price you are asking, you must let me send him something as a sign of good faith. If he is what you say he is, then your master will get the price he’s asking. And both our masters will be well pleased with us.’
There was a long pause. ‘I will take this matter to my master. Come. Share a drink with us. Bargaining is thirsty work.’
The men were turning. The lantern was swinging as they walked away. Selden took two more steps and found the end of his chain. ‘I have a family!’ he shouted at them. ‘I have a mother! I have a sister and a brother. I want to go home! Please, let me go home before I die here!’
A brief flash of daylight was his only answer. They were gone.
He coughed, clutching at his ribs as he did so, trying to hold himself tight against the hurt. Phlegm came up and he spat it onto the dirty straw. He wondered if there was blood in it. Not enough light to tell. The cough was getting worse, he knew that.
He tottered unsteadily back to the heap of straw where he bedded. He knelt and then lay down on his side. Every joint in his body ached. He rubbed at his gummy eyes and closed them again. Why had he let them bait him into standing up? Why couldn’t he just give up and be still until he died?
‘Tintaglia,’ he said softly. He reached for the dragon with his thoughts. There had been a time when she was aware of him when he sought for her, a time when she had let her thoughts touch his. Then she had found her mate, and since then, he had felt nothing from her. He had near-worshipped her, had basked in her dragon glory and reflected it back to her in his songs.
Songs. How long had it been since he had sung for her, since he had sung anything at all? He had loved her, and believed she had loved him. Everyone had warned him. They’d spoken of the glamour of dragons, of the spell of entrancement they used to ensnare humans but he hadn’t believed them. He had lived to serve her. Worse was that, even as he lay on the dirty straw like a forgotten pet, he knew that if she ever found him again and so much as glanced at him, he’d once more serve her faithfully.
‘It’s what I am now. It’s what she made me,’ he said softly to the darkness.
In the next stall, the two-headed dog whined.
Day the 7th of the Hope Moon
Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders
From Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick to Reyall, Acting Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown
Please convey to your masters that I find it extremely distasteful that an underling such as yourself has been given the assignment of conveying these disgusting allegations against me. I believe that being allowed to act as Keeper of the Birds in Erek’s absence has given you an inflated sense of importance that is entirely inappropriate for a journeyman to display to a Master. I suggest further that the Bird Masters of the Bingtown Bird Keepers’ Guild look at your family connections and consider the jealousy your kin bear for me with regards to my promotion to Bird Keeper in Cassarick, for I think there they will find the heart of this vile accusation.
I decline to contact Trader Candral regarding this matter. He has lodged no grievance with our offices, and I am certain that if these complaints were genuine, he would have come to us in person to make his protest. I suspect the fault is not with his wax or seal, but with careless handling of the confidential message cylinders within the Bingtown aviary by those assigned to manage the birds from Trehaug and Cassarick. I believe that would be you, journeyman.
If the Bingtown Bird Keepers’ Guild has a grievance with how official messages are handled in Cassarick, I suggest they send a formal complaint to the Cassarick Traders’ Council and request an investigation. I believe you will find the Council has every confidence in the Cassarick Bird Keepers and that they will decline to pursue such a scurrilous charge against us.
Kim, Keeper of the Birds, Cassarick
CHAPTER TWO
Dragon Battle
The sun had broken through the clouds. The mist that cloaked the hillside meadow by the swift-flowing river was beginning to burn off. Sintara lifted her head to stare at the distant burning orb. Light fell on her scaled hide but little warmth came with it. As the mist rose in trailing tendrils and vanished at the sun’s touch, the cruel wind was driving in thick grey clouds from the west. It would be another day of rain. In distant lands, the delightfully coarse sand would be baking under a hot sun. An ancestral memory of wallowing in that sand and scouring one’s scales until they shone intruded into her mind. She and her fellow dragons should have migrated. They should have risen in a glittering storm of flashing wings and lashing tails and flown to the far southern deserts months ago. Hunting in the rocky uplands that walled the desert was always good. If they were there now it would be a time to hunt, to eat to satiation, to sleep long in the heat-soaked afternoon and then to rise into the bright blue sky, coasting on the hot air currents. Given the right winds, a dragon could hang effortlessly above the land. A queen might do that, might shift her wings and glide and watch the heavier males do battle in the air below her. She imagined herself there, looking down on them as they clashed and spat, as they soared and collided and gripped talons with one another.
At the end of such a battle, a single drake would prevail. His vanquished rivals would return to the sands to bask and sulk, or perhaps flee to the game-rich hills to take out their frustration in a wild killing spree. The lone drake would rise, beating his wings to achieve an altitude equal to the circling, watching females and single out the one he sought to court. Then a different sort of a battle would begin.
Sintara’s gleaming copper eyes were half-lidded, her head lifted on her long and powerful neck, her face turned to the distant sun. A reflex opened her useless blue wings. There were stirrings of longing in her. She felt the mating flush warm the scales of her belly and throat and smelled the scent of her own desire wafting from the glands under her wings. She opened her eyes and lowered her head, feeling almost shame. A true queen worthy of mating would have powerful wings that could lift her above the clouds that now threatened to drench her. Her flight would spread the scent of her musk and inflame every drake for miles with lust. But a true dragon queen would not be marooned here on this sodden riverbank, companioned only by inept flightless males and even more useless human keepers.
She pushed dreams of glorious battles and mating flights away from her. A low rumble of displeasure vibrated her flanks. She was hungry. Where was her Thymara, her keeper? She was supposed to hunt for her, to bring her freshly-killed game. Where was the useless girl?
She felt a sudden violent stir of wind and caught a powerful whiff of drake. Just in time, she closed her half-opened wings.
His clawed feet met the earth and he slid wildly toward her, stopping just short of crashing into her. Sintara reared onto her hind legs and arched her glistening blue neck, straining to her full height. Even so, Kalo still towered over her. She saw his whirling eyes light with pleasure as he realized her disadvantage. The big male had grown and gained muscle and strength since they’d arrived at Kelsingra. ‘My longest flight yet,’ he told her as he shook his wide, dark-blue wings, freeing them of rain and spattering her in the process, then carefully folded and groomed them to his back. ‘My wings grow longer and stronger every day. Soon I shall again be a lord of the skies. What of you, queen? When will you take to the air?’
‘When I please,’ she retorted and turned away. He reeked of lust; the wild freedom of flight was not his focus, but what might occur during a flight. She would
