He waited patiently while the others rigged him and Kalamadea with harnesses, both for the benefit of their passengers and to strap the bundles of supplies to.
'You aren't going to like this at all,' Shana was telling Lorryn and his sister, as she explained how the harnesses worked. He sensed her tightly wound nerves, and guessed that she was chattering to relieve them. Poor Shana! It was not only the threat of the elven lords that disturbed her, it was, he knew, the threat of revolt from within the wizards' ranks. That was what had undone the wizards in the first war. He only hoped history was not about to repeat that tragedy. 'And don't listen to Kalamadea or Keman—dragons don't get flying-sick. I mean, think about it; they couldn't fly if they got sick every time they took wing. But here's the problem. The first thing that happens is that the dragon jumps into the air; if you've ever jumped a horse over a huge obstacle, you'll have a very slight idea of what that feels like.'
'So unless we are strapped in, we're going to go tumbling over his back,' Lorryn observed dispassionately. He turned a little to look Keman in the eye. 'I hope you'll forgive me, my friend, but I have a very hard time reconciling this—' he slapped Keman's shoulder '—with the young wizard who snored all last night.'
'I did not snore!' Keman exclaimed indignantly.
'You did,' Shana told him firmly. 'Most of the night. Loudly.'
He snorted, and ignored her, examining those straps of his harness that he could reach himself with ostentatious care.
'Now, at the top of that leap,' Shana continued, as if she had not been interrupted—another sign of her nervous tension—'he's going to suddenly snap open his wings and start a series of very powerful wingbeats to gain altitude. They're just like the leap; a series of surges. You're going to be thrown backward with every wingbeat, and if you don't hold on and hunch yourself over like this—' she crouched down, demonstrating the position '—you're going to feel as if your head is going to snap off the end of your spine.'
Lorryn nodded, and his sister sighed. 'This sounds worse than riding the worst-gaited horse in the universe!'
'It is,' Shana assured her. 'In fact, it's worse than riding a pack-grel. All right, at some point he's going to reach the height he needs, and that's where the discomfort really begins. These folks don't fly in a straight line. They swoop, like this—' She made an arcing motion with her hand. 'Wing-beat, swoop, wingbeat. Your poor stomach is going to think you're falling during part of each swoop. That's where you'll get flight-sick, if it happens at all, and if you have to—well—just tell Kalamadea; he'll bank to one side so that you can—ah—straight down. And Ancestors help whatever is below you.'
Keman listened with real interest; although he had carried passengers before this, he'd never heard any of them explain what it felt like to them. Of course, flying felt perfectly natural and right to him, but evidently that was not how it felt to those who rode his back.
'There's also turbulence up there; Keman has done sideslips, been bounced as if he was trying to buck me off, and dropped halfway to the ground, and even turned upside down by winds. I don't get sick, and I hope you won't, but I won't promise anything.' She shrugged at their expressions of dismay. 'No matter what, make sure that every strap is tight, every buckle fastened. Check them while you're flying. They are all that is keeping you on his back, and believe me, you need every one of them.'
Mero came up as she said that, and nodded solemnly. 'If we have to fly through a storm, you're going to wish you had more straps than you do,' he added.
'But—the stories all made it seem as if flying was so easy,' Rena said plaintively. 'As if—you just got on, and off you went!'
Keman laughed. 'Well, do remember that it was Myre telling you those tales, right? For us, flying is easy. And anyway, she wouldn't have wanted to discourage your romantic image of dragons.' He thought for a moment, men added, 'I can at least promise you this—it's easier flying with Kalamadea man with me. I have to take more wingbeats to stay aloft man he does, because he's bigger. Have you ever watched birds?'
At Rena's nod, he went on.
'You've probably seen the way small birds fly; it's very jerky, and it takes a lot of wingbeats. But a big hawk, now—he can glide quite a bit, and when he does take a wing-beat, it's slower because his wings are larger. That's the difference between Kalamadea and me, and you two will be riding Kalamadea, because you're less experienced.'
