Alta

“Yes, my Lord,” Aket-ten whispered. “I am sorry. All that I have left is the Speech of Beasts. I tried and tried, but—after that morning when—when the Magi came—to test us, they said—it was gone, all gone—” she shook her head, and her shoulders shook. The Magus hopefully took that for silent sobs, but Kiron had a feeling that she was shaking with rage. “I was so sick, after. . . .”

“I hope,” the Magus said, accusation in his voice, “that you are not implying that the Magus who came to test you somehow stole your powers from you.”

“Oh, no!” she whimpered. “No, I never intended that! No, it was something else—woman’s troubles—my own weakness—”

“A pity,” the man said, and his lip curled with contempt. It was just a momentary lapse, but Lord Ya-tiren saw it as well as Kiron, and although his lordship kept his face impassive, Kiron saw one hand curl involuntarily into a fist before Lord Ya-tiren relaxed it. “A pity indeed. Those who flower early often fade quickly, it is said. Too bad.” His voice held not only contempt, but anger, and perhaps a hint of irritation. “Well, the Speech of Beasts is hardly going to be of much use to your people and your country, girl. I suggest you get yourself a husband, then. This boy, perhaps, would do, if he is a friend of yours.” His eyes flickered over to Kiron, passing over him with no interest. “Pass your powers on to your children, and if the gods favor you, they’ll have more staying power than you did.”

Kiron found his jaw dropping at such cold, calculated rudeness, and even Lord Ya-tiren gasped with anger. But the Magus was turning away. “My thanks, and my condolences, my Lord,” he called over his shoulder. “I can find my own way out.”

Kiron held his breath; Aket-ten remained with her head bowed for a very long time—then, finally, raised it with a face full of mischief. “It’s all right,” she said, with some of her old merriness. “He’s gone, the arrogant pig!”

“For half a debek I would follow after him and beat him like a thieving slave!” Lord Ya-tiren snarled. “The nerve! To so insult my own daughter. In front of me, and in my own house!”

“You have your revenge in that you’ve successfully stolen what he wanted right from under his nose, my Lord,” Kiron reminded him. “And in fact, he has given you and your daughter every excuse you need to send her to the Jousters’ Compound. No one will think twice that she seeks to use the last of her Gifts there, and most will believe it is because she wishes also to have my company, and that you are not opposed to this.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he flushed. Not that he would have taken them back—

But Aket-ten gave him a significant look, and her father a speculative one, and when Aket-ten murmured, “And who is to say that I do not?” her father’s look of speculation turned to a sly smile. Kiron felt a wave of heat pass over his entire body, and the fact that he knew he was blushing only made him flush the more.

“That is a good plan,” was all that Lord Ya-tiren said, however—for which he was very grateful. “It takes her far from the Temple of the Twin Gods, so that there is little chance our ruse will be detected as she hones her powers in secret. The Magi visit the Jousters’ Compound so seldom that it is unlikely she will ever be forced to endure the company of one again. And she will be with her brother and her—friends. I will call upon Lord Khumun this very afternoon and arrange it.”

“Her help will be very much appreciated, I promise you, my Lord,” Kiron said hastily. “And with that in mind, perhaps I should return—tell the others—make preparations—” He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from spouting nonsense. “She’ll be—we’ll be—good morning, then, to you both—I’ll take my leave —”

And with that, he turned and fled, and was only grateful not to hear Aket-ten’s giggles joining her father’s amused laughter.

When he got back to the compound, he found it in an uproar, but since virtually everyone was smiling, or even laughing, any alarm he had felt at the noise faded to nothing. And, eventually, he found out what the cause was.

