Flight of the Dragon Kyn

by Susan Fletcher

  I heard wind gusts ahead as dragons launched themselves from the cave, but I could see nothing but a mass of dragon bodies before me, until one only remained. Then it was gone, too—first falling, then pumping and rising in the night.

  And I stood at the edge of a precipice with Byrn breathing her hot breath down my neck. “I can go no farther!” I cried. I heard a snort of dragony laughter, felt the heat of it in the air above my head. Then I was gripped from behind. I heard the ripping of cloth, felt talons glide across my skin, and then my feet lifted off the ground and my stomach pitched into my throat.

  We were flying.

  The shock of cold was like a dive into icy water. Wind whipped my hair about my face and thundered in my ears; tears streamed out from the corners of my eyes. My stomach leapt into my throat. I felt the walls of the mountain lurch up past me, saw the snowfields come swimming up.

  The whoosh of a wingbeat; the world tipped and gradually sank. We were rising. I let out my breath, only now aware that I had been holding it. As we banked round in a wide, slanting circle, I saw a fluid sweep of dragons flying north. In another moment we had turned away.

  My shift and gown and the straps of my pack had all bunched up together in my armpits. A choking wad of fabric chafed at my throat. Byrn had seized my pack and cape and gown so that I hung down from her, unable to see anything above me save for the dark expanse of her underbelly and the black-veined undersides of her wings. But beneath my dangling feet the earth poured by: sharp crags and smooth valleys, cast into long shadows by a slip of a moon. Eddies of air threaded past—some warmer, others piercingly cold—like currents in the sea. I heard a faint tintinnabulation of bells. Skava. On an upbeat of Byrn’s wings I caught a glimpse of her.

  Slowly, my mind began to settle, began to work its way out of its shock. Byrn was taking me to the king’s steading. That must be where we went.

  Now I could make out the black of the sea curving away in the distance. Way off to the southwest I saw a glimmering of lights.

  Yes. The steading.

  It looked so small down there in the middle of the wide, curving earth. Like a hill of ants. Small wonder the dragons held us in contempt.

  At once I was flooded with a strange, calm joy. In this hushed space, where I could hear only the wind and the beating of dragon wings and the faint, silvery jingling of Skava’s bells … it was as if I could see the whole wide world laid out for me.

  I could not hide forever from Orrik. I would speak to him, I would persuade him of what I must do—and lay claim to my place in the world.

  And then the ground was rushing up—closer and closer—until it seemed certain we would collide with it. But we did not. At the last moment the talons slipped away from me and my feet were breaking through a crust of snow. And Byrn was a breath in the air, a shadow, gliding up into the night and away.

  “You and your bird and Kazan. No others!”

  Now Skava was swooping down to me. I held out my arm; she alit. I teased up her breast feathers, tethered her jesses to her leash, and then began to walk.

  I gave wide berth to the courtyard buildings, keeping well outside the torchlight. It was no great feat to slip by the sentries. I heard them murmuring near the high hall, and crept near enough to count. Four men. The usual number. Suspecting nothing, they kept a lax watch.

  I would put my case to Orrik—but not now. Best to find Corwyn first, discover how the land lay. Perhaps he would intercede for me with the king.

  Between the storehouses I could see the flickering* of the soldiers* fires. I only hoped no dog would catch our scent and raise the alarm. I passed behind the stables and the byre but stopped in the lee of the cow shed. A trickle of yellow light ran across the hard-packed snow in the barnyard from the windows in the mews.

  Corwyn. He must be awake.

  I moved cautiously forward, restraining my eagerness.

  A crunch in the snow behind me. I whirled around.

  A sentry!

  “Halt there! What—” In that instant I saw the changes wash across his face: recognition, and then shock.

  Panicked, I bolted for the mews. But he came after, caught me from behind. “What are you—” I pulled away from him; he cursed, grabbed my free arm, twisted it behind me, and yanked it painfully up.

  “I have her!” he called. “The dragon girl is here!”

  Chapter 20

  None more unkind than kin.

  —KRAGISH PROVERB

  Voices.

