Joust (31 page)

Even if she didn’t become protective of her clutch, if they waited to get her eggs away until after she went broody, they would probably have to give her infertile eggs, or dummy eggs to brood, or she would start looking for another mate with twice the energy she had used before. That was what happened in many birds, and if Coresan had been difficult before this—well, with the drive to mate in her at double strength, Vetch didn’t think even he would be able to handle her.

So he could understand why Haraket would want to get each egg from her as she laid it, or shortly thereafter. He understood it, but that meant he would have to decide within a day or two what
he
was going to do.

Should he take this egg, for instance?

He could take the chance that the first egg would be fertile, and carry it off. He already knew when he could make his theft—at night, when the Jousters were in their quarters, the dragonboys at their recreations, and darkness would cover his actions. Coresan would be torpid, and would not notice him. More importantly, if she missed the egg in the morning, she would not know who had taken it.

And he knew where he would take it when he had it—one of the empty pens on either side of Kashet’s. There were three times the number of pens than there were dragons, plenty of empty pens where an egg could incubate in the hot sands undisturbed. No one ever went into the empty pens, unless they happened to be storing something there. No one put two adult dragons next to one another, even if they appeared to get along, because of the chance that they would decide one day to fight one another. Or worse, chose one another as mates. Dragons were creatures that flocked together—sort of. They did spend a lot of time in a juvenile flock when they were young and not ready to mate, because clumsy juveniles working together were able to bring down prey that one alone couldn’t manage. And when they weren’t raising young, they also kept to a flock, but that could have been because natural hot places—natural sand wallows, sheltered places where the sun heated the sand, hot springs, and the like—were relatively few compared to the number of dragons. It could have been necessity that had them roosting together at night. But when they were fertile, they were like spotted hunting cats—sharing a territory just long enough to raise the dragonets to fledging, then parting again, and they would fight the dragon that had been a mate if there was a conflict over food, flock rank, or perches. So while there were plenty of extra pens, there was no need to take the risk of conflict by housing the beasts too closely together.

He would put the egg where it was easy to get to, and when it hatched (if it hatched), Kashet would probably ignore the dragonet as completely as he ignored other adult dragons. Just as he was alone among the other dragons in his affection for humans, he was alone in his indifference to his fellow dragons.

Now, instead of taking the first egg, he could wait, hope that no one noticed the growing clutch in the corner, and have his choice of eggs. Coresan could lay as many as four; he was giving her plenty of extra bone for the shells, which she would sorely need, to keep her hale and healthy. But the more eggs that appeared, the more likely it was that someone would get impatient and take a look for himself to see what Coresan was up to, and the more likely that she would go broody.

Take the first, or wait? He wavered between the two actions all day, the egg looming large in his mind the entire time. When Kashet and Ari came in, clearly tired from taking double patrols, he still had not decided. While the rest of the Jousters were still on the lighter duty of practice and patrol, they were on a full schedule; it was a good thing that Kashet was so strong and so willing.

“If I didn’t know he was flying twice as far as the others every day, I wouldn’t guess it,” Vetch said, as Ari handed him a lance and dismounted, as usual, with a pat on the shoulder for Kashet. “He’s tired, but not as exhausted as he could be. I think you’re more tired than he is.”

“Well, perhaps it’s because he was first-laid,” Ari said with a proud, if tired, smile. “They hatch in order of being laid, about two days apart. First-born is supposed to be strongest and the smartest, but when the young ones are taken by dragonet hunters out in the wild, firstborn has usually fledged and gone, so they get whatever is left.”

Then Ari strode off without looking back, which was just as well, for Vetch was still standing there with his mouth open for a long moment after he was gone.

There it was, the deciding factor.
Firstborn is the strongest.
If Vetch was going to succeed, his dragon would have to be very big, very strong, and mature very quickly.

