On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [134]
“Do I look like an illusion, boy?”
Raka started crying. The Dragon rolled his eyes. He gently put the boy back down on the sand and gave him an absentminded pat. Raka’s legs gave way and he sat down hard on the sand. He was completely unharmed; the Dragon had obviously intended only to intimidate. Which, Tahmu mused as he looked at the faces around him, it had done very effectively.
“I can prove to you that what I say is true,” said Kevla quickly, hastening to the Dragon and laying a tempering hand on his foreleg. “Tonight, the khashim of each clan will select someone he trusts. We will fly over the mountain and I will show you the army that is coming.”
The Dragon turned to look at Kevla. He seemed displeased. “None but the Flame Dancer has ever sat upon my back,” he said in a warning voice.
“Dragon,” she said pleadingly, “you know as well as I what awaits these people. We cannot waste precious time convincing them that what we say is true. Please. As a favor to me.”
If Tahmu had not seen it, he would not have believed it. The Great Dragon’s harsh expression, for it had expressions as versatile as any human’s, softened with affection.
“I can deny you nothing, Flame Dancer,” he said. Turning back to the crowd, the Dragon bellowed, “Those of you who will sit upon my back tonight are honored beyond any men before. Burn this voyage into your memory, for your children’s children will tell the tale of this night and the battle that awaits.”
While they waited for nightfall, Kevla permitted herself to be amused by the homage the people paid their Great Dragon. Once they had gotten over the initial shock of seeing a creature out of legend in the flesh, many felt compelled to prostrate themselves at his feet. With a glint of laughter in his golden eyes, he respectfully listened to them, absolved them of any wrongdoings, real or imagined, and told them to listen to Kevla, for she was in charge now. They came with offerings of beautiful carvings and pots, water, and food, all of which the Dragon graciously refused.
“Your people need this more than I,” he said. “Your sacrifice is noted, but take it back now that I have witnessed it. Feed your people.”
When the last supplicant had reluctantly gathered his food and returned to his clan, the Dragon looked at Kevla ruefully.
“Is it hard, being a god?” she said with mock sympathy.
He sighed, blowing a gust of fiery breath over her. “You have no idea.”
She also approached and welcomed her Lorekeepers. Some of them still seemed reticent, others eagerly went to her, even embraced her. She found she gravitated to Melaan. This was the man Jashemi had trusted, and as Second of a powerful clan, he had no small amount of influence. At one point, their eyes met and he nodded. Even without words, she knew what he was communicating: he would be there for her, at her right hand, no matter what came.
At last, Kevla judged that it was sufficiently dark. She was pleased that the moon was well on the wane. The last thing she wanted was to alert the Emperor or his armies that the foolish, scattered clans of Arukan knew about their approach—and had a dragon at their disposal.
She created several pillars of free-standing flame to illuminate the clearing in which the Dragon sat. She did so with an extra flamboyance, so that those gathered could see her powers.
Oh, Jashemi. Once, we were so afraid of our abilities; we hid them, we lied about them. Now, look at what I am doing. Look at how proud these people are to be Lorekeepers. I wish I could share this sweet moment with you.
Kevla stepped forward and surveyed the crowd. “The time has come,” she said. “Who among you is brave enough to ride the Dragon?”
One person strode forward boldly. “I will ride the Dragon, with the Flame Dancer,” said Tahmu-kha-Rakyn.
She gave him a grateful smile. Now others too came forward, until there were over a dozen. Still more came.
The Dragon arched an eyebrow. “My, you people have a lot of clans, don’t you?”
“Dragon, can you bear so many?