by Angus Wells
“So, you are Rwyan.” His eyes—I could not be certain of the color in the moonlight, but I thought them pale blue or perhaps gray—scanned us all, as if confirming our identities. “And you, Daviot. Then this must be the one called Urt, and this the Sky Lord.”
Tezdal said, “I am Tezdal Kashijan,” offering a deep, formal bow.
Bellek chuckled. “Tezdal shall do, Sky Lord. What ceremony we follow is theirs.”
He gestured at the dragon crouched beside him like some watchful hound.
I leaned on Rwyan and Urt and marveled at all this. I asked, “How do you know our names?”
He laughed again. I wondered if I heard an edge of madness in the sound. He said, “Blood calls to blood, Daviot; and there’s truth in dreams.”
That sounded to me like oracular riddling, but Rwyan said, “I told you! It’s the pattern.”
Bellek shrugged. “What’s in a name?” he asked. “The blood’s in you and called us. Is that a pattern? Perhaps it is. But we can discuss that later—in some place your hunters shall not find us.”
He hesitated then, head cocking toward the dragon, and nodded. “Aye, sweetling, I hear them. Soon, eh? Do you call them, and we’ll be gone.”
I felt then—you know those moments when it seems a voice whispers over your shoulder? Or from the corner of your eye you catch some movement? But when you tune your ear or turn your head, there’s nothing there?—it was like that. I knew Bellek and the dragon spoke together, and almost I could hear what they said. I saw the dragon raise its head and loose an oddly soft hooting call that was answered from across the fields. Then the air grew loud with wingbeats, and more of the terrifying creatures landed about us.
They settled, monolithic and magnificent, bathed in pale moonlight like barbaric statuary. I choked on blown dust, blind a moment. I heard Urt moan softly and felt his shoulders hunch under my arm.
Bellek said, “They’ll not harm you, Urt. Those days are long gone. But you must trust them and ride them.”
His tone was kindly but tinged with impatience and a hint of contempt. It crossed my mind that it was the tone a sated predator—a wolf or an owl—might use, did predators speak to potential prey when their bellies were filled and they hunted no longer.
Urt shuddered and shook his head. It was difficult to discern that particular motion from the general shaking of his body.
I said, “Urt, you must! Trust him!”
Urt said, the words forced past chattering teeth, “I cannot! No—not dragons!”
Bellek said, “If he’ll not mount, we must leave him here.”
Tezdal said, “I do not go without Urt. Leave him, and you leave me.”
Bellek said, “There are more of your kind coming, Sky Lord; and Changed sorcerers. You die if you stay. I think it should be slowly.”
Tezdal said, “Then I shall die. I’ll not leave Urt.”
I broke from Rwyan’s grip, wincing as my weight fell on my hurting leg. I looked into Urt’s face; set hands on his vibrating shoulders. I said, “Urt, do you trust me?”
He moaned back, “Yes, but I cannot ride a dragon.”
I thought it must take all his will to stand upright and speak; I admired him. I said, “You must. Do you not, then Allanyn shall take you and punish you in ways far worse than any fear you feel now. Worse! She’ll have her way and bring the world to bloody war for only her ambition. Would you allow that?”
He said, “I’d not. But—” His eyes roved wild and white-rimmed over our encircling audience. “Dragons, Daviot? I cannot!”
I asked again, “Do you trust me, Urt?”
He nodded again and began to speak. I shifted my grip from his shoulders to his neck. I was afraid I’d do it wrong; that my hurting leg would refuse my weight, but it did not. I found the nerves there and squeezed, whispering, “Forgive me, Urt,” as he started and fought me. It was too late. I saw his eyes jump wide, then glaze. For an instant they held an outrage that filled me with guilt. Then he fell loose from my hands. I fell down with him.
Rwyan and Bellek helped me to my feet. Her eyes were clouded with doubt and approval, all mixed. His were entirely approving. He said as I rose, soft in my ear, “You’ve the makings, Daviot.”
Tezdal lifted Urt, and on his face I saw only disapproval.
I said, “Does he stay—do either of you stay—you’ll die. I’d not see that. Do as Bellek says.”
