B00B15Z1P2 EBOK Read online

  “You can use it for pepper?” Sura grinned. “That’s good to know. We’re almost out of pepper too. I’ve had to stretch our supply, because we only bought enough for two in the fall. But this is coming up at the normal time.”

  “Then spring comes a little earlier here than in Lacota.” Mik crouched in front of the bright red plants.

  “Is there anything you have to do with it?”

  “Let it dry in a sunny window, then you can crumble it up and use it like pepper. How much do we need?”

  “Fill a pouch. It’s on our list. Flameweed is good for fire magic, too.”

  “I—hoy!” Mik flinched, and Sura heard a chittering noise. He spoke softly. “Sura… come and see. But slow.”

  Sura knelt next to Mik, and gasped. Something that looked like a tiny dragon poked its head over the flameweed, chittering and hissing at them. Its head and long neck were as red as the plants, but its body was streaked with gold. Its underbelly, what they could see of it, was the blue of the sky.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. But I think it’s hurt.” Mik stretched a careful hand toward the creature, ready to jerk away. The thing stood its ground, chittering again. “It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.” He laid his hand, palm down, in front of it. “We just want to see you.”

  It sniffed, chirped, and climbed aboard. Mik winced at the pricking of tiny, sharp claws, but let it get a secure perch before lifting his hand slowly.

  “It looks just like a dragon!” Sura breathed. “But it’s so tiny!”

  “Is it a dragon?”

  “I don’t know. The only dragon I’ve ever seen was the ice dragon that you rode here.” Sura laughed at the memory. “But Father will know.”

  “It’s hurt, all right.” Mik watched it spread its wings, revealing a body no larger than his thumb. One of its wings was twisted and torn. “Maybe it can sit on my shoulder while we find the rest of the herbs.”

  Perhaps understanding, it clambered up Mik’s sleeve to his shoulder. It climbed into his jacket collar and nestled against Mik’s neck, and he snorted. “That tickles!”

  “Indeed,” said Bailar, exchanging wary looks with the tiny creature on Mik’s shoulder. “It’s a dragon. A Desert Dwarf, if my memory serves. I’ve never heard of one coming this far west, or north. Let alone at this time of year.”

  “Where do they come from?”

  “A vast desert in the East, called the Ahm a’droog by the natives of the region. That translates rather literally to ‘The Godforsaken.’ How it survived the cold, or how it was hurt? That I don’t know.”

  “Can we help it, then?”

  “Certainly, Mik. But know this—dragons have their own agenda. They are no one’s pet. It likely befriended you because you were there in its extremity. Yet it is never wrong to aid a creature that offers no violence.” His mentor smiled. “I named you Mik Dragonrider, since you came seeking my aid on the back of an ice dragon. But now, your name has a double meaning—you yourself have a dragon rider.”

  Bailar turned away, and Sura took Mik’s hand. “Come inside now,” said the mentor. “It needs warmth above all else. It will likely sleep by—or perhaps in—the fireplace until it’s healed.”

  • • •

  The tiny dragon chittered at Mik and Sura from its place on the common room hearth, as its humans brought in their breakfast. As always, Bailar followed them with careful steps, using his staff to keep his balance. He sat as his apprentices set out dishes and covered pots. Finally, as Mik spooned eggs and sausages into their mentor’s bowl, Sura reached down.

  “Are you ready for breakfast too?” she asked the dragon. It chirped and hopped into her palm, and let her carry it to the table. A pinned strip of cloth held its injured wing against its body. A week ago, Mik had set the tiny bone under Bailar’s instruction, as it lay in magical sleep, while Sura applied a healing ointment to the torn skin. By the next day, the dragon stopped worrying at the bandage. Sura set it between her plate and Mik’s, where it could steal a piece of egg or meat from either side.

  “Mik,” said Bailar, “have you learned anything new from that book of dragon lore?”

  “Yes, sir. Lesser Dragons, like the Desert Dwarf, heal rapidly.” Mik winced at his tone; it sounded to him as if he were reciting a school lesson. “We should be able to unwrap the bandage in another week.”