  A burst of them from the warriors’ tents and then many more from the courtyard behind me. For an instant I thought I saw Corwyn outlined in the doorway of the mews. I called for him—but then folk were converging upon me from all directions. Globs of yellow torchlight floated among the long, wavering shadows. Running footfalls. Questions, murmurs, shouts. And then the torches were thrust before my face, blindingly bright. Now one man stood before me in the throng, but I could make out only the shape of him. I squinted to see his face. “Corwyn?” I asked, and then his face came clear.

  Not Corwyn.

  Rog.

  “You!” he said, with such force that I started; Skava hissed and struck at him with her foot.

  Rog jumped back, held up his hand to shield his face. “Get it! Get the bird away!”

  And someone was cutting through the leash—was it Corwyn? I could not see—and then Skava was gone.

  Rog said something to the sentry who held me, and then he was holding me, twisting my arm behind my back. “Corwyn!” I called. I thought I heard his voice, but Rog jerked my arm up higher than before and shoved me through the crowd toward the courtyard. Pain shot upward to my shoulder; I stooped forward to ease it.

  We picked up folk as we went until we were in the vanguard of a shadowy horde of soldiers, housecarls, children, bondmaids, and dogs, all marching through the trampled snow. Then a jinking of keys: Gudjen appeared at my side. “Where have you been?” she demanded. But her eyes showed real concern. She ordered Rog to release me and, when he did not, kept up a constant, carping rail at him.

  As we approached the high hall, I saw limned in wavering torchlight the figure of the king. He stood with arms folded before him, waiting for the commotion to come and make itself known. But my glance slid away from Orrik’s face—for beside him stood Kazan.

  The trader walked rapidly forward some few steps, then checked his stride. And all the while his eyes did not leave my face.

  “Kara!” Orrik said wonderingly. “We thought you dead. Kazan followed your traces to where the snow had buried you….”

  He trailed off, looked speculatively at Kazan.

  So it had been he.

  “I did run from you,” I told Orrik. “And I repent me of any … hardship I caused. But I returned of my own will, and now, if you will hear me out, I have a plan—”

  “Hog swill!” Rog roared. “I caught her skulking about the barnyard, Orrik. She had no intent to come to you. She kicked the guard—bloodied his shin!—to get away. I’ll lock her up now until we resolve what to do with her.”

  “Let her speak!” Gudjen said. “I for one would like to discover how she escaped from a snow grave and where she has bided these past ten days.”

  “You’ve harkened to this country wench long enough. She’s a witch, Orrik! Any fool could have seen it from the start!”

  “Do you call me a fool, then, brother?” Orrik’s voice was soft, dangerous.

  Rog did not answer but glowered back.

  “I must speak to you alone—with Corwyn and Kazan only,” I besought the king. “There are things that I must tell you—things that others must not hear.”

  “There is nothing this girl says that I may not hear,” Gudjen said, indignant.

  “Give me your keys,” Rog commanded his sister. “I’m locking her up.”

  Orrik faced him grimly. “Release her.”

  “I will not. She’s a witch.”

  “Do you defy me?”

  “You’ll never slay those dra
gons, Orrik. You let these women lead you about like a harnessed mule. If I were king, I’d have five dragon heads mounted on the wall by now—and I’d be bedding Signy every night.”

  The king’s nod was almost imperceptible. Four hearth companions came at Rog so swiftly that he had not time to make a move. They scuffled briefly, wrenching my arm worse than before, and then I was free and Rog held prisoner.

  “You’ll never slay them!” Rog said. “Signy will be a barren hag before ever you do.” He stood with head lowered, eyes smoldering.

  “Lock him in a storeroom,” Orrik said. “I’ll see to him later.”

  “You can’t do this!” Rog stormed. “I’m the prince! I have a following of my own! You’ll live to regret this, brother!”

  The king motioned for me to follow, wheeled round, and strode within the hall.

  Kazan came first into the hall after being summoned by Orrik. He bowed to the king and, saying no word, took my hand and looked square into my eyes. There was a bright, glad stillness within me, broken only by the beating of my heart.

