Mercedes Lackey - Alta

All right, he decided, There’s no reason to be down there until we have to. Why don’t we just fly until the dragons are hungry? We’ll let them decide when they want to go home.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Aket-ten waving at him; she mimed diving down. He pointed at Vash’s head, tried to mime being hungry, and pointed at Vash’s head again. She frowned—then smiled, and nodded.

For the rest of the morning, they circled and rode the winds together, and the only way in Kiron’s mind that it could have been more perfect would have been if they were on the same dragon. As it was, they only way they could share their pleasure was by signs and smiles.

Still, he absorbed every moment, cramming it into his memory along with the precious memories of Avatre’s first flight above the desert into freedom, of her first good hunt, of the long flight above the swamps of Alta. He would hold these memories, storing them to take out and savor, as an antidote to fear and grief and pain to come. There would be bad times; just as surely as there were good times, there would be bad ones, and he would need memories like this when they came. If ever there had been a perfect moment in his life, it was this, and he gave in to the intoxication of pure flight.

But eventually, as he had known it must, it had to end. He felt Vash tugging in one particular direction, and she made a huge turn, then went from soaring to real flying, beating her way against the wind with powerful wing thrusts. For a moment, he was puzzled—but then he realized that he had forgotten a little detail.

Up here in the clouds, he had no idea where he was. But Vash knew. Just as the birds knew where “home” was, even when they could not see it, Vash and Letoth knew where the compound was. They were hungry, and the compound meant “food”—they might have soared leagues away from it, but they were used to flying enormous distances to get to the battlefield or on patrol. The wind was strong, but the kamiseen was stronger, and they flew against it as a matter of routine; it was no match for their powerful muscles.

Letoth, with the lighter burden of Aket-ten, swiftly overtook Vash and then went into the lead. This spurred Vash on to better efforts, and the two of them labored across the sky as Kiron marveled that they clearly knew exactly where they were going despite the fact that there was nothing visible but clouds that looked exactly like all other clouds beneath them.

Then, without any warning at all, ahead of him, Letoth suddenly folded her wings and dove. Surprised into a scream, Aket-ten grabbed the saddle with both hands as her mount vanished into the clouds.

Kiron had only that much warning to grab the saddle himself, as Vash did the same.

His stomach got left somewhere far behind him. It might be a controlled dive, but it felt exactly like plummeting, and his body reacted with terror. A scream ripped out of his own throat, and his hands clenched onto the front of the saddle so hard that they ached.

Trust Vash. She knows what she’s doing. She won’t crash. She was wild-caught as an adult, she must have done this before. Trust Vash!

They were through the clouds and the turbulence inside them in two heartbeats, falling like a pair of stones out and into the rain. And as they fell through the bottom of the clouds, he saw Letoth and Aket-ten beside him, her hair streaming behind her, her sheepskin cape flapping loose, her mouth still open in a scream—

—and then the rain curtains parted for a moment, and he saw a canal—a bridge—the compound! The rain closed in, then parted again beneath another gust of wind, and the compound was rushing at them, fast— too fast—

Then Vash snapped her wings open, slowing their fall. The rain and the wind slowed it further, and she began to backwing, pulling her hindquarters under him, making her body into an enormous secondary “wing” to slow them still further—

And then, with three thunderous wingbeats, they were down, and Letoth beside them, down in the landing courtyard, skidding to a halt on the rain-slick earth. A slip, and a skid, and Vash folded her wings.

And there they were, safe again, with rain pouring down over them, soaked to the skin, and frightened out of their bodies, almost, and yet, at the same time, full of triumph.

And there were four people running toward them, shouting welcome over the drum of the rain—two Jousters, two dragon boys. And Kiron realized in that moment that—bless them!—Vash and Letoth’s riders had figured out from their long absence that when they came back, he and Aket-ten would be in no shape to tend to the dragons themselves.

He managed, somehow, to get his leg over Vash’s saddle, and slid down to splash into the courtyard to land on legs that shook with fatigue. Vash’s rider steadied him, then slapped him on the back.

“Great landing!” the Jouster shouted into his ear over the rain. “Didn’t think the old cow had it in her! How did she fly?”

“Wonderful! Fantastic! It can be done!” he shouted back. “In fact, once we were over the storm, she liked it! She didn’t want to come back until she got hungry!”

“Well, she’ll get her reward for certain!” the Jouster laughed. “You go get dry and warm. Well done, both of you!”

The Jousters and their dragon boys led the two dragons off to their meal and their warm wallows; Aket-ten waited for Vash to get out of the way, then half staggered through the rain to his side. He put a steadying arm around her, and to his joy, she not only did not object, but leaned into him.

“I want heat!” she croaked over the rain, “And I want to be dry again—”

He laughed. “Me, too!” he agreed, and with heads bent against the downpour as the skies opened up again, they plodded back to their wing. Now there was nothing for it but to wait.

Wait, and see how far a plan could take them.

EIGHTEEN

RAINdrummed on the awnings overhead, and dripped down between the gaps onto the stone paving of the kitchen courtyard. Kiron was exhausted, and so were the rest of his wing; Kiron felt as if he could scarcely hold his head up. They sat around their customary table, staring at their dinner, so tired they could hardly eat. They weren’t the only ones; the senior Jousters were just as exhausted if not more so, and there wasn’t a man without some sort of minor injury among them, bruises, wrenched muscles, sprains. The main difference, really, was that the senior Jousters had been flying fighting missions, and the boys had only been practicing.

Heklatis was going from table to table, peering into eyes here, demanding to see throats there, and pouring an occasional dose from a steaming jug he carried, demanding it be drunk down on the spot. No one really minded; Heklatis’ potions were always drinkable, and sometimes they were even tasty. He had more than made himself useful here, he had made himself indispensable. This was just as well for someone who was trying to keep the Magi from discovering he, too, was a Magus. Should anyone come looking for a Magus hereabouts, he would have the entire compound swearing he was so good a Healer he could not possibly have any time for anything else.

Practice had been difficult as usual. The desert dragons had protested every moment they had to spend in the rain, and Kiron couldn’t blame them one bit. They weren’t meant for this muck, and if it hadn’t been for Kaleth’s premonitions, he wouldn’t have forced them out into the weather at all. The rains had always been a time for rest and recovery for the Jousters of Tia, and it would have been nice if it could have been the same for the Jousters of Alta.