Regent

'You see that wad of guards come in, and you hide in line? I ought to make you carry buckets until your lazy little legs fall off!'

Durin considered telling her he was about to ask what he could do, but even he would not have believed it. Instead, he just walked to where the buckets of dirty water waited and grabbed two. Miss Mariss simply glared at him. As he made his way toward the kitchen exit, a guard charged through the door and bumped Durin, which sent dirty water into the air, most of which landed on Durin.

'If you're gonna spill it, then clean it up,' Miss Mariss said with the closest thing to a smile that Durin had seen on her face in weeks. At least his misery served some purpose, he thought.

'Sorry, mate,' the guard said. 'I'd help you clean it up, but they want all of us-uh. . we have something important to do.'

Durin just put down his buckets and caught the clean rags Miss Mariss threw at him. He'd been breathing through his mouth, hoping not to smell how bad the water was, but it became tedious and he breathed in through his nose. To his surprise, the water did not smell bad at all. After cleaning up the spill, he tucked one of the remaining dry rags into his belt; the rest went into the laundry pile, which he suspected he would have to carry next.

What he really wanted to do was go see why all the guards were needed. With Sinjin closeted away and double the guards on duty, there had to be something afoot. When he reached the alcove where he and Sinjin used to hide, he stopped. Too many guards cast him glances as they passed, making it clear he'd get nowhere near the excitement. Already his back ached, and a short rest was too difficult to resist. He would find out what was going on soon enough. Not wanting anyone to know, he brought the buckets back into the shadows. Within moments, he was asleep.

Chapter 9

Forgotten are those who fail to achieve. Doomed are those afraid to fail.

— Brother Vaughn, Cathuran monk

Blue skies filled with nothing but towering cloud formations, white and fluffy, appeared nonthreatening, yet most watched the skies in tense anticipation. Reaver had yet to make an appearance, but his presence was almost palpable. Few other dragons ventured in close to Kyrien, or the Pinook Valley at all for that matter, but Reaver seemed determined to root out the humans and especially Kyrien. He exuded frustration every time he attacked despite the scars he bore from previous attempts.

Chase's people learned from every encounter, and between Morif and Martik, they found either tactical or mechanical solutions to their weaknesses. Crews were now adept at loading, aiming, and firing ballistae, and stacks of sharpened tree trunks waited near each of the six super weapons. Each one had its own personality, and crews had to learn the quirks of their specific weapon. Misfires and mistakes had been costly, and those who still lived were determined not to suffer the same fates as their lost brethren. The visions of Reaver flying off with friends and comrades burned in their memories.

Kyrien moved among them, his every step causing men to scramble, and many walked a thin line between protecting Kyrien and being unintentionally killed by him. The saddle was nearly down the stairs, and Kyrien looked more alive than he had in weeks. Stretching his wings, he reminded everyone in the valley of his true size. From the stair, Catrin beamed down at him, trying to contain her impatience. Bringing the massive saddle down the stairs was a slow and arduous process.

Swiveling his head on his long, slender neck, Kyrien watched their progress and let out an echoing call when finally they approached. Catrin wished he, too, could contain his enthusiasm. No doubt Reaver heard his call and would come to investigate. Those guarding Kyrien reached the same conclusion and scanned the skies for any sign of the massive feral dragon. The men carrying the saddle also quickened their pace beyond what might have been considered prudent. In times such as these, safety was a relative thing.

Kyrien met Catrin's eyes, and the world ceased to exist. His gaze captivated her, and excitement filled the air between them. Hurry.

Alongside the final landing, Kyrien positioned himself, extending one wing so his girth was fully exposed. It was an awkward position, and it left him vulnerable, but it made it much easier on those who were trying to get the saddle in place.

'You'll never be able to clear the gap!' Martik said as he pushed his way toward those handling the saddle. It was clear the men were already spent. 'I need some fresh bodies up here! Fetch a block and tackle, and find me an anchor point on the east face. And rope! We need at least three coils of rope.'

No one waited long to obey. Though Martik held no title or military power, his genius was undeniable, and the people had come to trust his judgment. Trust, it seemed, was a better motivator than political power as people obeyed him with confidence. After securing the pulleys and ropes, Martik positioned people around the saddle and orchestrated their movements like a symphony, constantly reacting as conditions changed. Even with his skills and the peoples' trust of him, it was a dangerous task. Swinging wildly at times, blown by gusts of wind, the saddle struck at random, sending one man over the railing. Kyrien managed to catch the man on his side, preventing what might have been a serious injury.

'Bring me slack!' Martik shouted at the two men closest to him. 'Steady. Steady.'

The saddle dropped into place more quickly than Martik had intended, and Kyrien let out a woof when it landed, but then he shifted and squirmed until the saddle fell into place, looking as if it had been designed exactly to fit him, which it had, but Catrin was still amazed by how good a fit it was since it had been based on mental imagery alone.

Raising his body up on his two powerful legs, Kyrien provided enough room for the girths to be run under his belly. Catrin watched a young man slide under Kyrien, risking his life for her, knowing that he would be crushed if Kyrien chose to lower himself at the wrong time. Kyrien watched the young man and made sure he was well clear before the mighty regent dragon raised himself up higher, bringing the seat near to where Catrin watched. Using a loop in the rope lift, Catrin stepped up and allowed Martik and his men to raise her up and maneuver her over the saddle.

'This time bring me slack slowly and evenly!' Martik demanded.

The men holding the ropes did the best they could, but Catrin still landed hard. She didn't care. She was on Kyrien's back, just as she'd seen in her visions, though perhaps the next time she mounted, she thought, she would simply climb up. After pulling the girths snug and securing the breast collar, Catrin strapped herself into the saddle. Stiff leather resisted going into the keepers, and hooks resisted sliding through awl-punched holes, but she was eventually satisfied that she had constructed the saddle correctly. When she raised her hands in victory, a small cheer went up from the crowd, which Catrin noticed contained more than a few Arghast. Halmsa watched her with unwavering attention, seemingly absorbing every detail so he could relay the information to his tribesman.

What Catrin had not expected to see was Strom descending the stairs carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle. Noting the storm cloud he had in place of his face, Catrin wondered what could be afoot. When he reached the landing, the crowd parted and let him pass though he'd said not a word. The look on his face made it clear he would part rock if he had to. 'Here!' was all he said to Catrin before he unwrapped the package and thrust a weapon, shielded pommel first, across the gap to Catrin. Martik stepped in behind him to make sure he didn't fall into the valley below.

Catrin opened her mouth to speak, but Strom immediately withdrew and walked to where Kyrien could easily see him. Strom glared at the dragon, who regarded him with what looked like mild amusement.

'There! Are you happy now?' Strom shouted up at Kyrien, bringing a shocked roar that ran through those assembled. Kyrien simply closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head to Strom. 'Good. Now stay out of my head!' When Strom turned away, the crowd parted even more quickly, not wanting to impede a man with the courage to browbeat a dragon.