Ch 13

Take Back Your Mission

Disclaimer: Only two things are certain in life: death and taxes. Oh, yes, I forget that there's one more: I don't own the concept of Terrible Terrors, Hiccup or Toothless. They belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.

"Hand the people a scapegoat to hate. Let them kill a scapegoat occasionally for cathartic release. The mechanism is ages old. Tyrants used it centuries before the word 'psychology' was ever invented. It works, too." R. A. Heinlein, Revolt in 2100

I wondered about Farna's comments to Lux as we continued our journey.

She would not explain it- even felt she could not explain it. Then, again, Farna has ever enjoyed being a bit of a mystical fuddy-duddy. I guess it goes with the territory of bonding when you are older and also bonding with a Scepter Holder.

All Farna could explain was that she had felt the same link drawing her to Setareh when she saw Lux. And, when Setareh and she bonded, she felt as if Lux had also bonded with her.

It was quite strange, when one thinks of it. We Turkmenes don't really need to bond with dragons. If they allow us to mindlink with them, we can communicate just fine. And Gatalas and I had not needed to have a special bond with a dragon to get him or her to cooperate with us on chores when we guided that being across the steppes.

Then, again, we weren't in the steppes anymore. We were in a region that was on the really odd side of weird. I probably shouldn't think on these things until we back, safe and sound, in our nice steppes where we had nice, predictable disasters like Red Deaths, singing strigas, giant worms, tornadoes, hail, locusts, droughts, floods and blizzards.

We all had our morning meal, and it did lighten my tough buzzard's heart to see Farna devour a good size nosebag of our high energy feed. I wished we also had some hay for her, but she did use opportunities to snatch at still-green blades of grass through the day as rode on. She was making up for days without food, and she needed it.

We had kept her saddle and armor, but Farna refused to wear it.

::That part of my life is over. I am not a Scepter Holder's war mare any longer. :: she snorted softly, :: I am a forge priest's companion now. And I want to wear Ravenwing's tack.::

It made more sense since that fine gelding's saddle and harness had been designed as much for Setareh's body measurements as for Ravenwing, and the forge priests were good at making harnesses. So it was no difficulty to get the harness and saddle adjusted to fit comfortably on Farna.

Setareh bit her tongue to keep her face steady as she clipped on the harness and brushed a few, brilliant blue-black hairs from the harness.

However, the tack and harness came to life in a new way on Farna. The harness leather had been so dark it was one snort short of black. The dark color stood out strikingly against Farna's ivory-colored coat. Simple, but elegant, but inlaid with tamga runes and depictions of fire tongues and dragons- the harness of a forge priest's Turkmene.

The one concession from her former harness was the beautifully woven fly guard, attached to a simple leather halter. Since the cremello Turkmene had no mane or forelock, she appreciated the leather protecting her brow.

It did her a lot of good, especially since we did encounter gnats and mosquitoes (oh, they are so useless- only created to make us appreciate flies!)

Having the extra back was such a relief, too, since Farna could now share the load. Once saddled and packed, our riders got ready to mount.

Setareh, used to Ravenwing's shorter height, had some trouble at first. Eventually Farna glanced calmly at her new Rider and knelt on her front legs so the small red-headed woman could slide aboard.

Once aboard, Setareh's blue eyes widened when she saw just how tall Farna was and how high above the ground she was. Farna must have reassured the young woman that she would not let her fall off, for Setareh smiled broadly and stroked the mare's neck.

I had rarely been so close to Farna before, since Gatalas and I had been further back in the ranks in the Sand Spitters Unit. Now that she was standing tall and proud, even I was startled by how tall the war mare was. We Turkmenes are tall for horses, and I am on the tall side of average for my kind. I would stand what you Firemakers would say is 15 and a half hands. Farna was easily 18 hands, the tallest Turkmene I'd seen. No wonder she was a horse for a war lord.

Or a Master Blacksmith? I hoped it was an omen of good things to come for the scrawny blacksmith's future as she grew into her destiny.

