Brian Rathbone - Regent

"What's your solution?"

Chase searched for words, but he could find none that hadn't already been said by Catrin herself years before.

"Then don't look down your nose on what might be part of the solution."

"Perhaps it will help to mollify the Arghast as well," Chase admitted. "They're quite unhappy that you've not taught them to fly yet."

"Don't start with that either. How am I supposed to teach someone how to do something I don't know how to do?" Catrin asked in futility. "At least not without a ship, that is," she admitted. "That doesn't change the fact that I haven't ridden a dragon. . yet."

"The problem is this: If we take that saddle down there and put it on Kyrien, the people are going to expect you to fly. The Arghast will expect you to fly. And we both know it isn't even close to safe for Kyrien to fly with Reaver patrolling the skies and demons on the ground. What makes you think the ferals won't immediately gang up on Kyrien?"

"I don't intend to fly yet. There will come a time, yes, but not yet. For now we will just need to explain to everyone that it is simply a test to satisfy my curiosity and that we will not be flying."

"You know how much turmoil this will cause."

"I do and I cannot fix that. People are going to have to come to grips with the fact that the world has changed. We ourselves must either change or die. Deal with it."

It was clear to Chase that he would not win this argument. The truth was that he partially agreed with her. Still, he did not look forward to the uproar it would cause. "When?"

"Now."

With little besides hard breads coming out of the kitchens, Durin did his best to avoid them altogether. Since Miss Mariss now refused to let anyone take more than one portion of food, no one could bring him food, and hunger eventually won out. If Sinjin were around, it wouldn't be so bad, but Brother Vaughn had sequestered him away with only Trinda for company. Durin felt for his friend; carrying water buckets wasn't nearly as bad. Trinda was the least happy person Durin had ever met, and she always managed to dampen his mood. When he took the family history into account, he worried even more about Sinjin's safety.

Worrying made Durin hungry. With a sigh, he made his way deeper into the hold, where the heat was nearly unbearable. Durin wondered how people managed to breathe the hot air for so long. It suffocated him. Strom's hammer rang an angry tone, and Durin stepped quickly by the smithy entrance. Taking his place in line, Durin waited, trying to be invisible. A line of guards approached; far more than usual, Durin noted with dismay. The guards would get fed first, and that meant a long wait and the chance that there would be nothing left by the time he got there. It had been happening more and more lately. Even with many in the hold cooking their own meals, the kitchens simply could not keep up with the demand for food-cooked or rationed. The stress it placed on Miss Mariss was obvious, and Durin felt guilty for hiding.

Just as he was considering asking Miss Mariss what he could do to help, though, the man next to him decided he didn't have time to wait for the guards, and he suddenly turned and left. Never one to miss anything in her kitchen, Miss Mariss immediately spotted Durin.

"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.

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."