Joust Page 19

  The Jouster was Tian; the enemy. Vetch didn’t even know his name. Vetch should have been silently cheering the demise of one of the people who was responsible for all the horrible things that had happened to his land and his family.

  Should have, perhaps—but couldn’t. All he could see was the body dropping straight to his death; all he could hear was the cry from above where the second Jouster still flew, a cry of desperation, thin and filled with utter terror.

  Everyone else watching seemed to realize the same thing at the same moment; there were gasps and cries of horror, and the sharp scream of the woman cut across the heat-shimmering air.

  Vetch’s stomach lurched again. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He seemed to be paralyzed as the body hurtled towards the earth, unchecked. In a moment, there would be a spreading stain of red on the pale, baked earth—

  —like Kiron’s blood—

  —and the smell of death—

  —when his father lay despised in the yard of his own house—

  —and the buzzing of flies coming for the blood—

  —as they came to feast on Kiron’s—

  Then a flash of blue-green swept across the sky, and with it came the sound of dragon wings, a thunder and a wind that shivered across the ground, driving the dust before it—

  It all happened so quickly that it was over before Vetch registered what had happened. But the Jouster was no longer tumbling down through the air, nor was he lying in a smashed heap on the ground.

  The Jouster was lying across Ari’s saddle, draped over Kashet’s neck.

  Vetch thought his eyes were going to bulge out of his head in startlement. For Ari had—somehow—saved him.

  NINE

  THE unconscious Jouster lay across the front of Ari’s saddle, draped over Kashet’s neck like a half-filled grain sack. How, how had Ari and Kashet caught him? For that was the only possible explanation, though Vetch could hardly believe his eyes. It seemed nothing short of a miracle. Had the god Haras, the especial god of the Jousters, spread his wings over them both? Had he given Ari some special power that he could do something like this? Had there been an especially gifted priest in the crowd of onlookers, able to work some powerful magic to make this happen? But he shook off his shock; this wasn’t the time for him to think—there was need of him, and now, for Ari and Kashet were coming slowly in to land.

  Serve your dragon; serve your Jouster.

  Kashet dropped down with a thunder of wings that drove up so much dust that the gawkers had to shield their faces and look away. Ari wasn’t being any too careful about where they came down, so long as it wasn’t actually on top of anyone. And if the folk who were in the way could scramble out of the way in time, then it wouldn’t be on top of them. . . .

  There was a mad dash by servants and spectators alike to get out of the way. They scattered like a covey of quail, and Kashet landed heavily in a cloud of dust.

  Vetch ran for his master, and the rest of the onlookers surged forward behind him and overtook him, enveloping him, swallowing him up. Ari didn’t so much as glance at any of them; his attention was on the servants—Jousters’ servants, who must have been out of Vetch’s sight behind the crowd of dragons and riders—who had reacted faster than anyone but Vetch. They were already at Kashet’s side, and were taking the unconscious Jouster from Kashet’s saddle. He slid down limply into their arms, but as far as Vetch could tell, he was still alive and breathing.

  The crowd erupted in cheers and surged against the ring of servants, trying to get closer to the dragon and Jouster. They surrounded Kashet and Ari in a circle of enthusiastic—even hysterical—joy, shouting at the tops of their lungs. Kashet, normally the most placid of creatures, reared back, eyes widening with alarm, nostrils dilating in distaste.

  Vetch was caught up in the crush, between the servants trying to take the Jouster away, and all of the well-wishers. But somehow Ari saw him, and roared an order to let him through, pointing and waving imperiously with one hand.

  The order had no effect at first, and Vetch jabbed with his elbows at those he dared to, and tried desperately to push past those he dared not offend. After a moment of confusion in which he tried to no avail to get through the spectators—some of them wealthy, powerful, dangerous—they realized who Ari was shouting for and parted for him. Kohl-rimmed eyes both knowing and haughty stared at him as he shoved past; once his hand brushed against a garment of linen so fine that the rough skin of his hand snagged it. He just barely noticed; he shook free, and shoved his way to Kashet’s side.

