Dirt

by CC Hogan

  Chapter 13 – The Chase

  The ridge of mountains was a horseshoe shape with three or four main routes leading away into the sands, and one main road that wound up a high mountain pass over the ridge to the east. This was not a particular problem to the dragons, but Weasel still had no idea whether they should be heading east or south-east, and they had stopped on the sands near the bottom of the pass. Farthing caught up with Mab-Tok and Mistry, both of whom seemed to be suffering from some discomfort.

  “Trouble, Mab-Tok?” The smaller dragon was making some very strange stretching moves.

  “There appears to be a slight mismatch between the young lady’s posterior and my spine,” he complained. Mistry made a grumping sound.

  “I am sorry, Mab-Tok,” Farthing said. “You took Weasel so easily and Mistry is smaller.”

  “Oh, it is not weight, she is like a feather,” Mistry gave him a forgiving nod. “And she is beginning to remember not to strangle me mid-flight. I am sure she will get better at that in due course.” Mistry looked away, a little embarrassed. “It is purely a matter of shape. I think we need to work on her positioning so she is not so directly on my spine.”

  “It is not my fault,” Mistry protested. “You have these great flappy, sticking-up bits which I have to work around. They are digging in!” She fidgeted in a most unflattering way.

  “Those flappy bits are my fins!” objected the Draig. “All Draig Bach-Iachawr have them.”

  “Well, they still stick in!”

  Not all dragons had fins down their backs, at least not obviously. On Fren-Eirol, as with other female sea dragons, she had fins on her neck, which Farthing used to steady himself when she was flying, but none on her lower back. On male sea dragons, they were more prominent, but it was really their huge swept back horns that were their notable feature. Red mountain dragons had much larger fins, but then the dragons were much larger too. Mab-Tok had raised individual spiny fins that began very small on his neck, became much larger by his lower back, and then reduced in size down the tale. Farthing had to admit that they gave the dragon a distinguished look. Mistry, on advice from both Mab-Tok and Weasel, had perched herself almost on the dragon’s shoulders so she did not crush the larger fins. Since he was much smaller than Fren-Eirol, she needed to be forward of his wings anyway and he said it helped his balance. Farthing didn’t think Mab-Tok’s “flappy bits” should be much of a problem as they were very much smaller on his neck.

  “I don’t care that they are smaller, they still dig in. I can’t push up constantly on my knees, it is too tiring,” the girl complained. “I am getting saddle-sores. I haven’t had that since a child!” Of course, Mistry had grown up on a farm and riding horses was second nature to her. Fren-Eirol joined in with the conversation.

  “My dear, I think you girls have different issues to the boys here and you are going to have to adjust yourself a little.” It was about as subtle as Fren-Eirol or any other dragon got, but it wasn’t subtle enough for Mistry and she turned bright red. Fren-Eirol looked a little mystified but pressed on. “Weasel, get one of the towels from the pack, Mistry can put that …” She saw the warning look from the girl and changed tack. “Can sit on it,” she finished. Weasel, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing, dragged out a towel and threw it at the girl.

  “Thanks,” she said, giving an irritated little curtsey.

  Weasel looked up at the tall horseshoe ridge with a professional eye.

  “Unfortunately, we were only able to get a chart for getting to the coast of Bind and I have no map of this area. Neither have I been here before that I remember. Mistry, how did you cross this range on the way here?”

  “Over the pass by Rondor Rocks; that is the large, dome-shaped mountain just to the left there.” She pointed east of where they were standing. “It is a high pass, but it is the only accessible route without going through the desert and around the mountains. That is impossible with a heavy wagon because of the sands. We took both teams across the pass without a problem. Coming down was hard as it is steeper this side.

  “What is on the other side?”

  “It is a plateau, much higher than this plain, and gets all the rain. That carries on for twenty-five leagues or so, and then it falls away into a hillier, but not mountainous region.”

  “You call a mountain Rocks?” Farthing asked. The dome-shaped mountain was towering.

