by E. E. Knight
Ileth learned on the trip that word had spread about Astler. She was no longer the girl who was kicked out of the Manor after being caught in a stall with Vor Claymass; now she was the girl who’d had hopes for a young man of property from the north but he’d been killed in the Rari Suppression. It wasn’t the outcome Ileth wanted—she thought it would be nice to have Astler’s story woven into the tale of the Serpentine through dragoneer folklore—but she accepted it. Astler would have offered his shy smile and said that he was happy to be of service in changing the gossip about her. But then, at night, lying alone in the cart and remembering the smell of that shaving soap, she decided she’d happily be reputed the worst jade in the Serpentine if it would only bring him back.
They reached Sammerdam in five long, slow days of travel and set up camp on the festival grounds near the famous Archway. Ileth, having experienced Sammerdam’s water before, had taken the precaution of filling a glass bottle with vinegar from the kitchen stores and mixed vinegar with a little honey to soften the taste to protect her innards. She didn’t want to be in distress when walking in the parade.
There would be three guests of honor that the review would pass by: the Speaker of the Assembly, of course, who had managed to organize the vote for the war without word getting out (how he managed this was told to Ileth but she did her best to forget it within minutes of hearing about various select assemblymen representing various constituencies and a secret meeting of those involved in Asposis), Governor Raal, and the Serpentine’s own former representative at the Assembly, Master Traskeer.
Traskeer passed through the dragoneer camp but once, mostly to receive congratulations on his brilliant plan. He didn’t camp with the rest. Instead he stayed at the Speaker’s house to catch up on all the Assembly gossip he’d missed.
Dragoneer Garamoff would lead the review atop Nephalia. Last in line would be Taresscon, the senior female of the dragons, and young Cunescious, posing as the Duke and Duchess, pulling a mock sea turtle on wheels with Taskmaster Henn at the reins. Of course a real sea turtle didn’t need a driver or reins, but the crowd didn’t know that, they just wanted to see the object that so many were talking about. Ileth learned that the sea turtles for some reason had excited the imagination of Sammerdam’s designers—turtle-skin boots and bags and lo, a bit of polished shell were the thing to have this summer.
The dragoneers would ride atop their saddles as the dragons walked down the Archway, their wingmen either walking along next to the girth or just behind the dragon’s head.
Sifler stood beside Aurue in one of the groupings. He looked a little pink. Maybe it was just sunburn.
“Did they promote you to dragoneer? I thought only dragoneers could ride in this parade,” Ileth said. She glanced at his hands as soon as he looked away. He wore no ring or band.
“Still just acting dragoneer. They said the matter is under discussion. I have a lot of coursework to complete still, and my survival. Were it wartime they’d promote me, but they’re stricter about the formalities in peace. My, that’s quite a costume. Good thing it’s warm today.”
Aurue stared straight ahead.
“I don’t understand why I feel guilty,” Sifler said quietly. “A difference of a moment—just a moment or two—kept me from being on his back on that last flight.”
Ileth patted Aurue and the dragon nuzzled her hair. He didn’t snuffle, it was pure affection. “I know. Too many humans,” she whispered in his ear.
She continued down the line. Dun Huss was issuing some orders to the grooms who’d be walking along the dragons’ sides. There was no danger of the dragons venting in the middle of a parade; the grooms were there to keep children from running up and touching the dragons and possibly being trod upon. His voice was tired and hoarse.
“I didn’t see my name in the dancer groupings, sir,” Ileth said. “Am I first, second, or third group?”
Dun Huss closed his folio. He took Ileth firmly by the arm and walked her forward. First group, then.
At the other end of the wide avenue Ileth could see a great rectangular arch, its two legs astride the road. It looked part temple, part mausoleum. She didn’t know enough about architecture to identify it, but she recognized some flourishes similar to some of the newer halls in the Serpentine.
“Have you ever been under the arch before, Ileth?” Santeel asked. “It’s really impressive, up close. Much bigger than it looks at this distance.”
“Is it safe to go under? It looks like there are cranes and scaffolding.”
“Until the Academy, I’d lived in Sammerdam my whole life,” Santeel said. “It’s always having one part or another of it built and rebuilt. We joke about it. ‘I’ll pay you back when the arch is complete’—that sort of thing.”
Dun Huss cleared a frog out of his throat. “The arch is like the Republic. It’s never done. A labor for each generation—”
Ileth thought there were layers to those words worth investigating, but a senior female dragon pushed up along the edge of the street. Her scale was oiled and gleaming, her pop-eyed dragoneer already bowing to the crowd from the saddle as he took his place. He looked down at the flower girls.
“Santeel Dun Troot, what are you doing walking on the pavement with your leg hardly healed?” Amrits said, late as usual and only now getting his dragon into position in front of Mnasmanus.
“I judged her sound, sir,” Ottavia said, rapping her walking stick on the cobblestones for emphasis.
