journey with her father, so she knew more or less how
to get there. It was only a few hours’ ride.
Her hands shook as she saddled Talat and tied the bundles of dragon-proof
suit, kenet, sword, and a spear—which she wasn’t at all sure she could use, since,
barring a few lessons from Tor when she was eight or nine years old, she was
entirely self-taught—to the saddle. Then she had to negotiate her way past the
stable, the castle, and down the king’s way and out of the City without anyone
trying to stop her; and the sword and spear, in spite of the long cloak she had
casually laid over them, were a bit difficult to disguise.
Her luck—or something—was good. She was worrying so anxiously about what
she would say if stopped that she gave herself a headache; but as she rode,
everyone seemed to be looking not quite in her direction—almost as if they
couldn’t quite see her, she thought. It made her feel a little creepy. But she got
out of the City unchallenged.
The eerie feeling, and the headache, lifted at once when she and Talat set off
through the forest below the City. The sun was shining, and the birds seemed to
be singing just for her. Talat lifted into a canter, and she let him run for a while,
the wind slipping through her hair, the shank of the spear tapping discreetly at
her leg, reminding her that she was on her way to accomplish something useful.
She stopped at a little distance from the dragon-infested village to put on her
suit—which was no longer quite so greasy; it had reached its saturation point,
perhaps—and then adapted, as well-oiled boots adapt to the feet that wear them.
Her suit still quenched torches, but it had grown as soft and supple as cloth, and
almost as easy to wear. She rubbed ointment on her face and her horse, and
pulled on her long gloves. Shining rather in the sunlight then and reeking of
pungent herbs, Aerin rode into the village.
“I am alone,” said Aerin; she would have liked to explain, not that she was here
without her father’s knowledge but that she was alone because she was dragon-
proof (she hoped) and didn’t need any help. But her courage rather failed her,
and she didn’t. In fact what the villagers saw as royal pride worked very well, and
they fell over themselves to stop appearing to believe that a first sol (even a half-
foreign one) couldn’t handle a dragon by herself (and if her mother really was a
witch, maybe there was some good in her being half a foreigner after all), and
several spoke at once, offering to show the way to where the dragon had made its
lair, all of them careful not to look again down the road behind her.
She was wondering how she could tell them delicately that she didn’t want
them hanging around to watch, since she wasn’t at all sure how graceful (or
effective) her first encounter with a real dragon was likely to be. But the villagers
who accompanied her to show her the way had no intention of getting anywhere
near the scene of the battle; a cornered dragon was not going to care what non-
combatant bystanders it happened to catch with an ill-aimed lash of fire. They
pointed the way, and then returned to their village to wait on events.
Aerin hung her sword round her waist, settled the spear into the crook of her
arm. Talat walked with his ears sharply forward, and when he snorted she smelled
it too: fire, and something else. It was a new smell, and it was the smell of a
creature that did not care if the meat it ate was fresh or not, and was not tidy
with the bones afterward. It was the smell of dragon.
Talat, after his warning snort, paced onward carefully. They came soon to a
little clearing with a hummock of rock at its edge. The hummock had a hole in it,
the upper edge of which was rimed with greasy smoke. The litter of past dragon
meals was scattered across the once green meadow, and it occurred to Aerin that
the footing would be worse for a horse’s hard hoofs than a
to get there. It was only a few hours’ ride.
Her hands shook as she saddled Talat and tied the bundles of dragon-proof
suit, kenet, sword, and a spear—which she wasn’t at all sure she could use, since,
barring a few lessons from Tor when she was eight or nine years old, she was
entirely self-taught—to the saddle. Then she had to negotiate her way past the
stable, the castle, and down the king’s way and out of the City without anyone
trying to stop her; and the sword and spear, in spite of the long cloak she had
casually laid over them, were a bit difficult to disguise.
Her luck—or something—was good. She was worrying so anxiously about what
she would say if stopped that she gave herself a headache; but as she rode,
everyone seemed to be looking not quite in her direction—almost as if they
couldn’t quite see her, she thought. It made her feel a little creepy. But she got
out of the City unchallenged.
The eerie feeling, and the headache, lifted at once when she and Talat set off
through the forest below the City. The sun was shining, and the birds seemed to
be singing just for her. Talat lifted into a canter, and she let him run for a while,
the wind slipping through her hair, the shank of the spear tapping discreetly at
her leg, reminding her that she was on her way to accomplish something useful.
She stopped at a little distance from the dragon-infested village to put on her
suit—which was no longer quite so greasy; it had reached its saturation point,
perhaps—and then adapted, as well-oiled boots adapt to the feet that wear them.
Her suit still quenched torches, but it had grown as soft and supple as cloth, and
almost as easy to wear. She rubbed ointment on her face and her horse, and
pulled on her long gloves. Shining rather in the sunlight then and reeking of
pungent herbs, Aerin rode into the village.
“I am alone,” said Aerin; she would have liked to explain, not that she was here
without her father’s knowledge but that she was alone because she was dragon-
proof (she hoped) and didn’t need any help. But her courage rather failed her,
and she didn’t. In fact what the villagers saw as royal pride worked very well, and
they fell over themselves to stop appearing to believe that a first sol (even a half-
foreign one) couldn’t handle a dragon by herself (and if her mother really was a
witch, maybe there was some good in her being half a foreigner after all), and
several spoke at once, offering to show the way to where the dragon had made its
lair, all of them careful not to look again down the road behind her.
She was wondering how she could tell them delicately that she didn’t want
them hanging around to watch, since she wasn’t at all sure how graceful (or
effective) her first encounter with a real dragon was likely to be. But the villagers
who accompanied her to show her the way had no intention of getting anywhere
near the scene of the battle; a cornered dragon was not going to care what non-
combatant bystanders it happened to catch with an ill-aimed lash of fire. They
pointed the way, and then returned to their village to wait on events.
Aerin hung her sword round her waist, settled the spear into the crook of her
arm. Talat walked with his ears sharply forward, and when he snorted she smelled
it too: fire, and something else. It was a new smell, and it was the smell of a
creature that did not care if the meat it ate was fresh or not, and was not tidy
with the bones afterward. It was the smell of dragon.
Talat, after his warning snort, paced onward carefully. They came soon to a
little clearing with a hummock of rock at its edge. The hummock had a hole in it,
the upper edge of which was rimed with greasy smoke. The litter of past dragon
meals was scattered across the once green meadow, and it occurred to Aerin that
the footing would be worse for a horse’s hard hoofs than a
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