Farna was not the only one whose height took me by surprise. I heard a little bark by Gatalas feet and saw Lux rise up on his hind legs and tap Gatalas on his shin with his now unbandaged left front paw. Gatalas' blind eyes widened in surprise as he "saw" the dragon kitten through my eyes. How things do change! A short while ago Lux was hissing and spitting at my kind Rider , seeing him as a River Rat stand in.

Gatalas noticed that, too, for he gave his rare, sweet grin of friendship and lowered a hand, "Certainly, Lux. Come aboard."

::Don't mind if I do, Mr. Firemaker/Monster!::

Gatalas was grinning now in genuine delight- for the first time Lux had "spoken" directly to him, as he could to Setareh.

Lux wound around the blind archer's arm like a leggy snake, his incredible tail flowing in deep gray, pearly segments. For a moment he perched in Gatalas' now-cupped hands, but he had to sit up on his hind legs to do so, placing front paws on my Rider's shoulder.

Had it only been a short while ago Lux's starved, mostly dead little body had lain in Gatalas' cupped palms? Now he was growing a pad of flesh on his ribs, his badly-scarred coat now quietly rippled with new subtle highlights, and he had grown larger in a short while.

::You're getting big, fast!:: I told him.

Lux chirped in delight as he leapt to Gatalas' shoulder and then onto my saddle bow, ::I think you're right, Eyeful! I do know my leg is healing so fast, and Toothless had seemed to indicate to me that dragons do heal fast normally- when they have good care.:: He flicked his wings against his side, and stared at the various whitening slashes along his sleek sides::But my scars still seem to be the same. I wish they would fade away. And I wish I would grow older faster. I wanna flyflyfly… naow!::

::Watch yourself, kiddo. When you get to be an old drake, you won't be wishing you would grow older faster.::

I heard a chorus of agreements in the sky above me as Amazons dipped and swirled.

Gatalas swung up on me with a fluid motion, not using the stirrups- they were still something he was getting used to. Lux settled behind him on the saddle packs, murmuring wishes that there would be another loooong ridge so he could practice tethered flying again.

"So you're hitching a ride with Horsebutt and me?" Gatalas told the kitten, "I thought you would prefer to stick with Lady 'She Who Likes Blowing Things Up'."

::Change of view,:: Lux said matter-of-factly, ::And Farna's kinda scary. I have to get used to her. I mean, she seems wise and noble, but still- something about her is very imposing. I don't think she'd like jokes. Imagine calling her a nickname like 'Horsebutt' or 'Sweet Plates.' :: he glanced at the sky, ::Besides you're the one who I know would keep me tethered if I wanted to practice flying, so I want to stick near you for that reason.::

I shook my head to discourage an early morning fly, ::Well, that's a relief- I was worried that there was no ulterior motive and you were only doing this because you like me. Well, now I know things are normal, I can relax, :: I told Lux with irony, ::You'd better be extra nice to li'l ole Horsebutt, then, Lux-spark.::

::Will do, Eyeful-ma'am. I'll even save half of my evening broth for you- and I'll share half of anything I hunt today!::

::Much appreciated, Lux, especially since I am an obligatory herbivore. ::

"Be nice now, Horsebutt,"Gatalas laughed at me,"It's the thought that counts."

We set off (after I bucked a bit to remind my passengers I was the one in charge, in spite of their attitude), now with me in the lead as Farna and Setareh slowed back to get used to each others' style of movements. Her flank had healed quite well, but she still was stiff on it, especially at the beginning of each day. Kourosh padded next to the bone colored Turkmene, tail wagging in anticipation of another day of journeying.

Above us, the Sisters of the Scale flew, spreading ahead to scout the terrain around us. They were certainly becoming good comrades in arms.

I followed the stream at an easy going trot until I saw a Sister flying over another cross marker on the other side of the river: the entrance taking us onto the Tihuţa Pass and into the Bârgău Range section of the Carpathians.

Farna and I splashed across the river, its bracing chill causing the blood in my legs to rush faster and invigorate me. It was a small river with a current that was more playful than strong. Even the fish were playful, and a few nipped at my legs as I strode across.

