The Boon of Alon

CHAPTER EIGHT

"First thing," Chama tells me as we pick our way down to the lake, "is that dragons are people. If you can touch them, you can talk to them, and most of them are reasonable."

"Okay." That's good news. I'm not the most adept conversationalist out there, but I haven't managed to offend anyone yet. And riders seem to be, on the whole, kind of unreasonably nice, but the dragons are also presumably here because they want to be.

"Second thing. They're old as shit. There's maybe two dragons out here today–" she squints down into the valley "–yeah, two, who haven't already had at least a handful of riders. So, y'know, chat, but remember they're all older than your grandma."

"So is this kind of like a banquet?" I ask. The stairs felt a little dangerous, but the trail afterwards is a pleasant walk, sloping gently down towards the lake. I think it'll be painful coming back up, though.

Chama cackles. "Sure, yeah, be respectful. At least these guys are on our side, though."

Sure, but if their riders are any indication, I'm going to be asking the dragons some questions they might not like. And there's a couple dozen of them to search through.

"So what's the bucket for?" I ask. It is, fortunately, empty, but I don't think it'll stay that way for long. Chama's carrying one, too.

"Oil," she says. "Eh, where do I start with this? Dragon wings tend to kind of dry out with frequent flying. You know how they breathe fire?"

"I know that they do..." And I have no idea where she's going with this.

"They have a sort of fuel gland," she says, turning back to me for a second and cupping the top of her throat with her free hand. "They make this oil out of the animals they eat and they squirt it out and set it on fire. It's why dragon flame sticks to things—you'll see. Anyway, if it weren't for us, they'd use that oil also to moisturize their wings. Problem is, it reeks to high heaven. Just absolutely rancid. So we get plant-based oil in bulk and slather it on their wings for them. It smells much better and this way, you get a chance to talk." She grins back at me. "Which is why we make you guys do it for all the unpaired dragons. They only need it two or three times a week, but there's more of them than there are of you."

And here I thought the breathing fire thing was going to be a tangent. I can't decide if I'm going to like her teaching style or hate it.

We reach the bottom of the trail where it meets the lakeside shortly. The dragons and the other recruits are already here, along with a number of full riders; tucked amid the colorful bunch is a large shack which, upon approach, reveals itself to house a large wooden tank. Wagon ruts trail off from the shack into the distance. There are a couple of people already at the tank when we reach it, so we join the line while I try not to stare. I'd kind of forgotten how damn big dragons are up close, and Arnet sure wasn't the biggest.

"I asked Arnet to grab someone friendly for your first go," says Chama. "We'll get our oil, find him, I'll show you how it works, and then you can oil up a new friend. Sound good?"

"Yeah," I say, still scanning the crowd. It was a silver dragon that spoke Suthi's prophecy, right? The rebellion's prophecy about me is my bigger concern, since they definitely want me dead and Suthi maybe doesn't anymore, but I don't know what kind of dragon spoke it. There are only a few silver dragons, and a couple of gold—the rest are shades of blue, red, and green, ranging from bright jewel tones to nearly black. Actually, I think a couple are just black. Anyway, the silver dragons are few enough for me to have a place to start. If they have riders, maybe I can see who they are; if not, maybe I can talk to the dragons directly.

"See something you like?" Chama nudges me. "Wait till you meet them before you go getting your heart set on anyone. Especially the metallics. They're picky."