  “I didn’t name it; I am not from here.” Mistry was fidgeting again. “Eirol, can I hide behind you for a moment?” Fren-Eirol nodded and Mistry disappeared behind the dragon. She had dropped the “Fren” after they had first met and, for some reason, Fren-Eirol had not corrected her. Mistry reappeared, looking no different, and no one sought to question what she had done, but she was walking more gracefully. Farthing had begun to work out a more fundamental difference between his friends, as they had now become, and the traders at the slave market; decency. There was a gulf between politeness and civility, and actually being a decent person. Manners, perhaps, were nothing more than an illusion.

  “I think we should fly up to the pass and stop at the mountain,” Weasel told Farthing. “I need to get my bearings and see if I can pick up a trail. When we get there, maybe you and fidget here can go with Fren-Eirol and set up camp on the plateau. Mab-Tok, can bring me down when I am finished.”

  “Are you going to have the same problem as you had on Taken?” Mab-Tok asked.

  “Possibly, why?”

  “Fren-Eirol, can I borrow one of your cloths again to tie the magician on after he has passed out?” Mab-Tok grinned and Farthing laughed out loud, then smiled when everyone turned to look at him.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I haven’t done that for a while.” He looked over to Mistry, but she was lost in her own thoughts. They had spent less than two days in the captivity of the slavers, but Mistry’s father had been killed, their treatment had been cruel, and both had feared that their incarceration would be permanent. Farthing dreaded how a longer ordeal would have changed him. He felt scarred as it was, and what it would have done to Mistry was beyond imagination. He had seen breeding dogs in Wead-Wodder where dogs were popular. Some of the bitches were bred to near ruin.

  The flight up to Rondor Rocks was spectacular. The trail had been cut in a winding and steep path down the face from the ridge and Farthing was amazed that Mistry and her father had managed to bring teams down safely. It said a lot for the skills of the young farmer and her cheese making business. The lower reaches of the trail were stark and dusty, sandblasted by the desert winds that cycled around within the horseshoe ridge. The two dragons were finding it hard work and Fren-Eirol lead them higher to get away from the worst of the unpredictable air currents.

  “Weasel, I can’t always fly this low, it is going to be too slow!”

  “I know,” the magician shouted back over the buffeting wind. “But I am afraid of losing the trail. I will know more up on the dome.”

  “You better do!” Fren-Eirol lifted her wings and pushed up to the mountain top, Mab-Tok flapping along behind her.

  The tall, domed mountain had appeared smooth and unnatural from the plain, but it was an illusion created by distance. Close up, it was yet another mountain peak, though flatter on the top than most. Farthing looked back at Mab-Tok and could see that the small dragon was finding this difficult and Mistry was clinging on. He had offered to swap with her, but Mab-Tok had pointed out that the tall, muscular young man was twice her weight and he would just end up flattened on the ground. Whatever, they were going to have to do something so both dragon and girl were more comfortable and it was less tiring on the dragon. Farthing could only think of one solution and there was no way he was going to suggest it.

  Fren-Eirol pulled her wings backwards and then forwards to slow her decent, and landed slightly awkwardly, muttering.

  “I know I have tough feet, but these rocks are sharp!” She shouted back a
warning at Mab-Tok, who called his thanks and landed carefully. Mistry slid straight off and landed with a thump on the ground. Mab-Tok put a hand out to help her stand.

  “I was hanging on with my knees,” she explained. “My legs have gone to sleep.” She rubbed life back into them vigorously.

  “Well, you can get the back seat on me on the way down,” Fren-Eirol said lightly. Weasel looked at her sideways with an amused expression but said nothing.

  “How long will this take you, magician? The sky is beginning to darken,” Mab-Tok said, looking over to the east.

  “I am not sure. If I knew the geography better, it would help.”

  “I have only seen it from ground level,” Mistry pointed out. “But I can try.”

  The top of the dome was a strange mix of fractured, jagged rocks, and some smoother, harder stones eroded flat, with patches of moss and tough grass between them. The girl picked up a suitable small stone and chose a large, flat rock as a canvas.

