laughed and thrust the dagger back into its sheath. “Not me, my lord! I never went near their homes until they’d flown back south. Get near those rows of teeth, most of them twice the size of this one? Not me!”
They reached the narrow path that led up the side of the crater, and it became necessary to ride single file. Rohan found it frustrating not to continue his talk with this gray-eyed girl who counted his dragons and probably knew as much about them as he did. But he promised himself a good long discussion with Feylin in private once they returned to the keep.
It was slow going along the ledge, and as Rohan guided Pashta close behind Farid’s dappled gray, he imagined what it must be like to traverse this path with heavy dragon gold off-balancing rider and horse. A better road would have alerted outsiders to strange happenings at Skybowl, though. From the cliffs they rode down a slippery trail into a canyon where the wind had carved sculptures both beautiful and grotesque. Lumpish castles boasted graceful spires; hideous creatures sprouted multiple limbs; huge rocks seemed balanced on fragile spikes no wider than a swordblade. The rock shaded from garnet to amber to onyx, colors slicing through each other at strange, dizzying angles. The Court of the Storm God it was called, and Rohan’s active imagination created a variety of impossible monsters lurking among the shadows. He had seen the canyon in most of its moods, from blazing morning to weird sunset to skin-chilling moonlight, when the shadows blurred and sometimes tripled depending on the position of the moons in the sky.
A full five measures of precipitous trail wound through the Court, and the riders maintained a respectful silence. Then Farid led them in the opposite direction from the caves, explaining to Rohan over his shoulder that the valley nearby was the perfect place for the dragons to perform their dances, and beyond this were more cliffs where even now the bittersweet plants were being devoured. Rohan knew the trail well; the crop of bittersweet was the one he and Farid had laced with dranath.
He glanced around at Tilal, whose eyes were circles of astonished curiosity. A pity he was the younger son and would not inherit River Run; the education and experience he was gaining in the Desert would have made him a fine athri. Perhaps when he reached Walvis’ age and was knighted, Rohan could find a place for him that would utilize the talents being nurtured now.
After a steep climb out of the Court they halted on a crest to look out over a sandy valley. She-dragons rested in the sun, wallowing in warmth. Pale bronze and dark scarlet and deep silver-gray hides soaked up afternoon sun; here and there a wing slowly unfolded to gather up as much heat as possible, and great heads turned with snapping jaws when a neighbor crowded too close. They were huge, deadly, the most beautiful things Rohan had ever seen—but so few. He counted rapidly, and found that of the thirty-two females Feylin had reported, only nineteen lounged here on the sand. Gesturing her to his side, he asked, “Where are the others?”
She shrugged, tossing her untidy dark red braid back over her shoulder. “I don’t know, my lord. They may have flown off looking for caves. They won’t go near the ones at Skybowl. Lord Farid ordered them cleared out twenty days ago, hoping the dragons would use them this year, but I’m sure they sense that people have been there. Dragons are more intelligent than anybody thinks.”
Farid guided his horse over and said, “I’m worried about the sires, too. Perhaps they’re with their other ladies, but where?”
“The North Vere is too cold,” Feylin mused. “The eggs would take too long to hatch. Down south it’s hot enough, but except for Rivenrock most of the caves have collapsed. I made a survey last year, my lord,” she explained as Rohan questioned her with a lifted brow. “The only suitable caves are here and at a place just this side of Feruche Castle. Hot enough, big enough, sturdy enough, and with bittersweet growing nearby to get those old sires ready.” She grinned. “That’s what the plant’s for, you know.”
Rohan choked on sudden laughter. “Is it really? I’ll have to wrap some up and make a present of it to Roelstra.”
Farid, straight-faced but with a gleeful, malicious sparkle in his eyes, said, “It’s rumored that the production of