13. Of Violence and Blood

Outside, the wind howled. The darkness felt deeper after holding a hearthfire between my hands. It was cold and thick and empty. I squeezed my eyes tight shut for a moment, heard someone in the room behind me burst into tears, and shook my head once. I turned south.

I'd gained a road, at least. And I had places to be. I took a deep breath and let it out. Probably for the best, really. I hadn't time to spare or coin to spend. A stay at the inn had been an idle dream. I set my shoulders, turned my face toward Tirah, and started down the road.

I went perhaps a hundred paces before a tremor seized me. I made it another step and then I shook again, like a doll in the jaws of a furious hound. I fell to my knees and gasped a single sob. Shame burned cold behind my chest. I'd come here hoping to escape that kind of darkness, and instead I had shared it with all these innocent people. I could still see their fear, could smell it in my memory, and it turned my stomach.

And mixed within the shame I felt my own fear. It was the fear that had chased me across the hills, the fear of mighty things unseen. But there was more. I had as much to fear from men as monsters. The bully in the bar had reminded me of sins I'd long forgotten. I was a fugitive of the king's justice. I had enemies at court and at the Academy. I had enemies among the king's garrison and in the rebels' highest ranks. The world of man was bent against me. The only peace I'd truly known had been at Joseph's cabin. And I had walked away.

A shiver wracked me and another sob escaped. I missed that rotting cabin. I missed the man who hadn't challenged me, had never sneered. He had shown me only kindness that brought me from the edge of death and brought me into my power.

My power. I ground my teeth. My power that had torn his boat to tinder. My power that had filled these hearts with fear. My power that I could not quite control. Better if I only had the sword.

But even as I thought it, I remembered the king's soldier I'd spitted on my blade. I shook my head and clenched my fists. I was a threat, a danger, a monster as terrible as the beasts that roamed the night.

This town's bully had known it. Archus had known it, and Seriphenes, too. Cooper, mocking me on the hills outside Sachaerrich, and everyone who'd ever heard my father's name and shunned me in the streets. They'd known and sought to chase me out.

Everyone but Joseph. I pushed myself up to sit on my heels and dragged my ragged sleeve across my eyes. He'd given me a home. He'd given me respect. He'd taught me a new trade, and shared his wealth, and perhaps I could have stayed there all my life. Let rebellion wrack the land. Let Claighan's nightmare dragonswarm roll across the earth. They wouldn't touch some fisher's hut forgotten on the shore.

I took a breath. I dried my eyes and thought of my friend Joseph. I thought that I'd go home—

And then I heard a sound upon the road. It was the crunch of stone beneath a boot and less than half a dozen paces behind me. Fear and fury flashed through me, and I flung myself to my feet. I sprang backward, opening distance between me and this intruder. And as I jumped my eyes darted to take in every detail. My hand flew to a sword that wasn't there.

It was no attacker, though, no mob come to chase me from the town. It was one man, barely older than me, with work-worn hands and friendly fat cheeks. His eyes were wide, startling white within the night, and he threw his hands up and flung himself to the ground. He screamed, "Don't hurt me!"

The shame bit deep into my gut again, and my shoulders fell. After another heartbeat I stepped over and helped the young man to his feet. He wore a wedding band upon his hand and met my grip with easy strength.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you," I said. He laughed, nervous, and I winced at that. "I will not hurt you. Just go."

He stood before me. He adjusted his shoulders, then took a breath. "I'd rather not," he said. "I'd rather hear your story."

"You'd never believe it," I said.

"That interesting, is it?" he said. A smile peeked out at the corners of his mouth, then came out for real. "I could hardly complain at that."

I shook my head, then nodded down the road. "I'm needed in Tirah." It made a better excuse than Joseph's cabin. "I should go."

"Not at night," he said. "That's foolishness. Even for a wizard." His face went pale at that and he gulped, but he recovered in a beat. "I have a room. And a warm fire. And my Becky can make you a supper to warm the soul. Stay with me a night and I will carry you halfway to Tirah tomorrow."

"Carry me?" I said. The rest...it sounded too good to even think about. "Why would you—"

"I've business down in Ammerton," he said. "And a team too fine to haul a cart, but you'll be glad of them tomorrow."

I looked more closely at his eyes. I shook my head. "That's no answer." I glanced back at the door of the inn. "Why would you offer me this?"

