Dragonmaster

by Chris Bunch

  The man reached in a bag, and scattered a handful of dust.

  The dust sparkled in the air, then shimmered, and letters came, floating in the middle of nowhere:!MAGICK!

  !SORCERY!

  !ATHELNY OF THE DRAGONS!

  SEE THE

  WONDROUS DISPLAY OF

  ATHELNY’S ART AND SKILL!

  RIDE A

  DRAGON YOURSELF

  NO DANGER BUT ONLY

  FOR THE BOLDEST

  Hal barely noted that the warning was in quite small letters.

  Ride a dragon?

  He tore off his cap, waved, shouted, danced in the dusty road.

  Again the dragon swooped back, and its rider cupped his hands, and shouted:

  “Two villages away, boy! We’ll see you there . . . if you’ve got the silver!”

  The dragon banked.

  Hal shouted back: “You will! I’ll be there!”

  But, if Athelny—that must be him—heard, he neither flew nor looked back.

  Hal ran after him, then caught himself, slowing to a trot and then a fast walk. Yes. He surely would be there.

  He wondered what it cost for a ride.

  It was one silver coin too much. Hal counted his purse for the fourth time, wasn’t able to improve his pelf.

  The sign implacably read:Ride the Dragon

  10 Silver Barons

  An outrageous sum—but there were people lining up to pay it. Most were young bravos from the village, or merchants’ children. Hal noticed half a dozen giggling girls in the line.

  He tried to remember where that silver coin he needed so desperately had strayed. A night’s lodging and a long, luxuriant bath after leaving the hopfields? That steak with half a bottle of Sagene wine he’d treated himself to? That damned cloak he’d thought a wonderful present to himself, when the weather suggested he wouldn’t be needing it for awhile?

  It was no use.

  Even with his coppers, he was still short . . . and if he managed to find a spare coin in his delvings, what would he do for food on the morrow?

  Glumly, he considered Athelny’s show.

  To someone from a big city, it might have appeared somewhat unimpressive: three wagons, one for sleeping, the other two heavy freight wagons with flat tops and ties to keep the dragons secure. Athelny had three wagoneers, plus two cunning-looking young men, not much older than Hal, obviously city sharpsters. They took tickets, made sure the passengers were securely tied in behind Athelny, jollied the crowd and joked with each other, just a little too loudly, about the rustics around them.

  But none of this mattered to Hal, because Athelny had two real dragons, the green one he’d seen on the road, and a slightly younger one, in various dark reds.

  The red dragon was sprightlier, constantly trying to take off with the other, the one Athelny was giving rides with. Earlier, the red one had shown his tricks in aerial acrobats, which Hal had seen the last of.

  Both monsters were well tended, scales brushed and oiled so they gleamed, wings shining, talons polished.

  Hal had already noted Athelny’s riding-pad, a flat saddle tied to two ringbolts drilled through the dragon’s neck carapace. Now he saw a second saddle mounted behind the rider’s, this one fitted with leather shoulder straps.

  If these dragons were his, Hal thought, he wouldn’t demean them by giving bumpkins rides for silver.

  He would be the bold explorer, finding lands no one from Deraine would know, perhaps even visiting Black Island that the boastful Roche claimed as their own, reputedly the home of the biggest, most dangerous black dragons, a breed unto themselves.

  His practical side jeered—and what would he use to feed his dragons, let alone himself?

  There were two bullocks, lowing as if knowing their fate, tied behind the wagons, and one of the teamsters had said they would serve as dinner for man and beast.

  “Pity they don’t breath fire, like tavern talk would have it,” one of the teamsters had told him. “That way, we could get ’em cooked in th’ bargain.”

  Perhaps, his dream ran on, he could find a rich lord to sponsor his explorations.

  If not, and he must make his way giving jaunts for his wages, he would cater to the rich, and charge accordingly, giving long flights to lords and their ladies. He’d learn about the country around him, and lecture and be thought wise.

  And wasn’t it you, not long ago, thinking of how much you despised those rich? I do, Hal thought. It’s only their gold I lust for.

