Dragon's Blood (20 page)

Jakkin started to say something, but Sarkkhan went on.

"That's all you stole, I hope. The ones who steal provisions land in jail. And the next time, it's off planet for good."

"You wouldn't put me in jail, then? Or the red in the stews? I couldn't let you do that, Master Sarkkhan. Not even you," Jakkin said.

"Send a First Fighter, a
winner,
to the stews?
Fewmets,
boy. Where's your brain? Been smoking blisterweed?" Sarkkhan hunkered down next to him.

Jakkin looked down at his sandals; his feet were soiled from the dust of the pit. He ordered his stomach to calm down and felt an answering muted rainbow of calm from the dragon. Then a sudden, peculiar thought came to him.

"Did you have to steal an egg, Master Sarkkhan?"

The big redheaded man laughed again and thrust his right hand into Jakkin's face. Jakkin drew back, but Sarkkhan was holding up two fingers and waggling them before his eyes.

"Two! I stole two. A male and a female. Blood Type and Heart's Ease. And it was not mere chance. Even then I knew the difference.
In the egg.
I knew. I can tell in the egg, and by a hatchling. Even before the first mating season exposes the difference. And
that's
why I'm the best breeder on Austar IV." He stood
up abruptly and held out his hand to the boy. "But enough. The red is fine and you are due upstairs." He yanked Jakkin to his feet and seemed at once to lose his friendliness.

"Upstairs?" Jakkin could not think what that meant. "You said I was not to go to jail. I want to stay with the red. I want—"

"
Wormwort,
boy, have you been listening or not? You have to register that dragon. Give her a name. Record her as a First Fighter, a winner."

"Her?" Jakkin heard only the one word.

"Yes, a her. Do you challenge
me
on that? Me? And I want to come with you and collect my gold. I bet a bagful on that red of yours—on Likkarn's advice. He's been watching you train, my orders. He said she was looking good, and
sometimes
I believe him."

Jakkin pulled his hand back. "Likkarn? Likkarn watched? But it was Akki. It had to be. Her footprints. Akki who told..." He trailed off into a confused silence.

Sarkkhan shook his head. "That little piece of baggage. Just like her mother, boy. But when she's a woman, she'll be something, I'll tell you. Oh, I knew she'd been sneaking
out there to be with you. As I said, there's not much I don't know about my nursery. And when I first heard about it from Likkarn, about you staying out half the night making love to my girl..."

Jakkin started to protest, but Master Sarkkhan's voice overrode his. "Well, you can bet I was ready to kick your tail up between your shoulder blades till your bond shirt rattled up your backbone like a window shade. I'm not an easy father, I'm not."

"Father!"

"And her refusing to let me claim her officially, to write it into the books. Akkhina out of Rakki by Sarkkhan James. I'm not supposed to let anyone know. She's got a temper, that one. Just like her father." He laughed. "Won't have anything to do with me. Me! The best breeder on the planet. Pretending to be a bonder and wearing that damned foolish empty bag after I bought off her bond. Fool's Pride, I shouldn't wonder. Damnably silly. There are masters and there are bonders in this world and no one
wants
to be a bonder. 'Let her try to fill her bag alone,' Likkarn said. 'Then she'll come crawling back,' he said.
And
sometimes
I listen to him. Sometimes. I owe him still. He took me in, taught me everything."

The day seemed made up of never-ending surprises. Jakkin kept hearing himself repeat Sarkkhan's last words like a common-mocker, the little lizard that mimicked the tail-end of its enemy's challenges and, in the ensuing confusion, often got away. Only Jakkin could not tear himself away from Sarkkhan's endless stream of revelations. "You owe him? Likkarn?
He
taught
you?
"

"
Fewmets,
boy, you sound like a mocker. Yes, I owe him. He found me, a runaway bond boy, out in the sand near Rokk with two eggs. Trying to hatch them with my own body warmth. Damn near froze to death in Dark-After. He found me and dragged me to a shelter and warmed me with his own clothes. Didn't turn me in either, though it could have bought him out of bond. Took three of my hatchlings in exchange when the two mated, and that's the first time he was a master. I owe him." Sarkkhan walked toward the stairwell where the old trainer still waited.