He paled again, just a touch around the eyes, but I saw it. He didn't look back at the inn. "It wasn't right to treat you that way," he said. "And I could use a dangerous man on my side, if I'm to take the road to Ammerton. And because...." He trailed off. He finally broke eye contact, looked away, and gulped again. "Because I am afraid of darker things than you."

That much I could believe. I remembered the dragons fighting just miles from this town. I couldn't have been the only one to see it. This man was a helpless farmer, forced to take his cart down the long miles of the empty road. I remembered the loneliness, the emptiness of the land all around me. Whether I went back to Joseph's cabin or on down the road to Tirah, I had that desperate solitude to look forward to.

That decided me. I'd impressed him with my show of fire, but I wouldn't be half so handy against an attack as he hoped. But his horses could move me faster, and I'd appreciate his company as much as he hoped for mine.

"Daven," I said, extending my hand, and he grinned again.

"Rann." He said. I nodded my head, once, and he led me back to the stables to fetch his cart.

---

His farmhouse sat on a plot that would have made Jemminor jealous, with a stable of his own and a house for the farmhands besides. His Becky made a fine meal indeed, and he showed me to a bed more comfortable even than the one I'd had at the Academy. I woke an hour after dawn, still sore and still tired, but better for the rest. The farmer had his cart already packed and waiting, and I watched his wife fret and fluster over him for a dozen minutes before he finally kissed her once, warm and firm, and said his sweet goodbye.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he promised.

And then we took to the road. He asked for my story and ended up telling me his. He was the second son of a minor baron. His older and younger brothers had both gone off to war behind the royal banner. One for love of country, one for fame. Either one, it seemed, would have made a better farmer than young Goodman Rann. The family home was fallen on hard times, and he had to make this journey.

The story passed the time, but it cut at my heart. He didn't tell me how his brothers died, or exactly when his father passed along. He didn't tell me what it was that drove the farmhands from his fields, devoured his livestock, and ruined his crops. He spoke of accidents and fickle fortune, the way a farmer would, but I could see the edge of darkness he dared not address outright.

There were dragons in these hills. I saw no sign of them by daylight, as we rolled swiftly south along the farmers' road to Tirah, but I could see the signs of them in Rann's story. I could feel their effects in the mob's response to my appearance last night. The dragons had brought hard times, chaos, even where they hadn't yet shown their true forms.

I thought again of running off to Joseph's cabin. It was a wish, a dream, but not one I could long indulge. I knew too much. I knew what wrecked the farmer's lands. I knew what screamed in the night. And I knew it was just the beginning. We would need more than brave men or hiding places. We would need an army. We would need organization. We would need order.

A memory of the rebel wizard Lareth flared in my mind, sharp and clear. He knelt beside me, almost giggling, and told me he would kill the king. I had no love for the king, but the nation needed order now. Lareth's reckless stroke would doom the world. I looked over at the farmer on the seat beside me, set my jaw, and turned my eyes toward Tirah.

We passed through Nauperrel and Undermest and a dozen little towns with names known only to their farmers. We passed beneath a clear blue sky, sun riding high, and lunched in an inn where three of the King's Guard bragged of a recent victory over a band of rebels. Or perhaps a band of brigands. It was hard to tell from their description, and I got the sense the Guardsmen didn't much care.

We passed the afternoon in pleasant silence, the morning's gloom long lifted. Birds sang in the air, cattle grazed in unfenced fields, and Rann began to hum a merry tune. The dragon threat was easy to forget.

I carried it in my heart, though. I remembered what I had seen, the dragons' fight at dusk, and even as the goodman whistled, I watched the sun sink down. How much of it was timing? Would the dragons come out as evening approached? The road bent from east to south, and shadows stretched across it as we moved closer to the hills. I felt a shiver chase down my spine. Timing and terrain. There was more here to fear.

But nothing came for us. Evening settled down, and my eyes ached from staring at the land rolling by on our right, but Rann noticed nothing and soon he had us rattling over cobblestoned streets and settling to a stop near an inn as large as any I'd seen outside the City. Stableboys came to fetch the reins, and Rann hopped down to the ground.

I moved automatically, following him, and for the first time really looked around. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Ammerton," he said, as though it were obvious. "You've never been?"

I blinked at him. I looked back up the road, the way we'd come. "But you said—"

He nodded. "We made most of a hundred miles, in time for supper." He jerked his head toward the inn. "Come on. They make a fine pork cutlet here, and Simeon's going to be waiting."

