“What are you looking at now?”

He glanced up, and then with a smile he stood. “Jacob’s Yellow. It grows larger here than back home.”

She looked at it as he slowly walked back onto the sandy gravelled road to her. “It’s a pretty ordinary flower.”

“Actually, it isn’t,” he said, grinning.

“Oh?”

“It aids digestion when boiled with sprigs of –” He paused, taking in her expression, and bowed his head for a moment. “…I shall try not to be so distracted from now on.”

“It’s just that you wouldn’t have been taking these stops if we were in the carriage,” she said as they continued on, glancing at him to make sure he wasn’t being distracted again, “would you?”

“No,” he sighed, fiddling with his garish red sleeves. “But we’re not in the carriage – and, may I add, thank-you so much again for agreeing to accompany me, Miss Chole. I doubt the guard would have let me go off on my own.”

She looked to him, a thin eyebrow raised. She wouldn’t have let him go off on his own either, even if there were no threat of hill-bandits; he didn’t exactly seem like the independent type. “I doubt the guard would have let you go with anyone other than me.”

“More thank-yous are owed, then!”

“…You’re up to twenty-three already,” she said. “If you add too many more, then they may become meaningless.” As if they weren’t meaningless already. She’d only known him for half an hour and already he was one of the most annoying people she’d ever met. When they reached Fernachitta she’d be able to get rid of him – she couldn’t wait. At least in the carriage she’d been able to ignore all the other passengers.

“Certainly something to –”

He’d trailed off. She turned to him, grip tightening on her cane just in case. But nothing had attacked him. He was standing completely still, one heel still raised off the ground, with his head cocked to one side, his grey eyes wide, but blank.

“Stilten?”

“Shh!” he hissed. “Can’t you hear something?”

“…No?”

He gave her a look and went back to his concentrating. Chole stared at him, tapping her hickory cane slowly against her leg. If it wasn’t a plant or a rock to distract him, it was a sound. But all she could hear was wind-rustled leaves and occasional typical hill-bird calls; for once the beads along his braided hair were still.

After a few minutes he sighed. “It’s gone,” he said, sticking his hands into his trouser pockets, his face falling somewhat, and continued, once again, along the path.

“What was it?”

“Nothing.”

“You thought you heard nothing? How quaint.”

“Speaking of quaint,” he said, turning his head to her, “you might not talk like a Monseltian, but you do sound like one.”

She had to give him some marks for the sudden change of conversation. “This again? But, to shut you up, yes, I lived there for some years.”

He was smiling smugly. The dimple in his chin was starting to get on her nerves. “And did you train there?” he asked.

“Having a rhotic accent does not make me a monk. Maybe I was born there, and left when I was young, but kept the accent.” It sort of did, and she hadn’t been, but pretty much any lie was better than the truth.

“I don’t believe so.”

“Or, perhaps,” she said, her Rs suddenly unpronounced, “maybe I’m just messing with your mind.”

As he stared at her with a twitching cheek she laughed and flung her cane in the air, twisting her fingers and flicking her wrist to twirl it in a set pattern. Gods, the way some people acted, you’d think accents were set in stone…

“Why are you so interested in whether I’m a monk or not? It’s getting tedious.”

He smiled. “Magic is fascinating. I’m already well versed with the alchemists due to working with them, but I haven’t had much contact at all with monks. Oh, I’ve read up on them, but I’ve never even had a demonstration…”

“The alchemists?” Chole laughed. She’d heard some fairly amusing stories about that lot of people. “It must have been a while ago, because you still have your hair.”

He shook his head quickly, his tiny braids bouncing this and that way. “No, no. That little problem was fixed about forty years ago, but of course everyone still talks about it like it’s still prevalent. Well, it does still occur, but it’s very rare, usually only when a mechanism’s faulty or the milk’s been tainted. Last year there was an explosion because someone confused wood and fire milk.” He laughed. “You should have heard my father! He went on for some time about how the alchemists’ standards must have lowered if they had allowed a blind idiot to graduate.”

She had stopped, causing him to turn back to her. “Wood and fire milk? Khonlen milk?” She stared at him. It had to be khonlen milk. What else would he be referring to?

“Well, dragon milk isn’t just a theoretical substitute, but it’s not really economically viable.” He shrugged. “Some specialists use it, but we don’t have the quantities, you understand.”

“So you’re a khonlen breeder?” she asked, forcing her voice to be calm, tapping her fingers on her cane’s handle to keep herself collected.

He grinned and extended his arm; she took his hand automatically. “Stilten Amarkhos, heir to the Amarkhos-Somiane line. My mother is a gold-class metal khonlen racer and my father is in charge of the second-largest milking farm on this continent. I am currently on my way to Fernachitta to meet with my Amarkhos-Dale cousins. They’ve apparently come up with an efficient new milking process.” He paused. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Chole.”

They shook hands. Her eyes were wide, taking in his unprofessional stubbled chin and his tacky, cheap, touristy appearance. And then, looking past that, she saw his strong posture and his confident eyes. Had that always been there? Had she just not noticed it, not having looked for it, not even having assumed it would be there, before?

She shook her head slowly. “I – I never would have thought…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re travelling by yourself?”

He shrugged and continued along the path, leaving her to startle and chase after him. “I was holidaying,” he said, shaking his head to set off his braids’ beads, “in Kotshan when the Amarkhos-Dales sent the news, so the family sent me. The trip’s… official, but it’s not official official.”

“But, you have no bodyguards? You’re an Amarkhos – what if someone tried to kidnap or kill you?! What if those bandits had been trying to kidnap you? What if I tried to kidnap or kill you?” Chole had said it without thinking, but, but – it would be a handy thing, wouldn’t it?

No, no, no, it wouldn’t be. There were better ways. Why be an enemy when you could be a friend?

“It’s more lucrative to kidnap the racers,” he said matter-of-factly, bringing her sharply out of her thoughts. “In fact, my sister –” He stopped once more.

“Do you hear something?” she asked.

