Page 222 of Dragon Avenger (Age of Fire 2)

“Are they sure it was a dragon? Not feathered?”

“Yes, a dragon, and blue as the sky. Speaking of blue, I must admire that belt around your throat. Wait—if it goes around your throat is it a belt or no?”>“You won’t find any libraries up there,” Dsossa said. “Rainfall always appreciated the volumes you sent, you know.”

Wistala hardly believed her eyes, but it seemed the growth atop the clay pyramid tilted ever so slightly in her direction. Had the broccoli bowed to her? No, it was simply responding to the moon above and behind her.

Maybe.

“I must go north. According to the librarians, there are others of my kind there,” she said. “But I will come back to visit. Perhaps to your winter camp, so I don’t get frozen solid up there when the sun runs south.”

“Don’t expect to lie around all day stuffing yourself with veal at my expense,” Ragwrist said. “You winter at my circus, and you’ll be speaking to select seekers at a commanding price!”

“Oh, give it a rest. I’ll buy her a bullock or two,” Brok said. “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll show you your new harness.”

He’d made a leather neck pouch, easily expandable, that had stiffened cases all around the sides, about the size of the ones the dwarves used for their crossbow bolts.

“I put a couple vesk-stone of good softmetal in for you. Metal is rare up there, I understand they use bone fishhooks and flint scrapers and such. Or at least that’s what the traders bring back.”

A transparent blister showed at the buckle on her breast, and a familiar blue sat within. “That’s the old elf’s battle sash. Safe from weather and wet in there, though honestly I wasn’t expecting the cold of the icelands. If you open the latch,” he showed her how, “you can unscrew the crystal if you’d like to take it out for some reason, but remember to seal it up again with good wax to make it airtight.”

“You raided my ironmonger?” Ragwrist said. “Are you trying to ruin me, Brok? Am I to support the family of every blacksmith in Hypatia?”

Brok ignored the protestations and slipped it over Wistala’s outstretched head.

Wistala thought it looked like an oversize gem, and wearing such a thing would make her feel flashier than a proper young dragonelle from her family should—Your wings and scales should be advertisement enough, Mother always said, no need to adorn for Silverhigh aerials—but had to admire the workmanship.

She put it on. It turned on her neck easily enough, and she could reach the cases, probably even while flying.

“Rub some fats into the leather now and again,” Brok advised. “It’s the finest hardened cowhide, but don’t mistake it for steel. It needs care.”

“Improvident—,” Ragwrist sputtered. “He speaks of care. Care! Have care to my balance book!”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Brok,” Wistala said, ignoring the byplay. “You should have my coin savings.”

“Ha!” Brok said. “I loaded two of these cases with it. Eat them sparingly, good dragon.”

“What of you, Dsossa?” Wistala asked. “Will you live near the inn?”

“I will still breed my horses, though on this side of the river, and Hammar won’t get one for any price. Old Avalanche left some colts on this side of the river, and I’ll see if I can’t better the bloodline.”

“Stog might suggest a dose of donkey.”

“Yes, I’ll breed mules too. Less money in mules, but they are more easily sold in any market.”

They looked at each other around Rainfall’s rooting place.

“I shall be sorry to leave you all,” Wistala said.

“That’s circus. You’ve outgrown us,” Ragwrist said.

“No. I’ve learned so much, and I could lear—”

“I don’t mean that,” Ragwrist said, waving away the dragon breath. “I mean the circus can’t afford to feed you any more, or employ an army of shovelers to keep the air breathable.”

Wistala slept out the next day in the old troll cave, half a horse inside her—she’d flown up to Galahall and snatched one from an outer pasture as it stood sleeping—and the other half hanging for breakfast, when she heard a faint shouting.

“Wistala! Wistala!”

It was a female voice. She sent the seagulls flying as she crawled out the entrance—from the noise they made anyone would think it was their cave—and cautiously peeped up the cliff.

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