“Right!” Dumery answered, with a gesture of enthusiasm.
“Fare you well, then, Dumery of Shiphaven!”
Dumery’s reply was lost in the booming of draconic wings as Aldagon leapt upward, into the black sky above.
When the wind of her departure had died away, Dumery turned and trudged toward the gate.
The next few years would be hard, he knew. He would take his father’s advice and apprentice himself to some successful merchant; he would learn the arts of buying and selling, of transporting goods hither and yon. At fifteen, if he was lucky and worked hard, he might make journeyman-surely by eighteen!
Until he was a journeyman, though, he would be careful never to mention what goods he meant to trade in. He would hoard his earnings carefully.
And someday he’d be ready-at fifteen, or eighteen, or maybe twenty-one, if there were unforeseen expenses. But someday he’d be ready.
Then he would start his business-Dumery of the Dragon, Purveyor to Wizards. He would bankrupt Kensher and his clan, put an end to the abuse they inflicted on dragons. He would watch Thetheran and the other wizards fume and fuss, and then have no choice in the end but to pay Dumery’s prices. He would send cattle to Aldagon, and collect blood in exchange, and he’d be, in time, very rich indeed.
At first he might pretend to be a dragon-hunter, he thought as he stumbled, then re-oriented himself and marched on. In time, though, once he was established, he could reveal his secret, show everyone that he had made friends with a dragon, rather than hunting or slaughtering the noble creatures. He didn’t need to worry about competition; after all, where would anyone else find a dragon like Aldagon? And once found, who could befriend such a beast? His own encounter had been a fluke, a lucky chance-had he come upon the nest when Aldagon was in it, or when it was empty, she would probably have slain him, had he dared approach. Had he been armed with anything more than a belt knife, and therefore more threatening, or had the hatchling been too far away to grab...
He doubted he would have much competition even when his methods became known.
As he finally came close enough to see the open gates clearly, light spilling out from the torches and lamps of Westgate Market, he wished he had flown openly into the city on Aldagon’s back. Think of the impression it would have made, he told himself. A hundred-foot dragon, landing inside the city walls, and he, Dumery of Shiphaven, Dumery of the Dragon, on its back! What a wonder!
The city gossips would have talked of it for years!
He hadn’t done it, of course.
But someday...
Someday, he promised himself, when his business was a going concern, he would do it.
Epilogue
Sella looked up as Teneria entered.
“Good to see you back safely,” she said. “Come for your things?”
Teneria nodded. She had learned years ago never to be surprised by Sella’s conversational leaps. And she had, in fact, come to collect her belongings and move back to Fishertown-she could finish up her apprenticeship later. Right now, she did not want to live under Sella’s roof, where she would be reminded of her failure.
“Have you decided what you’ll be doing with yourself, now that you’re a journeyman?” Sella asked.
“But I’m not...” Teneria said, startled. “I mean, I didn’t bring Dumery back!”
“Oh, nonsense,” Sella told her, waving away such details. “You found him, and he got home safely, and he’s given up his half-witted schemes and taken a respectable apprenticeship with a jeweler, so who cares if you didn’t actually come home with him? And he says it was your magic brought him home so quickly, though of course we both know that’s not true.”
“He said that?” Teneria stared.
Sella nodded.
Teneria considered that for a moment, then shrugged. The boy might have done it to make up for the trouble he had caused her, but more likely it was part of some scheme he had devised, intended to distract his parents from something. “Dumery,” she said. “Ha. I’m glad to be done with him.”
Sella smiled understandingly.
“Mistress...” Teneria began. Sella held up a hand, cutting her off.
“Not any more,” she said. “You’re not an apprentice any more.”
Teneria smiled. “That’s right. Sella, then. Sella, do you know anything about warlockry?” As a puzzled frown crept across the older witch’s face, Teneria noticed a pair of bulging eyes peering around a curtain.
“Or spriggans?” she added.