His concentration lasted a few minutes before he sighed. “If I did, it’s gone. Again.”

“Are you sure you’re not just imagining things?” she teased, poking his arm with her cane.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, massaging his temples, apparently not noticing her sudden change. “I think I’m hearing it… But, I suppose I could just be wanting to hear it…”

“Wanting to hear what?”

Stilten looked to her. “There’s… I’ve heard reports of fire dragons around here. I’ve never seen a fire dragon. Well, of course, I’ve seen pictures and diagrams of them, but I’ve never seen one in real life. Fire khonlens are pretty difficult to breed, too – though the Georgone family’s had some success with them, we haven’t managed past two generations. But… a fire dragon… I would do anything to see one.” He laughed. “Even just to see the expression on my father’s face when I tell him!”

There was such a look in his eyes. Chole wondered if she’d ever looked like that – during her meditation, maybe?

“I’ve never seen a dragon at all,” she said.

“Wood dragons are quite common. I actually hand-reared a tawny wood dragon when I was a child – her mother had fallen sick and wasn’t able to feed any of the chicks. My father and sister were taking care of all of them, and they gave me this little one. She was so small. I had to bottle-feed her every hour. Most adorable thing in the world.” He gave another laugh. “And then she learned how to fly, and then she got into a pantry… It took me a whole day to get all the flour off of her feathers.”

Chole smiled at him. “Please don’t let me stop you from finding a fire dragon, if there is one. I’d like to see it too!” Or, better yet, she could help him find it.

He was grinning at her and clapping his hands. “You won’t get annoyed at me for delaying our journey?”

“It’s a dragon, Stilten. I – I am a monk,” she said, she would give him that at least, and at his satisfied grin she had to wonder if she was going to head for overkill, but the words were already leaving her mouth, “but I’ve never seen anything like that! How could I get annoyed at you over a dragon – I’d love to see even a little tawny wood dragon, and you’re saying that there might be a fire dragon. They’re huge, aren’t they?” The best thing was, she wasn’t completely lying.

“Huge?” He considered. “Well, I suppose, when you compare them to some khonlens…”

Ten minutes later Chole had had the average sizes of several subspecies of fire dragons and fire khonlens listed and compared to the other species. Some fire dragons were larger than khonlens, although some weren’t, and of course the largest wind and water dragons were larger than the largest fire dragons, but accounts had been exaggerated over the years, and –

She wasn’t sure if he’d breathed, at all, during that time. He probably would have continued on for longer if they hadn’t come to the cliff.

The carriage path had been following the gentle upwards slope of the hill, and now here it veered sharply to the left, and down. They stood near the edge, Chole somewhat closer than Stilten, and looked down. A wind was tugging at her ponytail and sleeves.

“You’d think they would have found an easier route,” he said.

Several hundred feet down the hill, the path turned, disappearing from view. At the bottom of the cliff it was visible again – they would snake down and around the hill to reach the bottom. This was the worst of the hills, the carriage driver had told them. A spectacular view of the surroundings hills, sure enough, but an annoying trek to the surrounding hills.

“You know,” said Stilten, staring over the edge, “it would be a lot quicker if we could just go straight down.”

“Do you rock-climb?”

He waved a hand. “Surely you’d be able to do something. I imagine you’d have a spell of some-sort to slow a fall, or something similar to that?”

“It would be a waste of energy! It’s easier to take the path.”

“But think of the time we’d save! And it would be fun.”

“It’s a waste of energy,” she repeated, turning sharply to follow the wide path down the slope. She could just imagine it. Give in to his childish desire once and then she’d be doing little tricks for him the rest of the way to Fernachitta.

But… That would endear her to him, wouldn’t it? It would place him in good moods, and he’d probably offer her something in return. He was a khonlen breeder – no, not just a khonlen breeder, an Amarkhos khonlen breeder. Why else was she heading to Fernachitta? How stupid would she be to throw away this opportunity to impress him and befriend him?

…How much energy did she have left? How would endearment fare for her if she found herself dangerously low on energy?

No, that was just her being pessimistic. She felt fine. Why, she’d only siphoned the week before last, and the only things she’d done since then was the usual and a few small sleep casts during the ambush on the carriage. It wasn’t as if she was going to demolish the hillside!

Chole turned around. He’d been following shortly behind, hands in his pockets and frown on his face. She smiled warmly and he stopped, staring at her.

“How about we take a short cut, eh?”

His eyes widened. “R-really?”

“You’re going to show me a dragon. The least I can do is show you a bit of magic.”

“Well, you know, I’m not sure if there’s a dragon… And even if there is –”

“Do you want a lift down, or not?” she said, grinning.

“Well, I – Yes!” he squealed, almost dancing across the gravel to her, his hands waving about. “You – You’re going to show me Monseltian magic?”

“I don’t know any other sort.” There was no way he wouldn’t reward her for this.

She flung her cane up and caught it half-way along the shaft. He stared at the hickory wood, no doubt looking for embedded glass or sigils. Well – oh gods, he was contagious – he wasn’t in luck.

“If you start speculating which school I’m from, I’ll let you drop.”

“I’ll be quiet,” he whispered, drawing his hands to his mouth.

…How old was he? Six?

Then again, how old was she, lying and pretending like this?

“All right,” she said, tucking her cane under her arm and offering him her other hand, “shall we go?”

Wordlessly, he put his hand in hers. She tightened her grip, and then she pulled them off of the ground.

Chole had no doubt that Stilten, educated as he was, could rattle off explanation after technical explanation of the usage of magic. Siphoning was much the same across all the schools – except for her, she couldn’t help but add – and there were plenty of theories and models about how it worked, and how energy became magic. She had no doubt at all that if she gave him the chance, he’d take every little movement of hers into consideration, and explain them.

But it didn’t matter if he knew how she was opposing gravity. It didn’t matter if he, quite possibly, knew more than she did about what she was doing.

She was the one holding him in mid-air, hundreds of feet above the ground. She was the one changing her magical energy into force.