They stopped by Likkarn, who was
slumped again in another blisterweed dream. Sarkkhan reached out and took the stringy red weed ash from the old man's hand. He threw it on the floor and ground it savagely into the dust. "He wasn't born a weeder, boy. And he hasn't forgotten all he once knew. But he'll never be a
real
man. Hasn't got the guts to stay out of bond. I hope you do." Then, shaking his head, Master Sarkkhan moved up the stairs, impatiently waving a hand at the boy to follow.

A stray strand of color pearls passed through Jakkin's mind and he turned around to look at the dragon's stall. Then he gulped and said in a rush at Sarkkhan's back, "But she's a mute, Master Sarkkhan. She may have won this fight by wiles, but she's a mute. No one will bet on a dragon that cannot roar."

The man reached down and grabbed Jakkin's hand, yanking him through the doorway and up the stairs. They mounted two at a time. "You really are lizard waste," said Sarkkhan, punctuating his sentences with another step. "Why do you think I sent a half-blind weeder skulking around the sands at night
watching you train a snatchling and make love to my girl? Because I'd lost my mind?
Fewmets,
boy. Likkarn was the only bonder I could trust to keep his mouth shut. And I need to know what is happening to every damned dragon I have bred. I have had a hunch and a hope these past twenty-five years, breeding small-voiced dragons together. I've been
trying
to breed a mute. Think of it, a mute fighter—why, it would give nothing away, not to pit foes or to bettors. A mute fighter and its trainer..." And Sarkkhan stopped on the stairs, looking down at the boy. "Why, they'd rule the pits, boy."

They finished the stairs and turned down the hallway. Sarkkhan strode ahead and Jakkin had to double-time in order to keep up with the big man's strides.

"Master Sarkkhan—" he began at the man's back.

Sarkkhan did not break stride but growled, "I'm no longer your master, Jakkin.
You
are a master now. A master trainer. That dragon will speak only to you, go only on your command. Remember that and act accordingly. Never have seen such a linkage as
you have with that worm. It's a wonder, it is. If I were a jealous man ... but I'm not."

Jakkin blinked twice and touched his chest. "But ... but my bag is empty. I have no gold to fill it. I have no sponsor for my next fight. I..."

Sarkkhan whirled, and his eyes were fierce. "
I
am sponsor for your next fight. I thought that much, at least, was clear. And when your bag is full, you will pay me no gold for your bond. Instead I want pick of the first hatching when the red is bred—to a mate of my choosing. If she is a complete mute, she may breed true, and
I
mean to have a hatchling."

"Oh, Master Sarkkhan," Jakkin cried, suddenly realizing that all his dreams were realities, that there was no price to pay at all, "you may have the pick of the first
three
hatchings." He grabbed the man's hand and tried to shake his thanks into it.

"
Fewmets!
" the man yelled, startling some of the passersby. He shook the boy's hand loose. "How can you ever become a bettor if you offer it all up front. You have to disguise your feelings better than that. Offer me the
pick of the
third
hatching. Counter me. Make me work for whatever I get."

Jakkin said softly, testing, "The pick of the third."

"First two," said Sarkkhan, softly back, and his smile came slowly. Then he roared, "Or I'll have you in jail and the red in the stews."

A crowd began to gather around them, betting on the outcome of the uneven match. Sarkkhan was a popular figure at pit fights and the boy was leather patched, obviously a bonder, an unknown, worm waste.

All at once Jakkin felt as if he were pitside. He felt the red's mind flooding into his, a rainbow effect that gave him a rush of courage. It was a game, then, all a game. Being a master, being a man, just meant learning the rules and how far to go. And he knew how to play. "The second," said Jakkin, smiling back. "After all, Heart's Blood is a First Fighter, and a winner. And," he hissed at Sarkkhan so that only the two of them could hear, "she's a mute." Then he stood straight and said loudly so that it carried to the crowd. "You'll be lucky to have pick of the second."

Sarkkhan stood silently, as if considering both the boy and the crowd. He brushed his hair back from his forehead, exposing the blood scores; nodded. "Done," he said. "A hard bargain." Then he reached over and ruffled Jakkin's hair, saying back, "And I'll be glad to give my girl Akki to you. She needs a strong master." They walked off together.

The crowd, settling their bets, let them through.