  Suddenly he grinned.

  Nice dreams, he thought, remembering the wanderer’s weary joke: If I had some ham, I could have some ham and eggs, if I had some eggs. All I need is some money, some dragons and some wagons, and I’m as good as—better, maybe than—Athelny.

  Meantime, it’s him up there, darting among the clouds, a squealing girl hanging tightly to him, and Hal down here, slumped against a wagon wheel, without the money for even a few seconds aloft.

  “Why ain’t you in line, since you was so innarested in dragons?”

  It was the teamster he’d talked to earlier. Hal thought about it, told her the truth.

  The woman nodded.

  “Athelny charges fair coin for his pleasures, he does.” She thought a moment. “Course, there’s always a way for someone who’s not afraid of work to earn a lift.”

  Hope came.

  “Work’s no stranger to me,” he said.

  The woman looked about. “I could be a shit, an’ ask if you’d mind killin’ those beeves we’ve got tied up . . . but I ain’t.

  “Tell you what. By th’ way, m’name’s Gaeta. I handle the business, day to day, for the show. Our wagons’re filthy. I’ll have Chapu—he’s that fat one over there—drive ’em back to that river we forded.

  “You’ll find some rags and a bucket from the wagonbox over there.”

  Hal was on his feet, hurrying toward the wagon she’d pointed out before she finished.

  “So you’re the lad who’s been shining m’wagons for the last half day, eh?” Athelny asked. He had a bluff, hearty voice, and wanted the listener to think he was one of the upper classes, Hal thought.

  Nothing wrong with that, his mind went on, as his fingers linked the two straps, once saddle cinches, that would hold him firm in the seat behind Athelny.

  “Have to do you a return, then, and give you a proper ride,” Athelny said. “If that’s what you want. Or would you rather have the nice lift, the smooth sail, and the gentle landing such as I’ve been giving the girls of this burg all day?”

  “Whatever you want, sir,” Hal said.

  “Thought you might want a little excitement, which is why I changed saddles for Red. But if you get sick on me,” Athelny promised, “you’ll think cleaning those wagons was a jolly sport.”

  “I won’t,” Hal said, and told his stomach it’d best obey or he’d put nothing in it for the next year, damnit!

  “Then hang on.”

  Athelny slid easily onto the pad in front of Hal, grabbed the reins and slapped them against the dragon’s neck. The beast snorted, and its wings uncurled, thrashed, like distant thunder.

  “You interested in flying one day?” Athelny asked over his shoulder.

  “Yessir.” Hal didn’t mention his momentary flight over the hopfields.

  “Then I’ll tell you what’s going on. M’dragon, Red, here’d be happier if he had a height to sail down from, instead of having to lift all by himself.

  “Another thing that’s makin’ him a bit unhappy is how hot and muggy ’tis. You’d think, with the air thick like this, a dragon’s wings’d have more to push against, and would take off easier.

  “But not. Demned if I know why. Now, he’ll start trundlin’ forward, and then stroke hard, and here we are!

  “Airborne!”

  Indeed they were, and Hal saw the remnants of the crowd grow smaller, and then he could see the wagons, and then the village.

  “We’ll climb up for a time,” Athelny said, still not having t
o raise his voice. They weren’t moving very fast, so there was little wind rush.

  “Now, we’re up a couple of hundred. We’ll give Red a bit of a relax here, and circle while we’re still climbing.

  “Not that he believes he needs it for what he knows we’ll attempt. You’ve got to think for a dragon, sometimes, for he’s not sure of what he wants. Then, other times . . .” Athelny didn’t finish the sentence.

  Hal barely noticed, looking down at the road he’d traveled so slowly this morning, hurry as he would, to reach the village. To either side there were trees, farmers’ fields, and over there a lake he’d never suspicioned, growing from that small creek he’d forded.

  Still farther out, in the blue haze of approaching dusk, were low hills, and unknown valleys.

  “How far would we have to go up to see the ocean, sir?” he shouted.