I started to go with him, but I remembered I had no money to my name. The farmer had bought me my lunch, but I could hardly expect the same courtesy at the end of our journey. Still, I had no desire to be out on the road with dark coming on, and his company would find me welcome at the fire. I could find a place in a corner to sleep and strike for Tirah in the morning.

So I followed at his side as he opened the door. The place was huge. And empty. A bartender nodded to us as we came in, and a worn old man hunched over a beer in one corner, but otherwise the common room was deserted. Rann grunted with the same surprise I felt.

I nodded toward the old man. "Is that Simeon?"

"No," Rann said. His voice was distant. "Simeon is Becky's cousin. He's supposed to have seed and stock for me." He stood for a moment, then shook his head and started across the room. "Ol' Gregor," he called. "You seen Simeon? He was supposed to meet me—"

The bartender shook his head, grave, and Rann's pace faltered. He read something in the bartender's expression and his face went pale. "Something wrong?"

"Just got news an hour ago," the bartender spat back. "Something happened out at Drew Gail's farm."

"What?" Rann asked. "What happened?"

"Hard to say," the bartender said, and he dropped his gaze. "Crazy rumors coming in, but whatever it is, it's bad. Folks went out to check on him, Simeon among 'em."

Rann didn't listen to the rest. He turned on his heel and sprinted for the door, clutching at my sleeve as he passed. I knew what he was thinking, and I didn't like it. He bolted to the stable, caught a stableboy by the collar, and screamed at him for his cart.

"Rann, wait," I said. "Wait for word to come back. We don't know what's happened."

"I know," Rann said. "And you do too. These people won't admit it, but I've heard the things that scream in the night." His face went ashen. "Oh, Simeon."

"How far is this farm?" I asked, while stablehands bustled to prepare the cart. "Do you know even where to find it?" I had to ask it again before the farmer heard me.

"A couple miles outside town," he said. He nodded, almost frantic. "Not far." His breath caught, and I saw his lip tremble.

I put a hand on his arm. "Rann," I said, trying to comfort him, and he whirled on me.

I saw rage flash in his eyes, but it was born of fear and it fled a heartbeat later. "I tried to warn him," he said. "The hills aren't safe. Nobody listened, but I noticed it was worse in the hills. And in the woods."

I swallowed. "You don't actually know," I said. "It could be anything."

He shook his head. And then his eyes found mine, and I saw compassion settle in them. He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I have to go, Daven. I have to go check on him. He's family. But this is no business of yours. Go on."

I shook my head. "No, I'll come with you."

He reached into a purse on his belt and counted out a handful of coins. He offered them to me. "I know you can't afford a room. Get yourself something to eat."

I pushed his hand away. "I can't take that," I said.

"You did as much as I needed," he said. "You made my trip a brighter one." His eyes flashed at that, and he dropped his gaze. He swallowed.

I looked back at the inn one last time then shook my head. "I should at least see it through to the end," I said. The cart rattled up and I nodded to it. "This is what you wanted me for anyway, isn't it?"

His eyes widened in surprise, then moistened with gratitude, and I felt a stab of shame. I couldn't offer him the help he wanted from me. I couldn't do anything to stop a dragon. But he needed company more than anything else. He needed hope. I hauled myself up onto the seat and then stared down at him. "Come on," I said. "Let's see what all the fuss is about."

Darkness fell as we rattled out of town, and a chill wind sprang up. Rann paid it no mind, but I had to huddle in on myself for warmth. Out on the king's road again, the farmer kicked his horses into a trot, and the little cart flew along. The moon was not yet risen but the stars shone bright from a clear sky and gave enough light to see.

Rann barely needed it, though. He seemed to know the way by heart. He urged his horses on, faster and faster despite a hard day's work, and when he turned them off the main road onto a rutted little path back to a farm in the hills, he barely slowed at all. We were half a mile from the road before I saw the firelight.

It was a furious, mad flickering, and with it came a rustle of noise. I had trouble distinguishing much over the thudding of horses' hooves and the clatter of the jouncing cart, but there was certainly a clamor in the night ahead. Rann took us around a curve, up over a hill, and a rundown farmhouse came into sight below us. The farmer slowed the cart and jumped from the seat before we had even stopped. I leaped after him.

Beyond the farmhouse stood a little clearing, a fenced yard perhaps a hundred paces across. The small pond at one end of the yard would have made good watering for a modest flock, though there were no farm animals in sight. But near the pool, in the mud at the edge of the water, was a dragon. Inky black, larger than a house, and wounded.

