“Good influence, I hope,” Amero muttered.
The dragon hopped down to the floor. “Fear not, Amero. Though I may be confined to this shape, I’m still the dragon of the lake. No one need know otherwise. If the problem is some allergy or influence, it will pass.”
A trio of ram’s horns blared from below. Amero raced to the door and looked down. Dust rose from the direction of Cedarsplit Gap, and a small column of riders could be seen entering the valley between the cattle pens and the bridge.
“How does this thing work?” Duranix was examining Amero’s hoist. “If I can’t spread my wings, I’ll have to descend like you, won’t I?”
Amero frowned. He explained the hoist system, with its counterweight and pulleys made of the heartwood of the burltop tree. The basket attached to the hoist was roomy enough for two. However, he said, the counterweight was too light for Duranix, who still weighed as much he did in dragon form.
“So am I stuck here, a prisoner in my own cave?”
Amero recalled the dragon’s advice from years ago when he, Amero, had asked the same question. With pleasure, he repeated that advice now. “You could jump.”
“I’m in no mood for your insolence!”
His fury was genuine, and Amero backed away. “It was a jest!”
“A poor one. There must be a cause for this malady — ”
The horns sounded again. Amero climbed in the wicker basket and prepared to drop the counterweight. “You’ll have to work it out yourself. I must go,” he said. Grunting, he yanked on the strap and the hide sack of stones rolled off the timber shelf and started down. On the ground, a second sack started to rise, as the basket sank slowly.
The hoist gathered speed and Duranix disappeared above. It was all very well to tease the dragon about being marooned in the cave, but without him the village was practically defenseless. Under no circumstances could Karada’s band be allowed to know this — nor could the people of Yala-tene.
As Amero crossed the sandy lanes between the villagers’ houses, doors thumped shut around him. The paths through the village were empty of people. Homes with two stories had their upper windows open, as curious and anxious families peered out at the approaching horsemen. Tools and work were left in place as everyone fled inside and bolted their doors. By the time Amero reached the outer edge of the settlement, he was alone, completely exposed and vulnerable.
A ragged line of horsemen, no more than a dozen in all, trotted over the sandhill. Rather than walk out to meet them, Amero halted and struck what he hoped was a confident pose. The lead riders spotted him and came toward him at the same lazy trot. When they got closer, they spread out in a line six horses wide. At little more than spitting distance, the rider in the center of the line held up his hand, halting his comrades.
“Greetings,” said the dusty, fair-haired nomad.
“Peace to you all,” replied Amero, clearing his throat to avoid any quaver in his voice. “I am Amero, headman of Yala-tene.”
The horsemen’s leader looked surprised. “Are you the Arkuden we’ve heard of?” In the plains tongue Arkuden meant “dragon’s son.”
“Some have called me that. I am simply Amero, founder of this village and friend to Duranix, the bronze dragon of the lake.”
The horseman smiled widely, showing bad teeth. “My name’s Sessan. This is Tarkwa, and this, Nacris.” These were the man and woman flanking him, respectively. Like the rest of the riders, they were grimy, sunbrowned, and hard-eyed. Amero greeted them.
“You’re part of Karada’s band?” he said.
Sessan betrayed surprise. “We were, not so long ago. How’d you know?”
“One of your comrades has been with us for a while, Pa’alu by name. We saw you coming, and he identified you as being of her band.”
“Pa’alu, here? Where is he?” Nacris said.
“He left on foot this morning to meet you,” Amero replied, scratching his head. “I’m sure he went up Cedarsplit Gap. I can’t think why you didn’t see him.”
“It’s a dusty day,” Sessan said. “We may not have seen him if he was walking. Truth to tell, we don’t pay much attention to you stray root-pickers on foot.”
A few of the other riders laughed. Amero smiled through the insult and said, “How many of you are there?”
“What you see here, plus whoever else makes it this far.”
“Is your chief with you?”
Tarkwa exclaimed loudly, “Karada? She’s dead!”
Sessan and Nacris stared at him with as much surprise as Amero. Abashed, Tarkwa said, “She must be dead, I mean — she stayed behind to fight the elves alone. No one’s seen her since, have they?”
An awkward silence ensued. Amero broke it by saying, “On behalf of my people and the great dragon Duranix, I welcome you. Please, follow me.”
Nacris steered her horse in front of Amero and extended a dirty, callused hand to him. “Climb on,” she said cheerfully.
Amero had never ridden a horse in his life, and he sensed this was a test of his mettle. How hard could riding a horse be for a fellow who’d flown through the air in a dragon’s claw? He clasped Nacris’s hand, and she hauled him up. He slid onto the horse behind her. It was hard to say who smelled worse, Nacris or the horse.
Sessan raised his hand and shouted, “Let’s go!”
The nomads stirred their horses to gallop. They yipped and yelled as they raced down the hill toward the silent houses. Amero clung to Nacris’s waist and bounced up and down with the motion of the horse. It was punishing, but he was proud he remained on the creature’s back. He called instructions to Nacris, and she guided her horse toward the lakeshore.
At his direction, she stopped on the open ground between the cairn and Amero’s hoist. Here the ground was all rock ledges, lightly dusted with sand washed down by the falls. The waterfall was close by. Amero had long since gotten used to its thunder, but the nomads were as excited as children by the roaring column of water. They walked their horses into shallow water and let the fine spray cover their faces. Amero slid off the horse, went back to dry land, sat down on a slate ledge, and waited.
When he tired of playing in the water, Sessan slogged ashore, wringing out his long hair as he came. Dripping, he dropped beside Amero and began peeling off his sodden sandals and leggings.
“Nice spot,” he said, squeezing the excess water from his suede footgear. “I can see why you chose to live here.”
“I didn’t choose it,” Amero replied. “The dragon did.”
“Oh, the dragon. When can we see him?”
“Any time he decides to show himself. He doesn’t come among us too often.”
“I thought he took on the shape of a human? He came to Karada’s camp looking like a big man.”
“He takes human form sometimes,” Amero said carefully, “but he does not do our bidding.”
The other riders whooped and splashed in the cold lake. Amero watched them, smiling. At least they would smell better after their wet roughhousing.
“We’d like to stay for a while,” Sessan said suddenly.
“I understand. You can live here if you want, so long as you agree to obey the village elders.”
“Oh, we won’t be staying that long.” Sessan slung his damp sandals around his neck. “We’re wanderers. We can’t dig a hole and live in it, like some rabbit.”
“No, you’re more like wolves, aren’t you?”
Sessan wasn’t offended. He laughed at Amero’s comparison. Jumping to his feet, he swept his arm in a wide half-circle. “Yeah, us wolves’ll camp here, by the lake.”
“You’ll find it damp,” Amero said. “The mist from the falls will soak your tents before nightfall.”
He waved away the young headman’s warning. “We’re used to it. Any night on the savanna it rains is damp for us. Thanks, boy!” He clapped Amero on the back and went to unpack his horse.
Hide tents sprouted on the rocky ledge, and a picket line for the horses stretched between some boulders rolled over from the cliff base. Before departing, Amero told the nomads they could barter with the villagers for