Tezdal’s face shone angry in the moon’s light. “Does he not have the right to choose his death? Is there no honor in Dharbek?”
Rwyan spoke for me: “We’ve larger concerns, Tezdal. I’d not see Urt die for fear of going with friends. I’d not see you die needlessly. Do not forget your vow!”
Her voice was forged steel, hard and unyielding. Tezdal stared at her. I thought he’d argue. Stay here to take his Way of Honor, Urt his squire; and both lost.
Rwyan said, “We’ve hope, Tezdal! Bellek offers us hope, and I hold you to that vow.”
The Sky Lord’s face was black as he nodded. “What shall I do?”
Rwyan looked to Bellek. He said, “You must all do what none save I have in too long—you must ride the dragons.”
Leaning on Rwyan’s shoulder, I stared at the beasts and wondered how.
Bellek said, “And soon. More of those little flying craft come after you; and horsemen. I cannot command so many dragons as to defeat them all—so you mount, or I leave you here.”
Rwyan said, “We mount.”
I said, “How?”
Bellek gusted that crazy chuckle again and beckoned to us.
“Set Urt on Kathanria,” he said. “I’ll show you how.”
He gestured at the beast he had ridden, which raised a sky-consuming eye as if in inquiry of mention of her name. He spoke to her, and she lowered her great head against the ground as does a cat or a dog eager to be stroked, anxious to obey that it earn the approval of its … master is the wrong word. There is a relationship between species, between dogs and their owners; between cats and their owners. It seems to me a thing born of trust and mutual dependence—that one species gains from the other in equal measure.
Then, I knew only that this formidable creature laid down her head, stretching out her neck so that I saw a saddle set forward of her shoulders. It was a kind of bucket, high at cantle and back, with straps hanging loose and bags beside. It was not dissimilar to the saddle I’d long ago set on my gray mare, but far larger; in keeping with this mount’s size.
We climbed up the splayed foreleg. The dragon stretched it like a ladder. Bellek went first, and Tezdal passed him Urt’s loose body. The silver-haired man beckoned the Sky Lord up, and he climbed as if familiar with dragons. I stood with Rwyan by the massive forelimb. Kathanria lay still, but I could feel the heave of her ribs as she breathed and smell the dry-dust odor of her skin. I saw insects crawling there, but they paid me no heed. I. thought I was likely too small to merit their attention.
Aided by Tezdal, Bellek stretched Urt’s limp form behind the saddle. From the bags, he brought cords with which he bound Urt secure. I wondered how far we should travel, how long, and dreaded that Urt should wake and panic. I feared he might step over that line betwixt sanity and madness did he open his eyes to find himself in flight, across a dragon’s back. I feared he would not forgive me.
Bellek clambered down. “He’ll be safe enough,” he promised. “Kathanria’s a gentle lady.”
I eyed the beast, which eyed me, unwinking, back, and wondered how so dreadful a creature might be described as “a gentle lady.” I think that then my mind was so occupied with thought of pursuit and escape, the full realization of what I was about to do had not sunk in.
It was driven home by Bellek’s next words: “So do I introduce you to your mounts?”
He did not await our response but waved us after him as he marched briskly toward another dragon.
Kathanria’s hide was brown, the reddish hue of a deer. This beast was darker, mottled gray and black. Her eyes were tawny
. I could not understand how I knew her name (or how, again, I knew she was female) before Bellek spoke.
“This is Anryäle,” he said. “Rwyan, do you take her?”
Rwyan nodded and reached out to touch the dragon’s snout, for all the world as if she stroked a beast of no more import than a horse. Anryäle blew a gusty exhalation, and I knew she took pleasure from the contact. I gaped as Rwyan followed Bellek’s instructions: up the splayed forelimb to the shoulder, a foot set in the stirrup dangling there, that the leverage she needed to settle herself in the saddle. Bellek climbed after her, showing her straps and buckles that were swiftly fixed in place. Rwyan clutched the frontage of the saddle and looked down on Tezdal and me.
Bellek sprang down; winced, cursed volubly, and said, “You need do nothing. Only sit and try to contain your fear. If—this with a grin at Rwyan, who was beaming wide as any child embarking on some great adventure long dreamed of and now come true—“you are afraid.”
