Silence again, but this time, utterly stunned. The injured man sat down with a thud.
“Blessed gods,” said one.
Heklatis looked as if he had swallowed a sea urchin. “The theory fits,” he said, with so much barely-suppressed rage in his voice that those nearest him took a step back. “And what a
fine
way to besiege a place and prevent anyone who might help from coming near it! Such as—the Temple of All Gods?”
A gasp met his words, but no one disagreed with him. That this violated everything every Altan believed in was so obvious that it didn’t need saying.
It was Lord Khumun who broke that third silence, by turning to Kiron, removing his sash of office, and offering it to Kiron. “It is your plan, young Lord Kiron,” he said, simply. “Lead us.”
Kiron stared at the sash, then into Lord Khumun’s face. All he could feel was panic; all he could think of was,
I don’t want to be a leader!
But his hands took the sash by themselves, his mouth opened, and words came out.
“I think that this will work—”
Above the wing, nothing but sky. Below the wing—so far below that they looked like fancifully colored little songbirds—were the dragons of Alta.
“You have ordered all the Jousters into the sky, my Lord Magus. We are not the best, but we are ready.”
For the past two days, the dragons had been restive as the old
tala
wore out of their systems. By now, the larger dragons of Tia must be getting very touchy indeed. Their dragon boys would be giving them higher doses of the false
tala.
It would hold for a while, but not long. Certainly not long enough to get them through what Kiron’s wing was about to inflict on them.
The Magus stared at him, then smiled. He looked exactly like a crocodile. “Well done, Jouster Kiron. I will commend your loyalty and zeal to serve to the Great Ones.”
Somewhere out there in the desert, he hoped, Kaleth was waiting.
Whether they would all survive to reach him was another story. These were not fellow wingmates that they were about to harass. These were full-grown desert dragons, all wild-caught, and now, all of very uncertain temper.
Except, of course, for a single tame dragon that Kiron especially did not want to face.
What would the Magi think, when none of the Jousters returned, and they found a compound peopled only by slaves and servants?
He hoped they would think that all of them had died, and that Lord Khumun and Heklatis had deserted, rather than be held responsible for such a massive failure. He really, truly hoped that the Magi would send out trappers to take wild dragons and try the false
tala
on them. That would be—festive.
Somewhere, down there, was a covered ox cart carrying an old peasant man and a quarrelsome old woman, heading east. Hidden in the cart, beneath a false bottom, were a dozen images of Akkadian gods and goddesses—and one statue of a comely woman that was not a goddess—along with all the wealth that Lord Khumun and Heklatis could put together. Heklatis had looked disturbingly comfortable in that linen gown and woman’s wig. But the statues ensured that the Magi might look for them, but they would not find them.
They had all worn Jousting armor and carried lances. The moment that they passed over the Seventh Canal, the armor and lances had come falling out of the sky like a strange rain.
No one was going to be encumbered today. No one was fighting today. The senior Jousters were going to let the Tians chase them until their own dragons got too restive—then they were going to take them down behind the Altan lines and let them go. That was the plan, anyway.
No more need for Jousting armor. There would be no more Jousters. There might be dragon riders, but there would be no more Jousters.
Down there, so far below that they looked like ants, were the Tian and Altan armies—and there—coming up from the south, were the Tian Jousters.
Up here it all seemed so very simple, and Kiron’s mind felt strangely detached. Was this how the gods saw things, as tiny figures at a distance? It was impossible to tell individual warriors on the ground, and even the dragons were little more than scraps of color, swirling around each other, as if moved by the wind. If so, no wonder the gods failed to answer prayers. You couldn’t see blood from up here; you couldn’t see death, or suffering.
But I’m not a god,
Kiron thought, taking in a sudden deep breath of air as the first of the little bits of color broke off and headed for the ground.
And I may not see it, but I know it’s there. It’s time to do what I can to stop it.
He gave Avatre the signal to dive.
