Carrie Vaughn - Voices of Dragons

Kay secured the knots over Artegal’s chest before turning on him. “Jon, please, we have to do this.”

“But why—”

Artegal’s head lifted, his neck straightening. He looked around, scanning the area, nostrils flaring.

They’d been arguing, not paying attention. Kay tensed, anxious to spot what had startled the dragon. She heard only one thing: the rapid beat of an approaching helicopter. Then she saw people, men in black fatigues, rifles pointed ahead of them, emerging through the trees. The first was visible a dozen yards behind Jon, but when Kay turned, she seemed to find them everywhere. She hadn’t heard them at all.

Now, they surrounded the area.

Action erupted. A couple of the soldiers shouted cryptic one-word orders and replies. Something launched from the trees, and Kay choked on a scream because she thought it was a bullet or a rocket. She realized then that she’d believed no one would shoot at her, that even if the soldiers did follow her and find her with Artegal, they wouldn’t shoot.

But the shot wasn’t a weapon—it was some kind of net, weighted on the corners, that flattened as it sailed toward Artegal, too fast to dodge. The dragon turned, shouldering it away. Instinctively, he batted at it with a claw, and the net tangled around his arm and wing—as it was supposed to. Twisting his neck, he snapped at it, snarling, exhaling smoke.

Branigan hadn’t really expected her to spy on Artegal. So he used her to trap him.

Shouting now, Kay ran forward to tug the net away.

“Artegal, stop a minute!” He did, looking at her, his black eyes wide.

She jumped up to reach the tangled length of the net, grabbed it, pulled. She couldn’t find the ends, couldn’t find where it had gotten caught; the more she tugged and twisted the net’s ropes, the more snarled they became.

Artegal stretched his head high, his neck curving over her, which must have given him a view of the whole clearing, and of the soldiers swarming toward them. She was close to his chest and heard him inhale, his body expanding, and a sound like a growl rattling deep in his chest.

Then, he exhaled, an explosive burst of air—and fire.

The dragon turned, sweeping a line of fire in a long arc around them, clearing a space, keeping the soldiers at bay. It sounded like a forge, a blow torch, and Kay fell to the ground, arms over her head, choking at the soot-and-ash smell of it, her head ringing with the sound of trees catching fire. Heat washed over her. It was just like the fire in town, flames meant to kill. She was in the middle of it, and she couldn’t move.

“No! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

Sheltered under Artegal’s body, Kay looked. Jon dashed across the stream, splashing in the water, not bothering with the bridge. He was yelling at the soldiers, who now turned and leveled their weapons at him. Once again, Kay almost screamed in panic. But there came a shouted order to stand down. A few of the trees burned, orange flames climbing, sending up tendrils of smoke, and one of the soldiers yelled into a radio.

Artegal’s fire had kept the soldiers back, had made them hesitate. He’d given her more time. She got back to work, and this time the net came free. With a shudder the dragon shed the rest of it.

“Kay, now,” Artegal said with a snort. He crouched low, hunched protectively over her.

Kay grabbed the ropes and hauled herself onto Artegal’s back. He launched, straight up.

“Stop! Hold it!” There must have been a half dozen gruff male voices yelling at her, commanding her.

A noise popped like a firecracker.

“Don’t shoot!” she heard Jon yell again.

Then she didn’t hear anything but wind in her ears.

She didn’t have her harness clipped on. She looped the ropes around her arms and clung to them, keeping herself flat against the dragon’s back because that made her more stable.

“I’m not hooked in!” she shouted to him, and thumped his shoulder. She felt the snort of acknowledgment echo through his lungs.

They didn’t have to do any fancy flying. That wasn’t the plan for this trip. They just needed to be seen.

Once clear of the trees, Artegal leveled off. His wings flapped hard, and she hadn’t realized how much soaring he’d done on their other flights. Those had been almost leisurely, riding thermals, swooping in circles, his wings stretched like sails, sometimes not moving at all. Now, his muscles bunched, released, the wings scooping over and over as they flew faster and faster, wind whipping past her. She wasn’t built for this. Artegal, on the other hand, was streamlined, cutting through the air like a missile. She couldn’t see over his shoulder to judge their location, but he must have covered miles in the last few minutes.

She heard a strange, distant thumping—mechanical, sinister. Helicopter. She looked around and saw it past the shadow of Artegal’s moving wing. There were several of them, coming from all directions; a couple were black, sleek and military, but a couple of others were white, with news channel markings on the sides. Artegal tipped up, spun, and banked out of the way. They couldn’t follow. But there was no doubt that they’d seen her. He showed his back to them all.

The military had kept the pictures of their earlier flight secret. This time, Kay and Artegal needed to be seen by the cameras.

When Artegal banked again, she saw that they were well over the border, just like they’d planned, sailing near the highway that ran toward Silver River. Someone had to see them. The news crews wouldn’t be able to resist getting pictures.

She’d planned to have the harness clipped on. Then, she’d be able to straighten, lean back, wave her arms around, shout, and draw as much attention as possible. They may still see her, flattened and clinging to Artegal’s back, but it wouldn’t be as impressive. It wouldn’t be as clear that they were partners in this. Hell, unless she moved around, she might look dead, strapped to his back in some morbid display.

After unlacing one hand from the rope, she found the carabiner at the front of her harness. Her heart was racing. She hoped Artegal didn’t make any sudden lurches while she was dangling like this. Don’t look down , she murmured to herself over and over. Don’t look down, don’t look down . She kept her gaze focused on the ropes and the gleaming scales of Artegal’s back.

Her gloved hand couldn’t work the carabiner on the harness, so she took the glove off with her teeth. Her hand started shaking in the freezing air. Or maybe she was just that scared.

This will be worth it , she told herself. Writhing, she maneuvered up the rope to the loop in the middle of Artegal’s back, clinging so tightly, her hands were going numb.

Then, finally, she snapped on to the loop of rope.

“I’m hooked in!” she yelled.

Artegal roared. Then he corkscrewed. Kay screeched with fright. And, if she was honest, excitement.

The land, snow-patched spring meadows and stretches of forest, rolled under her, then buildings from the town appeared. Artegal dipped, swooping close enough that she could see cars on the road, see them screeching to a halt, and see tiny people climbing out and looking up. The news vans, where were the news vans?

Outside the temporary FBBE headquarters, where they’d been parked all week. She found the knots in the rope of the harness and pressed the left-hand one into Artegal’s shoulder. He veered in that direction. She wished she could explain to him exactly what they were looking for. Satellite dishes on top of vans. People with cameras and microphones.

If they circled long enough, though, someone would call in the cameras.

Unless Artegal banked, she couldn’t see what they were flying over. She could, however, see what else was flying. Craning her head, she spotted two or three military helicopters. Rapid popping noises, like stuttering fireworks, rattled the air.