It lay sprawled, one hind leg stretched out awkwardly behind it. Its sides heaved, and I saw great gashes gouged through the armored hide. Black blood stained the earth, and more slicked its long, sharp teeth.

And then I recognized the sound. It wasn't the scream of fighting monsters, but the shouts of an angry crowd. They gathered on the field, in a half-circle around the stricken dragon, wielding crude clubs or cheap swords or, more often, sharp-edged farm tools. They carried torches, too, flickering firelight that threw hideous shadows among them. They were the townsfolk of Ammerton. Perhaps even Simeon was among them, and Goodman Rann sprinted down to join them.

But I did not move. Something like cold water washed down my soul, and I lost the focus in my eyes. I could hear the angry rumblings of the crowd, feel their living fury, but I felt something else, too. I felt pain, deep and deadly. I felt despair and impotent rage. The dragon huffed and grunted, and I saw the closest humans press away from it, but instead of a gout of flame the dragon only managed a little growl and a puff of light. The farmers took confidence from that, and crowded closer yet.

They hoped to kill it. And something of that other presence in my mind told me they could kill it. It was too weak, too wounded. Instead of elation, I felt sadness. I felt a flash of frantic desperation. I took a step forward, into the silver starlight, and looked down on the mob below me.

And then something took hold of me. An eerie sense of hope flared in my chest, and without meaning to I fell into my second sight. I looked down on the army of men, pressing close and deadly, and I saw the slashing steel of their weapons like living death. I reached for it, as I had reached for wind and rain, but no effort of my will could touch the worked-metal. I saw it straining, yearning toward the empty blackness of the dragon—and the pulsing thread of red that danced within.

But there were other powers here. There was earth all around them, and water behind the dragon, and even the biting wind that had risen while we drove. I ignored them all. Something in me bent my mind on the fire that danced above a hundred waving torches. I felt my lips pull back in a silent growl. I stretched out a hand, grasped the living flame from the torch of the foremost farmer, and hurled it like a stone to the ground at his feet.

It exploded in a burst of sparks, and the grass caught fire. The farmer screamed in terror, and I heard a roar of victory from the dragon. Then without thinking I did it again, with a flame in the heart of the group, and I heard their panic as they tried to escape the wild fire. Then I grabbed ten flames at once and hurled them to the ground. I grabbed a dozen more and snuffed them out. And then the rest, so darkness fell between one heartbeat and the next, apart from the vicious fire spreading out around their feet.

And then they broke and fled. I saw Rann among them, and he supported another man who hobbled at his side. They came toward me, and a flush of shame and confusion that were entirely my own washed over me. Then of my own volition I turned and fled, darting into the shadows beneath a nearby grove of trees. I hid there as the stampede of terrified townsfolk flooded past. I hid there as Rann helped his injured cousin into the cart. He called for me, three times, but then Simeon groaned and the dragon roared again below and Rann broke and sent the cart careening back down to the road.

I watched it go until I could hear its rattling wheels no more, and then some compulsion turned me back toward the dragon and pressed me three paces forward out of the shadows of the trees. I looked down on the dragon, and it looked up at me. For a long moment we stood like that, lit only by the flicker of spreading fires in Drew Gail's pasture. I reached out with a thought and crushed the fires out.

Before I could do more I felt that other presence in the back of my mind again. Not just the subtle compulsion that had directed my hand before, not the siren call that had pulled me toward the warring dragons in the night. This was a whole presence, one I remembered from the night long ago when the dragon had dropped me into the sea. I felt its pain. I felt its fading anger, and its growing curiosity. I felt its gratitude, too, and the quiet thrumming thrill of survival.

And I felt its desire, compelling me to come forward and present myself before it. I stopped my feet, swayed for a moment, and then that pressure redoubled. I could feel it swell inside my head, stronger and stronger, but I fought it. The dragon's will pressed hard, driving against my spirit, but my mind had grown strong and my will stronger.

I stood upon the hill above the dragon and forced back that second awareness until it was only a seed in the back of my head. I could not push it any further; I could not push it out of my mind, but I could contain it. For several minutes I stood under the starry sky, sweating in spite of the cold, until I felt the aggressive force relent.

I raised my eyes then, met the beast's gaze, and it only stared at me. Without the overwhelming presence of that other awareness, I felt a flush of animal terror beneath its gaze. I trembled so hard I could not contain it, but I didn't break eye contact. I did as I'd done before, fighting my own emotions as I'd done the dragon's, until I owned control of my mind once more.

