Joust Read online

  The great dragon rose; Ari led him into the crevice. Vetch called to Avatre, and followed.

  Instead of taking immediately into the hard, blue sky as Vetch had expected, Ari took hold of Kashet’s harness and led them on foot. Outside that crevice, the sun beat down on Vetch’s head with unrelenting heat; under his bare feet, that he had thought were callused and toughened, the hard, baked soil, full of stones and hotter than the sands of the wallows, was very difficult to climb. But he didn’t complain—how could he? He owed Ari much, much more than simple obedience without complaint, and it appeared that before this day was over, he was going to owe him a great deal more.

  Both of them laboring in the heat, sweating like lathered horses, they led their dragons over the top of next ridge. Only there, just below the crest, did Ari mount up. Sweat poured down his face, but he ignored it.

  “Remember what I said. Don’t lag,” he cautioned, as Vetch clambered into Avatre’s saddle. “Now, let’s get going. We have a long way to go.”

  At his signal, Kashet spread his wings, and leaped—forward, not up. Avatre, purely by instinct, followed, both of them coasting down the slope of the hill like a pair of ducks skimming over the surface of the Great Mother River.

  Up the following slope and down the next, Kashet skimmed along the surface of the hills, staying low, and after some confusion, Vetch thought he knew the reason. If they went up, there was the chance that someone might spot them in the distance, even if all they could see were two dots, and wonder why there were two dragons in the place where there should be only one.

  Despite the concerns that Ari had voiced, he wasn’t pressing Kashet to any great speed. Avatre fell in behind him, just off his right wing, and it seemed as if it was easier for her to fly there, in his wake. It occurred to Vetch that flocks of geese and ducks flew that way, in formation. Did dragons? Well, why not?

  It was, as Ari said, “cursed hot.” Avatre seemed to revel in the heat, taking new strength from it, but it wasn’t long before Vetch was thinking longingly of the bathing pools of the compound.

  Ari and Kashet set up a kind of pattern in their flying that Avatre imitated—heavy, jouncing wing beats on the upslopes, and a long glide down the other side. Whenever the kamiseen came roaring down a draw or around a hill, and caught them unexpectedly, they side-slipped in a way that sent Vetch’s stomach into a tumble. None of these modes of flying was especially comfortable for the rider, and Vetch found a new respect for the Jousters, who did this day after day, twice a day, for most of the year. No wonder they were as muscular as the best warriors!

  They went on—forever, it seemed—up one slope, down another, on and on, as the sun god’s boat slowly crawled across the heavens, and Vetch began to wonder just how far was far enough.

  Then they topped another rise, and this time there was nothing more in front of them but the long slope, down into arid, rock-strewn wilderness and more desert—

  Except that off in the distance, there did seem to be a little green—

  Now Kashet took a bit more height, and Avatre followed him, Vetch clutching the saddle, his stomach lurching all the way. Once aloft, Kashet began a long, stately glide, spiraled up a thermal, then took a glide down until he reached the next thermal to spiral up it, all of it taking them indirectly toward that speck of green.

  It was farther away than Vetch had thought; distances were deceptive in the clear desert air. Which was probably why Kashet had gotten the height to enable him to glide in; laboring that far, wing beat by wing beat, was a lot harder than getting up to where he could maneuver from one thermal to another, even if it was the longer route, measured in distance.

  That speck of green eventually resolved itself into trees. Not just any trees; Vetch soon recognized them for what they were. Date palms.

  It was an orchard around an oasis.

  And there were people there, and tents—people garbed head to toe in long, indigo-blue robes—

  The Veiled Ones! he realized, as they began a final spiral down. He didn’t know much about the Bedu, but he knew that much—their customary garb, and the fact that they made their home out here, where there was nothing that a Tian would recognize as civilization. He was able to make out their flocks, now, sheep and goats, a few donkeys.

  So here was his first glimpse of the mysterious desert nomads of which he had only heard, who had no king and no land of their own. He wished he wasn’t so preoccupied with flying; he would have liked to pay more attention to the exotic encampment.