The water splashed a bit on Gatalas' booted legs, making him give an almost horse like snort at the cold. Then we were up on the other side. Behind us came Farna, the water barely coming up to her ankles. And Kourosh, bounding across and then shaking himself until a flurry of water drops burst from his wire-haired sides

And then we strode past the marker and onto the quite well-used trail of the Tihuţa Pass.

"Zmeu!" the goatherd hissed through his blackened teeth as he took in the oddly-dressed, shaggy barbarians in front of him.

"Bless you!" Setareh said with a bright, friendly and yet feral grin, "Sorry, but I have no handkerchief on me."

"Nu, nu, vă barbari!" the goatherd said in rising frustration, waving a gnarled fist, "Zmeu! Zmeu! Uită-te!"

The old man used his wooden staff to scratch a figure in the dirt. We all watched it take shape (well, all of us earth bound creatures. The Sisters and Lux were hiding and following at a well-concealed distance.)

The drawing was quick and primitive, but what emerged was undeniably the winged, demonic creature that had fought with Ravenwing.

"Acesta este un Zmeu!" the goat herd said and grinned, well pleased with himself.

"Charming," whispered Gatalas, picking up the vision from my side turned head, "I always like to put a name to a face."

Well, at least we knew who had attacked us and led to Ravenwing's end: a zmeu. Just one of the many wonderful, welcoming and cute local wildlife ready to eat us- oops- I meant meet us.

For the last two hours, we had all been treated to a discourse on the local flora and fauna, courtesy of our unofficial goat herd guide. We had happened upon this lonely soul, watching goats in this high, lonely pass, taking advantage of the last fall weather before the regional herd was brought back down to the valley for the winter. The goatherd lived in a small hut in the pass. He would milk the she goats each day. The milk was then used to make cheese, another duty the shepherd assisted with, along with some farmers who could come up here a few times a month to assist with the process. In between those visits, it could get quite lonely. Since Setareh and Gatalas spoke Broomhead, and it was quite similar to the local language (Roan-mane-yun I think it is), it put the rancid old herder over the moon with joy.

It was getting on the Firemakers' nerves, especially since the old fellow appeared not to be an active member of the Frequent Bathers' Society, but they listened attentively and politely. This man knew the Tihuţa Pass well, and he might give us a clue to possible mind-enthralling creatures... or where the portal would be.

But we certainly had to listen to a lot of descriptions about loose morals and young people these days just not knowing how to do an honest day's work and the annoying increase of bandits and, my, our horses were strange and ugly and too scrawny and maybe not fit for the mountain riding? No offense, friends, just making a friendly observation. Maybe you should trade in your walking fishbones for some good, sturdy Huţul and Konik ponies from the Polish Carpathians. Now, those are horses with good mountain sense! And nothing, nothing, beats a good donkey or mule... or, even, walking for that matter!

In appreciation for his comment on my physical appearance I stepped on one of the man's feet, accidentally on purpose-like. Whoops!

The farmer walked by us as we traveled. He was moving the goats to a different grazing area to keep them from over-browsing the high mountain pastures, and we Turkmenes found ourself awash in a stream of shaggy, strong smelling goats as they milled among us. They moved along to their herder's prodding, surprisingly accommodating for creatures known for their independent nature. I imagine they and the goat herd had worked out some agreement long ago. A female with a bell led the way, and the goat herd let her be our "lead mare." He mainly concentrated on poking stragglers here and there back into the flock with his staff.

Setareh and Farna tried to help with the herding and were awarded for their efforts with some angry goat head butts against Farna's belly. She squealed and kicked back.

Obviously, these goats felt we were not respect-worthy.

The hackles rose on Kourosh's long spine and he sighted his keen eyes on the goats. He was a hunting dog and a guard dog, and he didn't like to see his mistress and her new Turkmene being used as target practice.

Setareh called out a command to her sighthound, and the elegant saluki desisted. He looked up at her and woofed with regret, but he would not disobey.

Suddenly I snorted in surprise as Gatalas yelled, "Hey, vâysâ!"