If that had not been enough, all of the conditions that night were perfect for him to move his egg. Most of the other dragon boys all went out that night, for it was a full moon, and the father of one of them, a fisherman, had promised to take them out for night fishing in the moonlight. The Jousters’ quarters were full of music and voices; one of the others was holding festival with many of the Great King’s nobles in attendance, and even Ari, as weary as he was, had consented to attend; the boys who were not out fishing had been pressed into service for the feast. The corridors outside the pens were flooded with light from the moon, and utterly deserted—and Coresan slept like a stone, probably exhausted from laying this, the first of her eggs.

Vetch dug the egg out of the hot sand with his bare hands. It was very warm, the texture very like that of a common pot, and unwieldy. He lifted it very carefully, transferred it to a sand-lined barrow, and trundled it to its new home without sight or sound of anyone or anything except a few bats flitting about the corridors in search of insects attracted by the torches. The spirits of the dead were supposed to take the form of bats. Was one of them his father, flitting like a silent guardian over his son? For a moment he paused, looking for a sign—

He sighed, as the bats went on with their hunting, paying no attention at all to him. They were probably just bats. If his father returned from the Summer Country, how could he possibly know that his Altan son was here, in the compound of the Tian Jousters? No, he would surely be flitting about the farm that had been stolen from him. Hopefully, if he had chosen to return, he was sending the worst possible dreams into the heads of those who had taken it.

Vetch reburied the egg in the corner of the empty pen least visible from the entrance. The sands were bake-oven hot, but he had gotten used to them by now. He knew, from Ari’s stories of how he had raised Kashet, what he would have to do from this point. He would have to turn the egg at least twice a day to keep the growing dragonet from sticking to the inside of the shell. He would have to make certain that no one spotted him going into the pen. But that was the easy part.

For if the egg was fertile, if it hatched, he would have to get food to it several times a day, also without being seen—and keep the dragonet amused once it got old enough that it didn’t sleep all the time when it wasn’t eating. Then he would have to somehow train it as Ari had trained Kashet, to carry a burden of a saddle and a rider. He would have to keep anyone from seeing the dragonet—or at least, arrange things such that no one guessed that it wasn’t one newly brought in from the wilds. If he could manage all of that—

If, if, if. There were a lot of “ifs” standing between him and a fragile hope of success. . . .

One thing at a time. One day at a time. There was no point in thinking past the next obstacle, which was how to slip away to turn the egg in the morning. . . .

One small step at a time, on the path to what was nothing more than a hope at this point. That was all he dared to do for now. There were sixty mornings, sixty evenings, one hundred and twenty egg turnings to get through before he had to worry about a nestling. If there was a nestling. If the egg was fertile, if the sand was hot enough but not too hot, if no one discovered it. . . .

There were a very great many “ifs” between him and a dragonet, and most of them he had no control over.

But he had the will. And as Ari said, “Enough will, is will enough.” He had to hope that in this, as in so many other things, Ari was right.

W
ITH his precious egg tucked cozily in the hot sand in the empty pen, Vetch went back to his pallet in Kashet’s pen. There was nothing more he could do for the egg at this point. It was hidden, it was warm, and if Ari was right, dragons themselves didn’t take too much care about keeping their eggs perfectly warm until they actually started brooding them. Still, after he curled up on his pallet, listening to Kashet breathe, the egg lay heavily in his thoughts. He had to keep reminding himself that there really was not anything he could do right now. Nevertheless, he kept trying to think of some way he could hide the egg better, how he could manage to get extra meat to feed the dragonet, how he could keep the youngster quiet—

And training. I need to know how to train it. I need to get a saddle, guiding straps, harness
—

Perhaps it was just as well that Kashet and Coresan together kept him running, because eventually the need to sleep caught up with him, and he dozed off in mid-thought.

Vetch woke just as dawn was coloring the sky to the east. A desert thrush was singing somewhere overhead, and the breeze from the direction of the Great Mother River smelled of wet mud and algae, with a hint of fish. The Flood was definitely over now, and the river was pulling in the hem of her robe. And he was just in time to slip over to the next pen and turn the egg before anyone else was awake.