He didn’t have to see his wing following his lead; he felt it. He didn’t want Aket-ten to be here, but—but he needed every dragon, and little Re-eth-ke was the smartest, the swiftest, the most agile of them all. And besides, he couldn’t have kept Aket-ten away short of knocking her out, stuffing her in a bag, and putting her in Lord Khumun’s cart.
And he knew very well what would happen to him then, if he made it to Sanctuary . . . Aket-ten would finish what the Tian Jousters started.
He picked out a dragon, a big one, a blue-and-green, chasing an Altan brown swamp dragon. He gave Avatre the signal for a raking attack without the claws.
The Tian never even knew he was coming; all he knew was that suddenly something big and red came up from behind, moving twice as fast as he was, and nearly knocked him out of his saddle with the buffeting wake of its passage.
And his dragon, already giving him trouble, went mad.
Kiron glanced back over his shoulder. The Tian had broken off the original chase and was now after him. There was another pair of Tians ahead of him, with just barely enough room between them to fit a third—he decided on the instant to fill that gap, and kept Avatre going straight ahead while she still had the momentum of her dive.
She blew through the two of them; he glanced back. The purple blundered into the gold-and-green, then the blue crashed into both of them. Angry screeches, the first he had ever heard from a dragon, followed him as he sent Avatre into a wingover and headed her back up for more height. She rowed her wings in the air, all business, ignoring the chaos she had left behind.
He looked down. There were dull-colored dragons and a few bright ones flying free, now. The dull ones were streaking back for the marshes of Alta, tearing bits of their harness off as they went. The bright ones seemed confused.
He spotted another good target; a pair of Tian dragons going for the grounded Altan Jousters, although their Jousters seemed to be having some difficulty in getting them to go where they wanted. This time he didn’t even have to give Avatre a signal; she seemed to sense where he was looking, as she had when they hunted in the desert together, and plunged downward toward the new target.
This time she chose her own attack; the fisted one. Kiron felt the
thump
as she hit something, though whether it was the dragon or the Jouster, he could not have told for sure. She bounced back up; the dragon she hit blundered into the second, and that was two more Tians out of the melee.
As she clawed for height again, he took a look below. Now the Tian dragons in pursuit were chasing
his
wingmates, and even as he watched, he saw two of them break off, writhing and bucking in the air, deciding suddenly that the irritating nuisances on their backs were worse than the irritating nuisances that were harassing them.
Avatre paused at the top of her climb—
And suddenly Kiron’s vision was filled with a blue-and-gold dragon.
Bleak eyes stared through him from within the slits of a Jousting helmet.
“I told you not to get on the other side of a Joust from me!”
Ari shouted, his voice hollow, his words filled with anger and pain. And he struck for Kiron with his lance.
But Avatre was faster, and she had been learning evasive moves from the moment Kiron entered the Altan compound.
She did a wingover, and Ari’s lance swished through empty air. She turned the wingover into a dive, heading for the ground this time. Kiron did not have to look behind to know that Kashet was in hot pursuit.
This was a mistake; Kashet was as good at ground-scorching dives as Avatre, and he had more practice. He touched Avatre with a signal; she responded instantly, flipping over in a side-slip tumble that put them upside-down for an instant.
Kashet shot past. Kiron sent Avatre up, and back in the opposite direction. It happened to be east.
Time to run.
He gave her the signal she wanted.
For the second time in her life, Kashet pursued Avatre into the desert. This time the odds were better; she was stronger, bigger, and faster, with infinitely more endurance. He hadn’t known that Ari was trying to help them the first time, he’d thought that the Jouster, his Master, was trying to catch them to bring them back to a mutual captivity.
Now he didn’t know what Ari wanted, but he knew what Ari’s devotion to duty would make him try to do, and he didn’t want to find out if friendship would win over duty.
He leaned down over Avatre’s neck, making himself as small as possible—and then gave her an entirely different signal.
He dropped the reins. She was the best judge of what to do now; he would live or die by her instinct and ability.
She responded at first only by deepening her wingbeats and making her climb a little steeper. Then she turned her head, just a trifle—looked back over her own shoulder—and did a wingover to the left.
