Текст книги "Regent"

Автор книги: Brian Rathbone

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Riverhold was unlike any other hold. It straddled the mighty Yan River as part bridge, part keep, and part dam. From a distance, the spans looked delicate and too thin to support the weight of the keep, like the legs of an overly fat spider. Up close, the spans looked much more substantial, but the white and swirling water that flowed underneath, just before plunging over a thousand-foot waterfall, made it seem as if every step might be his last. While leading Hera over the span, he almost envied her. Traders made this journey every day, but that did not stop his mind from replaying the image of his and Hera’s plunging into the water and over the falls.

At the foot of the span waited a pair of guardhouses that sat before what appeared to be another wall of solid stone. The guards waved him past, and he walked Hera forward. The stone beneath him gave under his weight and sank lower and lower. It was a sickening feeling, and Hera began to tremble. He put his hand on her neck and spoke soothingly, but she broke into a sweat and refused to stand still. The stone walkway before them continued to sink until it became a downhill entrance that ran under the massive walls of the keep proper. The moment they were within the awaiting courtyard, the stone moved back up without a sound and seemingly unbidden. It made the hair on Kevlin's neck stand on end, and all he wanted was to make his trade and get out of this place. Even the most practical man could see that there were unnatural forces at work here.

Other traders waited in the courtyard, and Kevlin removed the blindfold from Hera. The sight of other horses relaxing nearby helped to calm her, but she was still skittish.

"Kevlin Weil!" shouted a young and shrill voice. "Kevlin Weil!"

"Over here!" Kevlin said, waving.

"You're t'come with me right away, sir. You're late, sir, and hisself is proper angry, he is."

Kevlin didn't bother to explain why he was late, as the young man turned and trotted back toward the inner keep, which towered above him.

"Are you coming?"

"C'mon, Hera old girl," Kevlin said. "Just a bit farther, and we'll be there."

Hera moved forward but it was obviously not fast enough for the young man's liking based on the looks he shot over his shoulder.

Kevlin cast his gaze left and right, trying to take it all in. To his left, the roar of rushing water was accompanied by a low, grinding sound, and enormous pillars rotated as if turned by the arms of some lumbering hulk. To his right were the now legendary hammers of Riverhold. These stone hammers, big enough to crush a house, beat relentlessly on softer rocks to grind them into powder. Kevlin assumed the rotating columns were part of the mill. Though he knew the river provided the power to run these massive machines, it still seemed as if it were more than any man should be able to accomplish. Thorakis had mastered the Yan River, and Kevlin was humbled.

The keep proper moved like the inner workings of the most elaborate wooden toy, and it was difficult to conceive that this was worked in stone. Shafts of light poured through the room at strategic angles so that even the shadows seemed alive. Ahead waited a pair of immense stone soldiers, looking ready to strike.

As if this place needed to be more frightening, Kevlin thought.

When Hera passed through one of the light beams, she jumped at the sound of stone moving. Had he not heard stories, Kevlin would have turned and run; instead he stood on trembling knees and watched the mighty statues bend down and look at him, their stone blades poised to run him through. In truth, the swords were so large that they would more likely crush him and Hera than pierce them. As he led Hera between the statues, both heads turned smoothly and almost silently to follow Kevlin's every movement. They were so detailed, even their expressions changed as they moved. Their cold and baleful glares held him in thrall. For the briefest moment, Kevlin considered stopping and backing up to see if the statues would notice, but he thought better of it. Ahead, his guide stopped, put his hands on his hips, and let out an annoyed sigh.

Kevlin kept Hera moving as quickly as he could, more to get away from the scrutiny of the stone guards than to appease his guide. Wondering if he would see the leaping elk or the stone eagle or any of the other wonders he'd heard about, Kevlin prayed he wouldn't encounter Thorakis's dragon. It was said that no one had ever seen it and lived to tell the tale. He was relieved and just a little disappointed when his guide led him to a nondescript hall.

"Wait here."

A moment later, Kevlin held his breath.

"If you can't get me what I need on time," the unmistakable voice of Grimwell echoed in the halls, "I might as well toss you into the hammer mill."

