Oargesha shrieked as they tumbled through the air toward the city streets below. But almost immediately the rope went taut, and the two women glided in a smooth arc. They reached the bottom of their pendulous path a mere ten feet above the streets, but instead of rising again, it felt like their path started to flatten out.
The Shadow Fox looked up and said, “Here we go!” She let go and pushed off slightly.
Instead of the reverse swing that she expected, Oargesha felt herself start to fall freely. Her throat tightened; she was too terrified to scream again. She dropped to the ground, landing hard on the packed dirt.
She lay there in pain, wondering if anything had been broken in the fall, when she felt the Shadow Fox grab her under the arms. “Here it comes,” she said as she dragged Oargesha along the ground.
The wizard opened her eyes and saw the bag with the black globe crash belatedly to earth a few feet in front of her, its aberrant inertia finally bringing it down to rest upon the rope it had supported a few seconds earlier.
Oargesha’s hands were trembling; her heart raced. “Clever,” she panted. “But couldn’t you have given me some warning?”
“There was no time,” said the Shadow Fox, gesturing with her thumb at the lightning rail station that stood less than a hundred yards away. “We have a run to catch.”
Hatch turned and elbowed the person sleeping behind him. “Time to wake up,” he said.
Teron stirred from his slumber. He sat in the portion of Hatch’s saddle ordinarily used for luggage, which, in a sense, he was. His arms and legs were lashed to the saddle and to Hatch. Although Teron hated to be constricted in any way, he saw the sense in so doing, for the extra security it afforded allowed Teron to catch some much-needed sleep.
Teron straightened up and blinked his eyes open. He tried to stretch, but the lines restrained him. He undid the knots that held his arms, leaned back and stretched out, popping his back and shoulders in several places. He grabbed his head and twisted his neck, eliciting more pops. Then he drew a deep breath and looked around.
They were flying some five hundred feet in the air. The air was cold, crisp, and very clean, and the only sound was the steady swoosh swoosh of the great raptor’s wings. The sun was rising behind him, casting the countryside in a marbled pattern of golden glow and blue shadow. The whole rolling landscape was cut by a patchwork collection of hedges, roads, and wooded margins, dividing the land into farms for as far as he could see, broken by tiny villages and large wooded tracts. A low-lying mist lingered at the edges of the fields below, but it was a healthy, clean white, not the malign haze that so often lurked over the Crying Fields.
Teron leaned way over to look straight down, stabilizing himself with the end of one of the ropes that had bound his arms. Below, for an instant, Teron saw the dragonhawk’s reflection as it crossed a calm stream. Then they crossed over a large, very green meadow, and he saw a flock of sheep stampede in panic as the great dragonhawk flew over them. Their bleating reached his ears, at once clear and tiny.
“I’m surprised I can hear them all they way up here,” said Teron.
“You can hear all kinds of things up here,” said Hatch. “There’s nothing to block the sound.”
Teron looked around some more, surveying the vast panorama that receded to a curving horizon. “This is utterly amazing,” he said, and a genuine smile of pure delight crossed his face for the first time in many long years.
Hatch smiled and nodded. “Delivering mail,” he said. “The job may be boring, but the work is very enjoyable.”
Teron laughed. “I envy you,” he said, and with those words, darkness rolled back over his disposition. “I envy you your job and the ability to enjoy it.”
Hatch said nothing. They flew for a while in silence, then, as they passed a particularly large residence, Hatch reached into his satchel and pulled out a rock. Tied to the rock was a small scroll, and a long, bright red streamer. Hatch tugged at the bird’s reins, and it slipped down and to the right. Hatch tossed the rock overboard, and it fell to the residence, trailing the bright red streamer all the way down. “It wasn’t much out of the way,” said Hatch, “Hope you don’t mind.”
Teron did mind, of course—any delay could prove crucial— but it was too late to do anything about it. Instead, he asked, “So Hatch, is that a nickname, or your real name?” Despite his dark mood, the beautiful morning made him feel more sociable than normal.
“It’s short for Hatchling, and that came from the first bird I owned. It wasn’t as big as this one, but it was big enough. Of course, I was a bit lighter of girth at that time. Anyway, I called it my Hatchling once, as a joke, and, well, you know how people are when they think they’re clever. The joke never got old, not to me, at least. And after the old thing died and I got a new bird, the name kind of stuck to me. You know, they start out saying, ‘Look, it’s Hatchling,’ meaning the bird, and then it ends up being, ‘Look, it’s Hatch,’ meaning me. Ah, I loved that old bird. That’s how I met my wife, too. I needed some help with my bird, and she was there to give it. Can’t say it was love at first sight, but after I’d seen her enough times I decided to ask her if I might court her.”
“So what happened?”
“She slapped me.”
Teron laughed.
“No, really, she did,” said Hatch. “A couple months later, though, she finally agreed. I can be rather persistent. Damn it!”
“What?” asked Teron.
“Look over there,” said Hatch. He pointed to the west. Teron looked and saw the conductor stones, a long strand of white pearls that marked the lightning rail’s path. And farther west, near the town of Passage, he noticed something that looked like a white, actinic caterpillar inching its way along the path.
“I thought we’d made better time,” said Hatch. “Either that, or they kicked the elemental a bit early this morning.”
“Let me make this clear, Hatch,” said Teron, “I must be on that run.”
“It can’t be done,” said Hatch. “They aren’t going to stop for us. Even if I dropped you right on one of the stones, it takes the rail a good long time to come to a stop. You’d be crushed and roasted long since, Tayrum.”
Teron chuckled, “I’ve done many things that can’t be done, Hatch. I will be on that run. Have your hawk dive for it, match speeds as best you can and as low as you can. I’ll handle the rest.”
“Not on your life,” said Hatch. “I don’t want my bird’s wings to get caught in that lightning wreath. The last thing I want is to crash under a burning dragonhawk.”
“Final offer, Hatch,” said Teron. “If you won’t, I’ll break your neck and pilot this bird myself.”
Hatch turned and cast an uncertain look at Teron. He checked forward again to ensure the sky was clear, then looked back again, his eyes wide and fearful. “You wouldn’t.” He gauged Teron’s expression. “Oh, Fury’s finger, you would. Damn it!”
He turned to look forward again, and Teron was pleased to notice that he now hunched his shoulders.
“All right,” said Hatch. “You paid me well enough. I’ll do it.”
Teron rolled his eyes at the rationalization.
“We can dive to match its speed, but I can’t get too low. It’ll be a long jump for you.”
“Extra height I can handle,” said Teron. “It’s the left-right leeway I can’t manage.”
Hatch giggled nervously. “I hear you,” he said. “But you’ll be just fine. I’ve been flying this bird for years. I’ll get you on target.” He urged the bird to the north, positioning themselves to intercept the lightning rail. “You’ll only get one shot, I’m afraid. My bird isn’t as fast as the rail, although I do believe we can outpace it while diving—at least for a short period.”
Teron shrugged. “I’m used to only having one chance.”
“Maybe so, but if you blow this chance, you die.”