Sanctuary

sun.”

But the priest held up his hand. “There are some others with us. I would know if they, too, are welcome.”

Some of the priests stepped slightly aside, and from the back of the group came forward—a set of faces that Kiron had never expected to see again. Especially the tall, blocky, bald-pated, white-kilted man in the front of the group of much younger men and boys.

Nor, it seemed, had Ari.

“Haraket?” they exclaimed simultaneously in disbelief.

Haraket, once the Overseer of the Tian Dragon Courts, squinted in equal disbelief, looked briefly stunned, and then stumbled forward. “Ari? Ari? By Nofet’s breasts—you miserable cur! You’re alive! You’re alive!”

They fell on each other, embracing like long-lost brothers. “Sobek’s teeth, I should have known you were too evil to die!” Haraket rasped out. “You jackal! You dog! How did you come here? Did the Bedu bring you? Tell me you have not lost Kashet—”

“I have not lost him; it would take a god to part us, I think. But there is more—” Ari said, pushing Haraket a little away and gesturing behind him. And as Haraket’s eyes fell on Kiron, he saw them widen yet again with disbelief. When he and Ari parted completely, he continued to stare at Kiron and finally said, “Is that—that can’t be—but you’re dead!”

“No more than Ari,” Kiron said, flushing a little. “And I’m afraid you have Ari to blame for the deception.” Then he raised his head, with pardonable pride. “I did not steal that little red dragon, Haraket. I raised her from the egg, as Ari raised Kashet, but in secret; and in truth, you could say that she stole me.” And with that, he whistled.

Avatre might have been waiting for his call; she shot up out of the pen to the complaints of the others, whose rest she had disturbed. It was too crowded there for her to fly straight up from the sand, but as the Tians exclaimed and pointed, she half leaped, and half flew from the rooftop she jumped up onto, hovered for just a moment to pick out a clear space, and landed in a backwash of wing-made wind and airborne sand. In the next moment she was butting Kiron with her head, and looking curiously at the newcomers, while Ari beamed.

“Hu!” exclaimed someone from behind Haraket. “She’s a beauty, by Haras!”

“You think she’s a beauty, wait until you see Tathulan and Re-eth-ke,” Kiron replied, rubbing the sensitive skin under Avatre’s chin.

“You have more?” said another, raw envy in his voice.

Haraket shook his head, and passed his hand over his shaved head. “I am—I am at a loss. Vetch—I suppose you have another name now?”

“Kiron, son of Kiron.” He looked up at Haraket, and realized that he did not have nearly so far up to look now . . . “Which is my right and proper name.”

“A man’s name, and you are growing into it.” Haraket managed a smile. “You look so unlike the boy Vetch, I do not think I will have difficulty remembering what to name you.” He looked back to Ari. “In truth, I do not know what to think or say, so I shall say nothing and allow you to do my thinking for me, Ari. Are we welcome? I have with me all the dragon boys trained by Baken, aye, and Baken himself. We could not stay, Ari, not when—But the priests will tell you.”

“The priests will tell us all, when you are all rested and calmer,” Kaleth told him firmly. “And yes, you are welcome, too. This is, after all, Sanctuary, and it would be a poor sort of sanctuary that did not offer shelter to anyone who needed it.”

In the end, not everyone in Sanctuary came to hear the tale the Tians told that night, when they were fed and rested, but most people elected to. Some came out of curiosity, some out of concern, and some, sad to say, to gloat over the sad state of the former enemy.