A piebald goat skittered away from me, part of Gatalas' riding coat hem in her mouth. I snapped at her as she fled, catching some goat fur in my mouth for my efforts. She ran away, bleating, the ragged hem disappearing into her mouth like common grass. I swear, her barred pupiled eyes flashed at me in naughtiness as she chewed the strip of coat, wadding it into her mouth. Then she worked her teeth, her cheeks swollen with Gatalas' coat.

"Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a, " she told me with grave indignity.

Goats are very canny, but they cannot mind link. Still, I got the message that Gatalas and I were being told what part of goat hell we could inhabit. It seems she did not take very kindly to my stepping on her Firemaker's foot.

Well, my caprine friend, maybe he brought it on himself for saying that I, a Turkmene who can navigate mountains, snow and desert on just a handful of barley and a sip of water... I am no match for a... a... a... stocky little mountain pony! Or a- blech- donkey!

I am sure you would have done the same if you were a Turkmene. We do have images to maintain. Yes, I know those Polish mountain ponies are descended from the wild tarpans, a very ancient tribe who, indeed, is clever. I've never met one myself, but I think even the tarpans would agree, we Turkmenes are the superior breed!

That's like comparing you Firemakers to lemurs and saying you are the less intelligent one because you are not as cute. Ha! See what I mean?

"You're almost as bad as a Lightning Breather, Horsebutt," Gatalas chuckled to me as he rubbed my neck, "But, thanks for sticking up for me."

::Of course, Ape Face. Always and always. Though Darya's not going to be happy knowing you had your coat torn up by a goat.::

"Darya? The one who loves all caravan animals? The one I hope will become the Master Herder of our caravan- like dad was? Naaah! She knows goats will eat anything and everything plant based. They'd even eat their own teeth to be ornery if it wouldn't keep them from eating and destroying other things. But I do feel bad since she gave me that coat for a Sada gift last year." He scratched my withers, "Don't worry. These aren't festival clothes, doostam. They are made for wear and tear."

::I know... but... a... bloody... goat!::

I actually admire goats and their clever feistiness... but from a distance. Up close, they are too much in my face- especially their teeth.

The goat herder's discourse on wayward youth was made more interesting by a few more descriptions of monsters. A few subtle queries from Setareh and Gatalas revealed there were no legends about monsters that somehow entrapped dragons and made them become raiding terrors. We knew the zmeu was not one such dragon; it had not mind-trapped the Sisters of the Scale or Lux, though it had kidnapped both the scarred kitten and Purple Sonja.

We did hear lots about vârcolac wolf-demons who swallowed the sun and moon; and Moroi, ghosts who leave their graves to suck the life essence out of the nearby living. We heard about an utterly charming shape changing witch named Muma Păduriiwho lived in a little house deep in the hidden heart of the mountains and kidnapped children for slaves. And lots and lots and lots about a great horse warrior from the Lands of Amber who drank the blood of young women to be immortal.

Setareh's face, in response, drained of all blood as she heard this, but she gritted her teeth. Farna nickered at her to calm her, and she smiled and pat the war mare appreciatively on the neck. That made me think about Setareh's story of why she had grown up as a boy. She had been hiding from a similar horse-lord who drank women's blood to stay young, but this had been on our Caesar Broomhead timeline, not this timeline. But, apparently, the same blood sucking warlord myth existed in this timeline, too! And he had also come from the Amber Lands of the Baltics, the region where Setareh had grown up.

But he obviously could not be a Sarmatian... our tribes here had died out from a regional pandemic.

Gatalas took up the questioning, asking what tribe this blood sucker was from. The goat herd made a dramatic display of spitting at a tree and said a name that our Firemakers had never heard before. Something that loosely translated into "foreigner." Well, that was not too helpful. A foreign horse-lord. That could be anything that involved a human sitting on a horse. Even a little kid riding a stick pony, for that matter.

It was just as the goat herd reached the new pastures for his flock that he mentioned a word that made both the Firemakers stiffen in the saddles, and both Turkmenes flatten their ears.

"Balaur," the goat herd said as he shooed his goats into the grazing area that was rife with the perfect thorny and nasty dried stuff goats seem to think is high cuisine, "El este regele de dragoni. El are multe capete. El are ochi multe. Aripile sale ascunde cerul." As he spoke, the goatherd laid a hand on his head and raised his other hand, showing several fingers, indicating more than one. Then he did the same, pointing to his eyes and again raising his other hand to show numbers. Finally he made a motion like flying with his hands.