  “Don’t b’lieve we could from here. Get as high as we could, where men and dragons have trouble breathing, their wings not lifting as they should, I still don’t think we’d even see the province cap’tal, let alone any of the Strait Cities.”

  “Oh,” Hal said, a bit disappointed.

  “Why? You have people on the coast?”

  “Nossir. I was just curious.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Hal didn’t feel like giving his biography.

  “Not much of anywhere, sir. Some time back, up north.”

  Athelny turned, looked at him closely.

  “You’re just on the road, eh?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, turned back.

  “Now, we’ve got some height to us. Note how Red responds to the reins. Tap him on the left side of his neck, he turns left. On the right, unless he’s in a mood, he goes right.

  “Flying, when the weather’s calm like this—and when your beast’s well-trained and in a proper mood—is easy as walking.

  “Other times . . . well, that’s why there’s so few dragonmasters.”

  Dragonmaster. It was a new word.

  “How many are there?”

  Athelny shrugged.

  “Good question. P’raps a dozen here in Deraine, maybe more. I’ve heard there’s some just flyin’ for rich lords’ pleasure, around their estates or wandering afar, just exploring for the sights.”

  That was for him, Hal thought.

  “Roche has more. Quite a few more. Their queen’s interested in anything new. I’ve heard some say they’ve got a hundred fliers, though I think that’s a bit many for easy belief.

  “Sagene . . . maybe ten. Their barons don’t seem interested in anything other than their own pleasures and arses. Though I’ve wondered if there might not be gold to be made across the Straits, showing what a good honest Deraine flier can do.

  “Enough of such. Now, hang on, for what we’re doing is a climbing turn, taking us back the way we came.”

  And so Red obeyed, and the village came into sight again.

  “Now a diving turn . . .”

  The ground grew closer.

  “Hang on, for Red’s going to loop.”

  Hal was hanging from his ropes, looking up at down, as he had riding the dragon in the hopfields.

  He couldn’t hold back but let out a yelp of pure joy.

  “Good boy,” Athelny approved. “Mayhap you are cut out for a flier. Now we’ll do a series of rolls.”

  The world barreled about Hal, and his stomach made a mild protest, which he ignored.

  “Excellent, m’Red,” Athelny approved. “You’ll get the blood of one steer for that in your meal this night.

  “Now, what do you think of this, son?”

  Red suddenly dove, again reminding Kailas of his previous adventure. Just below them were the show’s wagons, and there were dots getting larger, becoming horses, people, as they closed on the ground.

  But it was all quite remote for a few seconds. Then the earth was rushing up at them, fast, faster. Athelny was pulling back hard on the reins, grunting with effort.

  The dragon’s wings were spread flat, braking the long dive, and rattling loudly.

  Then the ground was below them, not fifty feet, as the dragon’s dive flattened, and then, once more, Red climbed for the skies.

  “Did you have your eyes closed?”

  “Nossir.”

  “Then, did you notice how the world seemed to be coming up at you quicker there at the last?”

  “I did, sir.” Hal was pleased that his guts were silent now.

  “Good. When that happens, means you’re within a couple hundred feet, too close, and you’d best be recovering from your dive, or you’re about to spread yourself neatly over the landscape.

  “Which is not considered proper by any worthwhile flier.”

  Athelny put Red through a few more turns, these more gentle, then brought the dragon in on the grassy field, braking with its wings, and landing gently on its four legs.

  Hal unfastened his straps, and Athelny slid off the beast, gave him a hand to the ground.

  “Have you a job around here?”

  “Not yet, sir. I was the one you waved at, when you were coming up the road. Tomorrow I guess I’ll start looking.”

  “You still think you might want to learn to fly?”

  “I’d do anything, sir.”

  “Hmm.” Athelny was about to say something as Gaeta came up, rethought.

  “Did this boy do a good job as it ’pears to me?”

  “He did,” Gaeta said.

  “It’d be nice to have everything always this neat, wouldn’t it?”

  Gaeta shrugged.

  “You’re welcome to stay and eat with us,” Athelny said.