“What, Ottavia, are you going to make a broken-legged girl walk the whole Archway? I knew you were a hard woman but never thought you cruel. Well, except for that night in Asposis when you dropped a flowerpot on me when I begged you to let me climb up and enter through your beautiful rear balcony.”
“You call a bold line, sir, but you’ve never unbuckled and pierced me with anything but your wit. Climb on up, Santeel. He’s harmless. Sorry to deprive you of your partner, Ileth.”
Santeel passed her basket of flowers to Ileth and scrambled up nimbly enough. Ileth suspected she’d been exaggerating her limp. Ileth wondered if the Dun Troots would try to make this the capstone to Santeel’s career at the Serpentine. Joai had once told her that society girls joined the Serpentine to ride a dragon a few times, be in a parade down the Archway, and then retire their sash to an advantageous marriage and the ability to entertain other society women with stories of their years with the dragoneers. Somehow she didn’t think that would be the case with Santeel.
Ottavia eyeballed Santeel’s skirt. “Keep your knees constant companions, young lady. Your mother and father will be able to see you up there, and we don’t want the canalers shouting anything too lewd. The Dun Troots will be proud of their namesake. Ought to be worth thirty votes the next time funding for the dragoneers is before the Assembly.”
“Well, now my roster is unbalanced,” Dun Huss said, looking at his folio sadly.
“Parades are like battles. They never go according to plan,” Dun Huss’s wingman, Preece, in his best gray uniform, said from his position at Mnasmanus’s head. The dragon wore a victory garland of yellow flowers woven together by some Academy or other about his upper neck. The yellow looked very well against his purple scale.
“Well, it’s a minor change to the order,” Dun Huss said. “But Ileth’s never shrunk from duty just because she has to do it alone.”
Ottavia smiled and nodded at him. Ileth got the sense that some secret plan of theirs had just been executed.
Retaking his hold on her arm, Dun Huss marched her up to Nephalia at the front and set her firmly before the dragon.
“Sir?” Ileth said.
“I hope Nephalia doesn’t object to only have one girl in front of her.” Dun Huss waved to the trumpeters, who evened out their array on each side of the street and readied their instruments. Garamoff stood beside her in a brilliant uniform that looked fresh from the tailor. He wore a matc
hing decorative pauldron on each shoulder for the ceremony, green with gold braid threaded through the edges.
“Better this way. One girl ahead of one dragon,” Garamoff said, ready to swing up into Nephalia’s saddle. “You’ll be active, Ileth. Be sure to wave to both sides of the street and set an easy pace for the walkers.”
Ileth flushed. This was a bit much. She didn’t like being the center of attention, whether it was running across the Long Bridge as tailer or—here she swallowed her nerves with a physical effort that might as well be a gulp—leading a parade up the Archway. She wished she were wearing armor, with what felt like every citizen in Sammerdam staring. She turned when she felt the dragon breathing down her neck. “Try not to get flower petals in my eyes,” Nephalia said, giving her a gentle nudge forward with her snout.
Ileth relaxed a little. She had a simple duty to attend to, to keep her mind off the gauntlet of the spectators. She was just a flower girl. Garamoff would draw all the attention.
Captain-General Garamoff, Dragoneer and Victor of the Rari Campaign, looked back over the line of glittering dragons behind him, then put his fists together toward her. He didn’t exactly smile, but he gave her a friendly nod. Ileth did the best she could responding in kind, as the basket of petals she carried made for an awkward burden.
“We move out at your command, Ileth of the Freesand,” Garamoff said loudly from the saddle. Ileth felt a chill run up her spine.
Ileth took a deep breath, then started her internal music box playing a parade step in her head. She grabbed a handful of pink and white petals, remembering to judge the wind so they wouldn’t float into Nephalia’s eyes.