Once again, Kashet shot past. This time, though, he fanned his wings furiously to brake—and
she
shot past
him
as she turned her wingover into a shallow dive and continued on eastward. She had tricked him into dumping his speed!
Kiron’s heart leaped. Kashet had never fought a dragon that was his equal before, but Avatre had been training with eight other tame dragons. So he might have more Jousting experience, but she knew how to trick another dragon.
Kiron longed to look back, but resisted the temptation. The battlefield was far behind them, but they were still not over the desert yet. Avatre turned her dive into a climb, and glanced back.
And ducked, spilling the wind from her wings. Kashet shot by overhead.
This isn’t good
—
he’s got more speed now and more height than we do
—
And two more dragons shot past, a blue-black and silver-blue blur, and a purple-blue-scarlet beauty; Tathulan, who was nearly the size of Kashet, and Re-eth-ke. The largest
and
the smartest!
Kashet was in the middle of a wingover when Tathulan bulled past, using her own wake to send Kashet into a tumble. But the tumble sent Kashet where he wanted to go, straight into Avatre and the great blue locked claws with her and they began to plummet toward the earth in an obscene echo of a mating fall.
Kiron screamed in terror, seeing his death rushing toward him—
A blue-black-and-silver thunderbolt struck both of them. Re-eth-ke had rammed them with chest and fisted foreclaws. Kiron caught sight of Aket-ten’s ashen face for a moment, then Re-eth-ke flapped away. But the blow had startled Kashet so that he let go, and Avatre wrenched free.
She snapped her wings open; with a jar that shook him to his teeth, she backwinged for a moment, then got control again and lumbered upward.
Another indigo dragon scorched past her; Bethlan, cutting between Avatre and Kashet. Another—this time a red-and-sand streak that was Deoth. Kashet wasn’t going to be distracted; Kiron could almost feel Kashet’s hot breath on the back of his neck. He was going to close again—
Avatre ducked, and tumbled—and Apetma, Se-atmen and Wastet slammed into Kashet from three sides in a copper, brown, and brilliant blue pinwheel.
Kiron had often heard from old fighters that, at a moment of extreme crisis, time seems to slow. He had never believed that until this moment, when he saw Ari’s body jounce upward in his saddle—saw the restraining strap snap with a sound like a whip crack, and watched Ari tumble down over Kashet’s shoulder with the same graceful, languid motion as a petal dropping from a flower—
His mouth opened. He thought he shouted. He
knew
he gave Avatre a signal she knew better than any other.
She fought out of her tumble; stretched out her neck. Made one desperate wingbeat. A second. And on the third, got under Ari’s falling body with that expert flip of her head and neck that tossed him, sliding down the neck to lodge against the saddle—
But not quite right.
Ari slipped, and slid off her right shoulder.
Kiron screamed again, and grabbed for Ari’s arm as he fell for the second time. He caught it, and was slammed against Avatre’s neck by the sudden weight. She struggled for control; he howled with anguish as his arm seemed to flame with pain. He felt his fingers slipping, looked down into Ari’s eyes, and saw bleak despair and resignation.
Slowly, agonizingly, Kiron’s grip slipped as Avatre lumbered sideways, pulled over by the weight. She didn’t know what to do, and he couldn’t tell her to land without letting go of Ari—
The fingers slid—down the forearm.
Wrist.
Gone.
Just as Re-eth-ke slid right underneath.
Ari landed across Re-eth-ke’s shoulders. Astride.
He screamed in pain. Kiron didn’t blame him. But at least while he was racked with pain, he wasn’t fighting anyone; Aket-ten wrapped her arms around him and sent Re-eth-ke to the ground; Re-eth-ke was perfectly happy to go.
The rest followed her down; panting and weak with reaction, Kiron let Avatre drift in a slow spiral behind them. He didn’t even think about Kashet—
Until they landed beside Re-eth-ke, and Aket-ten, who had Ari on the ground beside her, and the great blue-and-gold dragon powered out of the sky like a lightning bolt, heading straight for them.