Gatalas was "seeing" this through me, and I turned my head to give him a better view.

::Hmmm. He says this is the king of dragons. Many are his heads and many are his eyes. The wings from him cover the sky. Odd image. And scary.:: Gatalas sent to me, and I passed it, via Farna, to Setareh.

They found it no less pretty than we did. Both Setareh and Gatalas asked the goat herd if he knew anything about the balaur's attack methods or why he was the king of dragons.

The goat herd gave a long and colorful explanation that he was just passing on stories he had heard, and he has never seen a balaur. He had no idea what such creatures did, but he had heard it from some very reliable sources that the balaur was the king of dragons. Just take it or leave it, folks! And don't you want to stay for lunch? Please? I have many more stories! I'll even make up a few if that keeps you here a while longer.

Gatalas blew between his teeth, and I picked up his frustration. Was the tale of the great balaur, the King of Dragons, just some wonderful made-up story to keep us talking to the goat herd and stave off his loneliness?

We shared a quick and very early lunch with the goat herd- dried lamb meat and apples along with his goat cheese and smoked river eel. It made the old man so happy. He continued to enrich us on the corrupt morals of the youth of the valley, but at least we got some tales and some geographical tips and, best of all, the chance to replenish our supplies.

The grateful goatherd happily traded some of our village regional silver coins for goat jerky and some travelers' goat cheese, and he even included some extra goat cheese in the bargain. It was his way of thanking us for spending some extra time keeping company with a kind, lonely mountain herder.

I wondered what the old man's impressions of the Sarmatians and we Turkmenes and Kourosh would turn into in the tales the old man spun to those in his region.

The old man pointed out we had a surprise ahead of us, one created by one of the few benevolent beings of the mountain, the Sânziene, or good spirits. It was late in the year for them to manifest, since they preferred early summer, but this creation had been made by them a very long time ago, in the Golden Age. (Whenever that was. I often wonder why is it that Firemakers like to believe the Golden Age is never the present age?)

Then he left us, wishing us pleasant journey through Tihuţa Pass and and the Bârgău Range. During our discussion with the old man, we learned the region we were riding through also had several another name: the Borgo Pass, and the broader area was known as Ultrasylvania, the land beyond the forests.

The surprise turned out to be a hot spring fed stream secluded in a little wooded grotto. It was a welcome surprise, both for we land-bound folk, and for the dragons who joined us after we parted company from the goat herd.

Lux had been carried by some of the Sisters while they followed us, concealing themselves in their clever style. While Lux loved the attention from the Amazons, he had felt hobbled that he could not fly on his own yet. He was very adamant about wanting to be a useful member of our quest.

Lux was thrilled by the hot springs and purred in joy for all us, making Gatalas and Setareh grin in spite of themselves. Sarcastic humor is a part of the Sarmatian of life. We love it, but it does not endear us to the Firemakers we meet. Lux, in spite of all his abuses and tortures, still had managed to keep a sense of wonder and joy. In many ways, his childish joy at the simple things we all took for granted made we Sarmatians and the Amazons think again about how lucky we were to be free.

That hot spring fed stream turned all of us into Lux for a while. There was a period of purring, trilling, laughing, neighing and general joy.

The water was not pleasant to drink, with a metallic taste and a strong sulfuric smell, but it was pleasantly warm to my muzzle. I let myself be a foal for a moment. I ducked my muzzle under the water to blow bubbles in the warm water. Bubbles rippled back at me. I lifted my head and caught a glimpse of the elegant Farna doing the same thing. Bubbles popped in the air above her muzzle. She looked back at me. I nickered at her and then, to my surprise, she whickered in happiness and nickered back. Then she plunged her nose in the water and blew massive, proud bubbles worthy of a war mare.

Maybe she was not as much of a fuddy duddy as I had thought!

I was glad to see her do that. So were the Firemakers, who laughed at both our antics.