  “If only we could heal our own broken bones that quickly.” Bailar smirked and forked up a sausage. “His appetite seems to be improving.” As he spoke, the dragon crouched then struck like a snake, snatching a piece of egg from the edge of Sura’s plate. They all watched as it held the morsel in its tiny front claws and nibbled at it like a mouse. “Strikes like a hunter, eats at the ready like prey,” he said. “That suggests it can be both at any moment.”

  “The chapter about Desert Dwarves was interesting,” said Mik. “They steal eggs from nests, and eat insects. Carrion, if they’re hungry enough.” The dragon paused to listen. “Hawks and sandcats will eat them. Eastern folk say they house the spirits of men who died in The Godforsaken.”

  Bailar cocked an eye. “Odd.”

  “Not women?” Sura gave Mik a gentle poke, and the dragon chirped.

  “I don’t know!” he sputtered. “I’m just repeating what the book said! Maybe women are smart enough to stay out of that place or something.”

  Bailar laughed. “Always the diplomat, Mik!”

  • • •

  After breakfast, Bailar went to his chambers, but soon returned. “If I read the banners across the river correctly,” he told his apprentices, “the barges brought in fruit. Oranges from the Archipelago, I hope. Go and see. Sura, you know what a fair price is. If you know of anything else we need, purchase it as well.”

  A few minutes later, Mik and Sura made their careful way down the steep path to the river. Sura watched Mik below her, uncoiling the knotted rope they used for safety and help on the way back up. “I’m so glad you’re here now,” she said. “I used to have to pull the canoe upriver so I wouldn’t miss the landing! Two of us can just paddle across.”

  “You just love me for my strength.” Mik grinned at Sura’s laughing protest. Reaching the bottom, he turned and braced himself; Sura whooped and let go the rope, jumping the last few feet into Mik’s arms. After a thorough kiss, long enough for neither of them, they pushed their canoe into the river and struck for the far shore.

  Reaching Exidy, they left their canoe on the bank with other boats of folk from up- and down-river. After adjusting the blue sashes that marked them as Bailar’s apprentices, they made their way to the marketplace. “Oranges!” Sura whispered, nodding to her left where a merchant showed off his fruit. They walked on—pretending disinterest was all part of the game here, as it was in Lacota.

  “What do we need first?”

  “Pepper, if anyone has it and they’re not demanding an outrageous price. If not, we’ll just use your flameweed.” She nudged Mik, making him smile. “That was really helpful. We need cheese, too. At least that won’t be hard to find.”

  There was no pepper, but they filled Mik’s pack with cheese from local farmers, then made their way back to the orange merchant. The price he offered Sura was reasonable, but they bargained for the sake of good form. Mik mostly watched the man, and the way the man watched Sura. He knew Sura looking bright and smiling would get them a better price, but he did not have to like it. The mentor’s words came to him, almost a whisper: Part of you considers her your mate. You will have feelings, and at your age they are strong feelings, but reason is what makes a sorcerer. What you are in private is one thing, but in public you are fellow apprentices above all else. He remembered Bailar’s sigh before that last sentence, and the embarrassment he felt. So he stood and watched, until Sura and the merchant bumped fists to signify agreement. The man filled her pack and offered it to Mik, but Sura laughed and took it herself.

  “You would not carry your fair lady’s burden?” The man g
ave Mik a mocking look.

  “His pack is already full!” Sura slung hers onto her back and took Mik’s arm. “I think we’re done.” She gave him a quick kiss to the cheek, making Mik smile as they walked away. The merchant’s smirk now looked forced, to Mik’s complete satisfaction.

  As they left the market, they heard a strange voice behind them: “Excuse me,” it said. “You are the apprentice sorcerers?”

  They turned. The speaker’s manner of dress was as odd as his speech—he wore robes of light grey, travel-worn, and a large-brimmed hat. A dagger was sheathed at his side, a common sight among outlanders. He crossed his arms, hands to his shoulders, and nodded his head. Mik took the gesture to be a sort of bow.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mik. “Our mentor is the local sorcerer.”