She said, “I’m not.”
It seemed to me her voice came from high above.
Bellek turned to Tezdal: “You shall ride Peliane, Sky Lord; and know what flight is.”
Tezdal nodded. His face was expressionless; I wondered if he truly felt no fear or only hid it well. I was suddenly torn between a desire to stay and take my chances on firm ground, and the knowledge that to do so was to hand myself to Allanyn. I told myself that Rwyan evinced no trepidation at this incredible venture, and so nor should I. It was not easy.
Peliane was black as Kho’rabi armor, save for streaks of dull yellow about her wide jaws and along her wings. Tezdal mounted her smoothly as he did a horse. I watched, favoring my hurting leg, as Bellek showed him where the straps fit, to hold him in the saddle.
Then it was my turn.
The crispness of advancing autumn chilled the night air, but I felt hot. My mouth felt very dry, and my stomach recalled its last meal. I told myself all this was foolishness; that were harm meant us, these beasts could easily have devoured us. I knew they meant us no harm. I knew they were our only hope—not only of escape, but of far more. Hope of fulfilled dreams; of what I’d dreamed so long ago in Durbrecht. Still I felt afraid.
Bellek said, “This is Deburah, Daviot. After Kathanria, she’s the sweetest, swiftest lady in the castle.”
I looked at Deburah. She met my gaze with a placid topaz eye. Her hide was blue as the moonlit ocean and sleek as a sea-washed pebble. It came to me that she was beautiful, in a terrible, awesome manner. I felt her pleasure at that thought. I was far too confused, too frightened, to wonder how either she or I could know that.
It was not easy to climb her leg—my own hurt as it had not done before—but I found the saddle and sat there as Bellek strapped me in. Belts passed over my shoulders and belly, holding me firm in the saddle; more held my legs; my feet rested in the buckets of the stirrups. The saddle was cut with handholds in the front: I locked my fingers there.
Bellek said, “Only sit firm, and leave all to Deburah. Trust her.”
I nodded and forced out a gasping “Yes.”
He laughed and slapped my thigh, which made me wince. Then he was gone, trotting back to Kathanria.
I clutched the saddle. I realized the dragon’s—no! Deburah’s—back was ridged, as if the spine sat high above the ribs, the belly. It was a comfortable seat. I was mounted just forward of the wings, which now lay flattened back against Deburah’s flanks. I realized I could look forward past the neck and head and see where we should go, what lay below us. I felt suddenly calm: it was as though she spoke to me; not in words, but in emotion. I felt my fear dissipate, like poison bleeding from an infected wound. I felt suddenly happy: I smiled.
Then stared in naked wonder as she unfurled her wings.
Those great sails had looked large enough when I watched them from the ground. Now, as I felt her lungs inflate, her ribs lift me, the vast membranous canopies seemed impossibly huge. They spread proud across the sky. They covered the moon and the stars. They were angled, sharp and jagged, but nonetheless beautiful, worked by a musculature alien to my knowledge. It came back to me again that I was witness to sights many in my College would have sold their souls to see. I clutched the saddle tighter as I felt her legs rise and bunch, and into my mind came that almost-understood voice, and I knew we were about to fly.
From all around came a belling, anticipatory. I looked across to where my comrades sat their incredible mounts. I saw Rwyan astride Anryäle, her head tossed back as wild and eager as the dragon’s. I saw Tezdal, on Peliane, grim. I saw Bellek raise an arm and level a finger at the heavens.
Deburah lifted her head. Her neck drew in and then thrust forward, upward. Her hindquarters straightened, propelling her into the sky as her wings beat down, smoother than any galley’s oars; cleaner, so that jump and wingbeat carried us aloft.
Displaced air drummed thunder through the night. Dust rose in thick clouds below. We sprang toward the stars, the moon. My breath was snatched from my mouth. I felt my back rammed hard against the saddle. The binding straps dug against my belly and chest and thighs. I entirely forgot my hurt leg. How could I feel pain when I rode the sky? When I experienced such wonder?
We climbed.
Her wings were a constant windrush at my back; steady as her heart’s beat: as sure. My face chilled; my hair blew wild. I yelled in pure joy. Fear and marvel became a single thing; and trust: I rode the sky.
