Hating himself and hating his captors even more, he opened his wings and leaped into the air.
It was difficult. The circus master’s commands prevented him from going higher than the tops of the wagons, and the ring was too small for comfort. The ends of his wings were sore from repeatedly banging into things, and he had developed a sort of half-folded flight that made the muscles in his back scream in pain after just a few minutes.
‘Now land.’ Before he could even think about it, Benfro obeyed. It galled him that so commanded he seemed able to take off and land far better than he had ever managed in the months he had practised in Corwen’s clearing.
‘Good. That’s better.’ The circus master stepped down
off his box and walked over to where Benfro stood. Loghtan, he was called, and his son was Tegwin. Benfro wasn’t sure who he hated the most. Tegwin was cruel because he liked it, and didn’t confine his cruelty to the animals in the circus. Most of the people gave him a wide berth too, especially when he had been drinking. But Loghtan was cruel because that was the only way he seemed to know how to get what he wanted. Benfro didn’t suppose the man had ever said please, or simply asked someone for a favour. It was his nature to demand, with a crack of the whip or a fist to the head to make sure his demand was met swiftly.
‘You should have learned by now that I always get my way.’ The circus master reached up and clipped a long rope to the chain halter fastened around Benfro’s neck when he had first been captured. Loghtan wasn’t a big man, not tall like Inquisitor Melyn’s captain. He was short and wiry, with a dark face creased by an outdoor life. What little hair he had left curled tight around the edges of his scalp in shades of greasy grey, and spilled out of his overlarge ears. Benfro knew that he could reach out, pick him up and break his back in a single motion. He remembered the ease with which he had killed the man attacking Errol; they broke easily, these people. And he remembered too the fire he had breathed, reducing the dead body to nothing but fine ash. Well, a body didn’t need to be dead first, did it? All he had to do was summon up the flame and breathe.
Instead he bowed his head, the easier for Loghtan to tether him like a dog. Though his every thought screamed ‘Kill!’, he could do nothing but collude in his own entrapment and humiliation.
Loghtan led him out of the ring through a gap in the wagons, and Benfro followed as docilely as any pack mule. He hunched himself down, his wings folded as tightly to his body as possible in shame as they went past the campfire. The circus performers were having their evening meal, and the smell of cooking meat made his stomach gurgle. Benfro had eaten nothing for days but the rancid scraps thrown into his cage each morning. He knew they were laden with whatever drug it was that Loghtan used to control him, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from eating. One barked command from his new master was all it took.
The large wagon was parked at the edge of the camp, its sides down for a change, letting the warm plains air through the metal bars. It looked like one of the animal handlers had thrown a few buckets of water in, no doubt as a token gesture towards cleaning out the mess. The cage was large enough to house two dragons, but not so big that they could avoid fouling it. As he was led up the short ramp and waited for Loghtan to open the vast padlock, Benfro looked across to the nearest wagon, where the two lioncats sat, staring despondently at nothing in particular. They were so bowed down, so defeated as to be barely alive. He was beginning to know how they felt.
‘In.’ Loghtan’s command was necessary; Benfro could do almost nothing without the circus master’s express order. He bent low and squeezed through the small door. Inside the cage what little straw that hadn’t been washed out was sodden and rank-smelling. The other
It was difficult. The circus master’s commands prevented him from going higher than the tops of the wagons, and the ring was too small for comfort. The ends of his wings were sore from repeatedly banging into things, and he had developed a sort of half-folded flight that made the muscles in his back scream in pain after just a few minutes.
‘Now land.’ Before he could even think about it, Benfro obeyed. It galled him that so commanded he seemed able to take off and land far better than he had ever managed in the months he had practised in Corwen’s clearing.
‘Good. That’s better.’ The circus master stepped down
off his box and walked over to where Benfro stood. Loghtan, he was called, and his son was Tegwin. Benfro wasn’t sure who he hated the most. Tegwin was cruel because he liked it, and didn’t confine his cruelty to the animals in the circus. Most of the people gave him a wide berth too, especially when he had been drinking. But Loghtan was cruel because that was the only way he seemed to know how to get what he wanted. Benfro didn’t suppose the man had ever said please, or simply asked someone for a favour. It was his nature to demand, with a crack of the whip or a fist to the head to make sure his demand was met swiftly.
‘You should have learned by now that I always get my way.’ The circus master reached up and clipped a long rope to the chain halter fastened around Benfro’s neck when he had first been captured. Loghtan wasn’t a big man, not tall like Inquisitor Melyn’s captain. He was short and wiry, with a dark face creased by an outdoor life. What little hair he had left curled tight around the edges of his scalp in shades of greasy grey, and spilled out of his overlarge ears. Benfro knew that he could reach out, pick him up and break his back in a single motion. He remembered the ease with which he had killed the man attacking Errol; they broke easily, these people. And he remembered too the fire he had breathed, reducing the dead body to nothing but fine ash. Well, a body didn’t need to be dead first, did it? All he had to do was summon up the flame and breathe.
Instead he bowed his head, the easier for Loghtan to tether him like a dog. Though his every thought screamed ‘Kill!’, he could do nothing but collude in his own entrapment and humiliation.
Loghtan led him out of the ring through a gap in the wagons, and Benfro followed as docilely as any pack mule. He hunched himself down, his wings folded as tightly to his body as possible in shame as they went past the campfire. The circus performers were having their evening meal, and the smell of cooking meat made his stomach gurgle. Benfro had eaten nothing for days but the rancid scraps thrown into his cage each morning. He knew they were laden with whatever drug it was that Loghtan used to control him, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from eating. One barked command from his new master was all it took.
The large wagon was parked at the edge of the camp, its sides down for a change, letting the warm plains air through the metal bars. It looked like one of the animal handlers had thrown a few buckets of water in, no doubt as a token gesture towards cleaning out the mess. The cage was large enough to house two dragons, but not so big that they could avoid fouling it. As he was led up the short ramp and waited for Loghtan to open the vast padlock, Benfro looked across to the nearest wagon, where the two lioncats sat, staring despondently at nothing in particular. They were so bowed down, so defeated as to be barely alive. He was beginning to know how they felt.
‘In.’ Loghtan’s command was necessary; Benfro could do almost nothing without the circus master’s express order. He bent low and squeezed through the small door. Inside the cage what little straw that hadn’t been washed out was sodden and rank-smelling. The other
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