The Gold Falcon - Katharine Kerr [172]
“I won’t eat you,” the dragon called out. “You’re much too skinny.” She made a rumbling sound that stopped Neb cold.
“That’s her idea of a jest,” Salamander said, “and when she rumbles like that, she’s laughing.”
“If you say so.” Neb summoned as much courage as he could and walked on. “I’ve heard of dragons, but this is the first one I’ve ever seen.”
“They stick to the border country, truly, and the wild places. Her name’s Arzosah, by the by. I need your help to rig her up with a rope harness.”
“Ye gods! You don’t expect me to ride the beast, do you?”
“I don’t. I’m the one who’s going to do the riding. Dallandra will explain everything after we’ve gone, but speed is of the essence.”
Neb’s share of the harness work consisted mostly of holding pieces of rope taut while Salamander tied them together, following Dallandra’s directions. Ropes went around the dragon’s pale green belly like a cinch, then around her chest like a martingale, but she absolutely refused to allow anything resembling a crupper. Throughout the process she grumbled, moaned, and complained so much that Neb began to lose his fear of her. With the rope harness finished, Salamander tied on a bag of provisions and his bedroll.
“That should do,” he said. “Is it comfortable enough, O pinnacle of dragonhood?”
“Just barely.” Arzosah paused to hiss softly to herself. “It will have to do.”
“One thing quickly,” Dallandra said. “I’d been hoping that the silver wyrm would come with you. Do you know where Rori is?”
Arzosah went very still, except for her tail, which thrashed back and forth, apparently of its own will, because when she turned her head to scowl at it, the thrashing stopped. “We’ll discuss that later,” the dragon said at last. “Once we’ve done this errand.”
“Is somewhat wrong, then?” Dallandra said.
“We will discuss it later.” Arzosah swung her head around to glare at the dweomermaster. “When I return.”
Neb suddenly realized what Salamander had meant when he called the wyrm a great lady. Her tone of voice allowed no argument; she might have been a dowager queen rebuking a maidservant.
“Very well,” Dallandra said. “You need to get on your way.”
“And I need you to lower your head,” Salamander said to the dragon. “So I can climb aboard.”
“I am not a ship, gerthddyn,” Arzosah snarled. “You may ride upon me, but I am still a dragon, and I’ll ask you to remember that.”
“My dearest wyrm, how could I ever forget it?” Salamander made her a bow. “Where shall I impose my ugly and unworthy self upon you?”
“Put one foot on my neck.” She laid her head upon the ground. “Where it joins the shoulders. Then swing the other leg over. You can perch just behind my crest and cling to the last spike of it.”
Salamander followed her instructions, and she slowly and carefully raised her head, allowing him to kneel on her back between her wings but well forward. He slid both feet under a cinch rope and clutched the tall spike of her crest with both hands.
“Now remember,” Dallandra said. “You are to obey Salamander instantly and as thoroughly as you’d obey me.”
“I know, I know. And I promise to keep him safe as well.” Arzosah heaved herself to her feet. “Stand back, young scribe! I need a bit of room.”
Neb darted away to stand beside Dallandra. He watched openmouthed as the dragon stretched out her wings, and out and out, a vast wingspan like the ceiling of a great hall. Arzosah bunched herself, her haunches quivered, and with one huge flap of wing she leaped into the air. Her wings beat into the wind with a sound like enormous drums as she gained height, circled once