fed so that we may have a very safe journey to your mother city.”
Rius dipped her head toward the tray.
“Whoa!” Tyber snapped, holding his hand out between the steaks and the muzzle of his dragon.
Belon laughed. “It’s all right. They are for her. You may come to my fire and get yours. Cooked.”
Tyber blinked at Belon. She smiled again and leaned forward slightly. “Go on.” She nodded her head in Rius’ direction.
“Thank you,” Tyber said, then peered over the steaks. His own mouth began to water as he eyed the thick, juicy cuts of meat. He lifted one between his thumb and forefinger and held it out for Rius.
Turning her head sideways, the dragon parted her jaws, then snapped her teeth into the meat and tugged it from Tyber’s grip. She tilted her head back and made slight jerking motions as she swallowed it.
Belon giggled. “They eat like birds.”
“Birds?”
“Pelogi. They are large birds. Long legs and very long necks and beaks. They eat the fish out of the shallows. Like that. Another. Give her another.”
She thrust the tray at Tyber.
He grinned, then chose another steak and held it out for Rius.
As the dragon gulped it down, Tyber turned to Belon. “Would you like to feed her?”
Belon’s eyes grew wide. She shook her head slowly. “No. I would miss my hand!”
Tyber laughed. “She’s as gentle as a puppy.” He selected another steak and held it out to the dragon.
Rius snatched it from his hand and made another show of swallowing it. As she did, Tyber watched the other dragons downing slabs of meat offered by other tray-bearing women. Every one of them was pretty.
He looked back to Belon. She smiled and gestured with the tray. “Another.”
“Where did you get the meat?” Tyber asked, taking another piece. His hand felt sticky, the blood on his fingers drying in the slight breeze.
“My father. You have seen his cattle.” Belon nodded downriver, where the cattle grazed. “This is from one of his animals.”
Tyber held out the steak for Rius. She snatched it more eagerly than the smoked meat she’d been eating since they left the city.
“Is this your first time going to the mother city?” Tyber asked, then looked at Belon and shook his head. “It’s not, is it?”
Belon smiled and shook her head, mirroring him. “I was born in my father’s wagon. I’ve been all over the world with my family.”
“So you’ve been to the mother city before.”
“Many times,” Belon said with a nod.
“Imrich said that the caravan was attacked three times on the last trip you made to the mother city. Did that really happen?”
The smile fell away from Belon’s face. She began to shift the tray as if to place it on her hip, but then stopped. “The mother city is the most dangerous place we go.”
“The most dangerous?” Tyber asked, his brow furrowing.
Belon nodded. “The wolves are many between Avarra and the mother city.”
“Wolves?”
“Those that prey on us. The winged wolves in the sky—”
“Dragonjacks?”
“Yes. That’s what your people call them. There are also wolves in the grass. They rush out and try to split cattle from the herd and drive it away. Or they sneak into the caravan at night and steal whatever they can get their paws on.”
“We’re talking about people, though, right? Thieves? Highwaymen?”
“Thieves, yes. The road to the mother city is very thick with thieves. But your king pays a lot. More than others. Father says that the reward justifies the risk. But…”
She looked away again, shifting the tray as if she wished to be free of it.
“But?” Tyber asked.
“It comes at a very high price. Two years ago, wolves on horses shot my brother-in-law. We buried him along the road.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tyber said.
“We have a lot to lose. Which is why my father wishes that our protectors are strong and able. Please.”
She lifted the tray toward him, offering another steak.
“That is very generous of him,” Tyber said as he looked back to Belon’s dark eyes. “Give your father my thanks. I appreciate it. Rius does, too.”
Belon smiled. “As does my father. Please. Come to our fire tonight and get your dinner.”
She stepped closer, until there was little more between them than the tray. “My father is a very generous man. If you and your hordesmen see that our livestock make it to the mother city, he will be very grateful. Very generous. You and your dragon will eat very well while you protect his cattle.”
Tyber looked at the three steaks remaining in the corner of the tray.
“Go on,” Belon said, pushing the tray forward until the side of it touched Tyber’s chest. “Another one.”
Tyber lifted his eyes to hers and smiled slightly. “Thank you. But I think she’s had enough. She’s had a long day of flight. I don’t want to feed her too much.”
“But it’s just three little beefs. For such a huge dragon. Surely this wouldn’t make her sick, would it?”
Tyber raised his palm. “No, that’s enough. Thank you. Thank your father for me. Assure him that we will do our best to look after his livestock, just as we will look after everyone’s goods.”
Belon’s smile faded some as she lowered the tray until it rested against her waist. “Then you will be sure to come to our fire tonight, won’t you?”
Tyber took a deep breath, hoping he’d know what to say by the time his lungs were full. He nodded instead.
“Good,” Belon said, her smile returning. “Very good. I will be looking for you tonight, Tyber of the mother city. You will not disappoint the woman who brought food to your dragon, will you?”