  They didn’t seem particularly surprised to see two dragons coming to land at their camping place, although there was some pointing going on down there. Vetch was just glad to see the well that irrigated the date palms. At the moment, his mouth was as dry as the desert sands they were about to land in.

  Definitely, “about to land”—the ground was coming up a lot faster than he had realized. And just about the time, as Kashet backwinged to a graceful stop, he also remembered that Avatre had never landed with him on her back—had, in fact only actually landed once in her whole life—and he hadn’t been on her back at the time either.

  Which was just about the time when she blundered right down onto the ground, stumbling in a tangle of legs and wings, and he went somersaulting over her shoulder again, this time entirely by accident, and this time hitting the ground instead of Kashet’s neck.

  Hard.

  Very hard.

  So it was true that when you hit your head, you saw stars. . . .

  Fortunately for the shredded remains of his dignity, if any of the Bedu were laughing, they were doing so silently, behind their veils. He didn’t actually break anything, although he did indeed see stars for a moment. By the time he picked himself up off the ground and dusted himself off, one of the Bedu had approached Ari, apparently to act as spokesperson for the group. Male or female, there was no telling; they all dressed alike in those robes, and all wore headcloths and veils that showed only their eyes.

  “I see you, Jouster of Tia,” said a voice from behind the veil—either a high male voice, or a low female; Vetch couldn’t tell which.

  “I see you, Mouth of the People,” Ari replied respectfully, briefly touching first his chest, then lips, then forehead with his first two fingers. “I come in peace.”

  “I greet you in peace,” the Bedu answered, returning his salutation. “Do you seek aught here, from us, besides peace?”

  “Water, and a bargain, in service, not goods.” Ari sketched another little bow, this time in Vetch’s direction. Awkwardly, Vetch copied his salute of respect. “My apprentice is of Alta.”

  There were murmurs from behind the veils of the other Bedu gathering around them, but no one spoke aloud but the one designated as the “Mouth.”

  “Of Alta.” The Mouth feigned no surprise. “He has the look of it. Well, Jouster of Tia, Apprentice of Alta, what is it that you bargain for?”

  Ari took a deep breath; Vetch held his. Ari looked squarely into the eyes behind the veil.

  “My apprentice would go home.”

  Vetch had the feeling that no matter what Ari had told the Mouth of the Bedu, that personage would have at least appeared as if it was all perfectly expected and ordinary. Then again, perhaps it was. There were Seers enough in the Temples, so perhaps this person was a Seer as well as spokesperson. Perhaps he—or she—had known for some time that they were coming, and what they would ask.

  Whether a Seer or not, the Mouth, however, was a shrewd bargainer, and proceeded to make it very plain that the services of the Bedu were not to be had cheaply.

  Ari, for his part, made it equally clear that he expected a great deal out of the Bedu for their payment, and that he was no green goose fresh from the farmyard to be plucked.

  He drank from his own waterskin, though the well was in plain sight, and stood under the broiling sun as if it were the coolest of days in the winter rains. “Passage-right, for this mere child and his beast, two debeks,” Ari began.

  The Mou
th chuckled richly. “You take us for unsophisticated rustics, perhaps. A fugitive, with a dragon, going to your enemies? Twenty.”

  “Five,” Ari countered. “It is no dragon, but a dragonet, and not even one that was on the roster.”

  “Eighteen. He will need hiding. How does one hide a dragon?”

  So the bargaining went; first passage-right, then hunting-right, shelter-right, water-right, then something called lead-on, forage-and-feed, cover-right . . . every one of these things was considered, bargained over, hotly contested, then agreed to. And Vetch had no idea whatsoever what these things meant, how much they were going to cost, or—most importantly, how they were going to be paid for. There surely wasn’t enough in that little pouch of jewelry and coin to cover even one of these “rights”! Was he expected to go into another kind of servitude to pay for his passage? But how could anything he knew be reckoned of enough worth to pay it in any reasonable length of time?

