Dragon by Jeff Stone Page A

is a very reliable mount. Best of all, I believe he likes you. I can walk back to my stables.”
    “Likes me?” Long asked, looking over at the horse. It still had that intense gleam in its eye. “How do you know?”
    “He has not tried to bite you.”
    “Horses
bite?”
    Cang groaned. “You really do not know what you are getting yourself into, do you? Get out of here before I change my mind.”

L ong rode faster than the wind, crossing
li
upon
li
of open grassland. At first, he loved every moment of it. It felt as though he were flying, the ride igniting feelings he had never known were locked away inside him. It must have been his inner dragon, soaring for the first time.
    The feeling didn’t last long. The farther he rode, the more uncomfortable he became. The terrain quickly grew arid, and cold, dry breezes made his skin crack. He began to see pockets of barren earth dusted with sand, the sand somehow managing to find its way deep into his eyes, ears, nose, and hair, even though he wore a hat pulled down over his head and most of his face. Fortunately, GuangZe seemed immune to these discomforts.
    On his third day out, he reached the outpost andthe edge of the Gobi Desert, where there was nothing to the west but sand as far as he could see. It was a strange place, this desert in the north. While he had previously associated deserts with tales Grandmaster had shared of hot places, here on the fringes it was beginning to snow.
    The outpost itself was little more than two weather-beaten buildings, one fairly large and one small. Thick smoke poured out of a chimney attached to the small one, and Long heard the sound of metal being hammered within. That was obviously Ding-Xiang’s blacksmith shop.
    Attached to one side of the larger building was a small stable containing three squat Mongolian horses. Long headed for the stable in the approaching dusk, and his
dan tien
began to warm. There were people inside.
    As Long neared, two short men stepped out of the stable’s shadowed interior. They were covered from head to toe in tattered black silk, their faces hidden by an extension of the black turbans on their heads. The only thing showing was their narrow eyes. Each man held a long, curved sword unlike any Long had ever seen. The swords were sheathed, but held in an aggressive manner.
    Long did not want any trouble. However, if there was to be some, the last place he wanted to be was atop a horse. He dismounted quickly and tied GuangZe to a post as the men approached. One of them said in heavily accented Mandarin Chinese, “That is a fine animal.”
    “Thank you,” Long replied, unable to determine what country the man came from. “Do you know where I can find DingXiang the blacksmith?”
    “He is not here.”
    Long pointed toward the small building. “Who is in there, then?”
    “His apprentice, but he is very busy right now. Perhaps we can help you?”
    “I appreciate your offer, but I prefer to wait for DingXiang.”
    “He is not expected back for many hours. What is it you need from him?”
    Long did not reply.
    The man turned away from Long and looked at GuangZe. “That sure is a fine animal,” he said again. “Would you consider selling him?”
    “No.”
    “We would be willing to give you a handsome sum for him, along with one of our horses so that you would still have transportation. Where are you headed? Tunhuang?”
    Long didn’t answer.
    “Of course you are. There is no other reason to be out here. Our horses know the way to Tunhuang blindfolded. They have spent their entire lives upon the sands. You would be much better off with one of them.”
    “No, thank you.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Positive.”
    The man shook his turbaned head and nodded toward his companion. “I guess we will have to take it by force, then.” Both men drew their swords and advanced toward Long.
    Long was not surprised. He glanced toward the stable, hoping to see a pitchfork or shovel or some other implement to help