“No,” Tyber said with a shake of his head. “Of course not.”
“I know you won’t,” Belon said with a slight wink. “All of the Cadwaller hordesmen are chivalrous. I will look for you.”
She shuffled the tray around to her side, then sauntered away, her hips and the hems of her skirt swaying.
Tyber took a deep breath, his heart in his throat. He forced himself to turn away, and as he did, his gaze caught on Quall. The recruit studied him with a solid, penetrating stare as if evaluating Tyber’s behavior. Had Quall seen through the ruse as well? The less-than-subtle attempt to curry favor from the hordesmen?
Tyber shook his head. Recruits. They were still recruits. He must keep that in mind before he said something stupid. Olsid had snapped at Herminion in camp one night when the wing leader had made a comment about them being hordesmen.
They were to know their place.
<
br /> Tyber turned to watch Belon until she disappeared around the corner of a wagon.
Chapter 8
Dinner that night came courtesy of Imrich, who put on a big feast with a roasted pig in a clearing at the center of the caravan. Musicians played, and people constantly stopped to fill Tyber’s mug with a warm, sweet drink that tasted vaguely of apples and left his head feeling light and free on his neck.
But the easy-going feeling faded as Imrich went on with his tales, his hands swooping through the night air, silhouetted by a roaring fire as he spoke of winged wolf attacks and the daring of the mercenaries in fighting them off. Sometimes they even had the help of hordesmen.
The tales were bloody, and there was always a toll. And always one of Imrich’s own men, one he had paid extra to woo him away from special service to the king or an important lord, stopped the attack by delivering such a devastating blow that the messra had no choice but to turn tail and flee.
Ren leaned in toward Tyber. “Makes you wonder why we’re even needed, doesn’t it?”
“What was that?” Imrich asked, swinging his face toward Ren.
“This bread,” Ren said, gesturing to the thick slab of dense, dry bread that the Seelians used as trays to serve their food. “I was wondering how long it was kneaded.”
Imrich threw his head back in laughter. He pointed to Ren, then looked at Chanson. “I like this one, akacho. I might have to buy him away from you!”
Chanson smiled politely.
“It is an ella dommance, you hordesmen. A…” Imrich laced his fingers together before himself, then turned to Tyber and Ren. The shadows cast by the fire hid his gestures and expression. “It is a… I don’t know the word in your tongue. It is like a… You have heard the story of the shepherd who finds the pheedris and is granted a wish?”
Tyber shook his head.
“No,” Ren said. “‘Fraid not.”
“Eh,” Imrich said with a shrug. “It is a good story. But I am not a storyteller. Find someone else to tell it to you. I only say that there was a shepherd boy alone on the plain, far from his village where he might find the sweeter grass. And there he finds the pheedris one night. It fell from the sky, skewered on the spear of a god. And the pheedris asks the boy to free it, to pull the spear from its golden hide and it will give just one wish. Well, what would you do?”
Imrich hunched his shoulders as he spread his palms out.
“Of course you would pull the spear from his hide, right? Who would not, no? So the shepherd does, and the pheedris flexes its great wings and asks the shepherd to name his wish. And so the shepherd boy, being so alone, asks the pheedris that he might have a companion to keep him company, one to keep him warm in the cold of the night.
“And the pheedris says it is a very small matter to be done. It will bring him the companion of his very dreams! Eh? Right? Doesn’t that sound like the healthy wish of any man alone with his sheep on a cold night? Is it not?”
“Works for me,” Ren said.
“Ha! Right!” Imrich clapped his hands and pointed at Ren. “See, akacho, I like this one a lot. He is like me, but not as cunning or half as handsome. But see? I would wish the same. And so our shepherd boy looks about, and there is nothing in the night but the eyes of the gods, the heads of the grass, and the long fingers of the wind. So our shepherd boy goes to his tent and he crawls inside his sleep roll and he waits for his promised companion.”
Imrich planted his foot on a stump and perched his elbow on his knee. “Our shepherd boy falls asleep beneath the gaze of the watching gods. And when he wakes, there she is, standing over him, the companion promised by the pheedris. She grins and shows her rows of sharp teeth as a growl rolls from her throat. And she looks down at him with a wolf’s yellow eyes. She is the very girl from the shepherd boy’s dream.”
“And you say you’re not a storyteller?” Ander asked from a log where he sat with Olsid.
“No no no,” Imrich said holding up his hands and shaking his head. “You flatter me, akacho. You flatter me. I only meant to say that you and your kind are like that wish. It is good to want, but another thing to have. You spend the day in the sky, flying the long circles. And you are showing for miles around that something under you is worth guarding. You are like the buzzards. But at the same time, you are showing that what is under you is indeed guarded. You scare away the foxes and the wild dogs, but you draw the wolves to us.”
“Would you rather we not accompany you, then?” Chanson asked.
