“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to protect her!” Kiron protested hotly.
“I’m not saying you should. Just don’t make the same mistake in the future,” Orest replied. “Or if you do, don’t be surprised when she bites your head off.”
He patted Wastet’s bright blue shoulder, and led him off to the pens, leaving Kiron staring after him.
Finally Kiron shook his head and went back to his own work—in this case, taking Avatre for her sand bath.
He thought about what Orest had said while he worked the sand over his beloved until she gleamed, every gold scale burnished like the Gold of Honor, every scarlet scale gleaming like a sacred jewel. And he couldn’t help but notice that she was a lot bigger. Nearly full grown, in fact. If anyone got a good look at her, not just glimpsed from the ground, they could be forgiven for wondering why the two of them weren’t out fighting with the rest of the Jousters, and never mind that he didn’t think they were more than half trained.
Well, that was another good reason for practicing so far away from the usual practice grounds.
So Orest thought that his sister believed that she’d had her independence and self-reliance questioned? On one level, it made sense, for other than that one time, she’d never looked for help from him, or from anyone else as far as he knew. Well, look at how he’d met her in the first place! Any other girl who’d been told to go look for a fish in the marshes where the river horses and crocodiles were would have gone straight to her father or one of her teachers to complain! But not Aket-ten, no, she had gone right out into the swamp with only a servant, and if her brother hadn’t intercepted her and gone along, she would have been completely alone out there.
Which, of course, on another level made no sense at all, since she was a lot older than that girl who’d gone to the marshes, she’d had a lot of experience in where her bull-headed stubbornness would take her, and you would have thought she’d have learned better by now. She had been flying, she knew how tricky the winds and thermals could get even without any weather to complicate them, so how could she possibly think she was capable of flying a strange dragon into the teeth of the storm? That wasn’t being brave and capable, that was being foolhardy!
Yes, well, you set off across the desert alone on a barely fledged dragon, part of him whispered. So you’re hardly one to talk about being foolhardy, are you?
But I had guides! he protested.
Fat lot of good those little pebbles were going to do if you got caught up in a sandstorm, or were ambushed by predators, that part of him retorted. And let’s not even mention that you were supposed to be hunting for Avatre and yourself, and when was the last time you had hunted before that trip? You’d slung pebbles at lizards and the odd bird, hoping to bring something down to add to the scraps Khefti-the-Fat gave you. You’re two of a kind, you are. You see something that you want, really want, and you don’t let anything stand in the way of getting it, do you?
He decided to ignore that little voice, as he rubbed Avatre down with sweet-scented oil-soaked polishing cloths. Let her be offended; she’d just have to get over it on her own. Besides, there were other things concerning him right now.
Resolutely, he shoved Aket-ten out of his thoughts.
With Avatre clean and oiled, he led her to the pen, where her dragon boy was waiting with her meal. She crooned with pleasure and set to, while the boy laughed at her eagerness. The boys assigned to the tame wing had long since learned what their charges were like, and most of them were hoping for tame dragons of their own one day.
Well, it still might happen, he thought, as the boy moved fearlessly about the pen, casting fond glances at Avatre. There are swamp dragon eggs to steal, and one day, ours might well mate. That was far more likely since the babies had been playing together before they fledged. He had noticed an interesting difference in Avatre’s behavior, compared to any of the youngsters. She held herself aloof from the youngsters, as if she wasn’t aware that she was a dragon—whereas they were in and out of each other’s pens as soon as they were allowed to wander. They had learned the command to stay, once they were old enough to learn any commands at all, and they obeyed pretty well—but there was a great deal of fraternization among the eight over the course of a day, whereas Avatre greeted any interloper in her pen with a distinctly aloof and offended gaze.
He left Avatre to her dinner, for there was something else he wanted to know.
Two somethings, actually. And he didn’t have to go to Aket-ten to find out either of them.
Heklatis spent most of the morning making the disease dust, and most of the afternoon and evening resting afterward. So he was resting in the courtyard just off his rooms when Kiron went looking for him. He was lying on a cot in the middle of the tiny courtyard, basking in the sun like a lizard on a rock, and he greeted Kiron’s footsteps with a raised head and an ironically lifted eyebrow.
“I hope you are not seeking my aid in reconciling you with Aket-ten,” the Healer drawled. “I am not particularly interested in mending the quarrels of young lovers.”
Kiron flushed. He thought about protesting that he wasn’t Aket-ten’s lover, and thought better of it. If he did protest, Heklatis would only be more certain that he was. And probably tease him about it. The Healer had an acid wit, and was not reticent about exercising it.
“I wanted to ask you about the dust you’re making, and about some other things,” he said, sitting down on a stone bench in the shade. “But first, I want to know about the dust. Is it safe around people? I mean, could I get the disease by breathing it or something? And how are you making it, exactly?”
“Well! Sensible questions! I stand amazed.” Heklatis raised both eyebrows in an exaggerated look of surprise, turned on his side to face Kiron, and propped his head on his hand. “You cannot get the disease; it is a disease of plants. However, because the dust is poisonous in large quantities, you could become ill if you stuck your nose in a bag and inhaled, so I advise against doing anything of the sort. Doing so would also make you liable to lung sickness, which would also make you extremely ill and might kill you.”
So. That meant that to release the dust, they would not want to be in its path or below it until most of it had been carried off. “In that case, the best option would be to carry it in leather bags, cut the bottom of the bag when we get above the storm, and keep climbing, zigzagging back and forth, until the bags are empty.” He nodded. “How are you making it?”
“Ah, now that is a truly interesting question!” Heklatis’ eyes finally lit up with enthusiasm. “We had a small quantity to begin with, and we proved what it did without using more than half of that store. It is related to a fungus very common in the swamp, and what I am doing is this: I have sent slaves to gather the common stuff, and when I have extracted as large a batch as I can manipulate, I magically prepare the batch, then take a pinch of the disease dust and drop it in. And by what we Akkadians refer to as the ‘Law of Contamination,’ the pile of fungus dust is converted to disease dust. Not,” he added, “without great effort, however. The Magi in the Tower have the Winged Ones to draw upon for their storm-magic, for instance; I have only myself, Aket-ten, and now Kaleth. And I refuse to drain my young assistants as the Magi drain the Winged Ones.”
Kiron stared at him in fascination. “Can you make anything into anything else that way?” he asked.