Alta

“Yes, master,” the assistant said, sounding not at all subservient. He turned back to Kiron. “And you are wanting streamers that can be easily torn away in the same colors as well?”

Kiron nodded. “We’ll be using them in training, to teach the dragons to get in close for harassment, but I don’t want something that is going interfere with flying—”

The assistant dismissed that with a shrug. “Colored grass, loosely woven,” he replied. “Fastened to the back of the saddle. Easily done.”

“As easily as I am going to beat you if we don’t get these dragons measured!” scolded the old man. “Get on with you!”

The two of them moved on to Apetma’s pen. Orest and Kiron exchanged grins.

“What were those extra straps you ordered for?” Orest asked when they had gone. “He didn’t ask about those.”

“Probably because they seem perfectly logical to someone who has never been a Jouster,” Kiron replied, sobering. “I don’t want any accidents. Avatre and I still haven’t mastered the ‘falling-man’ catch. Maybe the senior Jousters will think this is effete, but I want all of you belted down into your saddles when we begin training.”

Orest nodded slowly. “I’ve no objection,” he replied, slowly. “Now that I’ve been up on dragons—it’s a long way down to the ground. I wouldn’t like to fall—”

“Oh, I’m not worried about falling. The Tian Jousters used to say that it isn’t the fall that kills you,” Kiron replied with a straight face.

“Oh? So what is it?” Once again, Orest walked straight into the joke.

“It’s the hitting the ground that kills you,” Kiron replied, and ran out of Wastet’s pen with a brush following him.

He particularly wanted to catch up with the harness makers before they left Oset-re’s Apetma. By now, he half suspected that the boys had forgotten that their dragons were to be harnessed up in the riders’ colors—but Kiron remembered Oset-re’s fuss about having colors that didn’t clash with a dragon’s colors. He’d gotten black and white; was that sufficiently neutral for him to be content? The last thing he wanted was for Oset-re to be unhappy about a little thing like the colors of his harness when it was so easy to fix—

But he found Oset-re perfectly at ease as the harness makers nattered on about what color should be where to avoid soiling the white parts.

“Are you still all right with black and white?” he asked Oset-re cautiously. “It’s not to late to change—”

“Oh, Apetma is going to look amazing,” Oset-re said breezily, holding her head and gazing into her coppery eyes. “Aren’t you, my love? There won’t be another dragon out there as striking as you—” And as he crooned to her, she butted his head gently with her copper-red nose and crooned back at him. And at that moment, Kiron realized that it would not have mattered to the formerly vain Oset-re if Apetma had been dun and his colors green and gray, he would still have been sure she was the most beautiful of the lot. He was just as besotted with Apetma as any of them, and nothing was half as important anymore as his dragon.

Kiron left the pen feeling, although he was not sure why, as if he had just won a war.

THIRTEEN

FROM below, the view was fascinating, as brilliantly colored dragons soared and dove in the cloudless sky. Watching the dragons practice and train had always been a popular pastime for those who could afford to take the time away from their proper jobs—but now people were snatching a few moments just to come and gape.

The boys were now “safe” to be up on their own during some games, thanks to the many days of going up to warm up other Jousters’ dragons. When they were paired off in noncombat exercises, Kiron liked to leave Avatre in the pen once in a while and just go out to the practice field to watch as if he was one of the spectators. At the moment, the fledglings were ribbon chasing in sets of two, one with the ribbon, one trying to get it. They were over their “clumsy” stage at last, and now he was allowing all eight of them up in the sky at the same time. Since they weren’t very fast at this yet, they were able to avoid collisions that lack of practice and skill would have made inevitable at an adult speed.

The spectators, however, were not aware of the fledglings’ imperfections. They were here to watch and wonder, and marvel. The boys weren’t heroes yet—but the next set of Jousters, waiting their turn to go up and go through the same games, were. And if the swamp dragons weren’t as pretty up in the sky, they were a lot more exciting; they could double back on their own paths in the blink of an eye, and even literally fly rings around each other. None of them could match Avatre, however. She was able to tumble and wingover in a way that none of the others would, because none of the others were as alert and aware as she was, nor were they anywhere near as cooperative. She would try anything he asked her to, which was why he was very, very careful about what he asked her to do.