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 Anryale,” 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. Anryale 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.”