Dragonmaster

by Chris Bunch

  “They sense trouble, as do I,” Cherso said. “A man came out, two weeks gone, to talk to us about an amnesty.”

  “That doesn’t seem like trouble to me,” Hal said. “Are you going to take it?”

  “Nary a chance,” the pockmarked man said.

  “Not under the conditions he set us,” Cherso agreed. “It wasn’t a blanket amnesty, such as a baron might offer when his daughter’s married or his wizard achieves power over his enemy.

  “Seems there’s now a Council of Barons, and some say they’re considering naming a king from amongst themselves. You heard aught about that?”

  Hal shook his head. “I don’t pay much attention to politics.”

  “Nor do we,” Cherso said. “But mayhap we’d best start. This Council has offered an amnesty to men of arms—sorry, I meant men of the road like ourselves, freelances, and such—on condition they join the army they’re putting together.”

  “Armies,” the other bandit snorted. “Have to do all the fighting, share your loot with some fat ass who sat on a hill lookin’ proud in armor, and prob’ly get trampled in some charge anyway. Piddle on armies.”

  “Worst, they’ve got a wizard making anyone who takes the amnesty swear a blood oath to him, that if you do something sensible, such as desert after the first pay, you’ll be eaten by flaming worms or something.

  “Not that the barons’ alliance will hold together long enough for them to backstab each other until a king wades out of the gore and grabs a crown, but the bastards might hang together long enough to sweep the countryside for us men of daring. As I said, not a good sign.”

  Hal gnawed at his lip, wondered if any of this would pertain to him, couldn’t see how.

  “A question for you,” the pockmarked thief said. “Does Deraine have highwaymen like Sagene?”

  “Not many,” Hal answered.

  “No men of spirit in your kingdom, eh?”

  “No,” Hal said, unoffended. “We have laws.”

  The pockmarked man grinned, tapped the hilt of his sheathed sword. “So do we.”

  That brought laughter from the other thieves. When it died, Cherso asked, “As I recall, you wintered last year in Paestum. Does your master plan the same?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Hal said. “He was thinking of going into winter quarters early, and voyaging over to the Roche coast for a replacement for the dragon we lost last year.

  “But the Roche denied his permit, and he’s not taken me into his secrets about what his plans are now.”

  “Word of advice,” Cherso said. “I wouldn’t be too eager to spend time in Paestum these days. Far, far too close to Roche, and those bastards and their damned queen keep whining in the broadsheets about having been snookered out of their claim to the city.”

  “No matter to me,” Hal said.

  “Nor me,” Cherso said, taking the bolt from his crossbow. “Life goes on, and we do the best we can with what we have.”

  Hal nodded.

  “You’d best be getting on to Bedarisi, before dark,” Cherso said. “I’ve heard there’s some masterless men who have been lurking just beyond the walls, men without any law to guide them.

  “Good luck to you, young dragon man. And we’ll see you next spring.”

  As quietly as they’d come, the bandits were gone, and the road was clear.

  Hal thought about what the bandit had told him. Armed men on the roads, a possible amnesty to raise an army, Cherso saying the Roche were growing ambitious. No, it should not pertain to him, at least as long as he kept a wary eye out and his back close to a wall.

  It wouldn’t hurt if he had a bit more money in the pouch tied to his inner thigh. Athelny wasn’t a stingy man, but he had a weakness for the rattle of dice. It was always a race to see whether he’d get his hands on the cash box before Gaeta after a show.

  She was the only one left of the troupe Hal had joined that dusty fall day—the others had found better wages with other shows—circuses, traveling bestiaries—or just gotten tired of the wanderer’s life.

  Hal was still with Athelny because he still wanted, after three years, to become a dragon rider. But so far his master had been stingy training Kailas in his art.

  “You don’t think I’m mad,” he said once, somewhat in his cups, “for if I teach you all I know, wouldn’t you just run off, find a dragon of your own and become my competitor?” He laughed in that strange, high-pitched way he had.