Wait. Her magical energy?

She could be so funny, without even realising, sometimes.

They were descending slowly. It was taking less time than if they’d walked, but there was still something leisurely about floating down to the ground. Chole was having little difficulty directing their descent, so she allowed herself to sight-see. It was a good view, too – the greens and browns of the hills, the splash of red here and there from some kind of tree (she didn’t ask Stilten what it was), the never-ending blue of the sky. There was the path below them, rolling off of the hill and onto the next through a wide, dark valley. Two rivers from which the thick, green trees came glittered, gold-tinted from the warm sun above. It was a wonderful view, and Stilten kept glancing to her, the largest smile on his face. If she was a different sort of person, she could imagine just his glee being her desired reward.

She could hear the wind cutting around her. It touched her as a faint cool breeze, most of it being reflected by dual-type spell. That was always the mistake novices made, thinking that conditions high up would be similar to those on the ground. Then, through the wind, she thought she heard a sound. Like a cat. Faint, wheedling its way up through the air.

Stilten had heard it, too. He twisted and twisted, straining to hear it more clearly, trying to pinpoint where in the hills it was coming from.

“Hey! Be – be careful!”

“It’s… I think it’s –”

He twisted, and twisted out of her hand’s grip, and fell, no longer buffered from gravity. His scream quickly overcame the faint mewing.

Chole dismissed her magic as soon as she realised what had happened, but he was already several feet below her and spinning out of control and they were both accelerating to the ground.

She – she – she needed a wind, no, that wouldn’t work, too much energy, she needed to slow him, she needed to reach him, a rope would reach but she didn’t –

She ran her hands down the length of her cane, wrapping its wood in quick magic and even quicker releases. She screamed his name and threw the cane down with a burst of force. The trees. She could see –

The air suddenly shimmered and blurred. Where there had been trees and river and ground there were now tents and men and – and still the ground and –

She heard her name, and Stilten’s arm was reaching towards her, and she –

There was a thump, and there was pain, and then there was nothing.

When Chole came to, she jerked and cried out – but she was no longer falling. She was on the ground, on some sort of fabric floor, and now there were people standing over her. They gave her ample time to note that they had weapons and she had rope around her wrists before they moved back. Stilten and another stranger pushed through them.

“Are you all right?” Stilten asked, kneeling beside her. “Did you hit your head? I don’t think I saw you hit it, but you might have. Are you all right?”

…Why didn’t he have his arms bound?

“I –”

“Do you remember me?” he asked, leaning close. “Remember, we were on the carriage together. I’m Stollen, remember? Do you remember what your name is?”

She stared at him. Stollen? There was nothing in his expression, just that one word. She… She hadn’t imagined him introducing himself as ‘Stilten Amarkhos’, had she? No, he’d definitely said that. He surely hadn’t been lying then. So, he was lying now – was he expecting her to lie too? What reason did she have to hide her name? What did reason did he have? These men, who were they?

“I think I know my own name, Stollen,” she said. “I’m Chole, and you’re an idiot.”

He smiled.

So… she’d done the correct thing?

“You had a spell activated,” said the man next to Stilten. Unlike the grey-clad men around him, he wore blue. “We took the liberty of cancelling it and forbidding you to reactivate it while you are with us. We don’t take kindly to intruders, much less armed ones.”

She stared at him. Her spell? They… They’d found it, for one thing, even if they couldn’t identify it. At least one of them – the man in blue? – had training. Who were these people? She’d – she’d fallen through some sort of glamour… They were hiding… And now Stilten and she were involved?

“She appears rather pathetic for a bodyguard,” he said to Stilten, a grin sliding into place. “I suppose you didn’t have that much to spend.”

Stilten looked up to him. “She’s… spirited. And I trust her.”

“Trust is not something so easily transferred. We’ll be keeping her wrists tied together.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “We will know if you attempt any magic – Monseltian or otherwise – so I hope that you refrain from any unnecessary actions against my men this time.”

“I guess I understand.”

Wait, ‘this time’? When had she… Were these people the hill-bandits? The side-swords that some of them carried were certainly familiar.

The man returned his attention to Stilten. “We’ve already discussed the prohibited areas. I would hate to bar you from more just because of your companion.”

“We’re both grown-ups, Havorn,” said Stilten. “Miss Chole will be able to follow your rules just as I am.”

The man was silent for a while. He eventually turned and walked away, followed by the grey-clad ones. There was flapping, and Chole turned her head to see all but one of the group exit the dimly lit tent. He stood at the entrance and idly fiddled with his sword’s tassel, occasionally glancing at them, as if reassuring them that he knew what he was doing.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Stilten.

She made a face. “As all right as I can be with rope chafing my wrists.”

“I had rapiers pointed at me,” he said.

They hadn’t been rapiers, but there was little point in explaining the differences between civilian and military swords. There were more important things to think about. Like why she was tied up.

“Stollen?” she said, staring up at the canvas ceiling of the large tent. “What – and, please do excuse my Monseltian here if you actually understand the language – the ardoran val gossin is going on here?”

“Ah. Well. It’s… It’s kind of…” He paused for a moment, and then launched into his explanation. “They’re the same people who stopped our carriage – not to hurt us, just to stop us coming here and finding out or interrupting what they’re doing. They want to acquire a fire dragon, and milk him, you see. At first they thought we were spies because we made it through, but now – well, I’m not too sure because they weren’t too happy when they found out I worked for the Amarkhes. Have you heard of the Georgone family? I mentioned them before, remember? They were actually the first ones to successfully breed fire khonlens, back in the day. They’re still better at it than us, you know. But we – well, doesn’t really matter. We’ve never acquired or bred or milked a fire dragon, and right here the Georgones are planning to catch one! This could revolutionise the entire industry if they’re successful. And they say they have a baby fire dragon, too, but they haven’t let me see it yet. However much experience I have with khonlens or wood and sand dragons is secondary to their distrust of an Amarkhos employee. Oh, but Chole, a baby dragon. Do you know how infrequently they’re supposed to breed? The best of the records have them more than fifty years apart! The Geogones’ timing is incredible. And their baby’s probably the one I could hear before!”