  He, at least, could use Avatre as a shade, and followed Ari’s example in drinking from one of the three waterskins he’d filled. He offered some to Avatre, but she wasn’t interested, so he scooped up handfuls of sand and gave her a buffing as they waited and listened. The rest of the Bedu remained encircling them, watching and listening just as avidly.

  Finally, after an endless amount of bargaining, while the barge of the sun god crept toward the west, Ari and the Mouth finished their negotiations.

  “All rights, all guides,” the Mouth said, as Ari wiped his sweating forehead with the back of his hand. “One lek, twenty alleks, seven debeks.”

  “Done.” Ari seemed satisfied, but Vetch’s head reeled. That was enough to provision an entire village for six moons! Where was he supposed to find that much money?

  But Ari was rummaging in a leather pouch hanging off the front of Kashet’s saddle. “I believe that you will find these are easily the equivalent of that sum,” he said, stepping forward, and placing a necklet and two heavy armlets in the Mouth’s outstretched hands. Vetch recognized, first the yellow glitter of gold—then, with a sense of shock, the Gold of Honor. Engraved with the Haras-hawk, and the royal vulture, how could it be anything else?

  “The Gold of Honor, Jouster?” the Mouth said at the same moment. “Will the Great King not be incensed that it comes into profane hands? Will we not be courting his anger?”

  “Do not seek to gull me into thinking you less than shrewd, Veiled One,” Are retorted. “You will melt it down or pound it out, of course. I care not, so long as it buys my apprentice those rights.”

  “And has the Great King not forbidden any such thing?” the Mouth countered. “The Gold of Honor is not to be defaced, according to his laws.”

  “Since when have the People ever bent to the laws and will of the Great King of Tia?” Ari retorted, acerbically. “What matters it to you? There is no curse on such a thing, if you are concerned. It is law, not magic, that marks what may and may not be done with Honor Gold.”

  Then he raised one eyebrow, and his expression went from acerbic, to sardonic. “I had never thought to hear that the Bedu feared the wrath of Tia’s King.”

  “Then the bargain is struck, Jouster,” the Mouth said smoothly, apparently not in the least stung by Ari’s jab. “Be pleased to accept our hospitality.”

  Then, and only then, as the gold jewels disappeared into the Mouth’s robes, did the circle of onlookers break. Yet another of the robed creatures beckoned to both of them, and they followed, into the oasis.

  There, on a wool carpet spread in front of one of the tents, they were offered dates, stewed lamb, flatbread, and water in brass cups. Their servers did not speak to them, and once they sat down to eat, the servers vanished.

  Vetch, however, could not eat. He was still reeling from the shock of seeing Ari hand over his Gold of Honor to these nomads.

  Ari paused with a bite of the lamb in a scoop of flatbread halfway to his mouth, and frowned. “What’s wrong, Vetch?”

  “The Gold of Honor,” he whispered, and gulped. “You gave up the Gold of Honor—”

  “Which I cannot sell, nor trade, nor melt down inside the bounds of Tia,” Ari pointed out. “What good did it do me? I could wear it, if I chose to flaunt myself. I could put it in a chest and keep it. I could display it on a table. Very useful.”

  “But won’t the Great King be angry if he asks you to wear it, and you don’t have it anymore?” Vetch asked, nervously.

  But Ari only smiled. “I told Haraket to fetch it for me, that I was feeling guilty about your death, and I was going to leave it as my funerary gift. That, at least, is permitted—one can leave the wretched stuff in a tomb, a shrine, or as a temple offering! Haraket seemed to think this was a sensible plan, and I have no doubt that a scroll telling some fool scribe in the Palace of what I have done is on its way to the Treasury now. And the King will probably insist on replacing the wretched baubles with ones even larger and in poorer taste.” Ari sighed gustily, surprising Vetch into a laugh.

  “There! Much better. Now eat—” he prodded Vetch with a piece of flatbread. “You and Avatre will need strength; you’ll be leaving this camp at the same time that I leave to return home.”

