Dragonfire by Karleen Bradford

nag.
    Dahl looked at Catryn dubiously.
    “Have you ever ridden before?” he asked.
    “No,” she replied.
    “Will you be able to do it?”
    “Of course,” she answered. “The horse and I know each other. We belong to each other now.”
    Again, Dahl felt a stab of jealousy.
    “If I am to fight, surely it is I who must own the horse. It has been so in every tale I ever heard around the evening fires. It is the hero of the tale who rides the wondrous horse.”
    “Tales told by men to other men.” Catryn sniffed. “The truth oft lies elsewhere.”
    There was a curious sort of snort from the Protector. Dahl looked at him quickly, but, if it had been laughter, there was no sign of it on his face. Dahl fought back the jealousy.
    It is unworthy of me, he thought. He could not completely tamp the feeling down, though, as he made a stirrup of his hands and motioned to Catryn to mount.
    “Cover that hair of yours with the hood of your cloak, little cat,” the Protector said. “It flames like a beacon. We would not have it attract attention.”
    Dahl arranged the sword so that it lay comfortably across his back. With his cloak on, nothing showed except the plain leather of the belt holding it, and yet it was within easy reach. Jealousy forgotten now, he marveled, when he had it adjusted, at how normal it all felt. His father’s sword—had he ever worn it thus? He turned to the Protector again. There was no one there. In a sudden panic, he called out.
    “Protector, where are you? Where have you gone?”
    A sweep of wings was his only answer as a hawk uttered a hoarse cry, then rose effortlessly into the air. It circled once, high enough so that its immense size was not apparent to anyone below, then flew out of sight.
    Dahl stared after it. Never had he felt so alone.
    “Dahl?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “Dahl?” Catryn repeated. “Are you ready?”
    “Yes.” With an effort he tore his eyes away from the void above him. He reached for the horse’s halter.The Protector’s instructions to look worried were easy to carry out.
    The Protector had mapped out the path they had to follow, and had shown him where they would camp for the night. As they descended farther into the valley, they would find a copse of pine trees on the outskirts of a small village. There was shelter there, where they would be able to build a fire. Only then, he had told them, would he return.
    Their first test came almost immediately. They had not yet met anyone other than the Elders in this strange world, so it was with a shock of surprise that they saw a band of men coming toward them. The men were dressed as Dahl was. Dahl’s heart sank as a thought occurred to him. How would they understand them? How could they speak to them? Surely the people of this land would speak a different language from their own. But even as the leader of the band hailed them with familiar words, Dahl realized he and Catryn had been speaking and understanding the language of this world ever since they had arrived.
    “Hail, fellow. Where go you?” the stranger called.
    Dahl returned the greeting with a raised hand. He furrowed his brow. Beside him, Catryn slumped on the horse. “My sister is ailing,” he answered. “We come from a village high in the mountains, and there is no one there who can cure her. We seek help in Daunus.”
    “I wish you luck, then, but I sorrow to tell you that you must not hold out many hopes. Daunus itself is an ailing city. The people there cannot even help themselves, much less strangers.”
    “What do you mean?” Dahl asked, but the man, as if aware that he had spoken unwisely, checked himself. His face, at first sympathetic, closed, and he looked around furtively.
    “I have said more than is wise. The trees have ears these days,” he muttered. “Go well,” he added quickly, then motioned to his companions. They hurried on. Dahl sighed with relief as they disappeared down the path.
    “We passed that test well, did we not?”