In a chivalrous gesture that made Sara smile, Derrick relived her of the saddle and packs and hoisted the load over his own broad shoulders.
She followed him around the quadrangle to a cluster of tents, where a group of young people-very young people, to Sara's eyes-sat upon stools or wooden boxes in a bored-looking group. They looked up as Derrick joined them, and in the hope of something more interesting, they rose collectively to their feet and greeted Sara.
Sara eyed them one by one. Three men, including Derrick, and two women made up the Sixth Talon. As a group, they were all well conditioned, hard as dragon scales, and eager to learn. As individuals-well, Sara would have to see what characteristics were revealed by time and trial. She quickly explained who she was and what her assignment was to be.
The group perked up immediately. "Then you can take us out!" one of the women exclaimed. "Knight Candidate Marika Windor, ma'am," she added hastily. "We were supposed to go on a training flight this morning, but Massard is dead drunk."
The others nodded, looking none too pleased by their commander's indisposition.
Sara considered them. There was no real reason for them to sit about doing nothing when she could take them on their assignment. How difficult could a training fight be? She had ridden dragons in dozens of them. It would also give her a chance to get to know these warriors without the company of their sodden leader.
"Do you all have dragons yet?"
They nodded eagerly. "We were assigned dragons last week," Derrick assured her.
"Last week," Sara said, amazed. "Have any of you passed your test?"
They looked at each other, their thoughts passing plainly between them. "We haven't taken it yet.
We're all still squires," Marika told her.
"But…"
Derrick held up a hand. "I know. We're rather old to be just squires. Most of us joined just a few years ago, after the order was decimated by the war. General Abrena was willing to accept anyone of reasonable age, and they've rushed us through the training. We will all take the test sometime after New Year."
Sara shook her head. In the past, the knighthood hadn't accepted anyone over the age of fourteen for candidacy. They usually took boys and began their training and indoctrination by age twelve and made them squires by age fifteen. These young people looked to be five or six years older than that and had only been in training for a few years. The order was desperate for recruits if the older ranking officers seriously considered letting these novices take the Test of Takhisis this soon.
She filed that piece of information away for later and said, "Get your riding gear. We'll call in the dragons."
Whooping with excitement, the five split off to their tents to grab their equipment. Derrick eyed Sara's make shift saddle, then tossed it and her gear into an empty tent. He came back a few minutes later lugging his own dragon saddle and a spare one that he gave to Sara.
"This one was Tamar's," he said. His face darkened and he finished sadly, "He died last week when he failed his test."
The saddle was well crafted of fine leather and strong bindings. Sara took it with a nod of thanks and wondered at Derrick's tone. Most squires would have reviled a candidate who died in failure. Derrick did not, He seemed truly grieved that his companion was dead.
The others came dashing up to join them, anticipation shining from their faces. Sara led them out of the tent quarter to a wide, empty field where there was ample room for dragons to land.
She lined them up and stood in front of them, her arms crossed, her expression stern. "Now, before we call the dragons, I want all of you to give me your names so I will know who to yell at when you do something wrong."
They shifted on their feet and exchanged sly grins. They caught her slight bantering tone and responded to it like children suddenly released from an onerous duty.
Derrick, she already knew. Marika was a stocky, muscular girl with a long brown braid and eyes as earthy as her laugh. Kelena, the second woman, had cut her dark red hair into a halo of curls and sported a band of freckles across her narrow face like a banner. She was from Sanction, she told Sara, and had joined the order to follow in the footsteps of her older brother, who had died in the rift.
Saunder, the oldest of the young men, wore his dusty blond hair long and tied back in an intricate knot. He was tall and rangy and quiet to the point of reticence.
The youngest of the talon-all of seventeen years, he told Sara proudly-was Jacson. He was voluble enough to make up for Saunder's silence and energetic enough to keep them all entertained. He reminded Sara of a kender who viewed the world with wide-eyed enthusiasm and grabbed for everything he could get out of a moment. He was of slight stature for a knight candidate, yet he was deceptively strong and very quickwitted.
Sara studied them all, and to her surprise, she felt the slightest niggling doubt. Not a one of them looked like the burning zealots she remembered caring for at Storm's Keep. Those squires had been truly dedicated to a religion and a way of life and worshiped a goddess who revealed her power in every part of their lives. These five men and women seemed to lack that religious fervor. Was it any wonder? Takhisis was gone; her Vision was dead. What was left for them to worship with all their hearts and souls?
She pushed that notion aside. Not everyone in the world felt as empty as she did or looked on the disappearance of the gods as abandonment. Perhaps she was just letting her own confusion color her impressions.
She forced her seeds of doubt aside and automatically reached for the lily brooch that used to hang on her cloak. Only when her fingers touched the soft fabric did she remember she had given the brooch away. A long time ago she had used the brooch as a focal point to summon dragons. Now she would have to do it the hard way.
"Call your dragons," she ordered the talon.
Derrick and Saunder stepped forward and produced slender whistles hanging from chains around their necks. When they blew the whistles, Sara heard no sound. A dog barked somewhere nearby. Then there was a rush and flap of large wings and two blue dragon landed in the field close to the talon.
Sara glanced around quizzically, waiting for the other three.
"That's all," Derrick said with a shrug. "There are so few blues left after the war, our wing commander only assigned two to us. We have to take turns."
"Take turns," Sara muttered. "How can you learn aerial tactics if you have to take turns on two dragons?"
"Massard said we would get more later," Jacson said. "If you can believe him."
"Well, we'll make the best of it." She marched up to the two dragons. They were both young, maybe fifty years, of similar coloring, and both were shorter than Cobalt. "What are your names?" she asked. Howl and Squall, they told her in unison. Obviously nest mates.
She quickly sent Howl, named for the raucous tone of his voice, out to the herd fields to fetch Cobalt.
The big blue arrived, snorting and grumbling, and promptly dumped the bloody carcass of a cow on the ground in front of Sara. "I wasn't finished yet. You said I had plenty of time," he complained.
His rider ignored his grumps. "So hurry up. I changed my mind."
He cast a warning growl at the younger dragons and hunched protectively over his meal. With his sharp teeth, he tore the carcass to pieces and gulped it down, indulging in a lot of slurping, gnashing, crunching, and other unnecessary noises.
The five squires watched him in sick fascination. Sara hid a smile. Obviously they hadn't paid much attention to the eating habits of their dragons.
As soon as Cobalt had spat out the last bone, Sara saddled and climbed onto his back. "Derrick, you and Marika ride first. We're going to play catch."