  “Indeed,” said the Mouth, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere at just that moment. “It is too dangerous for you to remain here for very long. Hear what your master has bought you, apprentice. You will have safe passage across the face of the desert, and water at every oasis. You have the right to hunt and forage, and if you cannot find food on your own, then we will supply it, but as our resources are limited, you will be required to try hunting first. There will be a message going ahead of you, and a guide to the places where you will be spending your nights. Not human, no—” the Mouth told him, anticipating his question. “Here is the first one.”

  He handed Vetch a cord with a blackened bead strung on it—but curiously, the cord did not hang straight, it slanted toward the east, as if something was pulling it. And when he took the cord from the Mouth, that was, indeed, what it felt like.

  “At each stopping place, you will surrender your guide, and get another like this, that will lead you on to the next oasis,” the Mouth said. “And if by some fearful accident, you are taken by your enemies, you must pledge on your soul’s survival that you will release the bead to fly home without you!”

  The Mouth was clearly waiting for an answer in the affirmative; Vetch quickly stammered agreement, and put the cord around his neck.

  “As I told you, you have hunting-right, to hunt for whatever you see wild on the way, to feed your dragon and yourself. But you also have hearth-right, giving you both food from our stores if you cannot catch anything—though I will warn you. We are not a wealthy people, and you both may go hungry if you count upon this.”

  “I won’t—” Vetch began, but the Mouth wasn’t listening.

  “Last of all, you have water-right, which of itself, is worth twice what this bandit bargained from me.” The Mouth’s tone gave the lie to his words, though. He didn’t sound angry or even annoyed. “So—the message is sped, and so should you be. A man on a camel can reach the next point on your journey by full dark; you should have no difficulty.”

  With that, the Mouth stalked off again, leaving Vetch to stare after him.

  “Don’t look for friendship from them,” Ari warned. “We made a bargain; that’s all. The Bedu don’t care for our little wars, nor our pretensions at holding dominion over the land.”

  “You sound as if you admire them,” Vetch ventured.

  “Say, rather, that I envy them. Their only enemies are the land and the weather, and they are the freest people in the world, though they pay a heavy price for freedom.” He sighed. “And the Mouth is right; finish that meal, and we will both be on our separate ways.”

  So there it was—the moment he knew was coming. But he had never thought that it would be like this.

  “Master—” he began.

  “Ari,” the Jouster corrected firmly. “I am no longer your m
aster. Though I’ll have a hell of a time replacing you.”

  Vetch winced, and hung his head. He felt horrible, leaving Ari in the lurch like this. But what could he do? He couldn’t go back. . . .

  “I’d try to get Baken, but Haraket would fight me for him. I think I’ll exercise my rank and purloin one of those youngsters that Baken is training,” Ari continued. “Though I think not a serf, this time. If another dragon boy gets it into his head to emulate me, I at least want to get another Jouster out of the situation.”

  Vetch looked up, and caught a twinkle in Ari’s eye, and felt a little better. Not much, but a little. “I wouldn’t have run—except they’d have taken her away from me,” he said softly. “And I knew it would break her heart. And mine—”

  “That’s how you should be thinking, from this moment on. Whatever you decide, do it for her sake,” Ari replied, firmly. “Nothing else. Nothing less.”

  “I won’t,” Vetch said, drawing himself up and looking Ari straight in the eyes.

  “Good.” There was a long moment of very awkward silence—awkward on Vetch’s part anyway.

  “Can’t you come with me?” he asked finally. “We don’t have to go to Alta—we could go east, to Beshylos—”

  “No we couldn’t,” Ari said, sadly, but firmly. “I took certain oaths, and I will do my duty. I must. I wish—well, it can’t be otherwise.”

  “I’m sorry, Ari,” he said, overcome with guilt. “I—”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.” For the very first time in all of the time that Vetch had known him, Ari broke into a broad and unshadowed smile. “It’s the best thing in the world, to see a young thing fly free. I suppose—I suppose I should give you all sorts of advice now, but I can’t think of very much.” He sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

  Finally, Vetch got the courage to ask the question that had been in his mind all along, since the first day Ari had plucked him out of Khefti’s yard. “Ari—why? Why—everything?”