  “This is where we are,” she said, scraping a rough arc, and marking a point with an X. “The pass is about two thousand feet below us, I guess, and goes through a steep-sided gorge before heading down to the plateau. The plateau itself is flat with only the odd collection of trees and lots of bogs, streams and tall grasses. The mountains seem to act as a barrier for the weather and all the rain stays east. We didn’t see any signs of people or farming down there, but the road is raised slightly so it is reasonably drained; strange since for most of the year it doesn’t really lead anywhere.”

  “What’s beyond the plateau?” Weasel squatted down by the stone map, looking thoughtful.

  “The plateau ends quite suddenly, and then the trail drops down to cross the main road heading from Bich Pass in the north-east. From there on it is hilly, but not dramatically so. It is a fertile farming region with many small herds and veggies. It’s perfect for sheep and goats and better than my little patch. We stopped at several villages on the way over and they have a very strong accent.”

  “This is all Bekon,” Weasel said. “It is one of the largest countries in Bind. I have been there, but only in the far south where the capital Riena is. I am not sure how far it is west to east up here in the north.”

  “It is a fair distance,” the girl said. “It is slow going with the teams because some of the roads are in a bad state or muddy, and we have to stop to trade both on the way here and on our way back, so I lost track. My father would have a better idea.” The memory of her father’s violent death fell like a shadow across her face and Farthing put his hand on her shoulder. “Anyway,” Mistry continued, shaking off her grief. “After that, it gets much hillier with some large forests and eventually heads back into mountains, The Black Hills.”

  “How far is your farm from there?” Farthing was trying to get some idea of distance from the scrapings on the stone, but map reading was a new experience for him and he was struggling.

  “It on the far side of the Black Hills and it is a long hike around,” the girl said. “This trip we do takes us a third of the year, all told, but we sell more dried meats and cheeses along the route and in that one month of the market than we sell the entire rest of the year. We could just about keep going without it, but it would be hard; this market trip makes the difference.” There was no way that Mistry could ever now go back to the market and she had lost most of the coin she and her father had made, as well as losing her father. She might be going home, but her future looked bleak.

  “Time to head down, young lady,” Fren-Eirol said abruptly. “Farthing?” He blinked up at her and then realised what she was expecting.

  “Fren-Eirol,” he asked. “May I ride?” The dragon bowed and lowered a wing.

  “You may ride, but ride as one who knows how to fly with grace,” she said formally. Mistry looked around in confusion and Weasel leant close to her ear.

  “Do as Farthing did, girl,” he whispered. “It is an important tradition to some. Well, to one.” Mistry suddenly remembered the story about the dragon and the magician and looking at the two of them knew that it really was true. She walked up to the huge Draig Morglas.

  “Eir… Fren-Eirol, May I ride?”

  “You may ride, but ride as one who knows how to fly with grace.” And then the dragon forgot herself and winked at the girl.

  “Well, that spoilt a perfect moment, Snowy!” Weasel declared. “Come on, Mab-Tok, let’s find somewhere comfortable to sit.” He managed to take at least a dozen steps before a small flick from Fren-Eirol’s tail sent him sprawling.

  “Hold tight, children,” she announced as if nothing had happened, and leapt into the sky.

  There was no particular need to dive off the edge of the cliff, Farthing reflected, so he could only assume the sea dragon was showing off to her new charge. She had flown slowly and gracefully just fifty feet above the flattened peak until they reached the edge. Fren-Eirol had hesitated as she assessed the huge drop down the side of the mountain, then tucked her wings in and dropped like a rock. The next thing Farthing knew was that he was being strangled by the young girl sitting behind him. He leant forward, flattening himself down along the dragon’s lower neck, pulling Mistry safely down on his back. The roar of joy from the dragon was followed by a fast turn near the bottom of the cliff and she shot out over the plateau, rising back into the air, and settling into a gentle, rhythmical flap. Farthing sat back up and carefully turned around to the girl.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  Mistry peeked out. “Does she do that often?” Her voice was shaking as she shouted above the noise of the wind. This was far faster than she had flown on Mab-Tok.

  “No, not often, but then we have been flying over the ocean mostly,” he told her. “Move yourself back, Mistry. Carefully! You are sitting over her wing joints and she cannot get a full stretch.”