They gathered in an open square, beneath the stars, the only place big enough to hold them all. At the center were the Tians that seemed to have been given the authority to speak for the rest; Haraket and several of the senior priests. So, too, were the most-senior in Sanctuary; Kaleth of course, and Heklatis and Lord Khumun, Lord Ya-tiren, his wife Iris-aten, and their eldest son, and Ari—

—and somewhat to his own surprise, Kiron, drawn firmly out of the crowd by Lord Khumun and Kaleth. The rest—with the exception of some of the Tians who were still deep in the sleep of exhaustion—arrayed themselves around the court, or on the roofs of the nearby buildings. The court had the acoustic advantage that anyone speaking at the center of it could be easily heard by everyone in and around it. Rugs were spread for the group at the center to sit on; anyone else sat or stood as he or she wished. Most stood, the better to see the proceedings. It was a calm and windless night, still warm enough to be comfortable, though by midnight anyone under the stars would need a mantle.

The Tians began to explain what had brought them across the desert to seek a haven here, and the sense that Kiron had at first was that his fellow Altans were prepared to enjoy their tale of woe.

But it did not take long until they were all united in shock and a certain sick feeling of deja vu. The tale was all too familiar.

“When the dragons revolted, we didn’t really have a good idea of what had happened,” said Haraket. “We knew the dragons had been getting restive and hard to control, but you know, none of us ever really thought that there was anything wrong with the tala; not even Baken or me. My guess was that your sea witches were to blame somehow, but it never really occurred to any of us, I don’t think, that we’d actually lose the dragons until it happened.”

“No one knew the dragons actually had been lost for days,” one of the priests put in. “It wasn’t until messengers came back from the battlefield with the report that we knew why no Jousters had returned from the battle.”

“And until then,” Haraket continued, “we actually thought your sea witches had found some way to make lightning strike them out of the air—or something. About half the riders came back afoot, though most of the ones that didn’t were not actually killed by their dragons or by falls. Or so I’m told. They generally managed to get their dragons to land, but it was the soldiers on the ground that got them.”

Kiron nodded. There was some relief in that. Not that he had any great love for most of the Tian Jousters, but—well, he wouldn’t wish the kind of terror and death (or the terrible life-in-death of a paralyzing injury) that came from plummeting out of a dragon’s saddle on anyone. Well, anyone except, perhaps, the Magi. . . .

“So, without dragons, and with no means to control captured dragonets, there was no need for the Courts of the Jousters,” Haraket said glumly. “It wasn’t long before orders came that took most of the servants and slaves away; only a few of the dragon boys, me, and a couple of slaves remained. The Jousters that survived generally went into the King’s army, and most of the dragon boys dispersed as did most of the servants. Baken decided he’d try either to pay one or more of the trappers to try to get an unfledged young dragonet right out of the nest, or else he’d get one himself, but right about the time I was going to attempt to persuade the Great King’s advisers that this was worth trying, the Great King—got new advisers.”

He looked over at Baket-ke-aput, who took up the thread of the story. The priest looked much better now; shaved and bathed, and with a proper headcloth and a bead collar that might have come from one of the ancient city treasure troves. That was Kaleth’s touch, Kiron had no doubt. Kaleth knew that to have respect, oft-times one had to look, as well as be, impressive. The man was dressed in a fashion that clearly marked him as a priest, yet he no longer had the distinctive look of a Tian priest about him. The priest’s eyes remained on Lord Khumun and Lord Ya-tiren as he spoke, but Kiron had the sense that he was very aware of everyone else whose face he could see in the torchlight. “The first we knew of these new advisers was when the Great King’s previous advisers were suddenly called up, thanked, and dismissed. Sent back to their estates, if you please! And in their place, as if conjured from air, there were strangers who remained with the Highest at all times, and that was when the trouble started.” He shook his head. “Small things, at first. The temple tribute was reduced; not by a great deal, but it was reduced in order to support these new advisers, who had no land, and seemingly no family. Then there were— accusations. People who objected to the presence of the advisers, or even voiced any questions about where they had come from and who they were, why the Great One had chosen them, were sent out to the provinces.”

“That was if they were of wealth or birth,” growled another priest. “If they were neither—they tended to disappear. And it wasn’t wise to ask after them either.”

Baket-ke-aput sighed. “Then—came the orders that certain young people in each temple should come to