  Hal had to admit there was truth to that. Athelny, not at all a bad man, had taught him some things. Hal could have found another flier, but he had no guarantee that master would be any more generous with his knowledge.

  As for leaving the road, that was absurd, since Hal hadn’t seen any trade more enticing, let alone the pure thrill of traveling new roads, seeing new villages and people, even returning to a place not visited for a year, and seeing the changes.

  At least once a show, Athelny would give Hal a ride, and recently had let him sit in front, and start learning the basics of flying.

  That also never ceased to thrill, from the awkward flapping journey upward, to the easy soaring on wind currents, like a sailing ship of the skies, to darting, carefully, through clouds, always expecting them to taste like the spun candy sold at village fairs, forgetting their dankness, sudden rain and occasional danger.

  Even the danger drew him—watching, from aloft, a thunderstorm approach, barely diving down to shelter in time. Or, if there were low clouds, flying just above them, like flying above feathery snowfields. Dragons, too, seemed, as Hal had thought, to enjoy the joy of flight, cool wind across their savage faces, gliding down, silently, to startle a questing eagle, or suddenly appearing above a flock of ducks and hear them raucously dart groundward, away from the claws and fangs.

  Athelny had only one dragon now, the green beast called Belle.

  The young dragon named Red, Hal’s favorite, had managed to break free one afternoon, when the show was camped in the high mountains. There were wild dragons in the heights, and Athelny had said it was mating season.

  Dragons, when they came into season, were wildly promiscuous. Then they’d pick a mate from one of the bulls they’d mated with and remain with him through the four-month incubation period, and for a year after the kit was born.

  They’d watched, Athelny whispering unconscious obscenities, as Red eagerly flew toward a female. Two males had attacked him. He’d fought hard, lashing with his talons and fangs, but the other two were older, bigger and more savage.

  One dove on Red, and had his neck in its claws. He rolled, as Red tore at him, and Hal heard the young dragon’s neck snap from hundreds of feet below.

  The teamsters had started to object when Athelny ordered them to bury the dragon, but then they saw the terrible look in the flier’s eyes and set to.

  When Red’s corpse was under the mound, and stones were heaped atop it, Athelny had sat, in some strange wake, beside the grave for a day and a night.

  Hal, too, had felt aching sadness, such as he’d never felt for another human, and he wondered about himself.

  Then the caravan had gone on, and Athelny had never mentioned Red’s name again.

  What he proposed next, with Roche having refused permission to go to Black Island for a replacement, Hal didn’t know. Dragons were most expensive, more so these days. The story was that Roche was buying any trained or half-trained bull or cow, and would even purchase kits.

  Athelny had told him he preferred his dragons to be no more than hatchlings when he bought them. “There’s only one secret to raising dragons,” he said. “You’ve got to be kind to the little buggers, even when they’ve ripped your damned arm open. Hate ’em, and they’ll sense what you’re feeling, and one day . . . well, either they fly off, or else it won’t be your arm that’s bleeding.”

  Hal had his own scars now, mostly from Red, but some from the fairly placid Belle. And he had no trouble treating the beasts as Athelny had taught him—he could brook no man’s hand being rai
sed against a beast, even one as deadly as a dragon.

  It was bad enough, Hal thought, trying to worry about himself, without having to think about kings and queens and armies and such.

  “The hells with it,” he said, deciding to listen to the bandit’s advice and not worry about anything beyond his horizon.

  The Roche dragon fliers were set up just beyond the city gates, and clearly didn’t have to worry about any lurking masterless men: Hal counted at least twenty heavily armed men in unfamiliar uniforms around the circled wagons. The Roche had their dragons loose, and were rehearsing.

  Hal, never having seen their performance, joined the half-hundred idlers of Bedarisi watching.

  He’d never seen anything like it, and certainly Athelny would never be able to put on a show to compare.

  The five dragons were dark, greens, blues, browns, with only minor stripes of color. They were big, as big as any Hal had seen, save for a few monsters in the wild, and the Roche fliers had their animals under perfect control.