Dressed in a heavy, wool jacket so black, it seemed to suck in the light, Grimwell looked every bit the part of a wizard. Silver tipped the corners of his lapels and the tassels that hung down on the sides. Spiderwebs of lightning stood out on the black sleeves in glossy black thread; the subtlety of it drew the eye. The man's black hair was cut short and formed jagged peaks that framed his face. He wore no mustache, but his beard was trimmed into thin lines that ran alongside his mouth and into a point on his chin. All that dark coloring made the wizard's pale skin look almost translucent in comparison. There was no warmth in his black eyes and no trace of humor. Kevlin prayed this encounter would be over quickly.

"Open them, you fool," Grimwell said, and Kevlin started to move, but a look from the page stilled him. Grimwell had not even looked at Kevlin, and it was not Kevlin he addressed. The page moved to open the earthenware jugs resting on a bed of straw in the wagon. Grimwell inspected them and merely grunted, "Unload them."

Kevlin watched as the page made a number of trips to unload the wagon. He would have offered to help, but it was clear his aid was neither required nor wanted. When the last of the jugs were gone, Kevlin waited. Time slipped past, how much Kevlin could not guess. The place had a timelessness that could not be denied, but Hera's fidgeting agreed with Kevlin's feeling that it had been too long. Just as he began to wonder if the page would return, the sound of boots coming from the direction Grimwell and the page had gone made him straighten.

When Grimwell appeared, he made eye contact with Kevlin for the first time, and Kevlin wished he hadn't. Being the target of the wizard's icy stare made Kevlin wish he could become invisible. Perhaps he should just leave without getting paid. The coin no longer seemed worth it.

"Why are you still here?" Grimwell demanded.

Kevlin flushed and could not seem to find his tongue.

"Are you deaf or mute?"

Still Kevlin remained frozen.

"I suppose you wish payment for your insignificant contribution to the betterment of man?"

Kevlin tried to shake his head no, but even that ability seemed to have left him.

Grimwell sneered at him. "Here, take this, then."

Kevlin suddenly found himself able to move once again, and he caught the two silver coins Grimwell tossed to him. The wizard moved past and never looked back. Kevlin was left to find his own way out of the keep. The coins clinked in his palm, and he retreated as fast as he could lead a blindfolded Hera.

Thorakis the Builder waited near the fire, resting in his wheeled chair. Pages waited behind him, on either side, ready to satisfy any need their patron might have. Thorakis looked older than his years would warrant, and his hands trembled when he pointed. His voice, though, remained strong and clear. "Take me to Grimwell."

The pages moved quickly but smoothly, certain not to jar the ailing genius. They had come to him with their families after the Herald War, seeking food, shelter, and protection from bandits and raiders. Though the Zjhon had ruled the Greatland in an unforgiving manner, they had at least ruled. Their downfall had left the Greatland in chaos. Some of the old families had regained their power, but most had been lost. The once safe countryside had become a place of smoke and death. Either page would give his life for Thorakis and do so knowing his family would remain safe.

When they reached Grimwell's study, which more resembled a laboratory, the right-hand page, Yoric, shouldered the heavy wooden door open. He knew better than to knock or announce himself. As the arm of Thorakis, to do so would belittle his patron. Grimwell bent over a basin filled with a murky yet glittering solution. The acrid smell of vinegar charged the air along with a coppery tang. A fortune in the orange metal had been worked into heavy wire. The copper reached from the basin to each of the earthenware jars, making the basin look like the body of a giant spider.

"Wait outside," Grimwell said. Thorakis's eyes narrowed.

The pages moved without a sound and closed the door as they left. They would wait just far enough away so as not to hear the conversation inside. They knew their place. Others before them hadn't been so wise.

"You'd best be able to explain yourself, wizard."

Grimwell finally looked up and acknowledged Thorakis. "Yes, m'lord. Of course."

"We've precious little gold left, and I'm told you've taken it along with most of the silver and copper. Where is it? You're not drinking again, are you? I heard you were buying large quantities of wine."

"Spoiled wine, m'lord."

Thorakis harrumphed. "I see what you've done with my copper. Where's my coin?"

Grimwell flushed. "The silver coin is here, sir." After ducking beneath the web of copper wire, he opened his strong box and showed Thorakis the silver coins, knowing his lord was very proud of the casting that bore his likeness. Destroying or defacing his likeness was listed among the highest crimes and was enough to land a person in the hammer mill.

"Where is my gold?" Thorakis asked, leaning forward with an unpleasant gleam in his eye.

