"No problem. I can handle all three at once." He smiled crookedly. "And no more than three—which is why there are twelve Dragonmasters instead of just one."
"Oh?" Royd said with forced casualness. Grail had never given him more than tantalizing hints about how the older man had become a Dragonmaster, and Royd didn't want to scare the story back underground by seeming too eager.
"Yeah. The man who found the first amulet out at Castor was able to use it to find the other eleven. It had taken him nine years of trial and error to figure out how to call and control his first set of dragons, but he found out that there was simply no way for him to control two amulets at once—I suspect they were deliberately designed that way. So he called in a bunch of his cronies and taught us how to be Dragonmasters. We had it easy; with his knowledge the process only took a few weeks."
Royd shook his head. "Nine years. The man had a lot of patience."
"He didn't have much else to do," Grail replied bluntly. "He was in hiding. If he'd stuck his nose out of the Castor system the Imperial Patrols would have shot it off."
"What do you mean?"
"He was a pirate. So was I."
For a moment the two men looked at each other in silence. Then, slowly, Royd shook his head. "I don't believe it."
"Why not?"
"You don't talk like a pirate, for one thing. And you're too well educated."
From the other side of the mountains came the sound of gunfire. "Just the Easterlings shooting at One," Grail explained as Royd, startled, turned to face the sound. "Don't worry; it's not going to kill any of them today. You know, you can't be stupid and be a pirate these days—running a starship takes brains." He sighed. "But you're partly right: I didn't start life as a pirate. For several years I taught microelectrical engineering on Goldstone."
Royd looked at the dictator's lined face. "What happened?"
Grail shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not really sure. Academic life was just too frustrating, I suppose. There were many improvements that needed to be made in the university, but no one would listen to my ideas. As low man in the pecking order I couldn't accomplish anything except irritating those in charge. "When they finally tossed me out, I drifted around industry for a while—no other college would hire me—and when Damrosch offered me a job on one of his ships, I took it. I didn't know then that he was a pirate, and when I found out... I don't know; I suppose I've always been a better follower than a leader. That's probably why he gave me one of the amulets—he figured I could be trusted to back him up."
"Did you?"
"More or less. Even when most of the other Dragonmasters deserted him during the Great War to try and set up their own kingdoms, I stayed with him. His plan was to capture one planet, build it up over a period of several years, and then use it as a base of operations to take over the whole Empire."
"Is that when you left him?"
"Soon afterward. The planet he chose was Solfa."
"Oh." Royd was silent for a moment. "For a born follower you sure picked up the trade of dictator pretty fast."
Grail took a step toward him, face contorted with sudden anger. "I had no choice, damn it!" he shouted. "This place was coming apart at the seams. Can't you get that through your head? I was the only one who could hold it together." He broke off in a fit of coughing, clutching his sides and sinking to his knees in the brush. "My inhaler," he managed to get out. "It's with the horse."
Royd glanced at Three as the dragon crouched motionless, temporarily bereft of guidance. "The dragon would be faster," he said.
"Scares the horses," Grail gasped, shaking his head. "You go. Hurry."
Royd sprinted the half kilometer back to where they had tied the animals. There was a pouch tied to one of the pommels; opening it, he found a small gas cylinder with an attached mouthpiece. He had it in his hand, and had actually taken the first few steps back toward Grail, when the realization of what he was doing crashed in on him and brought him to an abrupt halt.
Grail was the Dragonmaster, the ruthless dictator Royd had sworn to kill... and Royd was about to try and save his life.
For a brief moment he wavered; but the proper course was unfortunately clear. No end could ever be divorced from its means, and to allow an old, sick man to choke to death would be to sink to Marwitz's level. A government that gained power in that way would have proved itself merely a successor, not an alternative, to the Dragonmaster's—how then could it ask for the people's trust? And besides, Grail had asked him for help. To betray that trust would be the act of a Judas... and Royd did not wish such a bloodstain on his conscience.
The coughing had stopped, but Grail was still wheezing badly when Royd reached him. His hands trembling, the old man took the cylinder, turned a valve, and held it to his mouth. Within a few seconds his breathing had eased.
"You okay?" Royd asked, himself still somewhat out of breath from the return sprint.
Grail nodded and got carefully to his feet. His eyes swept across Royd's face, a strangely knowing expression in them... and Royd felt his face reddening.
"You bastard!" he exploded. "That was a test, wasn't it? Damn it—and you knew I'd come back, didn't you?"
Grail held up a hand. "I really did need the inhaler," he said. "And no, I wasn't sure you would return. But I thought it likely."
"Does that thing let you read minds, too?" Royd asked bitterly, nodding at the amulet.
"No, not at all. But the state of mind you've been learning gives you a sort of sense for danger." His eyes looked deep into Royd's. "You still want to kill me, don't you?"
Royd returned the gaze. "Yes," he said harshly. "And someday I'll find a way to do it."
"I'm sure you will. But wait until you learn to control the dragons." Grail glanced toward Three, and the dragon vanished. "Come, it's time to return to the outpost. We'll take a short air tour of the border and be back at the palace by nightfall. I've called One back; I think we've given the Easterlings enough to think about for a while. I trust a short tour is all right with you?"
"Whatever you want," Royd said curtly. "You're the boss here."
"Yes," Grail agreed. "I am. Shall we go?"
—
Back in his room again, Royd slumped into a chair and glared at the mind- conditioning equipment, his stomach still churning with anger and shame. Wait until he could control the dragons, indeed: Sound advice—and an obvious trap, for Grail had made it a point to keep himself familiar with Royd's progress. He would know exactly when Royd had the necessary skill. And when that point was reached... what? Royd still didn't know what the old dictators ultimate plan for him was.
But that was almost irrelevant. A swift, unexpected attack was the only way to kill the Dragonmaster. Royd had had that chance and had blown it. His sense of justice and honor had played him false, he realized; there was no honorable way to commit murder. The next time, he told himself firmly, he would ignore the prickings of conscience... if there was a next time. Across the room, the door opened. Royd looked up, expecting to see Grail; but it wasn't the Dragonmaster who entered the room.
It was Civil Affairs Director Marwitz. And two of his uniformed bullies.
Marwitz stopped abruptly; clearly, he hadn't expected the room to be occupied. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Royd opened his mouth, then closed it again. There was no reason he should tell Marwitz anything, "Who are you, and what gives you the right to disturb my privacy?" he countered.
Marwitz murmured something, then walked farther into the room. The guards followed, closing the door behind them. Their guns were drawn; their expressions were not pleasant.