  “You are learning, boy,” the dragon called back. Mistry wiggled carefully to where Weasel generally sat, though, unlike the magician, she hung on for her life.

  “Mab-Tok doesn’t fly this fast,” the girl commented.

  “He is more than capable of keeping up with me,” Fren-Eirol shouted back. “Though he cannot fly anything like the same distance. When we went back to the shallow sea, Farthing, we had to stop twice because he was worn thin. However, he is slower when carrying a passenger, even a small one!” The dragon laughed out loud, did a little swoop and turned left and then right in smooth arcs. Farthing, who was now facing the girl, burst out laughing as the manoeuvre caught him out.

  “Fren-Eirol” he called over his shoulder. “I am facing backwards; I didn’t see that coming!”

  “Well, turn around, you fool! You are not yet the rider the magician is!”

  “What does she mean?” asked Mistry, wiping her eyes as the wind made them weep.

  “Weasel is as happy sitting cross-legged or standing up when Fren-Eirol is flying as sitting as I do. I swear he has glue on his feet.”

  “So why did he want a saddle?” asked the girl innocently. Farthing shut his eyes and grimaced. It was an unwritten rule that the saddle word was never mentioned, however well known the story.

  “Because he wanted to know what it was like to get eaten,” the dragon shouted back, flatly. Mistry was just about to ask for more details when Farthing leant forward and put his finger to her lips and shook his head urgently. She mouthed a silent “oh” as she realised what was going on.

  “Sorry,” she said lamely and sat in guilty silence for the rest of their short trip.

  “Hold tight!” Fren-Eirol had spotted a dry spot amongst the bogs of the plateau. Farthing span back around and sat in his regular position; he liked to see where they were heading.

  They landed on a tiny hillock capped with a few deciduous trees that Farthing did not recognise. He slid off the dragon quickly when they landed and Mistry hopped down lightly after him. She went and thanked Fren-Eirol for the flight as a way
of apologising for mentioning the infamous saddle without actually mentioning it again. The sea dragon blinked at her in a friendly way.

  “You never thank me, Farthing,” she said pointedly.

  “You always seem so glad to be rid of me that I dare not say anything!” He smiled at the dragon. He was getting a little suspicious of the growing relationship between her and the young girl. The dragon seemed to have almost adopted Mistry without asking. To be fair, Mistry seemed to be enjoying the attention from another female, albeit a rather large one. Farthing helped Fren-Eirol with her bags and dug out his small axe.

  “You get to be the firewood collector today,” he told Mistry as he handed over the axe. “Collect any fallen branches first.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, curtsying with a frown. “You would think he didn’t know I have spent my entire life on a farm by a forest,” she said, and grabbed a bag to collect kindling. Fren-Eirol watched her walk off.

  “Has she said much about her family?” she asked Farthing quietly.

  “She hasn’t mentioned a mother and I have a suspicion she might be dead. She has brothers, but they live many leagues away and are estranged, I think. I have no idea about the farm, who owns it or anything. If they rent, then she might have nothing.” He looked at the girl thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t wish what my sister and I have had to go through on anyone, Fren-Eirol. You wouldn’t believe how much I owe to Geezen, Truk, Barkles and Hetty.” The dragon looked down at the young man, growing by the day as their journey demanded more and more of each of them.

  “I don’t know Barkles and Hetty,” she admitted, “But I have known Geezen for many years and she’s a special friend.” Mistry had disappeared into the little copse of trees and they could hear proficient chopping.

  “She is more worldly-wise than I was at fifteen, even though I had been working for several years,” Farthing commented. “Have you children, Fren-Eirol?”

  The sea dragon shook her head. “It was not in the winds for my Bren and me. It is terribly rare that a pairing between two different dragon peoples will produce a child, but we were so involved with many other things anyway, we barely thought about it.”

  Farthing took out a long line and headed towards the copse of trees. “I will put the line up high between two trees so there is more room under the canvas.” The dragon smiled in thanks. She hadn’t been under cover much during this journey, it would be welcome.

