Deveth frowned as one of the drovers sharply backhanded his packbeast. Undeterred, the animal bared blocky yellow teeth and tried again to take a chunk out of his shoulder. Across the dusty path one of the guards, a stocky, ageless woman, was checking her weapons for the hundredth time. Up and down the line, packbeasts and riding animals alike stamped and snapped their irritation under the already sweltering mid-morning sun. "Even the animals have grown tired of waiting, Father. Soon it will be too late to start. "She will be here soon," said the older man from the shade of the knukya tree where he waited. He had said these same words at least twenty times this morning. "Perhaps she isn't coming at all. Something must have happened on the trail up from Alakesh. Or perhaps her father changed his mind." The older man thoughtfully removed the twig of weesha, whose mildly intoxicating effects he'd been enjoying, from between his teeth. "The road from Alakesh is wide and well traveled. It is doubtful she has come to harm. And it is even more unlikely that her father would have changed his mind without reclaiming the girl's dowry." He gestured with the weesha root toward the three heavily laden pack animals at the center of the train. Deveth cursed and slapped at an insect, wiping the sweat off his brow with the end of his protective headcloth. "What will we do when their fathers find out?" "They will not." growled his father. He continued in a more pleasant tone, "Besides, they send their daughters and their dowries to buy rich trade agreements with foreign merchant princes. And that is exactly what they get. With a fat commission off the top for the only caravan to successfully cross Dragon Pass." retorted the younger man. "An honest man must earn a wage." "Honest !" Makesh drew his heavy black brows together in a threatening glare. "Show respect, boy. My customers get what they pay for." The thunderous look left his face as a jovial smile broke over it. "Be silent, she comes." Following the direction of his father's welcoming smile, Deveth saw an incredibly beautiful woman. She picked her way down the road past the waiting caravan like a doe on uncertain ground. Her womanly shape was unsuccessfully concealed in flowing, multi-colored skirts of finely woven cloth. As she drew nearer, he saw that a pale lavender veil modestly covered her hair and face. A few feet away, she looked up and saw him staring at her like some common drover. A maidenly blush warmed her cheeks as she cast her eyes swiftly groundward. Not wanting to cause the girl further embarrassment, he tore his gaze away to inspect her bodyguard. Clean lined and well muscled, he wore a curved sword at each hip and walked with the swagger of an accomplished warrior. He was very tall and very young, and Deveth disliked him on sight. "Kharia Jhenni, of the House of Kharaj Dipour~" announced the bodyguard self-importantly. "May the blessings of the Wind be upon his House and Sons." intoned Makesh. "The beauty of his daughters and the generosity of his dowries is known throughout Wind's reach." Deveth expanded the formal greeting with unwonted enthusiasm. "Indeed. May the Wind grant our journey be a swift one." The warrior relaxed a little. "I am called Jayak, free mercenary and bodyguard to the illustrious House Dipour and the Kharaj's youngest daughter." Formalities behind him, Makesh quickly got down to business. "As you can see," he pointed toward the chests, "the dowry arrived safely, as did my payment. You have a wagon?" "Yes, but the road was too crowded with your caravan to bring it through, and I could not leave the Kharia alone. She was forced to soil her shoes with the very dust of the common road before we had even set out on our journey." Makesh ignored the accusing tone in the young man's voice. "Did you consider hiring a messenger?" The warrior flushed red. Apparently not. "Well, the Wind blows whither it will. When we get clear of this town at last," he slightly stressed the 'at last' part, just to see the boy's eyes widen in affront, "there will be time enough to place the Kharia's wagon in a position of suitable honor. Until then, she may ride in my own humble cart." Leading the way to a sturdy wagon painted gaudily with wards and luck symbols, he saw the Kharia comfortably settled. Deveth was already at the head of the caravan, starting the laborious task of getting the long train started. Untying his mount from the back of his wagon, Makesh led it to the shade of the knukya tree and tightened the cinch. "May the Wind guide you, Makesh, and cleanse your path." ~ ~~~, Makesh turned to face the speaker, who could pass for his twin; rotund, weathered, clad in dusty, loose clothing. Dispensing with formalities, he pounded his old friend on the back. "Kandar, how has the Wind