daughters is down because certain things have trouble coming up.”
Tilal, whose gaze had never left the dragons, called out softly, “My lord! I think they’ve seen us!”
Rohan’s attention turned to the valley, where several females had raised their heads to stare up at the ridge. “We’d best be off, then. I wouldn’t want to disturb these ladies from their naps. But I’d like a look at the sires. Farid, do you think they might be up on the cliffs? It won’t be dark for some time yet.”
Once out of sight of the she-dragons, they were able to pick up the pace without fear of attracting unwanted attention. The going was easier, too, as they followed an ancient riverbed down from the hillcrest and then went up another slope. They heard the dragons long before they reached the summit that overlooked a boulder-strewn gorge. On the far cliffs three massive sires were busy tearing up bittersweet by the roots. Occasionally one would roar at the others, and the echoes set off clattering rockslides.
Tilal’s jaw had descended to his chest. “My lord, is it true you killed one of those?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Rohan answered curtly, not wanting to remember. “Let’s go closer, Farid.” Slanting an amused glance at Feylin, he added,
“I’ll hold you excused from joining us.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said fervently, wide and wary eyes on the three sires.
Scrub grew along the summit, dry bushes barely green in which a few birds perched on their way elsewhere. The shadows were deepening as the sun slowly fell, but Rohan had no thought for the time. He wanted to see those dragons up close—strong, healthy, proud creatures, not corpses rotting in the sand.
“Up there, my lord!” Tilal gasped, pointing to the sky.
A dozen more dragons sailed through the air on powerful wings, the missing females in northward flight. They paid no attention to the sires who screamed to attract them. Coppery and black and green-brown, the she-dragons flew in their arrogant strength, and Rohan suddenly laughed aloud with the joy of their freedom. He gave in to impulse and pressed his stallion into a gallop. Farid called out a caution that he ignored. He urged Pashta to greater speed along the hills and they soared over the rocky ground, his golden robe billowing out behind him like wings. He, too, was a dragon in free flight.
The way descended for half a measure, than banked steeply up. He could see the dragons above him and knew they would soon outdistance him and disappear into the mountains around Feruche—and damn Ianthe, who would probably send out her latest lover to slaughter a dragon for her whims. The wind swirled around him, blew Pashta’s mane back into his eyes, whipped at his face and half-bared chest. Leaping a huge boulder, for just an instant he felt the surge of muscle and wing that would take him skyward along with the dragons—
A searing pain struck his right shoulder and he thought a rock had flown up from the stallion’s hooves. But something dragged at the wound. He groped around with his left hand, drawing rein with the right that was beginning to go slightly numb, and his fingers snagged at the hilt of a knife.
A stand of thin, dry shrubs was ahead of him, and from it ran six men on foot, some with bows, others with swords. Pashta skidded on the loose stones, shrieking a battle challenge as his blood and training dictated, and reared up with hooves lashing out. Rohan hung on, grasping his sword with his left hand and one of his boot-knives with his right. The men came for him, one of them grabbing the stallion’s bridle as he came down; a powerful yank jerked the horse’s head around and the man lost a chunk of sleeve and flesh for his pains. But balance was lost. Even as Rohan hacked through upraised arms and stabbed into chests, Pashta foundered and Rohan toppled to the ground.
His vision exploded in black rainbows as a hand pulled at the knife in his shoulder, tearing down through muscle. His sword was wrested from his grip. He tried to roll away, but the man still had a grip on the blade and twisted it once again. Instinct alone drove his elbow back into the man’s belly. Momentarily freed, he wrenched the knife from his flesh. The pain sent him reeling.
He heard Farid’s shout of his name, Tilal’s frantic call. He spun, crying out an order for them