“Great landing!” the Jouster shouted into his ear over the rain. “Didn’t think the old cow had it in her! How did she fly?”
“Wonderful! Fantastic! It can be done!” he shouted back. “In fact, once we were over the storm, she liked it! She didn’t want to come back until she got hungry!”
“Well, she’ll get her reward for certain!” the Jouster laughed. “You go get dry and warm. Well done, both of you!”
The Jousters and their dragon boys led the two dragons off to their meal and their warm wallows; Aket-ten waited for Vash to get out of the way, then half staggered through the rain to his side. He put a steadying arm around her, and to his joy, she not only did not object, but leaned into him.
“I want heat!” she croaked over the rain, “And I want to be dry again—”
He laughed. “Me, too!” he agreed, and with heads bent against the downpour as the skies opened up again, they plodded back to their wing. Now there was nothing for it but to wait.
Wait, and see how far a plan could take them.
EIGHTEEN
RAIN drummed on the awnings overhead, and dripped down between the gaps onto the stone paving of the kitchen courtyard. Kiron was exhausted, and so were the rest of his wing; Kiron felt as if he could scarcely hold his head up. They sat around their customary table, staring at their dinner, so tired they could hardly eat. They weren’t the only ones; the senior Jousters were just as exhausted if not more so, and there wasn’t a man without some sort of minor injury among them, bruises, wrenched muscles, sprains. The main difference, really, was that the senior Jousters had been flying fighting missions, and the boys had only been practicing.
Heklatis was going from table to table, peering into eyes here, demanding to see throats there, and pouring an occasional dose from a steaming jug he carried, demanding it be drunk down on the spot. No one really minded; Heklatis’ potions were always drinkable, and sometimes they were even tasty. He had more than made himself useful here, he had made himself indispensable. This was just as well for someone who was trying to keep the Magi from discovering he, too, was a Magus. Should anyone come looking for a Magus hereabouts, he would have the
Practice had been difficult as usual. The desert dragons had protested every moment they had to spend in the rain, and Kiron couldn’t blame them one bit. They weren’t meant for this muck, and if it hadn’t been for Kaleth’s premonitions, he wouldn’t have forced them out into the weather at all. The rains had always been a time for rest and recovery for the Jousters of Tia, and it would have been nice if it could have been the same for the Jousters of Alta.
Each of the tame dragons had reacted differently to the rain. Apetma sulked and had temper tantrums. Se- atmen was lethargic, as if she could not muster any energy. Re-eth-ke was nervous, and made mistakes. Khaleph was clumsy; perhaps he was affected more by the cold. Bethlan slept and slept and slept when she wasn’t practicing or eating. Deoth whined the entire time he was in the air. Wastet growled at everyone except Orest, and Tathulan just gazed at everyone with the saddest eyes. As for poor Avatre, she hung her head with depression that didn’t ease until she was back in her sand wallow. He hated asking this of them—but he felt as if he had no choice. The Magi were watching them all, he knew it, he felt it, and Heklatis confirmed it. If they didn’t put on a good show of doing their best to get themselves into combat-ready shape, it wouldn’t be long before the veiled accusations started. And then, perhaps, the open ones. They had been Toreth’s friends, and Kaleth lived among them. It would be so easy to point the finger of accusation at them all.
Kaleth’s premonitions were coming more often now—actually, they looked more like fits when it came down to it; the boy would sit bolt upright in that peculiarly rigid pose, stare into something only he could see, his mouth would open, and that hollow voice would say things. Kiron just considered that they were lucky that Kaleth’s pronouncements were clear and unambiguous. According to Aket-ten, most of the current practitioners of the Seer’s Eye among the Winged Ones were so cryptic that they required interpreters.
The Magi were watching them all, according to Kaleth as well as Heklatis, and would take any pretext to accuse Toreth’s friends of treason. The warnings had been timely, coming right after the start of the rains. It wasn’t just the ten of them, of course; Marit later confirmed that any of Toreth’s friends inside or outside the compound were under intense scrutiny. For that matter, it wasn’t only Toreth’s friends and acquaintances. Outside of that circle, it seemed there were rumors of people being hauled off and imprisoned every other day on suspicion of disloyalty. Tempers were always a little raw during the rains, but this year nerves were being stretched to the breaking point. The word “treason” was being made to apply to anything that the Magi didn’t like—“traitors” were those who dared to differ with anything that they wanted.
Nevertheless, the boys were determined to give the Magi no excuse to voice their suspicions. So while the senior Jousters went out to fight, Kiron’s wing went out to practice, making a show of using even the most miserable weather to train, even if they wouldn’t be expected to go to fight for another two seasons at best. Kiron could only remind himself, as he saw the misery in Avatre’s eyes, that if she had been in the wild, she would have had to hunt for her food every day regardless of the conditions. The best he could do for her and the others was to make certain that though they did get wet, they never got chilled, and they were always fed the best that the compound had to offer. That, and a great deal of love and attention, was all he could do to try and make up for her daily struggle in the wet.
There wasn’t much he could do for the boys other than commandeer the empty pen of one of the swamp dragons (one whose rider had been lost in combat before the rains, and who had not returned) for daily hot soaks for everyone.
The cooks had taken the universal exhaustion of everyone with a dragon into consideration, and were providing meals that were comforting to the spirit and warming to the body. Tonight, dinner was meat-and-lentil soup, thick, hot, and filling—and most of all, extremely tasty, soothing to the stomach and not requiring much chewing—a consideration when several of the Jousters had facial bruises, either from flying accidents, or being cracked across the jaw by missiles from below. Kiron tasted his, judged it cool enough to eat, and spooned some up. It was wonderful, and so flavorful it actually woke up his appetite, and he ate it slowly, with bread so fresh it steamed when he broke it open and so soft it almost melted in his mouth.
Everyone else was eating the same way, heads propped up on one hand, leaning over the table, so weary they were half-asleep and prodded on only by their hunger. If the Magi were spying on them now by what Heklatis called “scrying,” they were having a singularly dull time of it, for all that they were seeing was tables full of warriors weary from fulfilling their duty.
Because the senior Jousters weren’t using the practice field, and no one was going to play spectator in the rain, at last Kiron’s wing was able to practice right at the Compound. And because they were having to fly slowly anyway, and missile weapons were useless, they were practicing real Jousting. Kiron didn’t expect them to ever have to use the skill, but it was better to have it than not, and the spies would take it amiss if they weren’t trying to learn it.
There was a new modification to the harnesses; Kiron had mandated it for the boys, first, but now even the senior Jousters had asked for the additions. “We can’t afford pride,” one of them had growled. “There are too few of us.”
So now everyone had harness straps holding them to their saddles. The straps could be broken—oh, yes—and if a Jouster was hit hard enough to break the straps, he would certainly fall to his death—but it took a lot more to kill an Altan Jouster now, at least.
So there were bruises and strains among them, as well as the Jousters, compounded with their simple exhaustion. Orest even had a spectacularly black eye.
Only one person looked alert, for Kaleth ate with them now instead of by himself. He had decided to do this on his own; it had taken him something of an effort, and Kiron was very proud of him for taking that step. Normally he was as silent as the rest of them during a meal, but tonight, after a cautious glance to see that no one was within easy listening range, he leaned over and whispered, “I have to talk to you all after dinner.”
Kiron groaned inwardly—Orest, who was clearly in some pain, groaned openly. “Can’t it wait?” he asked plaintively.
“No. Come to Heklatis’ quarters,” Kaleth said shortly, looked around again, and went back to his meal as if he had said nothing at all.
