Vetch didn't turn, though he started a little, and pain arced across his back, marking the path of those stripes; the Jouster had claimed him, the Jouster was his master, and a serf never turned his back on his master (except to be whipped), a lesson that Khefti had driven home with a heavy hand. However, the voice sounded mildly irritated, and the underlying tone conveyed that it was someone in authority.
The Jouster pulled off his helmet, revealing a handsome, if melancholy face, square-jawed, with a great beak of a nose and high cheekbones, brown of eye, and black of hair, as all Tians. He spoke to whoever was behind Vetch; at least Vetch now knew his master's name. Ari. 'This is my new dragon boy, Haraket. Serf. I claimed him from his master already, so you'll have to send to the Palace to handle the accounting; the boy can probably tell you who the fat blob was. Seems a likely child; he was working like a little ant, when I saw him, filling a cistern with a bucket too big for him. He wasn't afraid of Kashet, anyway, and that's a head start, so far as I'm concerned.'
'Not some street trash?' the voice replied dubiously. 'He's got fresh stripes—
'I'm not blind, Haraket, I was there when he got them, for 'letting' me take his bucket and quench my thirst,' Ari replied, putting the helmet down, then turning to unbuckle the throat-strap of the saddle. He sounded a trifle irritated, then unexpectedly, the Jouster laughed. 'No, he's a serf, not a thief, not a gutter brat. Now the fat slug that was beating him is going to have to find another in his bloodline if the lazy lout wants to hold the land the boy was tied to.'
Vetch blinked, to hear his own speculation borne out. So that was, indeed, why Khefti had taken him!
Somehow, that only made him feel angrier.
The Jouster's voice took on an interesting tone, very faintly— malicious?—as he continued unbuckling the dragon's saddle straps. 'You know, if whoever sold the land divided up it up too much, the other landholders might not have spare serfs in his line to give up to anyone else. He might lose that land when the assessor comes to see about it.'
With a fierce surge of longing, Vetch wished he could be there when the assessor came. He wanted, oh, how he wanted to see Khefti squirm, prevaricate, and sweat! He had sunk all of his savings into that house—or at least, he'd told Vetch that often enough. So if he lost it only because he did not have Vetch anymore, what a supreme bit of revenge that would be!
'But a serf—why not a free boy?' the voice complained. 'There must be dozens of free boys you could have from their parents for the asking!'
'Because I'm tired of replacing free boys when they get haughty airs and decide they ought to be something better than 'just' a dragon boy!' Ari snapped, and unbuckled the last strap. He pulled the saddle and the pad that Vetch had clung to off the dragon's back. He turned with it in his hands, and looped all of the straps around it into a compact bundle with a swift and practiced motion.
He dropped the whole thing in Vetch's arms; Vetch had been expecting this from the moment he'd heard what he was to become. A serf, after all, was for the bearing of burdens. He caught it as it dropped, though one of the strap ends hit the ground and his stripes burned again. He was used to working, and working hard, with more whip cuts on his back than two.
The saddle was heavy, at least for him, and he staggered for a moment beneath its weight. It had an additional scent besides that of leather—a hot, metallic scent, with an overtone of spice. The scent of the dragon?
'There, boy—' the Jouster said, in a tone of dismissal, as he bent to pick up his helmet and tuck it under his arm. 'You go with Haraket; he'll teach you your business. You'll be living here now.'
Jouster Ari stalked off without a backward look, and Vetch turned, the saddle in his arms, to face the person he had not yet seen.
Haraket. Who must be an Overseer.
The man wore a simple white linen kilt, augmented by one striped, multicolored sash around his waist and a second that ran from his right shoulder, across a chest as muscular as any warrior, to the opposite hip. His square head was shaven, though he did not wear a wig, his skin as browned and weathered as that of any farmer, and he wore a hawk-eye amulet of glazed pottery around his neck. He gazed down on Vetch with resignation from beneath a pair of heavy, black eyebrows. But at least he didn't look angry. And he wasn't wearing a whip at his waist either.
'Come on, you,' he said, with a sigh. 'Since I'm to teach you your business, the best time to start is now.' Vetch ducked his head obediently, silently telling himself not to look sullen, and followed as the man strode off across the beaten earth of the courtyard. But he stopped dead at the sound of something large and heavy following him.
He turned. The dragon stared down at him, cocking its head quizzically; it had been right on his heels.
'Come on, serf boy!' the man snarled, when he turned to discover that Vetch was not behind him anymore. 'Kashet will come along without being led, much less leashed or chained. He follows me and Ari like a dog, and in time, he'll follow you. Kashet isn't like other dragons, and that's something you'd better keep in mind from this moment on. Ari doesn't need tala to control him. You're damned lucky to be Ari's boy; Kashet is a neferek to handle compared with the others.'
He turned abruptly and strode off again, and Vetch hurried to catch up with him, the dragon following along