  “Haraket sent me. Haraket says—” Vetch panted, staring up at his Jouster with mingled awe and disbelief, and trying mightily to remember his message. “Haraket says—”

  “Never mind what Haraket says—this isn’t over yet.” Ari looked up with a scowl, and Vetch followed his gaze.

  The two dragons were whirling together now, in the mating dance that Vetch had instinctively recognized, and Seftu’s rider, a tiny dot at this distance, was clinging on for dear life. Another high, thin wail of pure fear drifted down from above. Vetch was not surprised. Not only was the novice Jouster no longer in control of his dragon, he was going to be lucky to stay in the saddle. And he was very, very lucky that his dragon was the male. If he’d been riding the female, and a male dragon found an inconvenient little human in his way—

  A single snap, and the inconvenience would be gone.

  “Idiots!” Ari snarled. “If they paid half as much attention to their dragons as they did to the vintage of the date wine they drank last night, they’d have known this was coming on and ordered extra tala. Vetch!”

  Vetch snapped to attention.

  “Run and tell Haraket what just happened. Tell him that Kashet and I will bring Coresan in when the mating’s over; she’ll be tractable then, and there’s no point in losing a dragon because her Jouster was an imbecile. Seftu’s rider will have to bring his male in by himself, unless Haraket wants to send a couple of others up to herd him in when he’s done.”

  “Yes, sir!” Vetch said, instantly, and started to turn to run.

  But Ari held up his hand; he wasn’t finished, and Vetch froze. “Tell him that I think her Jouster got the kind of crack to the head that breaks the skull, so Haraket had better send to the Temple of Teth for a trepanning priest at least, to lift the bone, and perhaps one with Healing magic, just in case. You go run ahead now—” He raised his voice as Vetch whirled and broke into a mad dash for the compound. His voice rang out behind Vetch, as he commanded the servants over the babbling of the crowd. “You lot! Stretch him on that bench—carefully, now—and carry him on the bench to the compound and Overseer Haraket!”

  Vetch couldn’t do anything about the injured Jouster—and in any case, now that he wasn’t going to have to watch him die horribly, he didn’t really care what happened to the man—but he did care about Ari, and what Ari proposed to do. He couldn’t imagine trying to come between two mating dragons. It was dangerous enough bringing a bull to a cow, or a stallion to a mare!

  But—no, Ari wasn’t going to come between them, he proposed to bring Coresan in once the mating was over. It was just as well that he was going to leave Seftu to Seftu’s own Jouster, and serve the man right if he had to ride the dragon until Seftu was exhausted, or at least until near nightfall, when Seftu would want his dinner and his own comfortable sand wallow for the night.

  So would Ari, when all of this was over. And Haraket had to know exactly what had happened, right now.

  So he ran, ran as hard as ever he could, pelting down the training field, through the huge sandstone gates, and into the corridor beyond. His bare feet pounded along the ground in time with his pounding heart as he searched for Haraket.

  But he didn’t have to search long. Haraket had already seen the dragons in the sky and knew that there was a mating going on, even if he had not seen the accident, nor the aftermath. He had certainly seen that one of the dragons was riderless, and was on the way, expecting t
he worst.

  Vetch literally ran into him, and bounced off Haraket’s stomach, landing on his backside in the middle of the corridor.

  “Coresan’s Jouster is hurt!” he blurted, looking up at the surprised Overseer. “They were trying to mate, I mean the dragons, and he got hit! He got a lance to the back of his head and fell off, but Ari caught him! Ari brought him down, he’s at the practice ground, and Ari says to tell you he’s going to bring Coresan in—the servants are bringing the Jouster—Ari says get priests—”

  Haraket had wits like a striking cobra, somehow he made sense of what Vetch was babbling. “Hah. You—” he snapped, pointing a finger to one of the two men with him. “To the Temple of Teth. I want a Healing-Priest and a trepanner. You to ready Jouster Ari’s quarters, wine and food, for by the gods, he’ll want them when he comes back in. And a massage slave. And a hot bath. Move!”

  They moved, all right; they turned and ran off in opposite directions, running just as fast as Vetch had. So did Haraket, leaving Vetch gaping at them from the dust of the corridor.