  “Ah, good. Your fellow townsfolk spoke true, then.” He spoke directly to Mik, seeming to ignore Sura altogether, which Mik found odd but agreeable. “I have lost something, a valuable possession, and I need aid in finding it.”

  Mik’s mind leaped to an obvious conclusion, but did his best not to show it. “May I ask what, sir?”

  The outlander smiled. “You are obviously honest and trustworthy, but I would speak to your master if I may. I mean no offense.”

  “I take none,” Mik lied. “Our mentor lives across the river. Any boat for hire knows the landing.”

  “Forgive me, but can you not take me in your craft?”

  Mik shook his head. “It’s only a canoe. We have enough room for ourselves and our packs, and our mentor forbids us to separate when in town. I mean no offense.”

  “I take none. It will be as you say. Please be kind enough to tell him I am coming?”

  “Of course… whom shall I say?”

  “Ah. I am called Ahm Kereb. Please do not let me delay you further.” Ahm Kereb turned and walked away.

  Mik and Sura said nothing as they returned to their canoe and paddled across the river. It was only as they pulled themselves up the bluff by the knotted rope that they felt comfortable enough to speak.

  “Was that an Easterner?” Mik asked, puffing as he climbed behind Sura.

  “I think so. That name sounds familiar.”

  “The Ahm part. It’s in the name of that desert. The one our dragon came from.”

  Sura glanced back at Mik for a moment. “You think he’s looking for it?”

  “I’m sure of it. He’s a strange one—he didn’t even look at you.”

  “You noticed that?”

  “That, and the way the orange merchant did look at you.”

  Sura laughed. “Jealous?”

  Mik puffed, delaying his reply. “A little. Maybe.”

  “You should be jealous. I got a better price for these oranges than you could have!”

  Mik laughed. “Well, I’m not as pretty as you!”

  “But you’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s what’s important.”

  And Mik found that reason and emotion could sometimes agree.

  “To be honest,” said Bailar, watching the river from his chambers, “this answers one question while raising two more. The dragon arrived here, so far from home, because it was brought here. But why? And how did it escape?”

  “I don’t think how it got away matters so much,” said Sura.

  “So are we going to give him the dragon?” Mik looked ready to protest.

  “Not right away. I am not convinced that his intentions are honest.” Bailar turned away from the window. “It has been some time since I have used the Eastern tongue. But I think the name he gave you means something like God-Knife. The old saw holds: If your deeds would bring you shame, do them by another name.” The sorcerer looked out the window again. “Melton is crossing the river, with a passenger. So there may be letters coming with the visitor. Mik, go and greet our guests. Give Melton his due, and invite him in. He will need to wait to carry his passenger back. Sura, I suggest you move your little friend to the kitchen fire. Then bring tea to the common room.”

  Later, Ahm Kereb stepped outside, accompanied by Bailar and Sura. Melton and Mik stood in the yard, exchanging pleasant gossip. “I must return tomorrow,” the Easterner told Melton. “Will you be available to convey me?”

  “Maybe,” said Melton, “but any boatman for hire can bring you. I come only to take or deliver correspondence.”

  “Watch for a banner, Melton,” said Bailar. “There may be a letter for you to take tomorrow.”

  Melton nodded and turned, waving at Ahm Kereb to follow. They took the longer path, down to the wide landing where Mik dispelled the ice dragon last winter. Bailar and his apprentices watched them from the stoop until they disappeared around the first bend.

  “Come,” said Bailar. “Let us pour some more tea and discuss this.”

  Even wrapped around a hot mug of tea, Mik’s hands felt numb. Beside him, Sura looked as upset as he felt. “Indeed, he seeks the dragon,” said Bailar. “He claims it is a gift for a notable in the Northern Reach, a token of friendship. I suggested that if such a creature escaped, it would quickly perish in this climate. He claims the power of divination, and says it is still alive and near the river. That struck me as odd. A spell of finding is a simple thing, relative to divination. There are some very specialized disciplines…” Bailar trailed off, staring through them. “Mik, what was it you said about the dragons this morning? Something about spirits.”

  “Oh. Folk believe they house the spirits of people who die in the The Godforsaken. Is that important?”