  They flew in close formation, caracoling through various maneuvers—banking, diving, climbing, rolling across each other’s back. Then came games—follow-my-leader, mock duels, even a flier jumping from one dragon to another in midair.

  There were two wizards with the show, and they circulated around the crowd, doing various illusions of dragons.

  All the while, leather-lunged barkers kept reminding the crowd that this was only a hint of the wonders Roche was bringing to them, that tomorrow, and for three days and nights, this show of Ky Yasin’s would bring them glories they’d never dreamed of.

  Hal heard Yasin referred to as “the Ky” by one of the soldiers, gathered that was a title, not a first name.

  Kailas was shaken—this was only a rehearsal? Athelny’s troupe would be very lucky to attract enough Sagene to cover their expenses here in Bedarisi.

  About half the soldiers formed up, as the magicians took a pair of tiny wicker baskets from a case, muttered spells, and the baskets grew until they were about five by ten feet.

  Four soldiers, on command, jumped into each basket, and a dragon landed beside each one. Heavy straps connected the baskets with rings fastened through the dragons’ outer scales. The beasts, with much shouting from their masters, crashed their wings, beating at the air, and slowly, slowly climbed into the sky.

  Then the dragons turned, and made a mock assault on the crowd. The soldiers fired arrows down into the turf as they passed, very low.

  The crowd applauded spatteringly, but was mostly silent. It was very easy, especially considering the way Roche had been behaving of late, to see the obvious military use dragons might provide.

  Again, Hal had heard of nothing like this from any flier of Deraine or Sagene.

  The dragons landed, and the soldiers piled out. The barkers changed their tune, and started soliciting for rides, half price because the show hadn’t officially opened.

  Several people got in line.

  Hal was interested to note that the pair of dragons giving rides didn’t carry passengers on their backs, but in the wicker baskets, three or four, depending on the size of the passenger, at a time.

  Hal thought these dragons older and therefore calmer of temperament than the others.

  Their takeoff and flight suggested he was right. These dragons gave very sedate rides up to about 500 feet, toured over Bedarisi, then made a long circle back to a gentle landing. There were no acrobatics or stunts.

  Then the rehearsal was over, and the ground staff of the show busied themselves feeding the monsters and cleaning equipment.

  It didn’t appear as if they minded visitors in their camp, and so Hal left his horse tethered, and wandered about Ky Yasin’s establishment.

  Everything was luxury to Kailas—the fliers had small wagons to themselves, and servants. The transport wagons—two to each dragon—were new, and brightly kept. There were other wagons for the troops, staff, a cookhouse, equipage, and enough horses and oxen to have fitted out a regiment of soldiery.

  Hal didn’t have Gaeta’s experience, but had helped her take care of the books long enough to have some idea of what it cost to run a show. He couldn’t get the numbers for this troupe to come out right, unless the Roche were charging ten gold pieces or more for a ride, and he’d seen the priceboard—rides were even cheaper than with Athelny.

  Perhaps Yasin was very rich, and subsidizing the troupe from his wealth.

  Perhaps.

  Or, Hal thought, and wondered where he’d developed such a subterfugous mind, perhaps Yasin and his fliers were advance scouts for a war being whispered about.

  Perhaps.

  He was mulling this about as he passed by a medium-sized wagon, whose door was open. He heard the sound of a man cursing, then another man laughing.

  He knew that high-pitched laugh, and his heart dropped as he heard someone say, in heavily accented Sagene, “You see, Ky Athelny, as I promised, your luck was about to change.”

  Hal went up the steps, trying to concoct a story as he went.

  Inside were four men around a table with small, numbered boards, dice, and piled gold and silver. One, short, very thin, wore the expensive silks of a Sagene nobleman; another, a comfortably fat man, wearing gray suede and moleskin breeches.

  The third was a man no more than three years beyond Kailas’ seventeen, with carefully close-trimmed beard and hair. He wore black leather breeches, with a matching jacket, unbuttoned to his waist, with a white collarless shirt, a red scarf around his neck and high boots. He was clearly a flier. The man, in spite of his youth, bore himself with authority that was almost arrogance. Hal wondered if he might not be Ky Yasin.