  After a moment he scrambled to his feet, realizing that his initial errand was discharged.

  Serve your Jouster. Serve your dragon.

  He had to know what they were doing, first.

  Will they be all right? Will Seftu or Coresan try to attack them? The thought put a shiver up his back. Surely not. Ari knew dragons as no one else in the compound did. Surely he would never do something that would cause the mating dragons to turn on him and Kashet.

  He ran on, his side beginning to ache now, to the landing court where he could see the dragons in the sky clearly, without the interference of walls. They were still wheeling and whirling around each other in a complicated ritual that was the equal of anything a bird could do. They soared and plunged, they twined around each other and broke apart.

  Mostly, Seftu chased Coresan, and she evaded him only enough to make it clear she was going to see just what he was made of before she let him mate with her. Then, finally, after a series of three heart-stopping lunges, as Seftu herded the scarlet female higher and higher in the sky, they began an ever-tightening spiral that took them still higher, up into the cloud-studded sky, until they were scarcely larger than ants.

  Then—then they lunged for one another with a ferocity indistinguishable from rage.

  The lunge ended in a tangle of locked claws and a plunge to earth that must have terrified Seftu’s rider out of a dozen years of life. How he stayed in the saddle, Vetch could not even begin to guess.

  Caught together, neither willing to let go, paralyzed by the rapture of mating, they spun around a common center, whirling, wings held half outspread at a peculiar angle. They plunged, on and on, down to the unforgiving earth, while Vetch and everyone else in the court held their breath. And just behind them plunged a blue-green streak that was Kashet, paralleling their fall.

  At the very last moment, just before the impact, they broke their hold on each other.

  Their wings snapped open completely at the same moment, and the vertical plunge suddenly became horizontal as they tumbled from the fall into a ground-brushing flight, and streaked off in opposite directions, parallel to the ground.

  Vetch wasn’t interested in what happened to Seftu; presumably his Jouster would get him back under control and bring him in without help. He had eyes only for Ari and Kashet, who had followed the entwined dragons down in their deadly plunge, and now deftly herded Coresan away from the eastern hills across the river, above the King’s Valley where all the Great Kings had their tombs—where she wanted to go—and towards the compound. And she didn’t want to go there; she kept snaking her head back and trying to snap at them. But Ari and Kashet were more clever than she.

  They managed to keep their “superior” position in the air, staying above her all the time. Kashet didn’t even have to do more than threaten; a dragon’s one vulnerability was his wings, and Kashet could slash Coresan’s with his claws very easily from where he was. Coresan didn’t dare chance it, and was herded where Ari wanted to go as Kashet feinted strikes at her wings.

  At that point, a dragon landed in the court; it was Seftu, and his rider looked as if he must have been near to soiling himself with fear. Vetch ignored Seftu and the Jouster; some other dragon boys did run to help the man lead a reluctant Seftu away, but Vetch’s charges were still in the sky, and he was not going to leave the court until they were safely down.

  Haraket had arrived without him noticing, and stood just behind Vetch. He grunted when he saw Seftu land. “The priests lifted the bone; the fool will be well enough, idiot that he is,” Haraket said to no one in particular, though Vetch knew his words were meant for Ari’s ears, via Vetch. “A few weeks, and he’ll be healed up, though if he hadn’t been seen right away—well, he’d not have had a chance.”

  Coresan was coming back now, in the direction of the compound. Once she was turned, they started forcing her down. By getting and staying above her, they forced her to fly lower and lower, and slower and slower as well, until she couldn’t stay in the air any longer. And at that very moment, they were above the landing court, and her training took over and she came in to ground.

  The moment Coresan touched the earth, Haraket was there with two of the strongest slaves in the compound and three leading chains. Vetch started to help them, but Haraket waved him off.

