“Then let’s go!”
“It’s a day’s ride in good weather. We’ll go tomorrow, with an early start.”
They started back to their room but were waylaid in the great hall by Kheeta and three young men Alec recognized from the feast. All were dressed for the outdoors and had bows and quivers decked with shattas. The tallest was carrying an axe.
“What’s all this?” asked Seregil.
“It’s time for our new cousin to prove his mettle,” Kheeta announced, clearly meaning Alec.
“This fellow is Ethgil í Zoztrus,” Kheeta told him, and the tall one with the axe nodded, smiling. Kheeta then ruffled the hair of the youngest. “This little one is Korit í Arin.” That earned Kheeta a scowl.
Seregil’s father had been named Korit. Alec wondered if this was another one of Seregil’s kin.
“And I’m Stellin í Alia,” the third youth told him. He was clearly a ya’shel like Alec, but his eyes were dark brown and he had curly black hair, like the Zengati slavers who’d taken him and Seregil to Riga.
“I’m glad to meet you all,” Alec replied, bowing a little.
The others laughed at that.
“Go fetch your bow before the light goes on us,” Kheeta ordered, clearly in charge of the younger ones, including Alec, it seemed.
“I’d like to see this,” Seregil said, grinning.
They retrieved their winter clothing, and their new companions led them through another unknown part of the house, gathering a small crowd of onlookers along the way.
“Your reputation precedes you, cousin,” Kheeta told Alec with a wink.
They left the house with their entourage and made their way out to a level stretch of land at the edge of the forest. There, Ethgil used his axe to cut an X into the bark of a large pine. “There. Let’s see if you’re as good as we’ve heard!”
Alec just smiled. He’d had plenty of time during their journey here to accustom himself to the lemonwood bow. He stood to one side, waxing his bowstring, while Korit paced out thirty yards from the target and drew a line in the snow with his heel.
Winking at Seregil, who stood with the little crowd with Sebrahn on his shoulders, Alec set his first arrow to the bowstring, then raised the bow as he pulled and let fly at the target. He’d been too cocky, and missed his mark, but still hit the tree. Frowning, he scooped up a small handful of snow and let it filter through his fingers, testing the direction of the breeze, then he nocked another arrow and took a bit more time. This one flew straight and hit the center of the X dead-on, earning him some respectful whistles and murmurs of “Well done!”
“That’s one, but can he do it again?” Stellin challenged.
“Let’s see,” said Alec.
His next shaft struck the upper left arm of the X.
“Oh, so close!” Korit exclaimed, as some of the others laughed.
Alec ignored them all and sent another shaft into the upper right arm of the X—then the lower left, and lower right. His fifth shaft found the center, shaving a bit of fletching from the arrow that was already there.
“How did you do that?” Stellin exclaimed.
Seregil grinned, “Didn’t Kheeta tell you? He’s good.”
Alec shrugged nonchalantly.
“Stellin, you try!” Korit said, giving him a shove forward.
“Yes, defend Bôkthersa’s honor!” Kheeta urged.
Korit retrieved Alec’s arrows from the target and handed them back with a respectful nod.
“Thanks, cousin.” Alec decided this wasn’t a bad way to introduce himself. After all, it was what he was best at.
Dark Stellin took his place at the line and tried to match Alec’s pattern, but aside from the center mark, three were only close and one missed the tree entirely.
“That wasn’t too bad,” said Alec as they waited for Korit to bring Stellin his arrows.
“But not good enough,” the young man grumbled. “I bet you can’t do that again.”
Alec’s blood was up now, and he gave him a cocky grin. “Let’s see.”
And he did, duplicating his earlier feat with ease.
After that, the challenges were inevitable. Kheeta had taken up a collection of shattas for Alec to pay his debts with when he had to, which turned out to be not all that often.
They used the X for a while, then set up wands in the snow and did clout shooting, firing arcing shots to come down on a handkerchief on the ground.
Alec’s father had taught him to shoot this way, and he quickly began rebuilding his lost collection, to the point that the others began to grumble a bit.
“Are you a wizard?” asked tall Ethgil, who’d lost three good shattas to Alec. “Those arrows fly like magic!”
“I grew up with a bow in my hand,” Alec told him, a little insulted. “If I didn’t shoot straight, I didn’t eat. Hunger was the only magic I needed.”
Kheeta smoothed it over, and they all stayed friends and went back to shooting. Alec thought fleetingly of aiming off the mark on purpose, but knew it would hurt their pride if they figured it out.
By the time the light failed and they headed back to the house with promises of hot tea in the kitchen, Alec felt almost at home. He liked his companions and they seemed to like him. Inwardly, though, he wondered what they thought when they looked at Sebrahn.
CHAPTER 11
Dragon’s Friend
DAWN WAS just a hint of gold over the eastern peaks when Alec set off with Seregil and Micum through the bitter cold to take Sebrahn to Tyrus Dragon Friend.
With Seregil leading once again, they followed a road deep into the thick forest beyond the town, and up into the mountains. It had snowed in the night, and the towering firs were clad in white below a clear blue winter sky.
It’s all so familiar! thought Alec again, breathing in the sweet, cold air as the way grew steeper.
“Except for the dragons, this place is a lot like the forests around Kerry,” said Micum, echoing Alec’s thought.
“And I always thought the forests around Kerry were a lot like here,” Seregil replied with a smile.
“I can see how you would miss this place,” Micum said, looking around. “And your clan.”
“It is good to be back.” He and Alec still hadn’t discussed how long they would stay.
The forest was quiet, but not silent. Small birds sang among the branches, habas chattered as they scampered across the road with their bushy black tails curved over their backs, and hawks cried to one another as they circled against the sky. There were dragons here, too: dragonlings, and others as large as rabbits. Alec and the others gave those a wide berth and the creatures paid no attention to them, more intent on hunting for unlucky mice in their tunnels in the snow, and tiny dragonlings, too. Alec saw one of the larger ones gobble down two at once.
“They eat their own,” Micum noted, surprised. They’d seen foxes and hawks, even ravens, devour a few, but never this.
“So will a pig,” Seregil said. “I think that’s why little dragons are so common and huge ones are so rare. You need a lot of young to start with, so at least a few survive. If all the little ones grew up, there’d be nothing but dragons left. They’d have eaten the rest of us.”
Sebrahn pointed to the dragons constantly and tried to squirm out of Alec’s arms, presumably to go to them.
It was midafternoon when they turned aside onto a trail, or what seemed to be a trail. The blanket of snow was smooth between the trees, but Alec soon spotted the hatch marks cut into tree trunks along the way. They were old, the bark long since healed around them. The snow was deep for a man, but the horses fared well enough. More than once, they saw larger dragons circling far above them.
“Are they likely to come down here?” asked Micum.
“You never know,” Seregil told him. “Just keep an eye out for them.”
But none did, and as the shadows lengthened across the trail Alec suddenly caught the scent of smoke—cooking smoke.