She continued staring, working through his words several times – so much crap to filter out, why had she let him say it all? – before replying. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

“It… It makes sense. I guess it’s not as great a deal when you’re not –” He stopped, obviously hearing her groan. “Ah, um… What was that spell he cancelled?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Not for the moment. Certainly not while she was stuck on the floor. Speaking of the floor…

“Was it anything –”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, rolling forward into a sitting position. Hair flicked into her face; her ponytail had come undone. Irritating, but there was nothing she could do about it, so she began examining her binding. It was thin rope, but well crafted and knotted tightly, with only a slight give. Her wrists were probably going to burn. “I don’t suppose you have my walking stick?” She wondered if all of these men would fight the same as the so-called bandits had. She shouldn’t go presuming it. If things came to their worst she definitely shouldn’t be underestimating them…

He looked to her. “No. It’s a weapon. They’re not exactly going to allow potential spies to go around with a long hitting stick.”

“You don’t have your wrists tied together,” she pointed out. “That’s some level of trust right there.”

“I am not a monk,” he said. “Although, if I had to admit it, I’d rather be tied up than unable to float in the air…”

Chole stared at him, her eyebrows dipping. After a few moments he grinned, looking somewhat uncomfortable, and scratched his neck.

“Hey, uh, how about we go out into the sunlight for a little bit? Would that make you feel a bit better?”

“I don’t siphon like –” Too late did she catch both her cranky tone and her words.

His smile was instant. “I shall keep my elimination of possible schools in my head.”

Gods, what was wrong with her? Was this man that annoying? Was it just this situation, having to quickly understand what was happening and think through all the possibilities for the immediate future? It was his fault, anyway – she hadn’t wanted to take the short-cut. Well, sure, she – but it was because of –

“I am down to about five now, however,” he added.

She was down to about five minutes before she hit him. Here she was, weaponless and magicless and bound and – her side was beginning to hurt, she’d probably fallen on it? – and, and here he was, chatting away and making buddy-buddy plans to satisfy some childhood dream. She’d –

No, no. She wouldn’t. Being annoyed would not help her. Stilten could help her with khonlen milk… how likely would that be if she appeared to hate him? It had been pure luck that she’d come across a khonlen breeder on her way to Fernachitta. She would be stupid to –

Wait.

“Are you still going to Fernachitta?” she asked.

He waved his hand from side to side. “I have to go for the Amarkhes, you understand, so I can’t not go. But… Fire dragons! You wanted to see a dragon, didn’t you? If we stay, then you’ll see one! When you’re looking at one, you’ll be able to imagine how much larger a wind dragon is!”

Her thoughts were going in too many directions. She pressed a knuckle against her forehead.

“Chole?”

“I…” She sighed. Perhaps giving in to him would calm him down. Perhaps it would calm her down. “Why don’t we go outside? I wouldn’t want you to miss the dragon because you’re in here with me.”

He smiled at her, and from somewhere she found a returning smile.

Outside was brighter. Surely it was too light – the valley had appeared so dark from above. There was no sign of the sun, and yet… Artificial light, perhaps? Then why had he said –

“Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I think I’m all right.”

“Well, I guess I could show you around. Not that I’ve seen much of the camp.” He looked over to the other side of the clearing. “I think the baby dragon is over there,” he said quietly. “There was mewing again while you were asleep.”

The tents at the far side of the clearing looked exactly like the tent they were standing beside, which also looked exactly like the tents there, there, and there. Chole frowned. It seemed like the camp had been here for a while – a week at least – and yet no one outside knew of it? If they’d stopped their carriage then presumably they’d stopped others… Word of that hadn’t spread?

“Where’s the carriage road?” she asked, looking at the distant hills, trying to match what she’d seen while falling to the little she could see now. She couldn’t even work out which hill they’d been on.

Stilten pointed, arcing his arm for a wide area. “I think, anyway.”

That didn’t help her at all. “How about –”

A wail interrupted her. Stilten immediately turned towards the other side of the clearing, his eyes widening, his hand reaching out ever so slightly. She didn’t have to ask what it was. This was no cat’s mewing. The baby dragon was crying.

A few men exited various tents and hurried to the sound’s source, a few of them looking at Chole and Stilten on their way. Were they hurrying from curiosity or for urgency?

“Is… Is it all right?” she asked.

Her companion’s expression was becoming more and more tortured. “I’ve never… I think… Well, I…” He looked to her, his face so different from when she’d noticed his confidence. “It’s bad when khonlens make that noise,” he said with a tremor.

“I’m sure they –”

But he was running off to the far tents, his beads and boots clinking and thudding an accompaniment to the wailing. She stared after him, giving her bound wrists a glance before deciding to follow him at a slower pace.

Half-way across, she remembered her cancelled spell, and took some deep breaths to see how she was going. There was nothing to alarm her. She was, after all, walking at a normal speed. She’d just have to keep it in mind. Ugh, she hadn’t had to worry about that for twenty-five years, and now once again it was a concern.

Stilten.

This was definitely one of the ‘prohibited areas’. Even if Stilten hadn’t had his arm twisted behind his back and a not-a-rapier pointed at him, the vibe of the men – Chole was beginning to think of them as soldiers more than Georgones family members or guards – would have clued her in.

“What are you doing, Stollen?” she asked, holding up her bound hands innocently when a guard looked to her. “Didn’t they say this area was off-limits to you?”

He was leaning, trying to keep the pressure off of his arm, his face flustered. “Something’s wrong with the baby dragon!”

“It’s fine,” said the guard with the side-sword. “It makes this noise all the time.”

“That does not make the baby ‘fine’!” he snapped. “It sounds similar to a distress call that khonlens –”

“Oh, yes, I forgot that the Amarkhes have such superior knowledge. Because the Georgones have never dealt with khonlens or dragons before! Our men know what they’re doing, ­thank-you very much.”