She stepped out, throwing the fistful of petals into the breeze. They spun and danced in the air to the sound of trumpets.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
IN THE SERPENTINE ACADEMY
ILETH, a new apprentice and “tailer” of her draft
SANTEEL DUN TROOT, Ileth’s fellow dragon-dancer of renowned family
QUITH, Ileth’s former roommate in the Manor
SIFLER, an apprentice from Ileth’s draft
RAPOTO VOR CLAYMASS, a young wingman from a wealthy and important family
VAREEN DUN KLAFF, a wingman of the Blacktower group
VOR RAPP, another wingman and friend to Dun Klaff
HEEM BECK, another of Dun Klaff’s group
FINILA, a new apprentice in Ileth’s training lot
GOWAN, the archivist’s apprentice
GRUSS, a talented artist who provides topographic sketches
AT THE SERPENTINE FORTRESS
CHARGE ROGUSS HEEM DEKLAMP, in overall command of the Serpentine’s humans
OTTAVIA, the Charge of the Dragon-Dancers
MASTER TRASKEER, responsible for the Serpentine apprentices
THE HORSE, the Master in charge of Ileth’s training lot
KESS, the archivist
DOGLOSS, wingman and assistant to Charge Deklamp
SERENA, wingman and Charge Deklamp’s eyes and ears in the Republic atop his dragon, Telemiron
ROBEN, Falberrwrath’s dragoneer
JOAI, a nurse and cook and informal counselor to the Academy youth
VELLEKER, Taresscon’s nominal dragoneer
GARAMOFF, Nephalia’s dragoneer, recently arrived from the west
THREADNEEDLE, a physiker
GIFT, Threadneedle’s apprentice and principal assistant
SHATHA, the senior dancer in Ottavia’s troupe
VII, a dancer who helped Ileth when she was new to the troupe
PREEN, another dragon-dancer
HAEL DUN HUSS, Mnasmanus’s dragoneer, leader of the trio of dragoneers who aided Ileth her novice year
DATH AMRITS, Etiennersea’s dragoneer, another of the trio
THE BORDERLANDER, Catherix’s dragoneer, provided Ileth with her flying rig her novice year
IN THE NORTH PROVINCE
GOVERNOR RAAL, elected leader of the province
LADY RAAL, his wife, who lives at the family estate
SEVERAN, a long-time servant at Stesside
IGNATA, a Galantine cook
GADIKAN AFTORN, the eldest of the most important family in the Headlands
COMITY, his granddaughter
ASTLER AFTORN, his great-grandson and heir
GANDY AFTORN, Astler’s cousin
TASKMASTER HENN, a military engineer
WATCH CHIEF TIRUT, a Daphine soldier and slave to the Rari
OTHERS
COMMISSIONER-GENERAL NAVARR, a staunch republican suspicious of the aristocratic dragoneers
FALTH, a servant of the Dun Troots and Ileth’s correspondent
ESWIT CARIBET, a girl from Vyenn
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Cold War nuclear horror film Threads (1984) begins with these lines: “In an urban society, everything connects. Each person’s needs are fed by the skills of many others. Our lives are woven together in a fabric. But the connections that make society strong also make it vulnerable.” Writing acknowledgments for a book with a pandemic snipping those threads tempts me to break tradition and acknowledge my grocery shelf stocker, Amazon delivery people, the corner pharmacist, plus the truck drivers and food industry workers, none of whom I know but who are currently keeping me and my family alive at various levels of risk to their health. I never thought myself important, but what’s going on outside the door in the spring of 2020 does make me feel unimportant to a new and disturbing degree.
That being said, this book has its own network of threads supporting it stretching from the author’s chair to your local bookshelf. I’d like to thank my wife, Stephanie, always my first reader, not just for the benefit of her diligence but for all the encouragement and support through the ups and downs of an author’s life. A great deal of credit goes to Miranda at Ace, who took up this volume when the series was orphaned when the acquiring editor, Rebecca Brewer, was let go in the course of publishing upheavals and cutbacks. Of course, John, my agent, has spun a global net of financial support for my writing over the years. Then there’s Alexis and Jessica in marketing and publicity who worked so hard to get Ileth and the Serpentine Academy in front of readers. Finally, I’d like to thank all of you who buy books and then pop by on social media to visit or write a review recommending it to others.
You’re all threads in the web. Stay joined.
Photo by Ebert Studio, Oak Park, IL
E. E. Knight was born in Wisconsin, grew up in Minnesota, and now calls Chicago home, where he abides in domestic felicity with his family and assorted pets. He is the author of the Age of Fire series and the Vampire Earth series.
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* Go cry to a stump is an expression used to dismiss a complainer in the Vale Republic.
* Like most places tracing their culture back to the Hypatian people on the other side of the Inland Ocean, the Vales prefer round structures or arenas for religious and public structures and spaces and rectangular ones for private or commercial use.
* A league in the Vales is the distance a formation of soldiers can march in an hour, roughly three miles.
* Drakine for the front limbs.
* Unlike the rest of the Outlands west of the Inland Ocean, the Vales do not speak a Hypatian-derived tongue. The Republic has three languages in general use, but since the advent of the Republic, all military and government work, most business, and a great deal of social interaction is done in the dominant popular tongue, Montangyan. Its closest linguistic neighbor is the language spoken by some of the human enclaves from the northeast coast of the Inland Ocean, and a few scholars insist it
is the last living tongue that has some elements of the vanished dwarf language, as there are old dwarvish expressions for contracts, deals, and payment terms sprinkled throughout.
* In mythology derived from old Hypatian legends, your fate-star will sometimes send a young girl as a vision who points the way to some manner of boon or treasure or guides you along a path when you are lost.
* About two and a half liters. By the very generous pouring standards among the dragoneers, this is a traditional serving for a team of seven attending to a dragon on campaign in the field, a dragoneer, his two wingmen, and four apprentices or novices. Those who wish to set an example of moderation or stretch out a bottle ask that their wine be issued at the “cut ration” of about half that serving.
* About sixteen pounds.
* A sailor’s measure of distance, about a quarter mile. What exactly a “mark” is in reference to has been lost to history.