  Then Corwyn burst in, enveloped me in a huge bear hug. Neither did he speak—nor I. Words would not do.

  Orrik sat in his high seat, lumined by the flame of a single torch, when I began my tale. There were but the four of us, as I had requested—Orrik, Corwyn, Kazan, and I—but a guard stood away by the door.

  “He will hear us,” I said to Orrik, looking at the guard.

  “No matter. He is my man and knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

  The king heeded well when I told what had passed with me but grew restless when I put forward my plan. His foot began to tap; he rose, paced to and fro, rubbing his beard. When I came to the part of directing Skava, he rounded on Corwyn.

  “Do you credit this … directing?” he asked.

  “I have seen her do it,” Corwyn said. “I would not have believed it had I not witnessed it with my own two eyes, but I can vouch for it beyond question.”

  “But to a far place, a place she’s never seen?” Orrik persisted.

  Corwyn hesitated. “That I do not know.”

  “I directed Skava well beyond my sight when I was in the cave,” I said.

  “And you know for certain she arrived at the place where you sent her?” Orrik looked skeptical.

  “I … believe so.”

  “But you don’t know.”

  “No, but—”

  Orrik resumed his pacing. Behind his back Kazan shot me a look I could not decipher. And now, even as I tried desperately to persuade him, Orrik was shaking his head. “No,” he said, still pacing. “No, it will not do. It is too chancy. Too happenstance.”

  “But two-score dragons!” I said. “Think of the toll in human blood. How much better to meet your ends and theirs at once! Put an end to the blood feud—and to their raids on sheep.”

  Kazan spoke up. “In my land we have a saying, your grace: ‘Mutton speaks louder than glory.’ In my view, folk in any land care more for the food on their boards than for the glory of their kings. If you can halt the depredations of dragons by any means, they will thank you for it.”

  Orrik stood before me. “I have said no,” he said. “And now you know how to call them … we will end their depredations. We will finish them. Finish them all. Let Rog prate of harnessed mules then!”

  “No,” I said, honor mounting inside me. “No, I won’t. I can’t. They have spared my life—twice. And this plan—it would bring you glory—”

  “I have told you—no! You will call them for me to slay.”

  “I will not.”

  “You defy me, too? Outright?”

  “Yes.”

  “Devil’s spawn! What is it about this day? First my brother and then you … Well, I cannot brook it! You will call them—I will compel you to it by one means or another.”

  You will not, I thought. You can kill me, but you can’t force me to call them. I stood mute, held by Orrik’s gaze. Out of the corner of my eyes I caught a flash of something metal at Kazan’s side.

  At once there came a pounding barrage at the door. “Your grace!” came a voice from without. “Rog has escaped with a band of warriors and is bound for Romjek. He will put aside his wife, he says, and seek the hand of Signy!”

  Chapter 21

  A red sprat, dragged across the holt cat’s trail, will send the hounds astray.

  —KRAGISH HUNTERS’ LORE

  “To Signy? Rog’s gone to Signy?” Orrik’s voice rose in alarm. “Enter!”

  The door opened and a throng of warriors hastened within. One strode forward, clutching in his hand a leaf of parchment. “He left this.”

  Orrik snatched it, moved near the torch, and began to read. “‘Since you will not avenge Signy’s brother’s death,’” he mumbled, “‘I will make suit to her myself.’”

  Orrik looked up, dumbfounded. I feared he would march me to the seacoast this very moment and demand that I call the dragons. “She’ll never have him,” he said grimly when he found his voice at last. “But I can’t have him charging up there, making me look the fool. Summon my hearth companions to the courtyard,” he commanded. “I go now to muster the troops.” He took two steps toward the door, then stopped and turned to me. “Oh, and … best keep her under guard until I return.”

  Two men seized my arms.

  “You can’t do this!” Kazan shouted. “She has done nothing against you; she hits returned of her own will.”

  “I do what I will in my own kingdom,” Orrik retorted. “And besides, with Rog loose, she is not safe.” He paused, seemed to soften, and turned to me. “I … regret this, Kara. But you have deserted me and defied me; I can trust you no longer.” To the guards he said, “She may have whatsoever she desires, save for her freedom. Treat well with her or you will answer to me.”