Up and up; fast, until I was heady with the speed of it. Deburah’s body was warm under me, so that I minded not at all the cooling of the air. It seemed her heat filled me, wrapped me comforting against the cold. I shouted out in joy and looked about, forward and back and down: dimensions shifted here. I saw the others group around. Bellek flew ahead; Rwyan flew to my right; Tezdal was on my left. I looked back and down and saw the plain of Trebizar grow smaller. I saw the Council building dwindle into insignificance. If riders chased us, I could not see them; nor they, now, hold hope of catching us. I saw the lake painted silver by the moon that seemed so close, I might reach out to touch it. I saw the city like some child’s toy laid out by a puddle. I saw the shapes of the Kho’rabi skyboats lurking red beside the water. I saw the fleet darting shapes of the little scoutships that came after us, and then the winged shapes that opposed them.
They attacked singly, as if it were a matter of pride: only one dragon falling on one skyboat. They attacked and slew and howled their triumph into the night so that the valley filled up with their belling and the rocky walls threw back the echoes.
And when they had sent all the pursuing boats down in tatters of burning red, they wheeled, a terrible night-come squadron, and swept back to rend the larger air vessels.
I saw vast fire-flowers bloom, reflecting off the lake so that silver moonlight was replaced with bloody red. The Kho’rabi encampment lit with fire as burning gases and flaming fabric fell down over the tents and the men. Some drifted free over the town, and I saw fires start there. We were too far away that I might hear the screaming, and I was glad of that. But I heard the yammering of the elementals as they were liberated.
I thought it was not such a different sound to the howling of these other dragons: a sound of bloodthirsty triumph. I wondered if the dragons and the elementals were so different; or both creatures of an older world, forgotten by Truemen and now come again. And angered by the forgetting.
Then Trebizar was lost behind, and the mountains that ringed the valley rose ahead. I felt Deburah beat her magnificent wings stronger, climbing up the sky to crest the buttress and loft, wondrous, over.
I saw mountains that would take men on horseback days to climb rise before us. The peaks were craggy, sharper and higher than the southern compass. Snow shone white there. Cloud hung there, gray and forbidding.
And Deburah beat her wings and rose above it all: the mountains became foothills, insignificant. The air grew winter-cold, and it did not matter. I was somehow cocooned, as if her body warmed me. I looked down on daunting pea
ks and felt only confident. The sky grew gray and wet; I could see neither moon nor stars. I felt no fear, only trust in my steed, my sky-flier—my wondrous beautiful dragon. I knew she would loft above these heights and bring me safely down: such is the communication between dragons and their riders.
And then the peaks were gone and the air was clear again, all bright with moon’s light and the twinkling of the stars that sparkled on my mount’s hide like gleaming jewels.
I looked down onto a landscape I’d seen before, in dreams. High plains drifted below, spreading out across all the country north of Trebizar. Wild, they were, and empty of habitation: no little twinkling lights from farms or villages, but only a moonlit desolation of heathered heath and grassy moorland. I saw rivers silvered by the night, and ridged hills that ran all wild and withershins. Then great stands of timber that stretched out black to east and west, and northward ran toward such mountains as I had never seen or thought could be. Those hills that ringed Trebizar, the heights of Kellambek—they were mounds compared with these. These reached up from ground to sky like a granite curtain. The forests ran out against their lower slopes as if the trees lacked the strength to climb such ramparts. They shone as blue-black as Deburah’s hide where the naked stone defied attempt to climb. Where they melded with the sky, I saw the gleaming white of permanent snow. I thought we could not cross them, that nothing could fly so high.
And into my mind there came a—I must use words such as I know, that you shall understand; so—a voice. It told me I need not fear, that this was only a little barrier to my mount, that we should ride above this petty thing to the wondrous land beyond.
It was as a dream, when words are unnecessary: understood in terms of emotion. I felt it in my soul. My disbelief evaporated. I felt no longer any doubt, nor any fear; only an absolute confidence, an utter trust. And as if in return, measure for measure, I felt Deburah’s pleasure in my belief. I felt a melding, a union I had known only once before: when I knew I loved Rwyan.