“They obviously don’t know if the baby has been crying like this for days!”

The guard raised his side-sword. “I am getting so sick of you, Amar-”

“Please don’t,” said Chole, keeping her hands visible in the air. She made a face. “I won’t get paid if he doesn’t survive this journey. Would you rob an innocent worker of their pay just because their master is a fool?”

The three of them stared at her, and only Stilten was smiling, if somewhat bemusedly.

“Besides,” she said, idly looking over her shoulder towards the loud wailing, “Havorn might be annoyed if you do anything too rash. Leaders always get bothered when their men take away their chance to hit, slap, or kill someone.” Was Havorn even the leader, or just a higher-in-the-ranks guard?

“…Kill?” whispered Stilten, almost unheard over the cry of the baby dragon.

“I suppose,” sneered the side-sword guard, “that you’ll let your master beat us up instead of doing it yourself.”

She smiled. The monitor spell they’d placed on her was easily removed, given a few minutes, or even more easily ignored. Although it wouldn’t be preferable to unleash some magic and probably alienate Stilten with the ensuing fight, assuming at least four casualties for the Georgones and a nasty good-bye, it was certainly possible.

“If he wants,” she said.

“I… I want to speak with Havorn!”

The two guards exchanged glances, and then looked to Chole again.

“Well, is he busy?”

The side-sword guard returned from inside the tent with the blue-clad man a short while later. Each time the tent’s flap had been opened Stilten had strained to look inside, but his arm was still being held tightly.

Havorn looked from Chole to Stilten, his expression already dark.

“Not half an hour after I tell you to mind your business!”

Stilten ignored his tone. “What’s wrong with the baby dragon?”

“We know what we’re doing,” assured Havorn.

“But the baby’s crying!”

The man didn’t reply at first, a look of genuine surprise on his face. “How else do you expect us to get the father here?”

“I… I… You what?”

Havorn sighed. “You’d think even the Amarkhes would have some mental requirements… Let me spell it out for you, Stollen. We currently have a baby fire dragon. What we want is an adult fire dragon. We let the baby cry, and the daddy dragon comes to see what’s wrong, and then we capture the daddy dragon and start milking him.”

Stilten was staring at him, wordless.

“You think it’s easy obtaining dragons?”

“But… You’re not caring for the baby?”

“Twenty or thirty years until it’s milkable.” He shrugged. “We can wait that long or we can spend a week making it cry.”

“The baby must be starving…”

“We give it water. Don’t want its throat getting too dry.”

Stilten dropped his gaze. “This is horrible,” he said softly.

“Dragons, my boy.”

“And you don’t think that the baby is a dragon?” He looked to Havorn again, his eyes narrowed. “You said it yourself – ‘twenty or thirty years’ until milkable. We don’t know. We know so little about the lives of these creatures and you’re just letting one die. You should feed the baby!”

Chole could scarcely believe that this was the same man who’d been exasperating her earlier. His light-hearted friendly tone and ever-lasting smile had disappeared – even when he’d been gushing about dragons and khonlens, or facing this family’s enemies, he’d still retained that cheerful and approachable style. But now, now that there was possibly a baby dragon’s life at stake he was completely seriousness.

“Babies don’t cry when they’re well-fed and happy. We tried it the first day, and then we started starving it.”

“The baby’s going to die,” he said.

“Its skeleton would be a welcome addition to any museum. Not a total loss.”

Stilten pushed forward, ignoring the grip on his arm, glaring at the Georgone. “If you honestly believe that the baby is worth more to you dead than alive, then you are the stupidest man on the continent. There are men who would kill to chart the growth of a dragon.”

“And are you one of them, Mister Stollen?”

“Think of how much more praise the Georgone family will receive if you return with two dragons. Think of how many honours will be bestowed upon you for expanding the world’s knowledge like this. Think of how many credits and footnotes to you Dephthileros Bestiary will include.” He paused. “Think of the jealousy that will be lavished upon you by the Amarkhes.”

The blue-clad man appeared to consider his points for a while. Then he said, “And you won’t be expecting any credit?”

“Oh, maybe you’ll have a big, long list of all the people without whose assistance this would never have been possible. Maybe I’ll be somewhere on that list, probably in the middle. No one ever looks in the middle.”

“Maybe. I don’t think you’d ever be allowed to work for the Amarkhes again.”

“The Amarkhes,” said Stilten, beginning to grin, and Chole couldn’t tell how genuine it was, “do not have a baby fire dragon.”

He turned, looking to the tent flap. “Of course, this is all moot if it won’t cry. We must make it cry. It must lure its father back.”

“I’ll help your baby cry. Will you let me aid in the research?”

“I suppose we could trial you.” Havorn motioned to the guard behind Stilten, who with a sharp nod released him. “But if it won’t cry, there won’t be much to study.”

He gingerly rotated and stretched his arm. “Well,” he said, giving it a quick shake before holding out his hand, “I’m glad that we’ve come to this arrangement. I do hope it works out for the best.”

Havorn Georgone shook Stilten Amarkhos’ hand. Chole wondered what he’d say if he’d known.

As Havorn led them several connected tents, she couldn’t help but note that, although Stilten had somehow crossed the trust barrier, although he was now garnering favours from their captors, although they weren’t really their captors anymore, and although she was supposedly his bodyguard, she was still wearing rope around her wrists. She’d said to him, back on the carriage path, that she wanted to see a dragon – and she did, she’d meant saying that – but the excitement was somewhat marred by her still being treated like a prisoner.

There was a definite smell of a non-human creature on the air, but she was surprised at how faint it was when considering that the baby had been here for a few days. She once thought that she’d smelled liquorice, but then it was more like leather.

