Daughter of Dragons

Chapter 2-3

Lathwi pulled her not-claw from Drell’s side and licked it clean. Because he had been a challenger rather than prey, she did not help herself to his flesh. And she had a feeling that it would not taste very good anyway.

G

Not far from their now-abandoned camp, they found Buck tied to a scrub pine. Her back was still mounded with furs. Pieter barely glanced at his own belongings, though; he was too busy gloating over the three horses which were picketed alongside of the mule.

“This one’s carrying jerky,” he announced, as he probed the splotchy brown and white beast’s packs. “And waybread.” A moment later, he moved on to the tan nag with the sagging back. “This one’s got jerky and a hunk of pipe tobacco.”

The last of the horses was a strapping bay stallion that snapped at Pieter as soon as he came within range. He batted its head away, then began to rifle through its saddlebags. A look of wonder crept across his face as he withdrew a leather purse and emptied its clinking contents into his hand.

“Lathwi!” he crooned then. “Come and see what I’ve found.”

She headed toward him, but she was far more interested in the horses than anything they might be carrying. She had never been this close to so much prey before—none that she had not been planning to eat leastways. There was something exciting, almost indecent about it. Shoq would never believe her when she told him. He’d think she was playing a trick on him. She touched the bay’s flank in passing. It flicked her fingers away with an annoyed twitch of its tail.

“Look,” Pieter said, and then thrust his palm under her nose. It was mounded with flat, round discs which glimmered in the waning sunlight like Taziem’s eyes. “We’ve inherited twenty, maybe thirty lucs.”

She pinched one of the discs between her fingers, then raised it to her nose. Its smell was faint but unattractive: a combination of leather, human sweat and old dirt. It did not taste any better than it smelled. Unimpressed, she gave it back to him.

“What is?”

“It’s gold,” he replied, in a tone both reverent and smug. “Better still, it’s our gold.”

There must be something about this gold that she was not seeing, she decided. Otherwise, he would not be so excited.

“What gold do?”

“You don’t know?” When she shook her head, he laughed. “Ah, Lathwi, you are a strange one. I’ve never met anybody who didn’t know about gold.”

“What do?” she demanded, even more curious now.

“It can buy things,” he replied. “Furs. Horses. Land. The more gold a body has, the more he can buy. And the more he can buy, the more important he becomes.”

Now his attitude toward the discs made perfect sense, for gold was obviously a form of power. And power was the essence of fortune. She glanced at the shimmering mound in his hands again, this time with a speculative eye.

“That many gold?”

“We’re not rich,” he admitted cheerfully, “but what we have here will buy a fair measure of comforts. And if gold is what you want, then we can always sell one of the horses when we get to Compara.”

“Buy? Sell? What that?”

“It’s a simple matter of gold changing hands,” he said. “Those who have extra, sell. Those who want extra, buy. For example: we only need two of these horses. Someone who wants the third will pay us in gold to own it. We’re selling, the other person is buying. Understand?”

“Why not other person just take extra?”

“That’s stealing, Lathwi. And like I told you before, that’s wrong.”

“We take these horses from not-brothers.”

“True,” he quipped, “but they don’t need them anymore. They’re dead.”

“So someone who want our horses need kill us to take.”

“No, no, no!” he said, vehemently regretting his former glibness. “We didn’t kill those bandits for their horses, we killed them because they were trying to kill us. The horses are a sort of by-blow, an act of providence. Understand?”

She rolled her shoulders. All she knew was that they had been stronger than those not-brothers, and as a result, the horses were now theirs. Everything else was a jumble of empty words.

He answered her shrug with one of his own, then started to pocket the pouch which held the discs. With a hiss, she stayed his hand. Although she did not know how to use gold yet, she was fully prepared to challenge him for its power.

“Mine,” she said firmly.

A flush scalded the flats of his cheeks. Inwardly, he was steaming as well. She had no right to all of the gold! Half of it was rightfully his as a wereguild from the men who had tried to kill him.

Who would have killed him if she had not intervened.

The unbidden thought shamed him out of his greedy rage. He swallowed hard, then gave her the pouch. She took it from him without a word of thanks and then casually tucked it into her girdle alongside of her other purse. Such carelessness rekindled his resentment. She was going to lose it, he just knew it. And when she did, she was going to turn to him for more—unless he put his foot down now.

“That’s all you’re getting from me, you hear?” he told her. “Any gold that I get for my furs and the extra horse is mine to keep.”

She shrugged, refusing to commit herself. Dragons did not make promises if they could avoid them.

“What horse do?” she asked instead.

A protest swelled within him. Was there no end to this woman’s nerve? But even as he opened his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, he remembered again that she had saved his life, and that a little forbearance if not outright gratitude was due. So he wrung his hard words into a resigned sigh and then answered her question.

“Horses can do a lot of things. Some are used as pack animals; others pull plow, wagons and various other things. But mostly, they’re used for riding.”

“What ‘riding’?”

“It involves getting up on a horse’s back and making it carry you where you want to go.”

That sounded like fun! “I do riding, too.”

“Oh?” he asked, arching an amused look at her. “Have you ever ridden before?”

“No,” she replied, seemingly unconcerned by such a minor detail. “You teach.”

