Again, Baken signaled to Vetch to use the stick. 'Down.'
'Up.'
'Down.'
'Up.'
Dragons didn't have very expressive faces, but Vetch had learned to read subtle signs in the skin around their eyes, and the set of their heads. The dragonet was definitely thinking, and thinking hard.
But this would be the first time that it had been asked to learn that those strange sounds coming from its captors meant that it was supposed to do something. That was a difficult concept for an animal to learn, for in the wild, they certainly didn't issue commands to each other…
It was too much to hope that the youngster would learn 'down' and 'up' in a single session, but he did understand the physical part of the command by the time they finished with him for that session. The moment he felt pressure on the lance shaft, he went down, and when the pressure went away, he came up.
'That's good progress for a morning,' Baken said in satisfaction, when the dragonet started to show signs of waning interest and irritation. 'I'll see you before afternoon feeding.'
'Have you named him yet?' Vetch asked, curiously, for Baken had never yet referred to the dragonet by anything other than 'the youngster,' or some other generic name.
'No,' Baken replied instantly. 'And I won't, until he first flies free and comes back. I never name a falcon that hasn't made a free flight.'
Well, Vetch could understand that, because that moment of free flight was the risky one, when the falcon or dragonet realized that he was free and he could fly off, never to be seen again. Names had power.
But a name can pull something back to you again. He'd felt that instinctively when he named Avatre; he had bound her to him with a name—or so he hoped. Well, maybe that was on purpose, too. Maybe Baken was unwilling to use anything to pull a falcon—or dragonet—back to him, other than training and whatever affection was possible from a falcon.
He'll find, if he can win it, there's a lot more coming from a dragonet…
'Did you ever try to tame flappers?' he asked curiously, referring to the winged lizards of the desert that looked so much like miniature versions of dragons.
Baken laughed. 'What boy hasn't?' he replied. 'But boy or man, there is no taming those wretched beasts! All you ever get for your pains are lacerated fingers and a view of it vanishing into the sky the moment the cage door is open. I suppose, if you could actually find a nest, you might be able to get one to fix on you the way a baby chicken can, if you hatch it yourself—but I wouldn't even bet on that. There's no room for anything in those heads but killing and meanness.'
Vetch had to laugh, for although he had never had the leisure to try and catch and tame a flapper, every one of Khefti's apprentices had tried, and every one of them had gotten the same result— fingers slashed to the bone, and eventually, an empty cage, since the little beasts could never be kept confined for long. He'd never seen anything for the ferocity of a flapper; it was a good thing that they were uncommon, shunned humans, and lived only where people didn't, or no domestic fowl would be safe.
'Don't forget the meeting,' Vetch reminded Baken, who grimaced, but nodded. Vetch glanced up at the sun; it was near enough to noon that he decided to make a quick run of food to Avatre, then sprint for the landing court.
In stark contrast to the wild dragonet, Avatre was overjoyed to see him, and it occurred to him that he had better find something for her to do when he wasn't around. She was old enough now that she could get bored if he wasn't there to play with. He needed to find dragonet toys. Perhaps she'd enjoy gnawing on a bone, like a dog?
The butchery was deserted, the butchers already at the meeting place, which gave him a free hand there. So when he got her meal of the usual small pieces, he also took possession of a huge leg bone from an ox and brought it with him. It had been stripped clean by the butchers already, which made it ideal for his purposes; there wasn't any meat on it to putrefy and make her ill. Once she was stuffed, he left the bone beside her, and she was already tentatively biting at it out of curiosity as he left.
He was one of the last to reach the landing court, and as he entered the gate, all he could see were the backs and heads of people in front of him. As short as he was, he hadn't a prayer of actually seeing anything but the backs of heads. He looked around for something to stand on, and decided that his best bet was to climb up on the base of the pillars carved at either side of the gate itself. The sandstone was smoothed as well as sandstone could be, but he was used to climbing, and swarmed up it like a monkey. It didn't take long to get himself up there on the top of the pedestal that supported the pillar, and once in place, balancing on the tiny ledge where the square base ended and the round pillar began, he gaped in astonishment at the sheer number of people gathered within those four, high walls. He'd had no idea that there were that many people housed within the compound!
Obviously, the Commander of Dragons knew, though, which was why he had set the meeting here, for there