  “Thank you, sir. And . . . and if you’re looking for somebody, I’ll work harder’n anybody, sir.”

  “We’ll see,” Athelny said vaguely. “We’ll see.”

  Hal’s hopes sank.

  But in the morning, when the show moved on, there was a place in one of the wagons for Hal’s pack, a bench on the side for him to ride on, and a leather harness for him to be rubbing neat’s-foot oil into, even if there still was never a mention of what his job actually was, or what his wages might be.

  4

  “Stand, deliver and such,” the bandit drawled casually, although his crossbow was aimed steadily at Hal’s belly.

  Hal half raised his hands, dropping his reins across his horse’s neck.

  Half a dozen other thieves rode out of the brush, weapons ready. At their head was a lean, hard-looking rogue with a carefully waxed goatee.

  It was a perfect place for an ambush—about two leagues outside the Sagene walled city of Bedarisi, close enough to safety for a rider to relax his guard a little.

  The goateed man peered at Hal.

  “Ah. ’Tis the younger who rides for the Deraine dragonmaster, eh, the one who came first through last summer?”

  “I am he,” Hal said.

  “And you missed paying your toll when you rode out yesterday for Frechin, did you not?”

  “Didn’t see anyone to give it to, Cherso.”

  “We remember each other!” the man with the goatee said with some pleasure. “It’s always a good sign when men doing business know each other’s names. And the reason no one was out to greet you yesterday was we stopped a brandy merchant yesterday, and he decided to fight, and we had to take all.” He smiled sweetly. “It was very good brandy, and so we were sleeping in.”

  Hal managed a half smile, took a small pouch from inside his leather vest, tossed it across. Cherso looked at his followers.

  “Note, this is a sensible lad, beyond his years, who knows when it’s cheaper to pay, not like that merchant, whose bones’ll never be seen by his loved ones.”

  Cherso opened the pouch, looked inside, frowned.

  “Nothing in here but silver, lad.”

  “We’ve not had the best of seasons,” Hal said truthfully. “There’s more fliers from Deraine come across doing shows this year.”

  “Not to mention th’ Roche,” a
pockmarked man said. “A shitpot load of ’em just came in from the east into Bedarisi. Had five great snakes, all tied in cages, biggest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Plus so’jers to guard, so we just watched ’em pass,” another said.

  Hal grimaced. The men of Roche had also discovered flying shows. He’d not seen one yet, but the tales were their perfectly trained fliers, wearing common livery, and performing in formation, shamed most dragon shows, including Athelny of the Dragons, now with only a single beast.

  Cherso caught Kailas’ expression, tucked the pouch away.

  “Now, I’ll take your word for having a thin season, boy. For it’s good when men can trust each other, and never take more than the other can give, is it not?”

  Hal managed a smile.

  “Perhaps if I had a better story you’d not be taking any tribute at all?”

  “Now, now,” Cherso said. “Leave us not press our luck. Each of us has to do what he must, and I think I’m being kindly, most kindly, taking this pittance not only for your safety, but for your master’s and crew as well. I assume they’ll be passing this way in the next few days?”

  “They will,” Hal said. “I’ve been papering Frechin, as you guessed, and Athelny said we’d be leaving in a day or so.

  “You know, Cherso, if times get any harder, perhaps you and your men would consider taking your tribute in free rides?”

  There was scornful laughter, and Cherso spat on the ground.

  “Do we appear mad? Why should anyone want to get off nice solid ground and ride a dragon? We’re not fools who willingly court danger.”

  “But you’re bandits.”

  “That’s a trade we know well,” Cherso said. “Some of our fathers, brothers, were men of the road as well.”

  He glanced away, not wanting the obvious rejoinder from Hal asking what rope or headsman’s ax they’d encountered to end their careers.

  “Speaking of which,” he said, ostentatiously changing the subject, “these times we’re living in are becoming a bit dangerous, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “I’ve seen a lot more men with arms about this season,” Hal said. “And merchants are traveling in convoys, and few families abroad.”