"It's not. . I mean, I don't have-" The look on Thorakis's face made him reconsider his words. "I've had our most trusted men grind the gold coins to powder."

Thorakis went rigid and his face flushed.

"Please, m'lord-" Grimwell stopped when his door rang with a loud knock, which could only be his men. The wizard breathed a mighty sigh of relief when the men carried in the sacks of gold powder. "You asked me to find a way to bring in more gold, m'lord. Please allow me to demonstrate." Grimwell knew the next few moments would bring him either glory or death; there would be no in between. Holding his breath, he carefully poured gold powder into the basin, trying not to react to Thorakis's sharp hiss. After agitating the solution, he pulled a silver coin from his pocket and connected it to a length of copper that had a notch in its end specifically designed to hold a coin by its edge. With trembling hands, he lowered the coin into the solution and prayed Istra and Vestra would not let him down.

Thorakis leaned forward, almost sitting on the edge of his rolling throne, and his eyes went wide as the silver coin began to gradually change from silver to gold. Thorakis did something he rarely did: he smiled. "You continue to impress me, Grimwell. I fear I may one day have to have you pulped for your insolence, but for today, you are forgiven."

Grimwell smiled but held his silence, savoring his victory for what it was, despite the threat.

"What of our ambassadors? Have they properly greeted the old families?"

Grimwell winced. "Some have, m'lord. Others may have as well, but I am awaiting word of their success. I assure you, m'lord, we'll achieve your will. The extra gold will ensure our success as I can now send additional ambassadors."

"Do not gloat, wizard."

"Forgive me, m'lord."

"Yoric!" Thorakis barked, and his pages soon wheeled him from the room.

Grimwell smiled.

Chapter 4

Fate is most unkind to those who fail to prepare for the worst of circumstances.

– Edmoor Reese, scribe

Anxious tension polluted the air around Brother Vaughn. His ability to sense what others were feeling was normally something he considered a gift, but when in a crowd, it could become overwhelming. Without the ability to filter out the feelings of others, he often found himself taking on the emotions projected at him. Thus, he found himself excited yet skeptical and cautious. The people would not turn down an opportunity for revelry, but no one seemed convinced that an impromptu party for the dragons could be as simple and innocent as Mirta and the others portrayed. The people of Upperton and Lowerton and those who lived in the keep all knew that dragon ore provided most of Catrin's wealth, and the thought of Kyrien bringing her more dragon ore seemed to supply enough motivation to stifle any uncomfortable lines of questioning.

Catrin's absence from the festivities was certainly not easily explained, yet no one asked. Most were content to let the Herald of Istra do whatever it was she did without the need for details. She was an enigma and probably best left that way.

The sound of a man clearing his throat brought Brother Vaughn out of his contemplation. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Brother Vaughn, but I've come to ask something of you," Cattleman Gerard said.

The timbre of his voice made Brother Vaughn look up. The man's anxiety drowned out that of the crowd. Brother Vaughn's eyes drifted lower, and his breath caught in his throat. Staring up at him was a girl as slight as the wind, pale and thin, with piercing, black eyes that spoke of more wisdom that her wispy form would belie.

"Does her father know she's here?" Brother Vaughn asked, already knowing the answer was no. This girl was Trinda Hollis, daughter of the man who'd murdered Catrin's mother and aunt and who had tried to kill Catrin and her father. She was a puzzle, to be sure. Though she was not responsible for any of it, her safety had been the motivating factor behind the crimes. The Kytes, the age-old enemy of Catrin's mother's family, had tortured Trinda to coerce Baker Hollis to poison the Volkers. The Volkers had somehow made peace with the Kytes and found forgiveness for Baker Hollis, but his name was never spoken within Dragonhold, and the sight of Trinda could bring only pain. "This could start a war," Brother Vaughn whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

"I do," Cattleman Gerard replied, his eyes downcast. "But I cannot turn away a child who's come to me for help. I just can't." Tears ran down the big man's cheeks, and Brother Vaughn could not help but respect the man's heart, even if he seriously questioned his judgment.

Though of an age with Catrin, Trinda was tiny and her manner childlike. Perhaps the trauma of her childhood had stunted her development, he thought. Trinda waited patiently, but when Brother Vaughn met her eyes, he was captivated. She radiated calm, yet there was a desperate plea in her eyes, one that pulled at every thread of his humanity. In her hands she gripped a folded parchment. She held it out to him.