"I
thought
you were a good learner," Sarkkhan said to the boy. "Second it is. Though," and he chuckled quietly, "you should remember this. There is rarely anything very good in a first hatching. That is something Likkarn has never learned. Second is the best by far."

"I didn't know that," said Jakkin.

"Why should you?" countered Sarkkhan. "
You
are not the best breeder on Austar IV. I am. But I like the name you picked. Heart's Blood out of Heart O'Mine. It suits."

They went through the doorway together to register the red and to stuff Jakkin's bag with his hard-earned dragon's gold.

T
HE TWIN MOONS
cast shadows like blood scores across the sand. Jakkin hunkered down in the bowl-shaped depression and listened. Inside the wood-and-stone dragonry he could hear the mewling and scratching of hatchlings as they pipped out of their shells. One more night, maybe two, and the hatching would be complete.

Near the stud barn was a newer, smaller barn. In that building Heart's Blood stayed apart from the other hens. She was still too young to breed, though under Sarkkhan's tutelage she and Jakkin had won two more fights. Sarkkhan said that Heart's Blood would command the best mating prices if she fought at least ten times in a variety of minor pits.
After that, if she could win a championship in a major pit, she would be known all over the world.

Sleep, my worm,
Jakkin thought as he stood and walked past the barn. A cool river of greens meandered slowly through his mind in response. He knew that Likkarn was asleep in the bondhouse and no other watchers had been set on his track. Sarkkhan trusted him. Jakkin would not betray that trust. Brooming his footsteps away for the first kilometer would not keep Likkarn or Sarkkhan from his private spot, but it would keep the other bonders from finding it. He still needed a place he could go. And he hoped that Akki might be waiting for him there.

He remembered the first time he had gone back, several weeks after the fight with Rum. Wanting to claim the remaining rows of weed and wort plants in order to keep his debt to Sarkkhan down, he stripped the stalks with care. He had been at work for only a few minutes when he heard a familiar mocking laugh. He turned and had seen Akki standing near the shelter, her hands on her hips.

"I hear you won," she said. "Ardru was
there. In the 'Master Box. Did you see him? Was it exciting? Was it worth the risk?"

He had walked over to her slowly. "Why haven't you returned to the nursery?" he asked.

"Do you always answer questions with a question?" she countered. They had both laughed.

Later she told him she would never come back. "I only stayed as long as I did to help you. Because you had a dream, just like me. If dreamers don't help one another ... But once
your
dream came true, it was time for me to go. I don't really belong in a nursery. Not anymore. I am both master and bonder," she said. "And I will let no man fill my bag."

Then she added, almost under her breath, "I left the gold Sarkkhan paid for my bond on his pillow."

Jakkin did not ask her how she got the gold.

"I know Sarkkhan is your father," he said quietly.

"I am not responsible for that."

"Then why must you go away?" he asked.

"I just told you," she said. "Weren't you listening?"

"You answered my question with a question," Jakkin whispered. "I don't want you to go."

She said nothing, just looked at him strangely and left.

***

T
HE SECOND TIME
she had come during the day when Jakkin had taken Heart's Blood for a run and a day of training. The dragon was often restless if he left her confined too long in the barn. She needed to fly in great wheeling arcs over the oasis. And Jakkin always felt he had passed some kind of important test each time the dragon returned to his side.

It was Heart's Blood who had first sensed Akki's approach, casting a gold silhouette in Jakkin's mind. He recognized it immediately as Akki, though it was many minutes more before she actually came into view.

"How do you know when I am going to be here?" he asked.

"I don't. Sometimes I come when you
aren't here," she said. "And I lie down by the pool and remember. Or forget."

He wanted to ask, "Remember what? Forget what?" But he didn't. Instead, he lay down in the sand with his head resting on the dragon's flank. Akki sat beside him. They held hands. That was the day they hardly spoke at all.

***

T
HE LAST TIME
he had seen Akki was a night when he had come out to the oasis to sit and think and be by himself. He had been worrying about an approaching fight and his nervousness had communicated itself to Heart's Blood. So he had come alone, expecting no one.

It had been a night of many breezes, and the swirling patterns of sand had changed over and over, a kaleidoscope whose pieces were shaken by the winds.