"I know," Vetch said, feeling terribly sorry for his charge. If the air and rain were cold to him, what must Kashet be feeling? "I know, it's horrible. But please, Kashet, we have to go to the Dragon Hall. We have to go to Ari. Kashet, come—
He put one hand on Kashet's shoulder, as always, and stepped forward, not knowing if the dragon was really going to follow, and terrified that he would not.
But after only a slight hesitation, Kashet paced unhappily forward.
They made their way along mostly-deserted corridors; the rain was keeping everyone with any sense in under a roof. Kashet looked longingly back a time or two, and made false starts off toward the familiar destination of the buffing pens, but when Vetch didn't veer in that direction, he heaved another pained sigh and kept going with his wings clamped tightly to his body, head down, rain dripping from his nose and wings, the very picture of one who is imparting the greatest of favors by going along with something he doesn't want to do, and not enjoying it one bit.
Vetch's heart was in his mouth with every step they took. The farther they got from the pen, the more likely it was that Kashet would decide that he had had enough of the cold and the rain, and rebel. It would be perfectly logical for Kashet to decide he'd had enough of this nonsense, and turn back to the pen. Vetch didn't have a chain or a collar on the dragon; he had no way whatsoever of controlling him. In the urgency of the moment, it hadn't even occurred to him to go look for a chain and collar, and now it was too late.
Too late to do anything but hope that the habit of obedience was strong enough to overcome Kashet's distaste for the cold and wet, that the dragon understood he was to go to his beloved Jouster, that Kashet really did feel enough affection for his dragon boy that he would obey in the face of discomfort, or all three.
And he dreaded the moment when they turned down that corridor that ended in the Dragon Hall, for when Kashet saw the dead end, he would be all too likely to turn back. How was he going to stop the dragon? Would Kashet respond to another shouted order, or would he just ignore Vetch and go back to his pen?
Kashet's head came up, though, the moment that they turned into the dead-end corridor where the Dragon Hall stood. Vetch saw at the very same time that the little door he had gone through had simply been inset in a much larger door that would admit a dragon, and that this door now stood open wide, though how anyone could move something that big was a mystery to him. Kas-het's nostrils flared, and he picked up his pace, then craned his neck forward, peering through the rain, and increased it again, until Vetch was running to keep up alongside him—
Of course, by Kashet's standards, it was still nothing but a fast walk.
And as Vetch peered through the curtain of rain, he saw what Kashet had alerted on—Ari, standing just inside the door. Of course! Kashet must have scented Ari before he saw him— Vetch felt a rush of relief that the Jouster had thought of coming out where the dragon could scent and hear him.
Ari retreated back into the building, but Kashet had seen enough. He knew where Ari was, now, and no matter how much he wanted to go back to his wallow, Ari's presence was a more powerful draw than the now-distant sands of his pen.
When Vetch and Kashet entered the shelter of the Dragon Hall, Ari was back at the foot of the dais with Haraket, the magistrate looking on with interest. Kashet paused for a moment in the relative dimness, probably so that his eyes could adjust, then resumed his walk toward his Jouster—but now that he was in more confined surroundings, and out of the rain, he proceeded at a ponderous walk that Vetch easily matched.
As they neared the dais, Khefti was moving, too, backing up, eyes wide, one crablike step at a time, until his back was against a pillar and he could go no further. The magistrate, however, showed no signs of alarm, and appeared to be as easy in the presence of dragons as Haraket.
When they got within speaking distance of the group, Vetch noticed that Ari's lips were moving in an exaggerated fashion, as he mouthed something, as if he was trying to tell Vetch something he didn't want to say aloud. Vetch narrowed his eyes, and tried to make it out.
One word.
Down.
Ah! Of course—he needed to demonstrate that he could command Kashet without chains and other devices. "Kashet, down!" he ordered, and Kashet obeyed, ponderously dropping both fore-and hindquarters down onto the sandstone paving squares. Only then did Ari come forward to take his place on the opposite side of the dragon from Vetch, and Kashet curved his neck around and brought his head down for a well-deserved scratch from his beloved Jouster. His wet scales gleamed in the torchlight like an enormous pile of gemstones, and he shone in this opulent setting as beautifully as any exquisite jewel. If the magistrate was looking for evidence of a well-cared-for dragon, Kashet's appearance was certainly that.
"Well," the magistrate said, his voice taking on a slight tinge of warmth, as his lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "No collar, no chain, brought here all the way through the rain—this is the most remarkable dragon boy in the compound. He definitely serves the Great King far better in this position than any other." He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind about something. "In fact, I cannot see how he could be replaced. The Great King requires his services here."
"No!" Khefti shouted, his face purple with rage, as he lost all control, seeing his property slipping through his fingers. "No! He is mine, mine by right!" And he lunged toward Vetch, who reacted instantly out of long habit by cringing back against Kashet's side.
All of Kashet's languor vanished. He shot to his feet and spread his wings, cupping them over Vetch, then snapped out his neck parallel to the ground as far as it would go. He made one angry bite at the air in warning, and hissed at Khefti with the sound of water hitting white-hot stone.
Khefti yelped with sheer terror, and lurched backward as quickly as he'd lunged forward. Kashet didn't—quite—snap his jaws a second time at the swiftly-retreating brick maker, but it certainly looked as if he wanted to.
"Most interesting," was all the magistrate said, as Ari slapped Kashet's neck to get his attention, and ordered him down again. Khefti remained where he was, warily out of reach.
"Magistrate!" the brick maker called desperately. "It isn't just the land—property into which, I say again, I have invested all that I own, property which was to support me and mine in my honorable age, when I can no longer ply my lawful trade! This boy is— was—all I have to tend my tala field! I cannot tend it and attend to my apprentices at the same time! Where will the tala for the Great King's Jousters come from, if my field withers for lack of tending?"
"There are other fields," Ari said, making his annoyance at Khefti's attempt to play at blackmail very evident. But a shaven-headed, white-kilted scribe who had been standing at the side of the dais, hidden in the shadows until now, came forward at that, and whispered in the magistrate's ear. The old man listened carefully, nodding—then smiled.