My little girl needs help. Do not blame her for my crimes. Be kind to her, please.

No name, no seal, nothing that could directly link the note to Baker Hollis. Brother Vaughn refolded the parchment and handed it back, trying not to meet Trinda's eyes. "For now, take her to the Watering Hole. I'll see what I can do," his lips said, but his eyes told Cattleman Gerard that he was not at all optimistic.

At that moment, Mirta climbed atop a makeshift stage. The crowd grew quiet.

"Thank you to all of you for coming to honor our friend Kyrien, dragon to the Lady Catrin, he who has provided for all of us. Tonight we thank him or his service and we call for him to come back to us-with dragon ore or without. He is what is most precious to us, and I'm hoping you will help me express that to him through our thoughts and songs."

The crowd responded with what seemed almost genuine enthusiasm, though Brother Vaughn still sensed an undercurrent of trepidation. Yet when he looked down at Trinda, he felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of hope. Her eyes glistened and she looked as if she might actually smile.

"You want to help thank Kyrien?" Brother Vaughn asked, but Trinda just shook her head. Brother Vaughn thought for a moment. "You want to help ask Kyrien to come here?" This brought the most enthusiasm from Trinda that either man had ever seen. She nodded briskly, tears streaming down her face. Her little hands trembled, and Brother Vaughn could now better understand Cattleman Gerard's dilemma. He took her tiny hand in his and walked her over to where Mirta stood.

Mirta saw him coming and cast him a quizzical glance but continued as she had been. "I know we don't have any songs to sing specifically for Kyrien, but harvest songs are full of gratitude, so I thought we could start out by singing "The Piemaker's Dirge." Do you all know that one?" Enough people in the crowd clapped their hands that Mirta began to sing. Her voice shook with emotion, very clear as she started the song alone. Then slowly the crowd began to join in. Brother Vaughn cringed at the sound and thought the song might better serve to chase things away. He instantly thought less of himself for even thinking it and added his steady baritone to the mix.

Trinda pulled free from his grip and ran to Mirta, pulling on her skirts and shaking her head. Mirta looked down in surprise and stopped singing. The crowd trailed off, all eyes resting on Trinda. She took Mirta's hand and quite simply began to sing. Her voice was truly magical; it cast even the birds into silence and held those who heard it within her spell. Mirta, joined in, somehow knowing where the simple tune would go next, playing near-perfect harmony to Trinda. A woman in the crowd stepped forward and began to sing along, as the melody repeated and became recognizable.

Brother Vaughn held his breath as Trinda demonstrated more ability and control than any student of the academy had shown since its inception. A dim light shone around her and Mirta, and the crowd swayed in unison, following her movements like a field of grain blown by the wind. Time seemed to shift and move. Brother Vaughn didn't know how long they had been singing, though it seemed longer than he could reconcile. When he spotted something unbelievable soaring through the valley, his heart nearly stopped.

Frozen in place, Brother Vaughn was entranced by the gorgeous beast that winged its way through the valley toward the awaiting crowd, yet it filled him with fear. This beast looked nothing like Kyrien, and its gaze made Brother Vaughn feel more like prey than an ally.

Trinda seemed lost in a trance, and her voice alone continued to sing. The rest were trying to decide if they were excited or terrified; soon most opted for the latter. The glistening black dragon shone blue for an instant as it turned into the sun, but then it trimmed its wings and dived straight for Trinda. Like an arrow, it sliced the air.

Movement surged through the crowd as one person leaped, flipped, and twisted her way to where Trinda sang. In the instant before the dragon would take her, Kendra shoved Trinda to the side. Brother Vaughn's heart jumped into his throat as the fearsome dragon grabbed Kendra in its claws. With three flaps of its mighty wings, it sent everyone below sprawling and thrust itself higher into the air. Kendra appeared to be trying to wriggle free, but the great beast soared up to the top of the ridgeline. Once over the ridge, it could disappear into the Chinawpa Valley or even into the Arghast Desert. Brother Vaughn knew the girl would be lost.

The crowd regained its feet and froze, watching the dragon fly away. Then the people gave a collective gasp as another, larger dragon slammed into the first, sending Kendra tumbling out onto the rocky ridgeline. She landed hard and began to roll, loose bits of rock sliding around her. It looked as if she would be tossed over a steep cliff, but she slammed into a scraggly tree that held her fast.