  “It may be. Now one of those specialized disciplines is enchantment, enhancing weapons and other items with magic. It was long the practice of Eastern enchanters, that the power of their weapons came from the spirit they bound to the blade.” Bailar grimaced. “Such a weapon is powerful indeed, but a willful spirit can cause great mischief for one who wields that weapon. Thus, the practice fell out of favor centuries ago and was then outlawed. But some are yet willing to risk that hazard, and others are willing to risk provisioning them. Ah. I now remember how his name is translated. He calls himself ‘Blade of God’—an appropriate title for one with such a practice.”

  “What can we do?” Sura asked.

  “If the dragon heals soon, we may be able to put him off. If not… I don’t know.”

  • • •

  The next several days were tense. Bailar delayed as best he could, but knew Ahm Kereb was growing suspicious. Mik and Sura rarely squabbled before, but stress over the fate of the dragon now set them at odds about things that seemed trivial afterward, and their fights left them confused and heartsore.

  On the morning of the fourth day after Ahm Kereb met Mik and Sura, the apprentices prepared breakfast in the kitchen while the little dragon watched from the warmth of the stove hearth. Most mornings, they would be chatting, laughing, touching as they worked, but now the only sounds were the clatter of cookware and what few words were necessary to do their work.

  The dragon watched them for a while, then wandered to the edge of the hearth. He stretched his neck toward the two and chittered.

  “He wants sunlight.” Sura’s voice was toneless. She let the dragon hop into her hand.

  Mik hesitated, but finally spoke. “Did—did you dream about the hawk last night, too?”

  For the first time that morning, Sura looked at him. Her eyes grew wide, then she nodded and turned away. Mik thought about his dream:

  Worry, worry at the wire along the bottom of the cage—snap! Crawl through. So cold here. But free now!

  Fly! Welcome sunshine! So cold! So cold! Which way home? Sun so bright, so welcome, why does it not warm? Fly!

  The cry of a familiar enemy—dive! turn! The hawk strikes, tears a wing but does not catch. Pain! Fall! Fluttering through scrub, so much higher than familiar, to grass whose color may provide a hiding place.

  So cold. So cold. Will die here.

  Creatures, rarely seen. Found. Warmth. Healing.

  Mik joined Sura at the sunlit window as she let the dragon hop
onto the sill. It stood facing the window, and stretched its good wing. Then, it turned and began snapping at the cloth strip binding and protecting its injured wing.

  “Maybe the wing’s healed,” said Mik. “I think we should take the bandage off and see.”

  “Are you sure?” They both winced at the sharpness in Sura’s tone.

  “Yes,” said Mik, eyes moist. “But I don’t want to fight about it.” He turned away.

  “Mik, stop!” Sura caught his arm before he could take more than a step. “I don’t—I don’t want—” she pulled him to her, and they held each other for a long minute, the only sound an occasional sob. The dragon stopped worrying at the bandage to chirp at its humans.

  At last, Mik sniffed. “The bread!” he gasped.

  They rushed to the oven; Sura grabbed the thick pad and Mik jerked the door open. Sura snatched out the bread pan, turned it onto the cooling rack, and sighed. “Just a little brown. Not burnt.”

  They looked at each other, then their laughter seemed to brighten the whole kitchen. The dragon chirped from the window as they embraced anew.

  “I’ve been so worried about what’s going to happen to him,” she said, leading Mik back to the window. “But you’re right. Let’s see if it’s healed.”

  Mik nodded and removed the pin holding the bandage. The cloth slipped free, and the dragon slowly lifted the wing. Sunshine through the window made both wings translucent. There was a jagged scar, but the skin looked healed. The dragon spread both wings wide, less than the span of Sura’s hand; it seemed as if he were stretching.

  “I don’t think I told you,” said Sura, “that was a marvelous idea you had with the splint.” She nodded at the splint: a sliver of wood on either side of the bone, with three tiny bronze clips keeping them in place.

  “I’m just glad it worked,” said Mik, but he was grinning. The dragon turned and sniffed at the splint. “But I’m more glad we’re talking again.” He slipped an arm around her; she turned to him…