Royd examined the amulet. A deep, brilliant red in color, it was roughly teardrop-shaped and shimmered in a way that made it look like he wasn't actually touching its surface. It was warm to the touch, and when he squeezed it he could feel... not a vibration, exactly, but something that didn't belong in a normal rock, either.
"The sensation you're feeling isn't physical," Grail said. "At least, I've never been able to detect it with any kind of sensor. It's strictly a psychic effect." Royd nodded abstractedly. The key to Grail's power, and he was holding it in his hand. For a moment he was tempted... but Grail wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have deliberately disarmed himself. Reaching across the table, Royd dropped the amulet back into Grail's outstretched hand.
"I can call the dragons out to any distance from the amulet I choose, up to a few kilometers," the Dragonmaster went on, slipping the chain around his neck again. "And, of course, I don't have to be touching the amulet at the time."
"Of course," Royd repeated, a slight shiver running down his back. The old dictator was definitely not a safe man to underestimate. If Royd had yielded to the temptation to grab the amulet and run...
He resumed eating. Grail busied himself with the boxes of equipment, and by the time Royd had finished breakfast there were three sets of electronic displays arranged in a semicircle on the table in front of him.
Grail glanced at the empty tray. "Finished? Good. Get up, and put that tray somewhere."
Royd did so, and Grail slipped into his vacated chair, flipping a handful of switches and putting on a bulky headset. At once the displays came to life, showing a variety of squiggly curves. "What you're seeing are the shapes of some of the electrical waves in my brain," Grail explained. "Watch what happens to the patterns when I call one of the dragons."
Subtly, but noticeably, the curves changed, and an instant later the dragon stood beside them.
"And they'll change a bit more as I give it commands," Grail continued. "Watch."
The dragon turned and sprang to the window in a single twelve-meter leap, hissed once, and then did a little shadowboxing with its front paws. Then it vanished, and the displayed curves resumed their original shapes.
Grail looked up at Royd. "You're going to have to learn how to control your own brain waves so as to match the ones you just saw. For starters"—he pointed out a relatively high peak on one of the curves—"you can try to flatten this to about half its size." He demonstrated, then stood up and handed the headset to Royd. Automatically, Royd took it and put it on. "But how do I do that?" he asked, bewildered.
"You'll have to figure that out for yourself," the dictator answered, making a slight adjustment in the helmets position and all but pushing Royd down into the chair. "Try flexing some muscles, or thinking different thoughts, or whatever else works for you. Keep your eyes on the trace. When it shrinks even a little go back and try what you were just doing again."
He pointed across the room. "That door leads to a bathroom; the dumbwaiter over there will bring you lunch at noon. I'll be by sometime in the afternoon, and I'll want to see some progress here." He tapped the proper peak on the display and, without another word, strode from the room.
Royd stared after him a moment, then turned back to the displays. Somewhere in all of this window dressing, he knew, Grail was planning some sort of trickery. But he couldn't for the life of him see the trap; and until he did he had no choice but to play along. Sighing, he set to work.
—
It was more like early evening when Grail finally returned. "Let's see how you've done," was his only greeting.
Gritting his teeth against the throbbing headache which had developed in the past hour, Royd made the high peak flatten a bit. A dismal showing, he thought, but Grail nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Not bad for the first day. How do you feel?"
"I've got a headache. Otherwise okay."
"I expected as much." The Dragonmaster dug a small bottle from his pocket and tossed it to Royd. "Two of these will take care of your head."
"Thanks," Royd said, grudgingly. "What's happening in the outside world today?"
"Not too much." Grail pulled out one of the chairs and sank into it. He looked tired. "A hailstorm in the northwest destroyed a good deal of Androc Districts corn; we're trying to decide if we've got time to replant or whether we should try to put in a different crop, one with a shorter growing season." He looked keenly at Royd. "You know much about agriculture?"
"Not a thing."
"I'll get you some books to read. Efficient farming is the key to lasting peace on this planet. I also had a long talk with some Easterland envoys this afternoon. They're threatening war if Rosette doesn't give them more food and industrial assistance. Oh, and your Rosette Freedom Party friends have added your name to the list of those 'murdered by the brutal son of Satan.' That's me."
"What did you tell them—the Easterlings, I mean?"
"Oh, I told them we couldn't spare any more than we were already giving them, and that if they didn't like it, that was their problem."
"But they're talking war."
"Sure, but that's all it is: talk. True, their army outnumbers ours by at least ten to one, but they know they can't order an all-out attack. The dragons are too powerful a deterrent." Grail shook his head. "They know that, but they still insist on making high-voltage threats. That'll hurt them, too, in the long run, because it then looks like they keep backing down. Keep that in mind, Varian—never make a threat you can't follow through on."
"That's at least twice now you've implied your dragons keep Easterland off our backs." Royd's headache was nearly gone, but he was still feeling grouchy. "How do you figure that? There are at least three hundred kilometers of land border and five or six times that much coastline. You and your dragons can't possibly defend all that from a really serious assault."
"Of course not. But it's the psychological effect that does it. How would you feel about going to war if you knew you'd eventually have to face being torn apart by an indestructible monster that's as tall as this palace?"
He shook his head wearily. "I call it dragon pax—or more correctly pax dracontea, I suppose: a peace imposed by the dragon. But it's based upon fear, and that kind of peace can't last." He fixed Royd with a sudden glare. "And that's why you have to move Troas toward something else, something more stable."
Royd swallowed the retort that came to mind as Grail leaned over and turned off the power to the displays. "That's enough of this for now," the dictator said. "You can stay here tonight; there's an adjoining room I've had set up for you to sleep in. In the meantime, I brought something for you to read." The small dragon appeared beside him, its gaping mouth holding a stack of perhaps a dozen books. Setting them down on the table, the creature vanished.
"It's easier than carrying them myself," Grail grunted. "These cover some of the basics of politics, diplomacy, and psychology. Read as much as you can tonight, then go back to your mind-conditioning exercises in the morning. Your meals will be delivered as before, and there's spare clothing in the other room. I may or may not see you tomorrow, but I think you've got enough to keep you busy for a while." He stood up and nodded. "Good evening, Varian."
—
Royd didn't see Grail the next day, nor the day after. Late the third evening, however, the Dragonmaster returned. "How are you doing with your exercises?" he asked, sinking into a chair.
Royd put down the book he'd been reading and reached for the headset. "Not too bad. Let me show you."