borne you?" "Not as well as you, wise old fool. The talk among the caravans says you are leaving again for the forbidden pass. Where no other caravan has returned, you begin your third journey." Makesh feigned humility. "Fourth, my friend, Wind permitting." The grooves carved in Kandar's face by weather and sand deepened in concern. "Is this wise, Makesh? It is best not to sit too often at the table of the gods. The price of the banquet can be high." "High indeed)" muttered Makesh, making a warding sign. "But the bounty is great." The other man watched the seemingly endless train of cargo and animals galvanize into movement. The slaves and animals were well fed and relatively clean, the cargo and guards were of the finest quality. "I should like to see this land beyond the mountains. Perhaps there will be room on your next passage for a tired old drover?" "If the Wind carries me a fifth time over the mountains, it will be a great honor to have such a renowned caravan master as yourself as our guest." But a worry line marked his forehead as Makesh offered the welcome. The brightly painted wagon before them lurched slightly as the dray animal started off after the wagon before it, the young bodyguard inexpertly wielding the reins. Makesh swung heavily aboard his mount, which seemed taller every year. "Wind carry your name, Kandar." "Wind guide your steps." called the other man as his old friend wheeled his mount to follow the wagon. Seventeen dusty days' travel brought them to the foot of the mountains, where they camped for the night in the shadow of the jagged entrance to the forbidden pass. The fire, built of animal dung, smoked and smelled atrocious, but it did not daunt the drovers and guards gathered around it. Like every other night, though perhaps more so on this particular one, they grew drunk on weesha and sour wine. Men and women alike told carefully woven tales of their exploits in love, battle and commerce; the three fundaments of civilization. Jayak, as ever, waxed ridiculous in his boasts of women bedded, men slain, and treasures hoarded. Though no one exactly called him a liar, it was much joked around the caravan that he must be considerably older than he looked. Deveth tired early of the boy's bragging, and went to his father's wagon for a fresh skin of wine. Or so he said. In truth, it was only a ruse. The Kharia's wagon sat next to Makesh's. On many nights he had seen Jhenni sitting silently outside her wagon, listening to the tales and laughter across the sand. Made an outsider by her rank, she could no more join in the laughter and easy camaraderie than he could fly. Yes, there she was, feet tucked beneath her on a woven rug spread over the silver sand. His heart threatened to stop at her beauty in the moonlight as she turned to look at him. "Khar-- Kharia. Would you like some wine?" He wanted to bite his tongue off. What was he thinking of, offering her sour peasant wine? But she lifted her cup in one slender hand and answered in a voice like the tinkling of chimes at the temple of the Wind. "Please call me Jhenni. At least when no one else is around. So many people call me Kharia, I forget I have a name." He knelt to fill her cup, and her dark eyes met his for a moment before modestly flitting away. "Tell me about my husband." He almost spilled the wine. "Your husband?" "The prince of the far lands whom I go to wed, what is he like?" She met his eyes shyly again, then looked away and continued breathlessly. "Is he tall and dark like you? With broad shoulders and big hands and soft eyes? What is it like there?" "The land there is green, with many tall trees. In the late afternoon it rains every day. And, though I have not seen it with my own eyes, they say the rain turns to soft white and falls like feathers in the cold of winter. "No! Truly?" She clapped her hands together in delight. "And the people there are tall and fair, and speak in soft words like poetry. Their hair is yellow as the sun and their eyes blue as the sky." "And my husband? What is he like?" His face darkened and he looked away. "Wealthy. Young and handsome. The flesh of his hand tingled as hers crept tentatively to cover it. "I shall miss the desert. I have known nothing else." He raised his eyes to meet hers and there was a sudden intimacy there before she glanced down, smiling. He looked out across the moon swept silver sand and said slowly, "Shall we walk, that you may gaze a last time upon its beauty?" Her hand clenched over his in seeming eagerness, but she countered, "Javak?" "He is drunk, and bores the drovers with tales of his skill in lovemaking." She giggled at this as he pulled her to her feet and draped the rug over his other am. "Will you tell me such tales?" "I know a few which may be suitable." They were soon lost from sight among the dunes.
