of him and dried it instantly on his skin, giving the air no chance to cool the perspiration. He squinted into the canyon where merciless sunlight reflected off the rocks, then looked away, closing his eyes for a few heartbeats to ease the ache of glare. Shifting in his saddle, he sensed his unease being communicated to his horse. Silver-tufted ears flattened back and quivers chased each other through silken muscles beneath a glossy black hide.
“Patience, Akkal,” Chay murmured. “He knows what he’s doing.” Chay hoped so, anyway. Much time had passed since the dragon had chosen his ground and Zehava had drawn first blood. The prince’s movements were slower and the curvettes of his great war-stallion were growing sluggish. It appeared to Chay that the two old warriors, dragon and prince, were evenly matched now.
The dragon roared and snapped at Zehava, whose horse barely got him out of the way in time. Rocks clattered in the caves within the canyon, and the whimpers of waiting females rose to a whine. Each of them was safe and nervous and anxious to be alone with her chosen mate, calling out to him in plaintive demand for his presence.
Akkal trembled again and Chay calmed the horse. To distract himself from growing concern as Zehava narrowly avoided talons and teeth, Chay began to calculate how many females would die unmated in the caves and how many eggs would lie unfertilized once this dragon was dead. Fifteen females, perhaps, with twenty or so eggs each, of which five or six at most might survive to fly. Multiply this number by the nine other sires Zehava had killed in mating years, plus their females, and the total was staggering. Yet there were always more dragons. The Desert gave forth hundreds of hatchlings every three summers that roamed over the princedoms ravaging crops and herds. Killing the mating sires was the most efficient way of cutting down the population, for the unmated females and their unfertilized eggs were lost, too. But even this was a losing proposition in the end. There were always more dragons.
Chaynal sighed and stroked Akkal’s neck. Zehava’s power rested in part on his ability to cut down the dragon population. Would Rohan be able to do as much when his turn came? It was not a happy thought. Fond as he was of his wife’s brother, and much as he sincerely respected Rohan’s gifts, he knew the young prince hadn’t the stomach for killing dragons. Strength in battle as demonstrated by these hunts was an integral part of the Desert’s power. What other basis for rule was there than military victory?
Chay’s own family had guarded the Desert’s one safe port for generations, their prestige firmly based on providing and protecting trade. He was honest enough—and had enough of a sense of humor—to acknowledge that his forebears’ original power had come from baldfaced piracy; the money to build Radzyn Keep had not come from port fees legitimately gathered. In these civilized days, fast ships bearing the red-and-white Radzyn banner no longer roamed the Small Islands or hid in coves waiting for rich merchantmen. Nowadays his ships patrolled the waters to keep them safe. But war and thievery endured in his family line, he reminded himself with a whimsical smile. He had fought with great enjoyment as Zehava’s battle commander, and every three years at the Rialla he entertained himself with legal robbery when he sold his horses. Fighting battles and outsmarting one’s trading partners: these were excellent bases for power. Rohan had shown himself a capable warrior that memorable day against the Merida—though he’d nearly given his parents apoplexy when they had discovered his unauthorized presence—and he was clever enough when he chose to be. But Rohan was not a warrior by choice, nor an instinctive bargainer.
Chay’s attention was pulled back to the battle before him as the dragon’s wings spread and cast a shadow across the sun. He circled upward on thermals and bellowed his fury, then hurtled down with claws extended toward Zehava. The prince calculated the leap to a hair’s breadth, waiting until the last instant before hauling his outraged stallion around out of range. As he did so, his sword slashed a bloody rent in the dragon’s hide. The beast screamed in agony and a muted cheer went up from the other riders as the dragon’s hind legs sank into soft sand, wings flapping as he struggled for purchase. Zehava swung his horse around and stabbed the dragon’s flank