Alta

And by extension, the boys of his new wing got some of that respect, too. If they didn’t have the background required to savor it as much as he did, they still appreciated it. He had proved that they were not some crazed experiment doomed to fail. And some of those older Jousters who had come to see him and Avatre when they were recovering in Lord Ya-tiren’s villa were now speculating enthusiastically about the day when there would be enough of the “youngsters” up and flying that these old veterans could afford the time to raise a tame dragon of their own.

Well, he thought, when he first overheard one of those conversations at mealtime, I will make a point of seeing you get a fine egg on that day.

He watched the prince watching these scarred veterans, and now that he knew Toreth and Kaleth’s long-term plans, he could see Toreth weighing the men in his mind. At some point, the prince’s cadre would have to expand beyond the dozen or so of his peers that he had taken into his confidence, and the logical place to start was here, among the Jousters. Of all of the inhabitants of Alta, these men were the ones who had the least fear of the Magi, and possibly the most (though carefully veiled) contempt—though Kiron suspected that if one was to investigate, probably most soldiers felt the same. And of all of the fighters of Alta, these were the men who saw the most combat. Front-line troops would face Tian troops for short periods in pitched battles; Altan Jousters faced Tian Jousters every day outside the season of Rains. And this had been going on for generations—while the Magi sat safely in their tower and did—what? They said they were working their spells against the Tians, and protecting Altans, but how could you tell? Until recently, that is—there was no doubt with the new storms that they were sending that they had hit upon something that obviously worked.

But still. They were safe in their tower while they did it. There were probably few fighting men who could view that with less than contempt.

So the prince’s plans would probably meet with a great deal of approval here.

“But not now,” Toreth said calmly, as he, Gan, Kalen, Oset-re and Kiron gathered one night in Can’s pen. It was no kind of formal planning session, but whenever any of the cadre got together, talk tended to drift toward the future, and often a good idea or two came out of it. It was Gan, not Kiron, who suggested seeking support among the older Jousters, and Toreth met the idea with approval. “But not now,” he repeated. “First, we have to prove ourselves. All we are this moment is mother hens, sitting on our eggs. Kiron hasn’t even proved himself yet, except as a flyer and someone who knows his dragons. Until I am a fighting Jouster, and can talk to them as an equal, I won’t have respect that I have I’ve earned for myself.”

“But you have the rank,” countered Gan, with the unconscious air of superiority of the noble-born. Kiron wondered when he would see how much that rankled those who were of more humble birth. That he would, eventually, Kiron was sure; that languid manner covered a keen mind. “That demands respect!”

“You cannot demand the respect of the common man, Gan,” said Kalen, from where he sat in the pool of light cast by Can’s lamp, stitching a giant version of a falcon’s hood, for use with new-caught wild dragons. “You can demand obedience and get it, and deference, surely, but you can’t demand respect, you have to earn it. Actually, that’s exactly how Toreth earned my respect.” He looked up with a lazy smile. “At the age of eleven, he and Kaleth had already figured that out, and came to where the hawks were mewed, working side by side with me, learning how to care for, tame, and train young falcons exactly as I had. Thus earning my respect. Clever lads.”

“Say rather, observant,” Toreth replied. “Having a father who is a Commander of Hundreds with a low level of patience makes you observant rather quickly.” He pitched his voice to a growl. “Boys! Princes you may be, but until you are Great Ones, I can whip you from here to the Seventh Canal if you don’t care for that hound properly!”

“Oh, I recall another bellow altogether,” said Gan, and put his voice into the same truculent tone. “I will drown you in the First Canal with my own hands if you do not return my seal ring!”

“And just what were you doing with your father’s seal ring?” asked Oset-re, amused.

“Trying to forge letters making us Captains of Tens, of course!” Toreth replied. “With chariots of our own, plumed helmets, and honey cakes in perpetuity.”

Gan choked on his beer, laughing, and Kalen had to pound on his back until he stopped coughing.