Then I took a long step down the hill, toward the beast. It huffed a breath, shifted its head, and waited. Deep inside my mind, I felt a touch of surprise from the beast and just a hint of admiration.

You have grown much, little human. I could still hear the voice in my head, but now I had some idea how. I could feel the thoughts reverberating from that kernel of his awareness, feel them coming out of his mind and echoing into my soul. I would not have guessed. But here and now you have my gratitude. You saved me, Daven. I owe you lifedebt.

I took a slow breath, forcing the monster's emotions apart from my own, and stoked the little flame of my fury. It had controlled me. I concentrated on that place in the back of my head, the link between the dragon's mind and mine. "Hello again, dragon. I have done you a kindness tonight that you did not deserve."

Do not call me dragon. Dragons are many but I am one. Call me Vechernyvetr, Daven. Know my name as I know yours. We are bonded now, closer than I would have guessed possible.

"Vechernyvetr, then." Even in my mind the name felt powerful and strange. I frowned. "I should have let you die."

Why is that? The thoughts were accompanied by surprise, offense, where I had expected sarcasm. I almost shouted at him aloud, but I was not sure he would have understood my language. Instead, I spoke in my mind.

"Why? You tried to kill me! You dropped me in an ocean to die!"

But you are not dead. You are quite well. Strong. The day I met you, you could not have done what you did today.

I tried to hold on to my anger, but it slipped like water through my fingers. There was truth in the creature's words. I took a step closer, holding myself as tall as I could. "You are a threat. You are a monster. I would be happier if you were dead."

The dragon answered me with a rolling laugh. I know that feeling well. But it is as I said. There is a bond neither of us can easily break. And it has proven useful tonight.

"To you, perhaps." I felt irritation curl my lips. "It cost me a friend, an easy night's sleep. A meal or two—"

These are petty things, the dragon said. It rolled its great eyes, and shifted in the mud. You lost one night's sleep and gained the gratitude of a force of nature.

I felt an eyebrow arch. "And what is that worth?" I asked. "The gratitude of a monster. A dragon helpless and already halfway dead, no less."

You judge too quickly what you do not understand. I will be well enough to pay my debt. I am tired and weak, but far from helpless. Dragons heal quickly. By midnight I shall be well, and then I can settle our score.

I frowned at that and moved closer to the monster. Somewhere far in the back of my mind, near the place where I had tucked the dragon's thoughts, an animal part of me wailed in fear. But mostly I was not afraid. Mostly I was curious. I stepped up to the injured leg, the one stretched out awkwardly at the dragon's side. I raised a hand that didn't quite touch the long, jagged gash that split the dragon's hide and muscle down to bone.

The moon came out then, slipping free from a light band of airy clouds and peeking over the trees. A beam of silver light traced across the earth and fell upon the dragon's hide. From that far corner of my mind I felt a flash of relief so sharp and sudden it broke through all my defenses and washed over me as though it were my own.

When I fought it back, surprise and confusion held its place. "Moonlight?" I thought. "There is no magic in moonlight."

Arrogant little humans, it said. There is so much more magic than your own. The moon is a mighty power, ever-changing mistress of the chaos night. She is our queen. There is no injury to my kind that cannot be healed between sunset and dawn. I will be well by midnight.

Beneath my hand, the dragon's wound began to heal. I watched ruined flesh stitch itself together again, watched armored hide remade beneath the silver light of a waning moon. "Incredible."

The dragon huffed, an irritated sound that sent a blast of hot air washing all around me. You are a boring little pet, the dragon said. But it is as I said. I owe you lifedebt. What boon will you ask of me?

I thought about that for a long time, and I could feel Vechernyvetr wondering at my silence. Finally, I shrugged. "It will be midnight before you can offer it, so I will wait until midnight to decide. I must think long and hard on this." I sensed the dragon's compliance, and then the beast settled down to doze while it healed. I felt its weariness within me, and a little echo of my own, but hunger quickly overwhelmed it. Lunch seemed a long way away, and I couldn't guess when my next meal might come.

I made my way to the pool at the end of the little yard, taking on my second sight as I did so. There were little whispers of life within the water. The farmer's pond was deeper than I'd expected and well-stocked as I had hoped. Short bursts of light blinked through the slow, ancient energies of the water itself as fish darted after prey, away from predator. I reached out carefully with my mind, binding the water into a shell around one of the larger fish, then brought it rushing like a bubble to the surface. With a little smile of satisfaction, I reached out and plucked the fish from the water.