Dark shadows raced along the valley, and those brave enough to look up became awash in primal fear. At least a dozen feral dragons had heard Trinda's call, and now they seemed to be looking for a free meal. Screams filled the air as people tried to find shelter, but the valley floor was all too vulnerable. The wooden buildings there were no match for the might of a full-grown dragon, and the steep climb to the main entrance of Dragonhold would leave them exposed for far too long.

Swallowing hard, Brother Vaughn realized there was no place safe to hide. Once again, he looked up and saw something his mind had difficulty grasping. From the top of the ridgeline, men were jumping onto the backs of dragons as they passed. Convinced he was losing his mind, Brother Vaughn did what he could to shepherd people into what little shelter could be found. The modest protection of the buildings was far better than standing on open ground, waiting to be eaten.

With Trinda over his shoulder, Brother Vaughn ran as fast as he could, the dragon's breath, hot, moist, and smelling of death, buffeted him from behind. Ahead the doors of the Watering Hole stood open. Miss Helen stood within, ready to pull the heavy doors shut, for all the good it would do them. He could see her screaming but heard no words. He could feel Trinda shifting and stretching, as if she were reaching out to the dragon instead of fleeing from it. It was the girl the dragon wanted, this Brother Vaughn knew, but he would not allow her to be sacrificed. Thus, he risked himself and everyone within the Watering Hole in an attempt to save her. The waiting inn seemed impossibly far away, and dust and debris flew around them. Brother Vaughn could feel the changes in air pressure as the leviathan approached, and he knew he was not going to be fast enough.

After a life of dreaming about giant, flying creatures, Brother Vaughn now knew just how terrifying such creatures could be. The deadly strike did not come, and Brother Vaughn fell into the Watering Hole, into waiting arms that supported and somehow turned him around just in time to see the door shut. Through the ever-narrowing gap, he saw that the dragon, which had been pursuing him, was also busy contending with one of the Arghast. The man stood atop the root of the beast's neck, which seemed to be the one spot where neither claws nor fangs could reach. In the last instant before the door closed, the dragon slammed itself against the canyon wall, trying to crush its unwanted rider.

Miss Helen pulled Trinda away from him and tended to her scrapes and bruises. Brother Vaughn and everyone else in the inn did their best to keep quiet. Constructed from multiple sections of a greatoak, the Watering Hole could withstand high winds and tremors, but a hungry flight of dragons might be too much for it. Cries rang out as the common room suddenly lurched sideways. Driven to his knees by the impact, Brother Vaughn noted that the dragons did not need to get them out to kill them; just turning the building upside down and giving it a shake would do the job just fine. Bowls, mugs, and even knives flew from shelves and cupboards as the Watering Hole shook. The highly polished bar cracked with an ear-crushing snap. It seemed the end was near.

Within the humble hall he called home, Chase paced the floor, biting his lip and trying to come up with a plan. Without a plan, his efforts felt fragmented and ineffectual. If he could only set his mind on some obtainable goal, he would be free to commit himself to that effort, but in the challenges they currently faced, he was powerless. He could do nothing to bring Catrin and Prios back, and it seemed he could not even find his own nephew within the hold. If anything happened to Sinjin. .

"Sir!" came a shout in the hall, and Chase turned sharply, recognizing the voice of his second in command, Morif. The old veteran could address Chase on equal terms, but he seemed to pride himself on knowing his place in the chain of command. What worried Chase was a hint of panic in Morif's voice, which Chase had never heard before. "We found him, sir. Come quick. It's not good sir. Not good."

"Where?" Chase barked as he rushed from the room.

"Infirmary," Morif replied, and Chase took off at a run. This couldn't be happening.

Chase charged through the halls, a pain in his chest making it difficult to breathe. He stood to lose almost everything that was important to him. Catrin and Prios lay helpless, slowly dying, and now Sinjin. Suppressed rage made his face twitch, and he silently vowed to find whoever was responsible and wring the life from him or her with his bare hands. As he approached the infirmary, he heard a haunting melody echoing through the hold, distant yet clear. It pulled at him, but he shrugged it off and ran. Morif matched his pace; his one eye focused on the sloping hall ahead. Nothing was certain these days, and the seasoned warrior seemed ready to face anything, even the wrath of Millie. Though he was no longer charged with guarding her, everyone knew it was a position he could not fully relinquish.

