are. With staves,” she added wickedly. “Like a slave.”
“What?” Orest exclaimed, taken strongly aback.
“So if you don’t start to act serious about your studies, you could find yourself with a set of stripes like a slave,” she continued. She ate a last grape then, and stood up. “Good night, brother mine,” she said. “Consider yourself warned. Good night, Kiron, I hope you’re less sore in the morning. I think you’ll quite enjoy reading when you’ve learned to.” Then she turned to the dragon in her circle of braziers. “Good night, Avatre,” she said, fondly.
The dragon open one eye, and sighed gustily. Aket-ten laughed, and padded across the courtyard to the door that must lead to her rooms.
Orest looked after her, baffled. “Where does she find out these things?” he asked no one in particular. Then he looked at Kiron, who shrugged.
“But if she’s right about those Joust-Masters, she’s also right about getting out of the habit of slipping away from lessons whenever you feel like it,” he pointed out. “Look, I’ve been a serf, and I know what a real beating feels like. I’ll show you my back at some point. Khefti-the-Fat left scars. It’s not something you want to find out for yourself.”
Orest groaned. “You’re right, and I know you’re right, but . . . well, a fellow likes to talk to his friends now and again.”
“Maybe, but all day? Or most of it, anyway.” Orest couldn’t be much older than Kiron was, but somehow Kiron felt as if he was as old as Ari, and Orest was as young as that newly liberated serf taken from Khefti-the-Fat. Younger. He hadn’t needed encouragement to do his duty once he wasn’t being abused anymore. Orest was certainly spoiled, and it was time for him to start picking up his responsibilities.
“But there was you—and Avatre—and the dragon-egg idea—” Orest protested weakly. “Everyone wanted to hear about it!”
“And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for a lot more tomorrows I am still going to be here, and so will Avatre, and so will the dragon egg idea.” It was utterly ridiculous on the face of it, that he should be acting like a mentor and elder to one no older than he himself.
But Orest had gotten his own way quite enough—not enough to make him into an overindulged monster, but enough that he was too careless and carefree. And Kiron—
I’ve lived through a hundred times more than he has. Maybe I’m right to feel old.
“How would you feel if you ‘forgot’ to feed your dragonet because you were chatting with your friends, and she became ill with hunger?” he demanded. “Or worse, you weren’t looking in on her, and something bad happened to her? She could tear a wing membrane and bleed to death, she could break a wing bone and cripple herself, she could even wander out of her pen and into the pen of one of the Jousting dragons and be killed and eaten!”
Orest hung his head. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know you’re right. It’s just—a fellow likes to have friends.”
“Well, if they can’t adjust to you working harder, they aren’t friends worth having,” Kiron replied. “You don’t want friends who’ll encourage you to be a lay-about if you want to raise a dragon and be a Jouster, Orest. You want friends who’ll say, ‘listen, why don’t we get together after you’ve done what you need to do?’ Those are the ones worth hanging onto.”
Orest raised his head and smiled wanly. “You sound like one of my tutors. So why do I like you so much?”
“Maybe because I want you to have a dragon, and I want you to be a Jouster, at least as much as you do,” Kiron replied warmly. “And maybe because I might be the right kind of friend?”
“That might be the answer. Good night, Kiron. If I’m going to be virtuous, I had better get my sleep so I can read that blasted scroll over breakfast.” Orest stood up, and motioned to the servants to clear away the remains of dinner.
“Good night, Orest,” he
“What?” Orest exclaimed, taken strongly aback.
“So if you don’t start to act serious about your studies, you could find yourself with a set of stripes like a slave,” she continued. She ate a last grape then, and stood up. “Good night, brother mine,” she said. “Consider yourself warned. Good night, Kiron, I hope you’re less sore in the morning. I think you’ll quite enjoy reading when you’ve learned to.” Then she turned to the dragon in her circle of braziers. “Good night, Avatre,” she said, fondly.
The dragon open one eye, and sighed gustily. Aket-ten laughed, and padded across the courtyard to the door that must lead to her rooms.
Orest looked after her, baffled. “Where does she find out these things?” he asked no one in particular. Then he looked at Kiron, who shrugged.
“But if she’s right about those Joust-Masters, she’s also right about getting out of the habit of slipping away from lessons whenever you feel like it,” he pointed out. “Look, I’ve been a serf, and I know what a real beating feels like. I’ll show you my back at some point. Khefti-the-Fat left scars. It’s not something you want to find out for yourself.”
Orest groaned. “You’re right, and I know you’re right, but . . . well, a fellow likes to talk to his friends now and again.”
“Maybe, but all day? Or most of it, anyway.” Orest couldn’t be much older than Kiron was, but somehow Kiron felt as if he was as old as Ari, and Orest was as young as that newly liberated serf taken from Khefti-the-Fat. Younger. He hadn’t needed encouragement to do his duty once he wasn’t being abused anymore. Orest was certainly spoiled, and it was time for him to start picking up his responsibilities.
“But there was you—and Avatre—and the dragon-egg idea—” Orest protested weakly. “Everyone wanted to hear about it!”
“And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for a lot more tomorrows I am still going to be here, and so will Avatre, and so will the dragon egg idea.” It was utterly ridiculous on the face of it, that he should be acting like a mentor and elder to one no older than he himself.
But Orest had gotten his own way quite enough—not enough to make him into an overindulged monster, but enough that he was too careless and carefree. And Kiron—
I’ve lived through a hundred times more than he has. Maybe I’m right to feel old.
“How would you feel if you ‘forgot’ to feed your dragonet because you were chatting with your friends, and she became ill with hunger?” he demanded. “Or worse, you weren’t looking in on her, and something bad happened to her? She could tear a wing membrane and bleed to death, she could break a wing bone and cripple herself, she could even wander out of her pen and into the pen of one of the Jousting dragons and be killed and eaten!”
Orest hung his head. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know you’re right. It’s just—a fellow likes to have friends.”
“Well, if they can’t adjust to you working harder, they aren’t friends worth having,” Kiron replied. “You don’t want friends who’ll encourage you to be a lay-about if you want to raise a dragon and be a Jouster, Orest. You want friends who’ll say, ‘listen, why don’t we get together after you’ve done what you need to do?’ Those are the ones worth hanging onto.”
Orest raised his head and smiled wanly. “You sound like one of my tutors. So why do I like you so much?”
“Maybe because I want you to have a dragon, and I want you to be a Jouster, at least as much as you do,” Kiron replied warmly. “And maybe because I might be the right kind of friend?”
“That might be the answer. Good night, Kiron. If I’m going to be virtuous, I had better get my sleep so I can read that blasted scroll over breakfast.” Orest stood up, and motioned to the servants to clear away the remains of dinner.
“Good night, Orest,” he
Similar Books