Shana was testing every strap; the leatherworkers had worked all night on the harnesses, and Kalamadea rather approved of them. They certainly fit better than anything he'd had rigged up before.
'Ah—here's something else,' Shana said as she came around from the other side. 'Rena, Lorryn, see the pad here, that's like a saddle? Don't let your legs slip off it and don't ever be tempted to wear cloth breeches instead of leather. Dragonscales are very abrasive and they'll scrape you to the bone in a few wingbeats.' She had them slide their hands the wrong way along Keman's shoulder, and nodded when they winced. 'That's why I asked the leatherworkers to make more than two sets of harnesses and lots of extra straps, so that if some of this gets sliced up, we can just discard the pieces instead of wasting time trying to mend it.'
'Would one of those extra harnesses happen to fit me?'
Keman looked up, as startled as everyone else, as a shadow slid over them all. A moment later, Dora landed in a flurry of wingbeats that kicked up dust and sent it flying in every direction.
'I saw the double-saddle on Kalamadea, but Keman is much smaller than the Elder One, and I thought you might need an extra mount,' Dora said, shyly and turned to Keman. 'You were right,' she said, simply, and his heart soared.
:And thank you for not—not using emotions to convince me,: she added, for his benefit only.
Kalamadea was the first one to recover, and he did so with considerable aplomb. 'Keman?' he said, quietly. 'Would you care to introduce us to your—friend?'
:And is this where you've been vanishing at night, when we all thought you were hunting, you young rascal? Or were you hunting after all? Fairer game than plains deer?: he added.
'Ah—this is Dora,' he said lamely, suddenly tongue-tied. 'She's from a Lair very far south, where the Iron Clans all live, and she's been watching this Clan the way we used to watch the elven lords. She didn't know there were any other dragons except the ones in her Lair until she saw my shadow.'
'Really?' was all Kalamadea said, then he turned to Dora, every talon-length the gallant. 'Welcome to our group, Dora. We are very pleased to have your help, and very grateful as well.'
She ducked her head, her nostrils flushing.
'Now, if I may take command of this situation,' Kalamadea continued, looking over his shoulder at the sun, 'I believe we should get another harness onto our new friend Dora, and make all speed while we can. Explanations can wait until we are airborne. Lorryn, since you are riding double with your sister, who is the only one of us who cannot speak and hear thoughts, you can simply tell -her what is being said. At the least, it will enliven the journey no end.'
He clapped his wings sharply, by way of emphasis.
'Come along, my friends!' he finished. 'The elven lords are sharpening their talons for our necks! It is time, and more than time, that we were in the air!'
Chapter 10
LORRYN NURSED A cup of thick, too sweet red wine in one of the many taverns he'd been frequenting since he began this part of the 'plan.' This one was in Whitegates, a trade-city administered by Lord Ordrevel—or more correctly, by Lord Ordrevel's underlings. It didn't matter where he was, really; each of the five trade-cities looked pretty much like the next one, and all these taverns were alike.
He should know. He'd been in every trade-city on the continent, and most of the taverns.
The taverns were all luxuriously appointed—or so it seemed. If you looked closely, though, you saw that most of the 'luxury' was only where it could be seen. Leather upholstery extended only to the side of the cushion that showed; satin wallpaper gave way to bare wall where the wall was covered by furniture or something else. Velvet drapes proved on touching to be soft, flocked paper, cheap and disposable.
These taverns all had dark rooms in the upper levels where human slaves waited to give whatever pleasuring was required, but the rooms were so dark that neither the slaves nor the surroundings were readily visible. They all served very cheap wine, spiced and honeyed to a fair-thee-well to disguise how cheap it really was.
And they all played host to elves who were too low in rank and status to have estates, manor houses, and concubines of their own—or young elves, leashed and collared by their lord fathers, who likewise had nothing of the