Menet-ka’s imperious little indigo-purple dragon, living up to her royal colors, was not inclined to wait patiently for anything she felt she was entitled to. And when Menet-ka had not appeared the moment she bleated for her afternoon meat, she had elected to go and find it—and him—for herself. She had wandered the whole of the compound before she was through, sticking her nose into pens and demanding her “mother” and her food of whoever or whatever was in there. The wild-caught dragons all knew what a baby was, and even the swamp dragons began bellowing on her behalf for her mother, for although no dragon would tend the offspring of another unless its own young had died, all dragons protected and defended any dragonet. This in turn brought the dragon boys and anyone else within hearing, but since not one of them was “mother,” Bethlan ignored them. And they all wanted to see what she would do next. So Bethlan toddled up and down the pens, leaving noise and confusion in her wake, until, at long last, she found her “mother” Menet-ka in the butchery, helping his dragon boy chop up her meal. By this time she was so tired that Menet-ka and the boy had to load her up into a barrow and trundle her back to her pen. She was very tired, and a little cold, but no worse for wear, fortunately.

“If she’d gotten too cold, I think she would have joined an adult dragon in its pen,” Menet-ka told Kiron, still scarlet with chagrin.

“I think you’re probably right. She had the wit to come looking for you, I think she would have had the wit to go lie down somewhere warm,” Kiron agreed, covering his mirth. “I’m not sure I want to go putting barriers across the doors, though, just yet. Let’s wait and see if she does it again, before we think about doing that.”

“She won’t,” Menet-ka said firmly, ears still red. “I won’t let her get hungry again.”

In stark contrast to imperious little Bethulan, Pe-atep’s scarlet-and-sand Deoth was the shyest dragon Kiron had ever seen. When all the fuss had died down, and he checked on all the little ones to make sure they were in their pens, he found Pe-atep in the farthest corner of his, crooning over Deoth, who was shivering with fear and hiding his head in Pe-atep’s tunic.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kiron asked, but very, very quietly; he didn’t want to upset the little one more than he already was.

“Nothing really,” Pe-atep said, with far more calm than Kiron would have felt, it this had been Avatre. “He’s high-strung and sensitive, and I am glad it’s me that has him and not Menet-ka.”

“Why?” Kiron asked. Pe-atep raised his eyebrows.

“Well, the shyest rider with the shyest dragon? Think about it! We’d never get them off the ground!” Pe-atep ran his hands down the baby’s sides. “Poor little fellow. This happens in cats, sometimes; lions mostly, but sometimes cheetahs. One is born that just jumps at everything. You just have to coax them, and make sure that they never fail badly enough at anything to frighten them off it.” He chuckled, as the dragonet relaxed and stopped shivering. “There now, you see? It’s all right. Nothing bad happened, little one. I’ll want you lot to start coming into the pen at odd times, and bring a nice little tidbit with you every time you do. He has to start learning that new things can be nice things. It’s the only way to get him through this stage. But once we do, he’ll be as brave as a lioness, won’t you, my handsome fellow?”

“I’ll pass the word,” Kiron promised, and walked out softly but confidently.

As he told the others what Pe-atep had requested, he reflected that here, if he wanted it, was another omen. So far, it seemed that the dragonet was matched perfectly to the boy who had gotten it. Menet-ka had the boldest—who was pulling him into the center of attention, which was good for the boy. And Pe-atep, experienced handler of big hunting cats, had the shyest—he who was best equipped to handle such a problem baby out of his own vast experience.

So Toreth has the quietest but the smartest, I’ve seen that, too, already. And for someone who doesn’t particularly want to draw attention to himself right now, that is the ideal combination. I wonder if that means that Oset-re’s Apetma is going to shred his best tunics and kilts so that he loses some of that vanity? He already knew what Gan’s dragon meant to him—Gan, who had never taken anything seriously before his dragon hatched, was utterly, completely, wholeheartedly besotted. He was just as in love with the gentle Khaleph as Khaleph was with him. And as for Orest—well, Orest’s Wastet was, next to Bethulan, the most demanding of the lot. Everything had to be just so for Wastet—his meat chopped to a certain size, his pen cleaned at once, his water absolutely pure and fresh. There was no longer room in Orest’s world for “close enough.”

As for Huras—that was a perfect match, too. The huge Tathulen was so good-natured that the perfectionist was learning to slow down and relax a little. Huras was coming to understand that sometimes “close enough” was good enough.

Wiry little Kalen had brought all of his experience as a falconer to taking care of