I found the memory of fire among the quiet embers still hot in the farmer's field, but it took more effort than I'd expected to coax them back to flame. I'd nearly succeeded when I felt the dragon shift behind me. I had one heartbeat's warning before it coughed, and belched a tiny stream of fire that washed like water across the ground before it. Hotter than a forgefire, the dragon's flame lit the trampled grass, and I grabbed a thread of it and bound it with my will before the fuel itself crumbled to ash. I heard the dragon's satisfied chuckle deep in my mind, and then it was asleep again.

I cared little about its amusement. I had everything I needed. I cleaned the fish on the pitted edge of a sword abandoned in the townsfolk's flight. One fish and an open fire made a small and simple meal, but after my hunger it was a feast. When I had eaten my fill the moon was already shining high, but Vechernyvetr still slept.

I eyed him for a moment, wondering what favor I could ask of a dragon. My mind returned again and again to the threat upon the king. Whatever else I wanted, nothing compared to that danger. I'd spent two days now chasing blindly after a solution to a problem much too large for me, and here before me was an answer.

I found a place to rest my back against the dragon's warm hide and stared up at the stars while I considered options. I found no definite plan before a yawn cracked my jaw, and soon after that I shook myself from a light doze and tried to focus. The rhythm of the dragon's breathing defeated me. I fell asleep in earnest and only woke hours later when the dragon shifted in place. It hesitated for a heartbeat, just long enough for me to catch myself, then threw itself off the ground with a mighty power. It lunged into the air, huge wings hammering wind down upon me, and thrummed up high into the night.

"You are well then," I thought, aiming it at the knot of emotion thrilling in the back of my mind. The beast answered me with joy and with a flood of power that left me almost drunk. I pushed it back.

I watched the dragon dance among the stars, watched it stretch stiff muscles, and I reached out with my own senses toward the spot in my mind. I imagined I could feel its motion, feel that rush of air and movement that even now I could remember.

The dragon soared for a moment longer, then frustration bubbled through, anger, and it banked long and slow and settled once again before me. It stalked slowly closer, cauldron eyes fixed on me, and huffed another forge-hot breath.

I must go, the dragon thought. I have other burdens than yours to settle. So decide now or accept the delay. What would you have of me?

"I would have an end to war," I thought. "The duke Brant has brought rebellion against the king, and the wizard Lareth fights for him—"

A growl escaped the dragon, a low and terrible sound, and I felt a flare of impatience from it. I have no interest in the politics of man.

"This is more than politics," I thought. "The nation is on the brink of chaos. Lareth plans to kill the king—"

I do not have time for stories, the dragon said. If you have a task to ask of me, then ask it.

I clenched my fists. "I want you to win the war."

That sounds like more than one night's work, the dragon answered. It sounds a greater threat than the one you saved me from.

I shook my head. "You needn't kill them all," I thought. "Attack them in a gathering and crush their numbers."

Your rebels do not gather, Vechernyvetr said. My kind can feel a gathering of arms, and only from the sea has that kind come. These are the soldiers of your king, I believe.

I sighed and nodded. "Then not even a gathering. Just Lareth. Can you kill Lareth for me?"

Can you tell me where he is? the dragon asked. I didn't even answer, the frustration that flashed through me was response enough. The dragon lowered its head. Could you kill a single bee within a swarm, if I named him for you? No. I cannot kill your wizard.

I scrubbed my hands across my face. The dragon was scarcely any help at all. I caught my breath and shook my head. "Fine," I said at last, knowing how much I squandered a dragon's lifedebt. "I ask you to carry me to Tirah. It will save me two days' travel—"

The dragon's answer came as angry laughter in my mind. The monster threw itself into the air again, battering me with the downdraft of its wings. Do I look like a beast of burden to your eyes? You silly little man. I am a beast of violence and blood. Ask that of me and it is yours, but I am not a pony you can ride.

With that, it rose high into the sky. I strained after it, shouting in my mind. "You owe a debt, and this is all I need! I have no use for violence and blood!"

The dragon was a shadow against the star-specked sky, a motion fading north. Its answer came from far away, but clear within my mind. You will, it said with confidence. You humans always do. As much as we and more. The time will come, and I will heed your call.

I heard it, or imagined it say Farewell, as final as I'd ever heard. I watched until I could see nothing of its shadow in the sky, then I fell to my knees. And then I sighed.