Lords of the Sky

Her voice was forged steel, hard and unyielding. Tezdal stared at her. I thought he’d argue. Stay here to take his Way of Honor, Urt his squire; and both lost.

Rwyan said, “We’ve hope, Tezdal! Bellek offers us hope, and I hold you to that vow.”

The Sky Lord’s face was black as he nodded. “What shall I do?”

Rwyan looked to Bellek. He said, “You must all do what none save I have in too long-you must ride the dragons.”

Leaning on Rwyan’s shoulder, I stared at the beasts and wondered how.

Bellek said, “And soon. More of those little flying craft come after you; and horsemen. I cannot command so many dragons as to defeat them all-so you mount, or I leave you here.”

Rwyan said, “We mount.”

I said, “How?”

Bellek gusted that crazy chuckle again and beckoned to us.

“Set Urt on Kathanria,” he said. “I’ll show you how.”

He gestured at the beast he had ridden, which raised a sky-consuming eye as if in inquiry of mention of her name. He spoke to her, and she lowered her great head against the ground as does a cat or a dog eager to be stroked, anxious to obey that it earn the approval of its … master is the wrong word. There is a relationship between species, between dogs and their owners; between cats and their owners. It seems to me a thing born of trust and mutual dependence-that one species gains from the other in equal measure.

Then, I knew only that this formidable creature laid down her head, stretching out her neck so that I saw a saddle set forward of her shoulders. It was a kind of bucket, high at cantle and back, with straps hanging loose and bags beside. It was not dissimilar to the saddle I’d long ago set on my gray mare, but far larger; in keeping with this mount’s size.

We climbed up the splayed foreleg. The dragon stretched it like a ladder. Bellek went first, and Tezdal passed him Urt’s loose body. The silver-haired man beckoned the Sky Lord up, and he climbed as if familiar with dragons. I stood with Rwyan by the massive forelimb. Kathanria lay still, but I could feel the heave of her ribs as she breathed and smell the dry-dust odor of her skin. I saw insects crawling there, but they paid me no heed. I. thought I was likely too small to merit their attention.

Aided by Tezdal, Bellek stretched Urt’s limp form behind the saddle. From the bags, he brought cords with which he bound Urt secure. I wondered how far we should travel, how long, and dreaded that Urt should wake and panic. I feared he might step over that line betwixt sanity and madness did he open his eyes to find himself in flight, across a dragon’s back. I feared he would not forgive me.

Bellek clambered down. “He’ll be safe enough,” he promised. “Kathanria’s a gentle lady.”

I eyed the beast, which eyed me, unwinking, back, and wondered how so dreadful a creature might be described as “a gentle lady.” I think that then my mind was so occupied with thought of pursuit and escape, the full realization of what I was about to do had not sunk in.

It was driven home by Bellek’s next words: “So do I introduce you to your mounts?”

He did not await our response but waved us after him as he marched briskly toward another dragon.

Kathanria’s hide was brown, the reddish hue of a deer. This beast was darker, mottled gray and black. Her eyes were tawny. I could not understand how I knew her name (or how, again, I knew she was female) before Bellek spoke.

“This is Anryale,” he said. “Rwyan, do you take her?”

Rwyan nodded and reached out to touch the dragon’s snout, for all the world as if she stroked a beast of no more import than a horse. Anryale blew a gusty exhalation, and I knew she took pleasure from the contact. I gaped as Rwyan followed Bellek’s instructions: up the splayed forelimb to the shoulder, a foot set in the stirrup dangling there, that the leverage she needed to settle herself in the saddle. Bellek climbed after her, showing her straps and buckles that were swiftly fixed in place. Rwyan clutched the frontage of the saddle and looked down on Tezdal and me.

Bellek sprang down; winced, cursed volubly, and said, “You need do nothing. Only sit and try to contain your fear. If-this with a grin at Rwyan, who was beaming wide as any child embarking on some great adventure long dreamed of and now come true-“you are afraid.”

She said, “I’m not.”

It seemed to me her voice came from high above.

Bellek turned to Tezdal: “You shall ride Peliane, Sky Lord; and know what flight is.”

Tezdal nodded. His face was expressionless; I wondered if he truly felt no fear or only hid it well. I was suddenly torn between a desire to stay and take my chances on firm ground, and the knowledge that to do so was to hand myself to Allanyn. I told myself that Rwyan evinced no trepidation at this incredible venture, and so nor should I. It was not easy.

Peliane was black as Kho’rabi armor, save for streaks of dull yellow about her wide jaws and along her wings. Tezdal mounted her smoothly as he did a horse. I watched, favoring my hurting leg, as Bellek showed him where the straps fit, to hold him in the saddle.

Then it was my turn.

The crispness of advancing autumn chilled the night air, but I felt hot. My mouth felt very dry, and my stomach recalled its last meal. I told myself all this was foolishness; that were harm meant us, these beasts could easily have devoured us. I knew they meant us no harm. I knew they were our only hope-not only of escape, but of far more. Hope of fulfilled dreams; of what I’d dreamed so long ago in Durbrecht. Still I felt afraid.

Bellek said, “This is Deburah, Daviot. After Kathanria, she’s the sweetest, swiftest lady in the castle.”

I looked at Deburah. She met my gaze with a placid topaz eye. Her hide was blue as the moonlit ocean and sleek as a sea-washed pebble. It came to me that she was beautiful, in a terrible, awesome manner. I felt her pleasure at that thought. I was far too confused, too frightened, to wonder how either she or I could know that.

It was not easy to climb her leg-my own hurt as it had not done before-but I found the saddle and sat there as Bellek strapped me in. Belts passed over my shoulders and belly, holding me firm in the saddle; more held my legs; my feet rested in the buckets of the stirrups. The saddle was cut with handholds in the front: I locked my fingers there.

Bellek said, “Only sit firm, and leave all to Deburah. Trust her.”

I nodded and forced out a gasping “Yes.”

He laughed and slapped my thigh, which made me wince. Then he was gone, trotting back to Kathanria.

I clutched the saddle. I realized the dragon’s-no! Deburah’s-back was ridged, as if the spine sat high above the ribs, the belly. It was a comfortable seat. I was mounted just forward of the wings, which now lay flattened back against Deburah’s flanks. I realized I could look forward past the neck and head and see where we should go, what lay below us. I felt suddenly calm: it was as though she spoke to me; not in words, but in emotion. I felt my fear dissipate, like poison bleeding from an infected wound. I felt suddenly happy: I smiled.

Then stared in naked wonder as she unfurled her wings.

Those great sails had looked large enough when I watched them from the ground. Now, as I felt her lungs inflate, her ribs lift me, the vast membranous canopies seemed impossibly huge. They spread proud across the sky. They covered the moon and the stars. They were angled, sharp and jagged, but nonetheless beautiful, worked by a musculature alien to my knowledge. It came back to me again that I was witness to sights many in my College would have sold their souls to see. I clutched the saddle tighter as I felt her legs rise and bunch, and into my mind came that almost-understood voice, and I knew we were about to fly.

From all around came a belling, anticipatory. I looked across to where my comrades sat their incredible mounts. I saw Rwyan astride Anryale, her head tossed back as wild and eager as the dragon’s. I saw Tezdal, on Peliane, grim. I saw Bellek raise an arm and level a finger at the heavens.

Deburah lifted her head. Her neck drew in and then thrust forward, upward. Her hindquarters straightened, propelling her into the sky as her wings beat down, smoother than any galley’s oars; cleaner, so that jump and wingbeat carried us aloft.

Displaced air drummed thunder through the night. Dust rose in thick clouds below. We sprang toward the