  “Keep off, boy! This is not work for you!” he shouted, and then turned his attention back to the angry dragon. He needed to; that tail was whipping back and forth with deadly force until a third slave came up and flung himself bodily on it, pinning it to the earth. She hissed and tossed her head—but she was also tired, and probably hungry, and unlike a wild dragon, did not think of humans as food but as those who brought food. Haraket and one of the other slaves plunged under her snapping jaws and grabbed her harness and hung on it until she stopped tossing her head and lunging. She didn’t surrender, then, but she did stop fighting. With Ari and Kashet hovering above to keep her from taking off again, Haraket hooked his chain into the ring on the front of her harness and the two slaves hooked theirs into the foot loops on either side of the saddle. Then, last of all, Haraket whipped a choke collar around her neck, and that was that.

  Serve your dragon. Serve your Jouster.

  Vetch wanted to watch. But his time was not his own at the moment. As soon as Kashet came in, he and Ari would need taking care of. Vetch sprinted for the gate nearest Kashet’s pen. When Ari and Kashet landed, they’d need—and deserve—careful attention, and he was going to be the one to give it to them.

  At the exact moment he began to run, Coresan resigned herself, and with a final hiss, allowed herself to be led away. The third slave freed her tail at Haraket’s signal. Together Haraket and his two helpers led the dragon to her pen, while Ari and Kashet rose again, to hover a little higher for a moment while they picked a good landing spot. Then they landed, nearest to the gate that led to Kashet’s enclosure.

  By that time Vetch’s last glimpse of them was as he sprinted through the gate in the wall, going for Kashet’s pen himself. Seftu’s dragon boy was in the corridor, laden with food and drink; Vetch snatched what he wanted from the provender over the other boy’s vehement protests, which he ignored. After all, the novice rider didn’t deserve it; wasn’t he half responsible for the near disaster? Seftu’s Jouster could bloody well wait for his wine. If Vetch were to have a choice, he’d get stale river water, thick with flood-time mud, and be grateful for that much.

  When Ari and Kashet stumbled into Kashet’s pen, Vetch was there ahead of them, waiting with a skin flask of palm wine for Ari and a bucket of water for Kashet. But Ari waved off the wine and took the bucket of water instead, drinking as he had that day that Vetch had first seen him, and pouring the rest over his head and shoulders. Kashet went straight to his trough, which, as always, was also full of clean water, and drank as deeply as his Jouster; Vetch was unharnessing him as soon as he reached the trough and stopped moving forward. Th
e dragon not only felt as hot as a furnace, he smelled hot, and Ari smelled like his dragon. Both of them looked utterly spent; the kohl around Ari’s eyes was smeared, making his eyes look like holes burned in his face, and Kashet’s eyes were dull with fatigue.

  Ari shook his head like a dog, sending droplets of water flying in the bright sunlight. Vetch cast a glance at him as his own fingers unfastened buckles and pulled away harness; he looked terrible. Weary and ill, and not at all as triumphant as Vetch thought he should be—

  “Etat save me from ever having to do that again,” he said, and sat down, right on the edge of the sand pit, head and shoulders sagging.

  Vetch was torn between going to him and continuing to get the harness off of Kashet; he compromised by unbuckling the last strap and letting the saddle drop to the side, then going to Ari.

  “Sir?” he ventured, not daring to touch the Jouster.

  “I’ll have that wine now, boy,” came the muffled reply.

  Vetch put the skin in his hand; he fully expected Ari to drain it, but the Jouster again surprised him, taking only a single mouthful before handing it back.

  “That’s better.” He raised his head. “How is Reaten?”

  That was Coresan’s Jouster; Vetch recalled it as soon as Ari spoke the name. And he had news, startled out of Seftu’s dragon boy. “He has a cracked skull, and it would have been very, very bad if he hadn’t been seen to right away, but the priest is certain that he will be all right eventually,” Vetch told him. “The trepanning priest is lifting the bone right now; he should be all right once the incision heals.”

  “Teh and Teth be thanked,” Ari sighed, and Vetch had no doubt that the words were more than half prayer. “And Haras, who puts the wind beneath our wings. The gods truly look after the fools of the world.” And he shook his head, slowly, and took another mouthful of wine. “That so little permanent harm has come of this is more than either of those two deserve.”

  Vetch couldn’t help himself; he was bursting with curiosity, and with no little awe. “Sir—how did you do that? One moment he was falling, the next, he was across your saddle! It looked like magic!”