  “Oh, come on! You cannot be that unconscious!” Mab-Tok gave the magician a meaningful poke. They had been on the mountain for nearly two hours and the sun had set, even if it was not yet completely dark. Down on the plateau, shaded by the mountains, it would be, and the dragon hoped the others had started a fire as otherwise he would have trouble finding them. Greater dragons, the larger varieties, could sense each other sometimes if they were close enough, but this trick eluded the smaller species. Some very particular magicians were meant to be able to do it too, Mab-Tok remembered, but since the only one to hand was out cold, it was a moot point whether he could or not. He tried waking Weasel again with another sharp poke, but it was simply not working; the magician might as well be dead.

  With a groan of annoyance, Mab-Tok rolled Weasel onto his back and the magicians head hit a rock with an audible crack. Oops, thought the small dragon. Taking the cloth he had borrowed from Fren-Eirol, he tied the man’s hands loosely together then picked him up and hung him around his neck. With a fair amount of effort, he managed to swing the lifeless body over his back between his wings. He fidgeted and the magician slid back and forth. This was not going to work. Something distant and owl-like hooted with derision. The dragon was feeling just paranoid enough to take it personally and swore back at the innocent bird. Dropping Weasel back onto the ground, Mab-Tok cut the cloth in two and tied a length around the man’s waist. He then hung him around his neck once more and swung him onto his back again. Keeping him braced with his wings, he managed to reach back with his hands and grab the two ends of the cloth and tie them around his chest. He wriggled again. Better. Not wonderful, but better. He wasn’t going to get his full flap, but they would be flying. With another groan, he jumped into the air, flew over to the edge and shot down over the cliff.

  He was right, it was much darker off the mountain top and he pulled up quickly, realising he couldn’t see the bottom of the cliff clearly enough, despite having exceptional night sight. Anyway, he had a job to do involving this magician; his employer would not thank him for breaking him. Even in the dark, Mab-Tok could appreciate the vastness of this plateau. It seemed a most inhospitable place of rocks and streams, bogs and ponds. He could just about make out the raised trail that Mistry had mapped out and he followed that while looking for any potential camping areas. Before long, he spotted the small spark of a fire in the far distance which he hoped was his friends. As he approached, he could see a small hillock topped with a circle of trees and it looked that they had built one hell of a fire. Closer still and he heard the first roars of the sea dragon that set his fins up on edge. Something was wrong. He slowed, peering into the gloom. He thought he could see one of the young people silhouetted against the fire, by the shape it was the girl, and he could hear Fren-Eirol thundering around. He shouted out, but he was still too far off. He flew on, shouting over his shoulder, trying to wake the magician.

  “Weasel, wake up!” There was no response. “Wake up, you useless bastard!”

  “What is it?” The voice was weak, but, at least, he was talking.

  “Something is wrong; I can hear Fren-Eirol roaring. The Magician came awake at an astonishing speed and tried to sit up.

  “What the hell?”

  “I had to tie you on.” Still powering through the dark, he untied the two pieces of cloth. A huge roar came out from the darkness that was definitely not a dragon.

  “Tundra Bear?” To the magician, who had spent a youth messing around in the northern mines, the sound was unmistakable. “This far south? Mab-Tok, get us there quickly. Fren-Eirol does not see well in the dark; she’ll be slashing out at shadows!”

  “Hold on!”

  Now the magician was awake and sat properly, the small dragon had full use of his wings. He sped up to get some height, and then dived towards the hillock. He could see both Farthing and the girl. They had picked up branches from the fire and were using them to fend off something in the shadows. Fren-Eirol had her wings spread up and was raised up high on her powerful back legs. She was slashing around her with her wings and roaring in defiance into the dark.

  “What can you see, Mab-Tok?” Weasel knew how good the small dragon’s sight was.

  “Three, no, four bears. Two are attacking the humans, the other two are teasing at Fren-Eirol. Weasel, they have her cornered! She can’t move farther back under the trees, they are too low.”

