For his privacy was gone along with the quiet; nobles practically swarmed the place, especially the Jousters' quarters. It was a repetition of the usual scene at the training field, only within the compound itself. The glitter of gold, the gleam of jewels, and the sheen of expensive fabrics made him glower with disgust at the amount of show. There were so many women, young and old, draped in flowers, with perfume cones atop their elaborate wigs, that the air was sometimes chokingly sweet with their scent. He was glad that all visitors had been barred from the pens on account of the dragonets, who were easily startled. The fluttering ribbons, the high, shrill voices, and the idiotic babbling would have left the place in an uproar that would take a week to undo.
The only place where Vetch could get away from the press of the curious and the fawning was in the pens themselves. Not feeling in the least like celebrating when he knew very well that what was being celebrated was the start of more aggression on his own people, he found the pens far more congenial.
So that was where he took himself, after a brief visit to the landing court where he got fried fish—a delicacy that seldom graced the tables of the dragon boys—and some date-stuffed honey pastries for breakfast. The corridors were, by then, thankfully, echoingly, empty.
He wasn't surprised to find Kashet still gone. Ari was a senior Jouster, and at this point his skill and Kashet's were near-legendary. He would, no doubt, be competing in the games for most of the day—or perhaps demonstrating that falling-man-catch trick for an admiring audience, but done with a dummy instead of a man. But as Avatre was finally having a nap, worn out from fretting at the unaccustomed noises, and he didn't want to disturb her, he settled down in Kashet's pen for his meal.
He had just about finished it and was licking the last of the honey from his fingers, when, much to his surprise, a shadow darkened the sun above the pen, and when he looked up, he saw that Ari and Kashet were returning.
He leaped to his feet—very glad now that Ari had found him here, and not in the other pen. He sent a brief thanks to the gods for sending Avatre that bout of sleepiness as he waited for Kashet to settle, then trotted over to the great dragon's side.
'Unharness him,' Ari said, with shocking brusqueness, as he threw his leg over the saddle and slid down to the ground. 'We won't be going back out. The cursed games can go on without us. And I hope they all choke on fish bones.'
Vetch stared at him with an open mouth; Ari's face was white, his mouth pinched, and that last had been said with such savagery that Vetch was sure Ari meant every word. 'Why?' he blurted.
'You don't want to know,' Ari replied, and started to stalk off.
But something inside Vetch made him act without thinking; he grabbed the Jouster by the elbow and wouldn't let him go. 'Yes, I do,' he said firmly, shocking himself with this insane act of audacity, but unable to stop himself. 'Or maybe I don't—but if you don't tell someone, you're going to snap, and then where will Kashet be?'
Perhaps nothing other than the stark truth that if Ari failed, his dragon would suffer, got through to him. He resisted for just a moment, then his shoulders sagged, and he turned back to Vetch. His eyes were bleak, his mouth twisted, and his skin so pale beneath his tan that it looked as if every bit of blood had been drained from him.
'You don't want to know. And I want you to know that I didn't have anything to do with what happened. If I'd been ordered to do it, I swear, either I would have stopped it, or I would have flown Kashet into the wilderness instead and never come back—
That shocked Vetch even more. Ari? Threatening to desert? 'Tell me—' he just barely managed.
Ari took a deep breath. 'There's a date orchard, just over the border. The Altans haven't bothered to even try to protect it for seasons and seasons, I don't know why, I suppose it isn't profitable enough. There's a Tian village of settlers right on the edge of the orchard right across the border; when the dates ripen, they harass the Altans and grab the dates for themselves. It's happened every year, like the Flood. But this year—maybe because of the sea-witch-sent storms, the rightful owners got up some courage, they fought back. I mean, really fought; they chased off or wounded most of the Tian settlers who tried to steal their fruit, and even killed two. So yesterday, instead of going out on patrol, one of the senior Jousters decided to teach them a lesson. He led an entire wing of Jousters to the village, where they stooped down on the villagers in their fields, grabbed whoever they could get, carried them up—and dropped them.'
Just like on the battlefield, Vetch thought, his heart growing cold inside him. Only—these weren't enemy commanders being smashed on the rocks. These were simple farmers, who'd done nothing except defend what belonged to them, who had only tried to protect what had been stolen year after year, in defiance of laws and treaties.
'They didn't stop until there wasn't anyone left in the open. They—weren't even all men—' Ari got out between clenched teeth. 'There were women. And some children.'
Dropped, to plummet to the earth and die, smashed like eggs. They hadn't had a chance. Vetch wanted to scream, weep—he couldn't even breathe.
'I didn't find out about it until today. When the target game started.' Ari grated, each word wrung from him, each phrase drenched in pain and anguish. 'When they started boasting about it—and saying that the next time they went out—they should stop long enough to paint a target on the ground for more sport!'
Vetch's anger, so long dormant, erupted within him like a volcano, and filled him with such rage, that if Ari's voice hadn't been flooded with outrage and pain that nearly matched his, he'd have gone for the Jouster's throat, just because he was Tian. As it was, he swayed where he stood, going cold and hot by turns, red mists passing