The men before her were talking over the baby’s loud crying. Havorn was still businesslike, but more accepting of his newest partner, and Stilten was back to his happy, excitable self, only lapsing into silence when they reached the next flap. They went through into the next chamber, and Chole heard him inhale sharply. He had stopped in his tracks, so she had to push around him to see –

It was mottled brown and red and orange, seemingly a mess of legs and wings and tail a few feet across, its snout raised to the open roof. That pitiful cry rolled along its throat, but stopped when one of Havorn’s men pushed a bowl along the floor towards the small beast. It looked at the bowl, its nostrils twitching as it lowered its head, and glanced at the man who’d pushed it, giving a small mew. It then crept forward to the bowl, sniffing its contents, and after another glance and mew at the man, began consuming the mushy food. After a few moments of eating, its tail started to swish from side to side.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” whispered Stilten.

“She?”

“This is a little baby girl, Chole.” He smiled at her and walked over to Havorn and his cluster of grey-clad men.

Oh look, he was finally acknowledging that she was the fourth half-hand of the group. But she’d decided that she wouldn’t get annoyed, hadn’t she? With a sigh, she twisted her wrists and looked around the room before settling on the baby dragon again.

This was the largest tent she’d been in, and although it was similar to the others, it looked quite odd without a roof. There was still no direct sunlight, yet it was well-lit. A quick glance revealed no light sources or spells, though she supposed they could have been woven into the fabric.

The baby dragon was still eating, pushing the bowl along the material floor as it reached for the last bits. It was somewhat similar to the khonlens she’d seen, in the same way that the great jungle cats resembled their house-trained cousins. A quiet rumble was coming from it, and it took Chole a little while to realise that she was purring.

She was looking at one of the rare magical beasts – a baby, no less – and here it was, purring.

How… anticlimactic.

She wasn’t sure how for long she’d been watching the baby dragon when Stilten interrupted.

“Pardon?”

“She could be a lesser rust,” he said, “but of course, we’ve no way of knowing for sure. Well, we don’t even know if there’s really a difference between the lesser and the greater rusts, or if Sewell merely –” He caught her expression. “We don’t know a lot at all about fire dragons. I – Havorn’s said that I can try touching her if I like. Would you like to pat her?”

She stared at him. He seemed to give her a look, as if her lack of excitement was barbaric, but it passed quickly.

“You did show me some Monseltian magic,” he said, grinning.

The khonlen breeder took his time approaching the baby. While he talked constantly – sometimes to the Georgones men, sometimes to the dragon – and shuffled slowly towards it, Chole reflected on the melding of the two personalities she’d seen. He was still cheerful, and obviously excited about the baby, but he wasn’t letting that get in the way of studying or looking after her. She wondered what he was like at home – was his family all like him, or were they more clinical like the Georgones? Then, she supposed, if Stilten could be the odd one in his family, so could Havorn. That would certainly explain why this was a small operation.

It was when Stilten stopped, and waited for the baby to approach him, that her thoughts drifted back to what she’d been dreading before.

If, if he was so captivated by this dragon, if he was so eager to study it that he would ignore ties with his family, then he wouldn’t be going to Fernachitta. Sure, she was surrounded by khonlen breeders, but all of them were too interested in dragons to possibly be any help to her. Stilten was going to stay here, and she was going to continue being the bored and bound fourth half-hand. Egh.

So…

She’d have to leave, soon, or else she’d still be in the hills after dark, or worse, still wearing ropes around her wrists.

All this pandering to Stilten, gone to waste. They’d probably be half-way to the stupid city by now if he’d never pressed her for magic! Her time was being wasted. He was wasting her time. He’d better be able to direct her to his cousins, in the very least.

Right. After he finished in here, she’d talk with him, and then she’d take back her cane and leave. And then – Damn! She’d forgotten again. Her breathing spell would have to be reactivated. It would have to be a quick job to last her hike… While energy wasn’t exactly a problem, as killing one of the Georgones men was quite an amusing thought at the moment, she didn’t have the time or patience to redo it properly.

And then Stilten was motioning to her. He was stroking the baby’s neck; it purred softly, its eyes closed and its tail slowly swishing along the floor. She glanced to the Georgones. Most of them had left, including Havorn, and the few who remained looked amused. Stilten kept motioning to her, smiling, murmuring to the baby.

Chole walked slowly to him, the dragon looked to her with its large yellow eyes, and stopped its purring when she was a few yards away, but Stilten kept reassuring it.

“They’re not too different from khonlens,” he said. “They have a magic spot just behind their head.”

She kneeled next to him, and the baby at first drew its head back, but then it reached out to her. Now that she was closer she could see faint dark stripes along its back and wings, and that its head and feet were also dark. Further looking at the baby’s mottled and striped patterns, she noted a tether around its back leg, attached to a peg in the ground. So she wasn’t the only one bound.

“Can she fly?” she asked, staring at the little beast’s folded wings.

“Probably not well. Apparently they found her not far from where they think the nest is. It was probably her first flight.” He scratched her just behind the head. “I bet you were an impressive little flyer, weren’t you?”

The baby began purring again.

“Go on,” he said, nodding and smiling. “Her head or her chest.”

She… She was going to…

Chole raised her tied arms and placed her fingers on the dragon’s chest. Its scales were dry, yet somewhat warmer than she’d expected. And there was… a tingle? Was it just her imagination? She stroked downwards, feeling the purring reverberating through its chest. Her fingers tingled more. Probably just the strangeness of touching a dragon, she reasoned. It moved its head closer to her, and she lifted her hands – it pressed against them, still purring, still tingling.

“I knew she’d like you,” said Stilten, a large grin on his face.

She realised that she had a large grin on her face too. “Because I’m a monk?”

“Well, partly –”

The dragon suddenly sneezed, jerking backwards, and then sniffed. It looked to Chole, and mewed slightly, lowering its head as if in apology.

“I… I never thought I’d be covered in dragon mucus,” she said, as cheerfully as she could. Her face, chest and hands were wet. She wondered if it would leave a smell on her blouse.

“It’s nothing dangerous!” he assured, stroking the dragon. “Unless you’re allergic. You don’t seem to be allergic.”

“Oh, uh, good. Uh, Stollen? I never thought I’d be explaining to someone why I was leaving them and their baby dragon, either.”