  “Those two first!” shouted the magician. “As long as Farthing and Mistry stay by the fire the bears won’t come closer. I will go for the left one, you go for the right.” The dragon aimed straight at the right-hand bear, his powerful talons out in front of him like an eagle. At the last moment, Weasel pulled out his knife, leapt off the dragon and jumped straight onto the back of the left bear, burying his knife into its neck. Mab-Tok slammed into the other bear, smashing it to the ground. The huge beast, twelve-foot-high, rolled over and slashed out, catching the small dragon on the chest. Mab-Tok yelped then lifted his back leg and, with talons fully extended, rammed it into the beast’s neck.

  “Eirol, the others!” Weasel shouted out to the exhausted sea dragon. She nodded breathlessly, span around, and took to the air, grabbing one of the huge bears off the ground. One hundred feet up, she simply let go. Farthing, realising one bear was now gone, grabbed Mistry’s flaming branch from her and rushed at the other bear waving both branches in front of him. The bear was taken completely off guard and Farthing hit him round the head with the flaming branch. It tur
ned and ran off into the marshes, howling in pain. Farthing sat down on the ground and swore, chucking the branches into the water before they burnt him. Weasel walked over to the young man, put out a hand and pulled him to his feet.

  “Come on, not over yet, we have two dead bears to deal with.” Farthing nodded and trotted back up to the fire to grab a knife.

  “Are you okay?” he asked Mistry as he walked passed. He put his hand out and she grabbed it and followed him to the bags.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Gutting bears, I think.”

  “Oh, lovely,” the girl said with a giggle. “Hang on, let me get a knife. I am probably more used to larger animals than you are.” Mistry as a goat farmer was no stranger to dealing with carcasses.

  “I have never done anything bigger than a rabbit,” Farthing admitted. “But how different can it be? Just a question of scale.”

  “True enough.”

  Fren-Eirol made sure the drop had finished the bear properly and then picked up the body and flew it away from the camp so it did not attract more visitors to them. When she returned, she was greeted by the sight of one small dragon and three assorted humans stood around the carcass of the huge bear that Weasel had skewered, scratching their heads.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Which end do you start at?” Farthing was struggling to relate bear skinning to a rabbit.

  “I thought we could do with some of the meat,” Weasel told the dragon. “But this is one hell of a lot of bear.”

  “Tell you what,” Fren-Eirol said. “While you make up your minds, you might want to think about what other animals butchering a bear might attract.” She grabbed the bear that Mab-Tok had killed and heaved it into the air. “What the hell has this one eaten?” she exclaimed. “It is twice as heavy as the other one!” With a struggle, she flapped off a short way hardly getting off the ground and gratefully dropped the animal the other side of the road. When she returned, Mistry had grown fed up with the head scratching, had taken Weasels sharp knife off him and had gutted the bear. She already had part of the skin off and was carving out some bear stakes.

  “Grab the waste shovel,” she instructed Farthing. “Bring some of the hot ashes from the fire. Dump them on all these entrails and that will take the fresh smell away.” Fren-Eirol smiled in appreciation. “We have wolves come in from the forests,” the girl explained. “If one of the goats dies up on the pasture, I am not strong enough to carry it back. I sort it then and there and bury the carcass or burn it. It sinks for a bit, but that doesn’t seem to attract the wolves like the smell of fresh blood does.”

  “So, what happened?” Weasel asked the sea dragon while Mab-Tok built the fire up again. The magician was feeling unsteady having roused from unconsciousness so abruptly and put his hand out. Fren-Eirol grabbed it and he sat down on the ground.

  “Nothing much, aside from four bears crashing into our party,” Fren-Eirol snapped. She sighed. “That girl is really good with wood and she got this great big fire going with some sweet-smelling timber. I just did not smell or hear them coming, and you know how useless my night sight is.” Indeed, Bren-Aneirin had made a thing about it from time to time. Fly into a hill if the sun wasn’t full up, he used to say. “The first I knew is when the lad came charging up the hill, chased by this huge mound of fur. What are they, Eafa?” She used the magician’s real name.

  “Tundra Bears,” he told her. “In the morning, you will see that their stomachs are white like yours, and in the winter their whole coat turns to white, but why they are this far south is anyone’s guess. Mind you, we have had a few very cold winters up north so it might be a lack of food. I have heard of that bringing them down to better hunting grounds.”