  The fourth was Athelny. He had the smallest pile of money, mostly silver, of them all, in front of him. It was clear he’d gotten to the cash box, and, remembering how much had been in it when Hal rode out for Frechin with his posters the day before, wasn’t winning.

  Athelny had been drinking, but what of that? Wine never gave nor took away card sense or luck from him.

  He looked up, saw Hal, looked first surprised, then guilty for an instant, then his long face flushed with anger. He tried to cover.

  “’Tis a surprise indeed,” he said, forcing his would-be upper-class drawl, “to see you.”

  “Uh, yessir,” Hal said. “I’ve just returned from Frechin, and thought you might wish a report.”

  “Later, lad,” Athelny said. “I doubt me if these gentlemen, the noble Bayle Yasin, his manager, or Lord Scaer would be interested in our business.”

  “But, sir—”

  “You may wait outside for me. I shan’t be long.”

  Scaer, the small, thin man, looked at Athelny’s pot, snickered, but said nothing.

  “I . . . yessir,” Hal managed, and went out.

  He slumped down against the wagon, not knowing why he was so cast down. So Athelny was gaming? He’d done that before. So he was losing? He almost always did that, too, sometimes wiping them out so they had to steal grain for Belle, who grudgingly would accept fodder other than meat, and beg for their own dinners.

  He tried not to listen to the game as it went on, but couldn’t. Athelny won a few small rounds, then lost again and again.

  Hal sparked awake after an hour, hearing Yasin say quietly:

  “Ky Athelny, are you sure you wish to chase that wager? ’Twould appear you’re bested on the face of things.”

  “I thank’ee for your wisdom,” Athelny said, a bit sharply. “But there’re two more draws.

  “Lord Scaer, here is the sum total of my stake to say you do not hold the numbers you want me to think.”

  There was a laugh.

  “Give out the counters, then,” Scaer said.

  Hal heard the clack of the wood, and a breath, sharply intaken.

  “Fortune favors the bold, as they say,” Scaer said. “To see your last counter will take a deal of gold.”

  “I’m out of this turn,” Yasin said.

  “As am I,” ano
ther voice, obviously the Roche troupe’s manager, said.

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I have naught but confidence,” Athelny said. “I trust you’ll take my note of hand?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Scaer said. “Meaning no offense, but men who’re not of Bedarisi . . . well . . .”

  “All right,” Athelny said. “Here. Give me paper and that pen.”

  Scratching came.

  “I trust this deed to my show will allow me to continue in this game?”

  “Ky Athelny,” Yasin said. “Are you sure that’s what you wish to do?”

  “The Derainian is of age,” Scaer said. “Irregular though it is, I accept the bet. The counters, if you will.”

  Hal was on his feet, mouth dry in panic, fear. Athelny, at least as far as he knew, had never gone this far into madness.

  He started up the steps, but there was nothing he could do as wood rattled once more.

  “And there you have it,” Scaer said.

  There was a moan that could only have come from Athelny.

  “So now I own a flying lizard and some wagons,” Scaer said, strange triumph in his voice.

  “And what will you do with them?” Yasin asked.

  “I’m damned if I know. Would you be interested in acquiring that beast?”

  “We would not, I’m afraid,” Yasin’s manager said.

  “I know not what I’ll do with it either. Perhaps tether it in my park for children to marvel at. Or let it fly on a long rope, and let my guards practice their bowmanship.”

  “You can’t—” Athelny blurted.

  “Oh yes, I can,” Scaer said. “And I’ll arrange for my soldiers to come for the beast, and the rest of your gear, early tomorrow.

  “I’m not a hard man, so that will give you time for you and your people to gather their personal belongings. In return, perhaps you’d give my stable master some tips on the care and feeding of dragons. Haw!”

  There was a scrape of a chair, and Athelny stumbled out of the wagon, down the steps. He saw Hal, then looked away.

  Hal, wanting to hit him, wanting to put a dagger in the guts of that damned Scaer, still not knowing what to do, followed.