“Huh? I don’t –” He stopped, his smile and dimple crumbling as he understood. “You… Do you think this is boring? Or annoying? Or –”

“No, oh no. But I have to go to Fernachitta,” she said, wondering why she was being the defensive one. “I’m sorry, but I can’t spend too much more time here.”

He considered this, idly stroking the baby’s neck. “Would… Would you mind giving the Amarkhos-Dales my apology? I don’t think I’ll be looking at their new milking system any time soon…”

So she’d have that, at least. Her time hadn’t been completely wasted, she supposed.

“Miss Chole? Thank-you, once again, so very much.”

She’d still be able to reach Fernachitta before nightfall. The carriage path had been easy enough to find, once Havorn had given her directions. She was sure that she was going the right way along it. Reasonably sure, anyway. She’d soon find out if she were wrong.

Chole stretched her arms high above her head, enjoying the novelty of having her hands more than an inch apart. Having her hair flapping about from the small zephyrs running through the valleys was less of an enjoyable novelty, but there was nothing she could do about it until she reached the city. Her leg, too, she’d have to get it massaged, but for now she could ignore the pain.

She twirled her hickory cane, recalling Havorn’s expression when he’d handed it to her. He’d obviously known about its button, so she supposed she was lucky that he’d returned it. But what did the man care? She was leaving and she didn’t have any reason to return or tell others. Giving her back a weapon meant little.

Her lungs weren’t happy with the interim spell; she wheezed slightly when breathing deeply, but it was better than having an attack. Eh, she’d take care of it in Fernachitta. There’d be a drunk wandering about somewhere in the town, a man no one would miss. Or even a drunk someone would miss. It wasn’t as if it really mattered either way.

She was rather lost in her thoughts of the future when the path curled around a large rock, and then was suddenly blocked by a dragon.

It was hunched over, sniffing the base of the rock. As soon as it noticed her, it turned, rising up, its wings flitting out, and took a few steps towards her on its back legs before standing on all four in front of her.

What… What did you do in this sort of situation? Were they dangerous? Should she be running or making a loud noise, should she be staying as still as possible? The beast was probably eight feet long, how could she outrun that? Unless she went into the trees, it probably was too big for that. Gods, why hadn’t Stilten told her anything useful about these creatures?

It stared at her. She stared back, motionless and wary. It sniffed the air and moved its dark head closer to her, sniffing her, its eyes looking her over. Its head was only just smaller than hers, but longer – it would have no difficulty pushing her over or biting or –

But why was it…

The baby. The sneeze. The dragon could smell that?

“Are you the baby’s father?” she whispered.

It raised its head to hers.

Metal dragons and khonlens all had some degree of psychic prowess, she knew, and there were stories of wind dragons talking to humans, but fire dragons and khonlens, as far as she was aware, were no more able of communicating with humans than a horse was. There was no reason they couldn’t understand what was being said, as they were intelligent, but that would require time around humans, and this was a wild fire dragon. What if it could only smell its child on her, and took her for an attacker?

“You’re the thing they want. Do you know where she is?”

It stared at her, still sniffing.

“I, uh,” she said, and then slowly lifted her arm.

It looked to her hand, but she was moving slowly and steadily, and began to whisper, “Shh, shh,” before finally stroking the back of its head, the place where the dark stripes began, with her fingers. Their magic spot. There was the dry, warm feel of the scales again, there was that strange tingle again, and, after a moment, there was a deep rumbling in its chest.

“I know where your baby is,” she said, although she wasn’t sure why.

Even if it could understand her, what was she going to do? Could she lead it back to the Georgone camp? If she’d considered khonlen milk a viable energy, then surely dragon milk… It wasn’t just a crazy dream of Stilten’s or Havorn’s, it was a real possibility, standing in front of her. She wouldn’t even have to go to Fernachitta. What would it matter if she had to tell Stilten about how she really siphoned and what she was – he’d just treat it as a curiosity and continue working out in which school she’d trained, wouldn’t he?

Her days of worrying about her energy and having to stay close to well-populated areas could be over.

“Yes, yes,” she said, smiling, “I know where your baby is, we can go get her.”

She flattened her hand, resting the palm flat on its neck. The tingling she’d been feeling became a shock; she jerked back, though the dragon only flinched at her sudden movement. She looked at her hand – it seemed all right, there was nothing –

It had been energy, Chole suddenly realised. Even better than oxygen from trees, dragons and khonlens continuously produced magical energy, though not even the brightest of the Amarkhes and Georgones knew exactly why or how. She’d, she’d been siphoning, just by touching the dragon. And the baby too! But why? To siphon from humans she actually had to take their energy straight from their blood, yet with this dragon…

Did she misunderstand the milking process? Or were dragons different to khonlens?

“Sorry,” she said to the dragon, once she saw how it was staring at her. “I didn’t know… I… I can’t believe I’m talking to you.”

She stroked its chin with the back of her hand, noting the tingling thoughtfully. How quickly did they produce energy? Could she drain it like she humans? No, that was silly, it would have some way of protecting itself.

“Come on, why don’t we go find your baby?”

She lightly tapped the side of the dragon’s face and started back down the path. It mewed at her, so she turned back while walking, beckoning to it. It mewed again, shaking its head and unfolding its wings out, flapping them pointedly. She stopped.

“You…”

Wind khonlens were used in aerial races, a few years back she’d even seen a few hours of such racing. It wasn’t a completely strange thing, to think of someone riding a beast like this. But this was a dragon, and it was wild.

“No, no, it’s not very far –”

It stepped towards her, nudging her back towards it with its head, still slowly flapping its rust mottled wings. He definitely seemed to want her to ride on him. Hah! Imagine what Stilten’s face would be like if he saw her riding the fire dragon.