  Mistry finished removing the best bits of bear and took them up to the fire to smoke.

  “I think I will get rid of the rest of that,” Fren-Eirol said with distaste. “I will leave you to deal with the icky bits.”

  “For someone who has just dropped a poor innocent bear a hundred feet on to the road, you are very fussy.”

  “I didn’t watch when he landed.” She grabbed the carcass and took it off to join its fellows.

  The dragons only ate a little as they had caught and cooked a couple of mountain goats while the others had been at the market. The other three ate bear steaks with herbs and wild garlic while Mistry smoked a couple of bits to take with them; they were not heavily smoked, but they would keep for a day. Well-fed and recovered from the bear attack, with bruises and scratches attended to, Weasel spelt out what little he had discovered up on the mountain. He was laying down by Fren-Eirol’s huge hind leg, and even in the warm firelight he looked pale.

  “It looks like they are taking the main trail, the one Mistry mapped out, which means they are heading to the East. That still doesn’t tell me whether they are heading to Wessen or not, but they are not heading south or directly north, so the choices are narrowing. They must be moving fast as I am not getting a very clear sense of them.”

  “So, they definitely have a calliston,” Fren-Eirol commented.

  “I can see no other way they could have got so far otherwise. If they have carried on to the Black Hills, which is likely, I am going to have a problem. As I told Farthing at Taken, I can’t find things through mountains. They can be a very real barrier to me, so if they are on the far side of a mountain, I have no way of finding them directly. I am getting a better sense of something which I think is Farthing’s sister, though it is vague. That will help, but I am still hampered by not having met them. To be honest, at this distance, I will never get more than a very general idea and I am relying on their trail.” The magician looked puzzled as if he was missing something important.

  “What about the chance their wave talker is related to you?” Farthing asked.

  “Well, if that captain used a wave talker, he has not carried on with this group. You are right, I might have picked up a sense of that, but I haven’t before. When this is finished, I am going to have to address that little problem. A wave talker, a good one, is a powerful tool to have around; to have him in the employ of a slave trader is not good news.” Weasel sounded bitter and no one pressed the issue.

  “If we are not going to catch them before they reach the mountains, then it is pointless making this a mad rush,” the sea dragon commentated. Farthing looked worried. “Oh, I don’t mean we will tarry, lad,” the dragon explained, “but we will make sure we get there prepared to deal with whatever they have waiting for us. I am very concerned about this calliston.”

  “I thought they become all docile, and what did you call them?” Farthing asked the magician.

  “Dummerholes. Sorry, it is not a polite way to speak of an intelligent creature that has had half its brain burnt out.” He yawned. “But Fren-Eirol is right. If they have one, they may have others, and some may be for fighting. Those can be vicious and trust me, if you think our dear lady here is big, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He yawned again and leant back against the large dragon, closing his eyes. She glanced down at her old friend and sighed.

  “Oh, Eafa. You are making things complicated, aren’t you,” she said very quietly, as the others talked amongst themselves. She reached over to her bag and pulled out one of the rugs and wrapped it over the sleeping magician, pulling him closer to keep him warm. Farthing looked up and put his head on one side. “Don’t tell him, young man,” she said quietly. “He is still trying to guess whether I have forgiven him or not.”

  “And have you?” Farthing raised an eyebrow. He was very suspicious of this entire story one way or another.

  “Oh, about two hundred years ago or so.” She winked, laid down on the dry ground beneath the trees and closed her eyes. “But if you tell him, I will see if you drop as fast as that bear did!” Farthing chuckled, which attracted the attention of Mistry and Mab-Tok, who had been chatting away over some pl
an or other. He pointed to where Weasel was curled up against Fren-Eirol and put his finger to his lips. Mistry grinned and stuck the end of her tongue out between her teeth in amusement then beckoned him over.

  “We have a plan,” the girl said, looking more serious.

  “We have hundreds of leagues to fly yet, Farthing,” Mab-Tok said. “It's going to be low-level and some of it difficult. Before we get close to where they are heading, we may have to cross the Black Hills, and we need to carry our supplies, all of which slows us down.”