He flung off his blanket and sprang up out of his pallet, not bothering to twist on a kilt. In the dim light, everything seemed painted in shades of blue, and the damp air was clammy and cool on his skin. He scuttled over to the next pen, feeling fairly secure that no one else would be awake at this hour.

He waded out into the hot sand, which felt exceptionally good on his chilled skin, and carefully dug around one side of the egg until he had uncovered enough to enable him to give it a half turn. Then he covered it back up again, except for a very small area at the very top, the merest curve of shell.

Then he sprinted back to Kashet’s pen, and his pallet. Kashet had not moved a muscle, and until Kashet woke, there was no reason for him to get up either.

In fact, he managed to doze a little, before the rustling sound of sand moving against dragon scales warned him that he had better start his working day.

He was actually feeding Coresan four times daily now, giving her a final meal just before she went to sleep for the night. This meant that she would sleep longer in the morning than Kashet, and he could feed his primary charge first, get him saddled and ready for Ari by the time most of the other dragon boys were still queuing up for meat. This meant that when he came around with a barrow for Coresan, most of them were gone already.

When he reached her pen, she was scratching in an absent-minded way at the sand in the corner where her egg had been, but the moment that he appeared with her breakfast, she lost interest in that corner in favor of food. He went about the usual routine as though she had never laid an egg, and after another cursory search for it when she’d eaten, Coresan soon settled. She didn’t so much give up, as lose interest in looking for it. A good sign, Vetch thought.

In fact, at noon she wolfed down meat until Vetch thought she was going to pop, then stretched herself out in the sun for a long doze, quite as if the egg had never existed.

Kashet came in that afternoon looking marginally better, and so did Ari, who took a look around the pen as Vetch divested the dragon of his saddle and harness. “I was afraid, doing double duty as you are, that all the work was going to be too much for you, Vetch,” the Jouster said, with just the faintest overtones of surprise. “But I swear, if anything Kashet’s pen is cleaner and neater than it was before. Are there two of you? Have you spawned a twin brother you haven’t told me about?”

Vetch smiled to himself. “I’m used to doing more than my share,” he said boldly. “It gets put on me, often as not. And don’t think it’s your fault, because it isn’t! But so are you and Kashet, used to doing more than your share. And you don’t have anyone to take the boring part of your work off your hands; at least I got that much advantage.”

“Huh. You’ve certainly hit that target in the heart ring,” Ari replied, with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose, though, it’s always been true that those of us who are outsiders have to work twice as hard just to prove ourselves the equals of those on the inside. How’s Coresan?”

“Fat and lazy, and getting fatter,” he replied truthfully. “
I
figure, the fatter I get her, the less trouble she’ll be, because she’ll be too lazy to make trouble.”

“The fat part is probably the eggs she’s about to lay,” Ari corrected. “And the lazy part because she’s preoccupied with nesting and saving her energy for the eggs she’ll lay. Has she been digging in her wallow?”

“All the time,” Vetch said instantly, glad that now he needn’t conceal anything in Coresan’s pen. “One corner in particular, the one that gets sun all day.”

Ari nodded. “Then she’s about to lay. Good! Otherwise, is she behaving for you?”

“Better every day, by a little,” Vetch said, feeling very proud of himself. “And I’ve been saving back the best meat from her meals to tidbit her with when she behaves herself.”

“Then, once she’s finished laying, I don’t think it would be out of the question to reinforce that by making her meals of the shanks and inferior meat, and save the things she likes for tidbits only,” Ari replied, squinting thoughtfully. “You don’t want to starve her, but if you make it clear that she gets the finer things only when she’s on good behavior, she’ll come completely around. She was trained properly originally—well, as ‘properly’ as you can, when you’re starting out to break a dragon, rather than really tame it.”