Imrich barked a short, sharp laugh. “Akacho! Why, I would be a fool and a madman to drive my herd into the heart of your kingdom without the eyes of dragons watching over me. The wolves are to be what wolves are. You might as well shake a fist of thunder at the coming storm. But with a sturdy horde on the wing, I at least have a shelter against that storm. It is another thing for wolves to try and dash our herd when hordesmen are picking them off in the sky. Don’t get me wrong! You are like the wish. I want the companion against the cold and lonesome night. I just hate to wake up with a hungry wolf standing over me!”
Tyber stood. The horde and Imrich all looked at him.
“Your cup is empty?” Imrich asked. He gestured to someone in the shadows.
“No,” Tyber said with a shake of his head. “I’m fine, thank you. I just want to stretch my legs some.”
“Ah, yes! Before you spend all day in the sky. Of course! The river is that way.” Imrich pointed to the west, toward the darkness that shrouded the silent river. “I’m sure you will find a pretty girl along the way.”
Tyber stared at him a second longer, his brow furrowing. What was he talking about? Instead of asking, he walked off, heading into the throng of people gathered around them. As they parted for him, the firelight reflected off their brightly-colored clothing that contrasted with the dark night beyond.
The people all spoke in Seelian, their animated conversations bubbling over, approaching what sounded like a handful of different songs all sung together. Then he realized that he heard singers, accompanied by a piper and a drummer, as well as a man who strummed something that resembled a lute.
A man in an orange cloak bumped into Tyber, then turned to him, laughing. He planted a hand on Tyber’s shoulder, leaned in and shouted a strange string of words, grinning so that the firelight glistened on his teeth.
The bread clutched in Tyber’s hand broke. Most of it, and the bits of pork and a thick, sweet stew, almost like a paste, fell away to the darkness between them.
The man’s face took on a look of mock horror, and then he tried to guide Tyber back to the fire, a hand on his shoulder.
“No, thank you,” Tyber said. “That’s quite all right. I’m fine. No.”
He twisted out of the man’s grasp, dropping the fragment of crust still in his hand. As he dodged through the crowd, a kernel of panic started in his belly. These people didn’t move like the citizens of the mother city. Their current was strange, ebbing and flowing in ways that made it difficult to predict their movements the way he could at home.
He pitched himself onto his toes. Where was Rius? He wanted nothing more at that moment than to climb into Rius’ saddle and rise over it all to the wide-open clarity of the sky, gliding about beneath the half-moon as it began to plunge to the horizon.
A hand grabbed him by the arm just above his elbow. He snapped his head around.
Quall. The recruit nodded in the direction opposite the fire.
They slipped through the worst of the crowd, and like clearing a cloud, the number of people thinned out suddenly. The chill of the air bit into Tyber as the gods gleamed from their thrones in the sky. Their eyes twinkled with curiosity at the bedlam below in which Imrich was always the self-appointed heart.
Tyber took a deep breath. Quall let go of his arm.
“Thanks,” Tyber said. “I believe I could have gotten lost back there.”
“I don’t like it here,” Quall said as he stepped forward, stopped, and then looked over his
shoulder.
Tyber shrugged. “We won’t be here long.”
He looked at the sky, seeking Petraster the Storied. The god held court over the nine gods who sat behind him in two neat rows. Rius was out there, to the south, with the rest of the dragons. He started in that direction.
“Wait!” Quall said. “Where are you going?”
“The camp’s that way,” Tyber said, gesturing to Petraster.
“I thought we…” Quall said, his words dwindling off as he looked to the west, toward the river that ran like a palpable silence through the night.
“No,” Tyber said. “See? There’s Petraster the Storied and his students.”
“I thought… Let’s just head to the river for a minute, can we? I need… By the scale, there are just so many people.”
Tyber smiled. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? Like somehow there are more people in this camp than there are in the mother city.”
“And we have to protect them all.”
Tyber started to cross his arms over his chest, then stopped. As he lowered his arms to his side, his fingers bumped the grip of his sword and he drew his hand away as if burnt.
“Let’s go over by the river,” Quall insisted.
“Fine,” Tyber said, then glanced over his shoulder. Shadows moved and writhed against the orange and yellow flames at the center of the camp.
He followed Quall through the lanes of tents and past a pen full of white goats that shifted along the edges as they approached. One bleated softly as they passed. The odor rolled over Tyber, and he recalled how the buildings of the mother city boxed and hemmed, running people through crooked lanes like goats through a sluice. Out here, in the wide open plain, he felt more trapped than he ever had in the city, but couldn’t lay a finger on why.
A man on a stool at the end of the lane shifted the crossbow on his lap. He looked at the swords on their hips, then nodded as Tyber and Quall passed. Not far beyond, they halted as the moon glittered in the river, rippling and twisting, swirls passing through it. The tips of reeds bent in the slight breeze like dark fingers waving, a magician preparing to cast a cold spell.
Hordesmen: The Wisdom of Dragons #4 Page 5
