Three: He Who Rides a Dragon . . .
Initial client contact is often the most delicate part of the project.
The Consultants’ Handbook
“I do not like this,” Moira said as she and Wiz walked back out to the courtyard a few minutes later. Bal-Simba and the others were trailing by a few yards to give them some privacy.
Wiz grimaced. “It’s not my idea of a summer afternoon’s stroll either, but we don’t have a lot of choice.”
“We could refuse the dragon now,” she said fiercely, “and fight him if he wills it!”
“And get a lot of people killed unnecessarily.” Wiz shook his head. “You heard Bal-Simba. We can’t protect the town right now, much less the countryside. In a few hours we’ll have the spells ready to hunt him down, but now we’ve got to buy time.”
“And you are to be the sacrifice,” Moira said bitterly. Then she sighed. “Oh, I know you are right, love. And so is Bal-Simba. But for once I wish it could be someone else.”
Wiz stopped under the final gate and pulled her close, almost losing his staff in the process. “Come on, it’s not that bad. I’ve only got to stall him for a few hours and, hey, maybe the dragon wants something easy.” He kissed her and felt her relax in his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Honest.”
Moira broke away from him and tried to smile. “I know, love,” she said softly.
“Besides, I’ve got this.” Wiz held up his hand to show off his ring of protection. “Anything dangerous happens and this spell kicks in immediately. So quit worrying.” He leaned close and kissed her again. Then he let go, turned and stepped out into the courtyard.
Wurm was where Wiz had left him. “Are you ready, Wizard?”
Wiz slipped the leather thong of his staff over his head and shoulder.
Then he exhaled and tried to sound chipper. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The dragon bent its enormous neck down and Wiz swung his leg over. Then the beast raised its head and the spines moved together, cradling Wiz gently but firmly between them. Wiz made himself as comfortable as he could and tried not to think what would happen if the dragon arched his neck further.
Instead Wurm raised his head and Wiz was carried aloft with the swooping suddenness of an amusement park ride. Before he could adjust to his new perspective the dragon pushed off the wall and unfurled his gigantic wings with a beat that sent wind swirling through the courtyard, kicking up stray leaves and blowing grit back in Wiz’s face. Wiz squinched his eyes shut involuntarily and nearly lost his lunch as his inner ear, deprived of a visual cross check, protested strongly. By the time he got his eyes open, the Wizard’s Keep was dwindling toy-like below and the land was spreading out like a patterned quilt beneath them.
Bareback on a dragon was not the most comfortable way to travel, Wiz discovered. At least not when you were riding a monster like Wurm. Unlike the cavalry mounts, Wurm was so large that a human could not straddle his neck comfortably. Trying to sit astride was like doing the splits. By extending his legs forward along the dragon’s neck Wiz could bring them comfortably close together, but that left him supporting most of their weight with his stomach muscles. Eventually he settled for a jockey-style seat with his legs drawn up as if his feet were in very short stirrups. If he shifted position frequently his muscles didn’t protest too badly.
To keep his mind off his muscles-and his predicament-he studied the scenery passing beneath them. As nearly as he could estimate from the size of the fields below they were about as high as an airliner flies. But airliners are heated and pressurized and there was no sign of either on Wurm’s neck. Still, legs and back aside, Wiz was as comfortable-well, as physically comfortable-as he had been back in the courtyard of the Wizard’s Keep. Wiz spent a few minutes considering the implications of that for this world’s physics and then finally dismissed it as magic.
After an hour or more Wiz began to fidget, and not just from the cramps.
They were passing beyond the lands of man and well into the Wild Wood.
“How much further is it?” he asked.
“Far enough,” his host/mount replied.
“I mean when will we get there?”
“When we arrive.” The dragon sounded amused. “You mortals, always so fastened on time and distance.”
“I thought dragons were mortal too. I mean you die don’t you?”
“Even the ever-living can die, Wizard, as you know. Mortal implies a finite life-span.”
“Well, don’t dragons grow old and die?”
“Grow old, yes. But I have never heard of a dragon dying naturally.”
That had several implications and Wiz wasn’t sure he liked any of them.
“How old are you?”
“I do not know. Even if I had remembered to count the seasons, we do not become self-aware until we are nearly full grown. Ask the little one in the courtyard how old he is and see what you get for an answer.”
“The little one . . . oh, you mean the young dragon.”
Again the amusement in Wurm’s “voice.” “There was no one else in the courtyard as I recall.”
“That’s the pet, uh, playmate of a friend’s kid. He calls him Fluffy for some reason.”
“That is because he is,” Wurm said in Wiz’s head.
“Fluffy?”
“Of course. Can you not sense it?”
Wiz wasn’t sure whether the dragon was joking or not and considering the circumstances he didn’t want to find out.
“In any event,” Wurm went on, “the experience will probably help him. Your kind is spreading everywhere and knowing humans well will serve him even better than it has served me.”
“You were a cavalry mount, weren’t you?” Wiz asked with a sudden burst of insight.
“I was.”
“I thought you said you didn’t remember before you became intelligent.”
“I said we could not count. Just because we are not intelligent does not mean we do not remember.”
Wiz wondered if dragons bore grudges.
“In probability it helped me,” Wurm said, so quickly Wiz’s next wonder was if dragons could read minds. “Most of my kind die before they attain reason. A few score years fed and cared for undoubtedly bettered my odds.”
“But don’t your parents take care of you?”
“We are able to care for ourselves from the moment we hatch,” the dragon said. “Our mother is long gone before our birth.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? It is the way of dragonkind since time began. We avoid the entanglements of those who are born in groups of their kind and it ensures we will be strong and clever-those who survive.”
Wurm didn’t say it but the subtext was clear: This was one strong, clever dragon.
They flew a while more in silence.
“Wurm? When you were in the cavalry whose side were you on? I mean who . .
.”