  “So, what are you suggesting?”

  “Well, there is not much I can do about most of that, but I and Mistry here are slowing everyone down.”

  Farthing frowned. He didn’t want to split up this little group. Mistry had proved her worth with the bears, despite her young age and small build, and he was more and more feeling he had just gained a sister.

  “If I could sit on Mab-Tok more comfortably, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Mistry said. “I am very light and he is not struggling with my weight, but I am making his back ache and my legs are sore from trying not to sit down on his fins.” Jokes aside, Farthing thought, it did seem to be causing Mistry more trouble than it had Weasel, but then, he had only taken very short flights on the small dragon.

  “Fren-Eirol has already given you some padding,” Farthing pointed out with a smile. “What other solution is there.” He knew, of course, but he was not going to suggest it.

  “A saddle,” said Mab-Tok. A grumble from behind made Farthing turn quickly, but the sea dragon and magician were sound asleep. Weasel had slid off Fren-Eirol’s leg and she had unconsciously laid her arm across his back.

  “You know what Fren-Eirol is going to say,” Farthing pointed out.

  “You don’t sound surprised,” Mab-Tok said suspiciously.

  “I am not. It is the logical solution, but I like my life too much to be the one to suggest it.”

  “You two make it sound such a big issue,” Mistry said, still not fully appreciating the reality of the old story.

  “You have no idea,” Farthing said.

  “Put it this way,” Mab-Tok said. “When these two flew into Taken on Fren-Eirol’s back, they sent half the old dragons there scurrying into a council meeting and they weren’t even using a saddle. If you have never seen a forty-foot-long red mountain dragon scurry, then you have really missed a sight.” The small dragon grinned.

  “This doesn’t worry you, for some reason,” Mistry pointed out.

  “Oh, not all dragons are wrapped up in the politics at Taken; it is mostly the Draig Morglas, Fren-Eirol’s kin, the Draig Mynyth Coh, those are the red dragons, and the ice dragons, the Draig yr Tirin like Bren-Diath. We might be all dragons, but we don’t share all of the same ideas. Generally, it is only the great dragons, like the sea dragons, that will carry a human. I would struggle a lot with Farthing and some of my kind would find it hard even with you, girl,” he explained.

  Mistry had tried to object to being called girl by the two dragons and the magician, but she had given up when she found out that although Mab-Tok was the youngest, he was still nearly three hundred years older than her.

  “So, how are you planning to sort out this saddle?” Farthing asked. “We don’t have anything with us that we can use.”

  “There is a village just at the foot of the plateau, down in the hills,” Mistry said. “One of my horses threw a shoe and I had it repaired by a farrier there. He also had saddles in his workshop and I am pretty sure he had made them. What we need is far less complicated than for a horse and smaller too. It just has to be so I am not sitting on Mab-Tok’s spine, but the weight is spread either side.” Mistry put the flat of her hands either side of her knee to demonstrate. “As long as he has the leather or a small pony saddle, then he should be able to create something for us.”

  “Will it take long?” Despite his occasional levity, Farthing’s heart ached at everything that seemed to increase the gap between him and his sister.

  “I know this appears to be slowing us down, Farthing,” Mab-Tok said. “But it will mean that the rest of the journey is better and probably faster. It should take only a day, I would think. If needs be, you fly on ahead and we will catch up.”

  Farthing looked at the two of them. “No, we will wait. I don’t want us split up.” Mab-Tok bowed his head in agreement, then went to make himself comfortable on the far side of the glowing fire. Mistry moved over in front of the fire, leaning against the young man’s legs.

  “Do you think she’s alright?” she asked. “Your sister, I mean.”

  “I hope so,” he said with more confidence than he could genuinely admit too. “She is tough, my sister. Our mother died years ago and our father was useless and just disappeared. I might have played the big brother when I could, but she’s the strong one. From what I have heard, Precious Hearting is strong too, and remember they are special, as you pointed out. At least they will be looked after.”

  Mistry stared into the fire. She didn’t dare say that things may have changed. The girls had been sold now, and there might not be the same need to keep them in perfect condition.