And with that, she’d made up her mind. Grinning unsurely, trying to suppress childish giggles, she tied her cane to her belt and let the dragon push her, climbing onto its back, wrapping her arms around its neck and hoping she wouldn’t slip off. She could feel muscles moving under its skin and the beating of its wings behind her as it ran along the path and launched into the air. More importantly, she could feel energy pouring into her and just waiting all around. This was something no khonlen could do. Her magical reservoir was probably full by the time they were flying.

This was such a different experience from earlier. The unbuffered wind rushing around her, the cool of the air versus the heat of the dragon, the noise of its wings and the feeling of a living being underneath her – it wasn’t even comparable to being on a horse. She suddenly found herself very, very jealous of the wind khonlen racers.

All wrapped up in the wonder of riding a dragon, she didn’t realise that it was flying without her directions until the dragon slowed and the air blurred and then suddenly she was looking down at tents. Had it followed her scent, maybe? Or… had it known all along where its baby was? Her cry was certainly loud enough. It seemed strange that it wouldn’t have found her. Then, if it hadn’t been looking for the baby…

Had it been waiting? For what?

Yells came from far below, and the baby’s cry began again, seemingly higher pitched than before. There – there was the roofless tent, with a little orange figure and a red man next to it.

“What…”

Men were gathering below, gathering around something, some sort of – weapon, that was the only thing it could be, something to ground a hovering dragon. No, no, they should let it land, they should – But Havorn wasn’t Stilten. He wouldn’t care how the dragon felt towards them. He’d shoot it down. And her with it. What was it? A net? A harpoon? Something magical? There was no way of knowing until it was fired, and then – would she be quick enough?

The reverberating under her had changed, and she realised that the dragon was now growling.

Wait – Havorn – he’d said –

Back. The baby would lure its father back.

The hairs on her neck and arms rose and goosebumped. The air around her was becoming saturated – no, supersaturated – with latent energy. She could sense it bubbling against her skin, she could hear the dragon’s growl deepening, she could feel the air warming…

She had always thought that the ‘fire’ dragon was a myth. It was a physical impossibility to breathe fire, surely. Like the stories of the wingless flying ‘moon dragon’, sightings of dragons breathing fire were something you assumed from drunken, lost men. Khonlen researchers would laugh at such things, and point out that the species’ name had most likely come from the colouration of the beasts.

But, but this made sense.

The air continued to warm as the most efficient energy change possible continued. Latent, potential, magical energy, becoming heat.

The men below looked like they were almost ready.

Because I’m a monk?

Well, partly.

“Ah,” said Chole.

Firstly making sure she was balanced, she cracked her knuckles and began waving her hands. Physical movements were rarely necessary for Monseltian magic, their primary purpose being to keep the monk focused. She didn’t really want to see if, perched atop a dragon way above the ground with some sort of weapon being pointed at her, she could hold her focus manually. Her hands waved. Her own latent energy forced the cloud of heat down through the air, down to the gathered men and their weapon. It was odd, using up her energy continuously and yet feeling her reservoir still full – just how much did the dragon have?

She followed the slight warbling of the air that the heat pocket made. It was nearly to the men.

One of them shouted.

Chole clicked both her fingers.

The air ignited. Red and orange and yellow and even a few white flames engulfed the area, turning to black plumes once they touched fuels. There were some screams, but they didn’t last long.

More men came, running at the noise, skidding to a stop at the sight, pointing and staring up at the sky. She chewed on her lip, finally deciding to make small circles with her hands. Now, she had to admit, she was doing it because it amused her.

After a short delay, the fire began rolling along the ground towards the new men. They scattered, and –

The fireball was slowing. She looked across the camp, finding a blue figure near the baby dragon’s tent with both his arms outstretched.

“You cancelled my breathing spell,” she hissed, keeping a hold of the fire’s momentum. “You tied me up like a beast. Funny, that.”

She had the apparently limitless volume of a dragon’s energy. Havorn most certainly didn’t – he probably didn’t even have a decent level of training. At least he had the brains to realise this himself, she reflected, watching him turn and run to the baby’s tent. The fireball continued to roll, but a deep growl from the dragon made her slow it. At another growl she stopped it completely, letting it burn out. There were a few crackling flames on the tent near to where it had started. She pushed wind down on them, smothering them out.

“All right,” she said, stroking the dragon’s neck, “your baby’s down there.”

Had he been waiting for someone like her? Had it all just been a coincidence? She knew that if she started thinking too deeply about it her head would begin to hurt, just like she knew that there’d be no dragon milk. For the moment she’d just let her giddiness reign. Oh, the size of the fire, the colour, the strength. She’d never be able to do something like that again, would she? She’d have to hold onto this memory, no matter how confusing or troubling it might be in the future. And as the dragon dropped through the air, she felt the cold wind rush against her skin again, and decided that, someday in the future, she’d learn to ride a khonlen.

Stilten was the only one left in the tent when the dragon landed. He stood there, his eyes wide and his mouth open, unable to decide between the dragon and its rider. Chole slid off its back, feeling its energy fade away with more than a little bitterness. She doubted she’d ever have something like that again. But still. She’d had it for a short while – that was surely better than nothing.

The man was stuttering as she walked to the joyously mewing baby dragon, unclipping her cane from her belt and pressing the hilt’s hidden button in one practiced movement. The blade easily slid from its hickory casing and she brought it down swiftly, cutting through the baby’s tether.

It squeaked, shaking its newly freed leg cautiously, and then clumsily ran to its father. Stilten moved after her, gaze swapping from the small beast to the much larger one, until a low growl stopped him. The baby gave one last mew before the father picked it up by her scruff and began beating its wings.

And then they were gone, leaving behind only the smoky charred smell and their memories. It had all happened so quickly.

“This is what you wanted. I worked you all out, you know,” she lied, slapping Stilten on the shoulder. “You didn’t really care about the research, you wanted to keep the baby safe and reunite her with her family, right?”

He was utterly silent, neither confirming nor disagreeing with her spontaneous hypothesis, still just staring up at the sky. She couldn’t say that she didn’t like the change.

“Come on,” she said. “We can still make Fernachitta by dark.”