The morning's preparations to leave seemed to take forever, but the packbeasts and slaves had to be well secured, lest they bolt in the forbidden pass and be lost. At last Deveth was mounted and riding beside the Kharia's wagon across the jumbled rocks at the mouth of the pass. Jhenni met his eyes frequently with secret glances, but he was too torn with doubt and recrimination to return them. Had he, in his selfish love for this girl he could not have, brought destruction upon the whole caravan? He considered confessing his guilt to his father, but it was too late to serve any real purpose. He stared at the now familiar stunted trees and bizarre rock formations of the pass without seeing them, and muttered a litany to his many gods. At last they approached the clearing that marked the center of the pass, and Makesh suggested they stop for the midday meal. Javak frowned at Makesh, Jhenni looked to Deveth. It was yet early, and human and animal alike seemed uneasy in this place. But both caravaneers began setting up the small pavilion well away from where the caravan stood in the shade of the mountain. They set out the food and wine with a sort of grim determination that did nothing to reassure either bodyguard or princess. Both knelt on the embroidered cushions across from Makesh and his son, who drank but did not eat. Makesh kept glancing at the sky, as if expecting rain, and soon Javak and Jhenni found themselves doing likewise. Only Deveth's eyes remained within the pavilion, intent on the bottom of his wine cup. They had finished the last of the honeyed fruit and were licking their fingers when a rippling cry rose from the caravan. Makesh and Javak stepped from beneath the pavilion to see the drovers pointing toward a black speck in the azure sky. The guardsmen had already taken up a protective stance before the caravan. Jhenni's eyes met Deveth's, and the remorse she saw there chilled her soul as he rose and offered her hand. Together, they stepped from the shade of the pavilion as Javak's swords rang free of their sheaths. The black dot in the sky loomed larger now, the serpentine grace of it impacting on the senses before the mind recognized a shape cut from legend. "Dragon!" muttered Javak hoarsely, though he had meant it to be a shout. To the man's credit, he stood dumbstruck only a moment as the monster drew nearer. "Get to your wagon, Kharia!" She moved to obey, but Deveth held her hand fast in his. "There is no safety there, Jhenni. We would only bring destruction on the caravan." His sword hissed free of its sheath as well. Makesh shouted at him in alarm, but he met his father's gaze levelly. The screaming of terrified animals and slaves was suddenly silenced as a shadow fell over the four in the clearing. With a crack of its wings like sails taking wind, the creature braked its flight. The stench of sulfur burned their lungs as, with a sighing sound, the dragon settled to the ground. With a sinuous grace, the huge beast pivoted its head to regard them with one lambent eye the size of a platter. A forked tongue flicked from between curved teeth, flicking spittle that smoked and carved rivulets in stone. The brilliant sunlight ricocheted from its gleaming bronze and black scales, mottling to copper-gold on the wings and underbelly. In all, it was a most impressive and beautiful sight, and quite likely to be their last. While their brains screamed 'Run! Run!', their legs were leaden, their eyes locked to that glorious golden stare. With a mammoth undulating movement and a rustling like the inside of a potmakers cart, the dragon closed the ground between them. Makesh remained very still as the wedge shaped head pivoted on its slender neck to inspect him curiously. Again he tried to fathom the alien intelligence reflected in the beast's eyes, again failed. The tongue flicked out to brush his shoulder in what seemed almost a caress, leaving a smoking seared mark on his robe. Then the head swung toward the girl. Her eyes widened as she tried to pull free of the gentle but firm grip. Devesh only pulled her closer and whispered, "Our fates are entwined now. With a sudden cry, Devesh leaped forward, striking at the wide yellow eye. The armored lid snapped shut and his sword clanged uselessly from it. Tossing its head in irritation, the dragon knocked him effortlessly away. Javak was there, both swords whirring to strike with clashing noises against the head and throat armor. It battered him to the ground before it, lightly placing one taloned foot on his chest to pin him there. Too terrified to run, Jhenni trembled soundlessly as the gleaming head swung again toward her. Nostrils flaring delicately, tongue barely flicking into view, the dragon inspected her carefully. Suddenly, like a packbeast who has caught a nose full of dust, the serpent expelled all its breath in one disgusted snort, flinging its head up in rage. Deveth's heart sank where he lay in the sand a few feet away. He had doomed them all. The dragon shook itself all over with a rasping hiss of anger and half unfurled its leather wings. Then it paused, nostrils flaring to test the air again. It swung again to Jhenni, snorted again in derision, and then began casting about in a puzzled fashion. Slowly, the flat head lowered till it was looking down at Javak pinned beneath its foot. He struggled and swore, uselessly striking steel against scales, as the dragon carefully inspected him. Turning back to Makesh with an almost human expression of pleasure, the dragon clutched the bodyguard tightly against its chest and unfurled its wings with a whoosh. The gust knocked them all off their feet, and then it was beating its way skyward. The tiny, struggling figure of Javak was quickly lost to view. A ragged cheer went up from the caravan behind them. Jhenni didn't know if they were cheering the dragon's departure, her survival, or poor unlikable Javak's fate. Devesh pulled her to her feet and helped her dust the sand from her clothing. When they looked up, Makesh was standing there. "It takes a virgin to appease that dragon, you know." he said conversationally. "I suppose the boy was a liar after all." A huge smile broke over his face. "You'll like living in the far lands, boy. We've wealth enough to make you a prince." Turning toward the caravan, he raised his arms and shouted, "Well, what are you waiting for? We have a wedding to attend!" end
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