  Then he hurried from the hall, pursued by Kazan, who, protesting loudly, clung to him as a tick clings to a dog. I heard Kazan call him “tyrant,” and the king’s angry reply—“Take care you do not wear out your welcome and find yourself under guard,”—before their voices dissolved amid the courtyard din.

  And now my guards propelled me into that din. Folk were rushing all about in the light of moving torches: bearing food from the kitchenhouse and ale from the brewery; strapping on swords and packs and skis; shouting, babbling, wailing. They did not smile at me as I passed. I had thrown away their good favor when I ran from Orrik’s camp. Perhaps it could be regained if I would consent to hunt dragons again. But that I could not do.

  I looked about for Gudjen, but she, too, had deserted me. Only Corwyn stayed close, assuring me as we made our way through the throng that he would get me out some way. Asking me if there were aught I wished.

  “I wish,” I said wearily, “that I had never laid eyes on this treacherous place.”

  The whale-oil lamp within the storehouse stank evilly, giving off more smoke than light. A small brazier stood at the center of the room; the guards had lighted it before they left, but it shed little warmth. Although I was not permitted visitors, I heard the voices of Corwyn and Kazan from time to time and caught glimpses of their faces as the guards thrust provisions through the doorway: blankets and bolsters, a brew-bladder, packets of food. Inside one of these packets I found a moist, sticky clump of Kazan’s dried yellow fruits.

  I was too restless to eat, or even to sit. I paced the rushes, listening to the sounds in the courtyard, trying to fathom what passed there. Shoutings. Clankings. The whoosh and scrape of men on ski. But in time these sounds subsided, and I surmised that the king’s contingent had departed.

  The brazier, at long last, began to put out a trickle of heat. I settled myself down beside it but leapt again to my feet at a new sound. Corwyn’s voice. Raised in … alarm? In pain?

  “What is it?” I called to the guard. “What’s befallen?”

  I heard murmurings, then, “Nothing to trouble you,” someone said.

  “But what is it?” I persisted. “Is Corwyn hurt?”

&n
bsp; They would not respond.

  And so I resumed my pacing, plagued now by more questions than before. Why had Corwyn called out? Would the king overtake Rog ere he reached Signy? Would they do battle? And who would prevail when all was done: Orrik? Or—the gods help me—Rog?

  If Rog gained command, I was doomed. There was no judiciousness to Rog; he saw all as a contest of force. And he despised me for the trouble I had caused.

  But Orrik … Perhaps he might yet be persuaded….

  Footfalls. Many footfalls. And among them a clanking of keys.

  Gudjen.

  I heard voices outside the door; it was flung wide for Gudjen to enter; she shut it close behind her.

  “What was that I heard?” I asked. “What did they do to Corwyn?”

  “Corwyn is … unharmed,” Gudjen said. Her voice sounded tired. In the dim lamplight, her face looked lined and bleak.

  “Then what did I hear?”

  Gudjen ignored my question and seemed, for a moment, to gaze at a point well beyond the guardhouse wall. “I had such hopes for you, Kara,” she said. “That you would make it possible for Orrik to be a hero and win Signy’s hand. That the two lands—Krag and Romjek—would unite. That there would soon be an heir….

  “I wanted the rearing of that heir, the next king. For Orrik is not strong—not as our father was strong. Not as he needs to be strong. And Rog is rash and vindictive—an idiot! The fates forbid that ever he should be king. But with the rearing of Orrik’s heir … I could have made that child into the king we need. We would prosper and win other lands in battle until we commanded an empire such as the world has never seen. And hunger among the Krags would be the stuff of ancient tales.

  “But you—” She turned to me reproachfully. “It seems you love dragons more than your own king and country. Or is it only that you fear them?” She studied me a moment before going on. “Well, at any pass, Rog has made his move, and for once it is canny. He knows my weaknesses, and yours as well, I deem….”

  “But there is a way, that I told to Orrik,” I said. “You could yet have your heir to rear—”