“I suppose I could do that.” It would, he thought, make the journey go faster. His gaze twitched from her to each of the horses and back to her. “Here,” he said then, trying to hand her the tan horse’s reins. “This one should do right by you.”

“Not want,” she told him. “It pack-beast.”

“Since when did you become such a discriminating judge of horseflesh?”

“Say again?”

“Never mind. You’re right—this mare’s as tame as they come. And that’s exactly why you should take your first ride on her.”

“Not want,” she insisted. That beast was ill-made and obviously stupid, an affront to her dignity. The big brown one seemed more like a creature worthy of a dragon’s company. “I ride this one.”

“Lathwi, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he argued, although he was not surprised that she had taken a fancy to a beast that liked to bite. “That bastard’s mean—he’d throw you off and stomp you the first chance he got. Give this old mare a chance. She’s got a better temperament.”

She resisted his advice. After all, she had flown the skies and skimmed the treetops. How difficult could it be to sit on a beast’s back? Furthermore, the bay possessed a lot of good meat. If this riding proved to be a disappointment, she could always console herself with a feast.

“I ride bastard,” she said.

“Fine, have it your way,” he said, tired of arguing with her. “But don’t you dare try to blame me when all your bones are broken.”

“How bones break?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and tossed her the bay’s reins.

“Now?”

“No, not now. It’s getting dark, and we’ve got to find another campsite. But don’t worry,” he said, smirking at the protest that cropped up on her brow, “tomorrow will come soon enough.”

Lathwi opened her eyes to find herself curled up among the roots of a gnarled pine. The discovery confused her—she was certain that she had been drowsing in Taziem’s caves a moment ago. Then she heard Pieter’s bull-froggy snoring in the background, and realized that she had been dreaming. For some reason, that annoyed her.

Her stomach grumbled then, demanding food. She got up and went in search of prey.

When she returned, Pieter was pacing restless circles around the campsite. The scowl on his face was all for her.

“Where have you been?” he barked. “I’ve been packed and ready to go for an hour now.”

“Went hunting,” she said, undaunted by his snarly tone. She licked a last fleck of tasty yellow yolk from her lips, then burped. “We ride now?”

His scowl deepened. He had not slept well last night—the wolves that he’d wished on the outlaws’ corpses had kept him up with their howling. And his first thought upon waking and finding Lathwi gone was that the dog pack had gotten her, too. Now here she was, well-fed and ready to go, thinking of no one but herself. She probably hadn’t even heard the damn wolves last night.

Dreamer, but she could rub a man the wrong way!

“No,” he replied, and was spitefully pleased to note her look of disappointment. “You have to learn how to saddle before you learn how to ride.” Before she could digest that mouthful of words, he pointed to the stallion’s tack. “Bring that stuff with you.”

She gathered the pile of odd-looking gear into her arms then followed him over to the spot where the horses had been tethered. There, he ordered her to watch as he ‘saddled’ the splotchy beast. As he worked, he named the various pieces of equipment. She wondered why humans had to make everything so complicated. Why could they not simply get up on the horses’ backs and go?

“Any questions?” he asked afterward.

She shook her head.

“So be it,” he said, adding overconfidence to her list of sins. “Go and saddle the bay.”

Then, fully expecting that vile-tempered bastard to deal a healthy dose of humility, he stepped back to watch the fun.

The stallion flattened its ears and then bared its teeth as she approached. Regardless of those subtle warnings, she drew to a stop alongside of him and slung the saddle onto his back. As she stooped to fasten the belly cinch, he swung his head around and snapped at her ear. She batted him away. He tried again. This time, he clipped her shoulder and caught a whiff of dragon. With a snort, he recoiled, then tossed his head back and forth as if trying to shake the smell from his nose. Meanwhile, she girded his saddle into place, adjusted the stirrups and began to bridle him. Still troubled by the disturbing scent, he accepted the bit without a fight. When the headstall was securely in place, she turned to Pieter and grinned.

“What now?”

“We walk until we find a meadow,” he replied. For while he ached to see that smirk wiped from her face, he was not so malicious as to want to see it done by a low-hanging branch.

He started through the forest then, trailing a line of horseflesh behind him. Lathwi followed with the bay in tow, but she was far from satisfied with the situation. This was not riding as he had described it, this was walking; and she could do that without some beast at her back. She scowled at the row of swishing tails and swaying buttocks ahead of her. They did not need any of these animals, she thought, not even the mule. Pieter could have carried those furs on his own back. Indeed, it would’ve been better if he had, for then he wouldn’t have brought so much other useless clutter with him. Men who kept beasts were like snails, she decided. When they went somewhere, they brought their houses with them.

Furthermore, she thought, glimpsing at Pieter’s scrawny backside, a man who relied on a mule’s muscles instead of his own grew weak. That was why those not-brothers had been able to best him so easily. She sniffed, scorning his feebleness.

At that moment, he happened to glance over his shoulder. Even from a distance, he perceived the contempt in her eyes, perceived too that it was all for him. His still smoldering resentments flared to new life. He could hardly wait for the chance to whittle her down to size.

That opportunity came in the guise of a sunlit meadow. It was small and flat and full of hidden potential. He tied Buck and the mare to a handy sapling, then slung himself into the pinto’s saddle when Lathwi wasn’t looking.

“This looks like a good spot for your first ride,” he said then.