"All of you, get out of here this instant!" came Millie's voice from within, and Chase had to wait for a line of people to stream out before he could force his way in. Millie cast him a glaring look that softened when she saw who it was. "It's not as bad as it looks. He's got a gash on his head, and it's a bleeder. I'll get him cleaned up and some fluids in him, and he'll be good as new."

Sinjin lay still on the feather-stuffed mattress, his eyes open just slightly. The bluish pallor to his skin made him look already dead. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest gave Chase any reassurance.

"General Chase, sir!" came a shout in the hall. "I must find General Chase. It's urgent!"

"Easy there, young man, breathe," Chase called into the hall. "It's all right. I'm here and I know Sinjin has been found. You may return to your duties." Chase turned back to watch Sinjin breathe.

"I'm sorry, sir," the young guard said, still breathing heavily and clearly uncomfortable with the position in which he found himself. "There is another problem, sir. The tribes of Arghast have gathered near the entrance to the God's Eye and they want to speak to Lady Catrin."

"What?"

The young guard looked as if he might faint. Chase stood silently for a moment, trying to decide what to do. The Arghast were renowned for their horsemanship and their fiercely insular culture. Relations between Catrin and the Arghast were generally good, despite the fact that their very nature made the tribes volatile and unpredictable.

Morif spoke softly, "Catrin generally offers them water, wine, and meat, sir."

"Get someone working on it."

"Yes, sir," Morif said, offering the wink of a one-eyed man that unnerved most but assured Chase that the job would be done properly.

With a last glance at those who meant the most to him, Chase wondered if any of them would ever be returned to him. With nothing more he could do, he left them in Millie's capable hands. For a moment he wondered where Mirta was since she was almost always near the infirmary, but then he heard the melody from outside again, and he recalled the party she was holding for the dragons. As insane as it seemed, he wished her luck. Maybe Kyrien really could help Catrin and Prios. That thought froze in his blood as the haunting melody shifted and was suddenly drowned out by cheers, which almost instantly turned to screams.

Chase ran.

When he reached the front entrance of Dragonhold, he gazed into the valley below, horrified by what he saw. Dragons. Not the color-changing regent dragons that had befriended Catrin, but those that seemed carved from pure darkness. Feral dragons, Chase realized, having heard the ancient descriptions. Verdant dragons had been said to be the largest and most plentiful during the last age of power; feral dragons, the most dangerous; and regent dragons, the most rare. As Chase watched, a man dressed in Arghast garb soared through the air and landed on top of a dragon that was swooping down on the still milling crowd. To his amazement, the man held on and even managed to secure a leather line around the beast's head. Soon, though, that dragon flew beyond Chase's view. Another took its place and soared straight for Chase, who took a few steps back then turned and ran. "We're under attack!" he yelled as the hold's wooden fortifications exploded.

Halmsa of the Wind clan clenched his teeth and held on as best he could, his clan's namesake buffeting him. The dragon beneath him certainly knew he was there and had been trying to dislodge him for some time, but Halmsa was strong and fast and clever. Even when the beast had slammed itself into the canyon wall, he'd been quick enough to slide around to the underside of the dragon's neck, just barely avoiding being crushed. Other dragons had nearly knocked him free as well. It didn't seem as if they were trying to protect their brethren. The beasts were just adept at flying within very close proximity to one another, at times glancing off each other or rubbing together in midair, yet they managed to do it without knocking themselves from the sky.

The sensation of flying overwhelmed Halmsa's senses for a time, and he simply enjoyed it. An instant later, the dragon dived steeply and aimed for a patch of tall trees. Branches rushed toward Halmsa at impossible speed, the first struck him like thunder. His world nearly went black, but he willed himself to stay conscious. The dragon, now desperate to be rid of him, had taken too great a risk and misjudged the trees. Halmsa held on to his leather lines alone, having lost his footing, and he was tossed wildly as the mighty feral dragon slammed into the treetops.

Despite the intense desire to fly once again, Halmsa climbed down, knowing this dragon would fly no more. Blood warmed his scalp and caked around his ear, but Halmsa's grin was huge. He'd flown a dragon! His people had waited many lifetimes for this day, and he was among the first. Pride filled his chest and motivated Halmsa more than ever. There was much work to be done, but the first step had been taken. Riding a dragon was not at all like riding a horse, and they all had quite a lot to learn.