Gatalas and Setareh unsaddled we Turkmenes and turned us loose to roll in the dried yellow grass around the grotto. It was not the end of the day, but both Firemakers would not turn down a quick chance to wash their faces and hands and soak their bare feet in the narrow brook. It was too small for them to do a complete wash, and they were still stiffly aware of each other's personal boundaries now that Setareh's gender was known.

The dog and dragons had no such inhibitions. They all plunged into the little stream. Soon, a splash fight erupted as dragons were splashing each other and trying to tag each other. Kourosh barked and ran among them, shaking his silky ears.

Once I finished giving myself a nice roll, I sat up and shook myself. Farna dropped her Mother Superior act, stood side to side with me, and started grooming my mane and shoulders with her teeth, teasing knots out of my reddish mane and my shoulder muscles. I returned the favor, grooming her neck and shoulders with my teeth. We Turkmenes- and most horse People- cannot reach our own neck and shoulders with our teeth to groom them, so we rely on other horses - and our good Riders- to groom those areas for us. It's a sign of friendship and trust.

I also noticed that the short-necked Sisters of the Scale were in the same position. They could not easily clean their own shoulders or neck, so after their bath, they groomed each other. Lux gained a lot of points with the Amazons since he was long necked, and he gladly licked, teethed and groomed clean the necks, shoulders and backs of any Sisters who needed it. I was glad to see that our kitten friend was showing he might not be able to hunt yet, but he was still very useful.

I also realized that Setareh's self confidence jumped up a lot because of Gatalas and his blindness. My Rider may have been the first Firemaker Setareh encountered who could not see her, so she eventually removed her coat, kirta and long sleeved shirt. Now only in her riding trousers and sleeveless under shirt, she quickly washed her arms. Gatalas was separated from me and my vision, so he could not see this. Anyway, he also happened to be doing the exactly same washing of his arms, scraping off sweat and dust from the last few days 'riding.

I saw Setareh, of course, but being a Turkmene and not a FIremaker, I only noted how thin her body still was after the fever that ravaged her and that the shirt hung off her frame, showing sharp collar bones. I saw also the outline of small breasts, like those of a girl just becoming a woman, once again, probably her system slowly recovering. Her functional riding and forge clothes, along with her boy like face, covered any indication she was not a teenaged boy. I think if Setareh somehow would suddenly be able to grow her hair long and try wearing women's clothing, she would feel very awkward and would not fit in. The truth was she was handsome rather than beautiful. Nothing wrong with that, I think.

It also made me realize how Gatalas was even more awkward around Setareh than she was around him. Surely, even though he could not see her, he must notice she had a natural feminine scent (though, I admit you Firemakers are not very good with the meanings and messages of scents. ) But he kept a distance from Setareh that seemed as much from tension as it was respecting her gender.

Once again I wondered what had made a man so socially shy and awkward around other Firemakers, but so comfortable around Turkmenes and dragons?

I knew, of course, he would have a hard time convincing a woman he loved of his devotion since Firemaker attraction is based so much on physical perfection. My understanding, based on whispered comments from the young and silly girls from the village and from Sarmatian girls of other caravans was that Gatalas could have been very handsome if he were not blind.

Apparently, rumor says, he once was considered a gorgeous young Sarmatian teenager to the ladies. His natural shyness kept him from being arrogant and unaware that others had seen him as beautiful, so he was never the proverbial ladies' man.

And then IT had happened. The Thundering Victory thundered, and then there was only Darya and Gatalas left . Their parents and their youngest brother did not survive the Thundering Victory.

Strangers who met Gatalas would immediately notice his odd silver eyes, and the way his eyes strayed in odd directions. And, a lot of the time, his blind-gray pupils would roll up high into his lids so Firemakers only saw whites. It was something creepy to most Firemakers- more than a few even had wondered if Gatalas were possessed by a demon. We both knew that Gatalas' appearance did take getting used to, and an ability to see beyond the physical attributes.

That's asking a lot of many Firemakers, sadly.

All good things come to an end, eventually, and it was time to press on.

"Gatalas! Here! Look here- well- uh- you can't look, can you.- but- oh dear, you know what I am trying to say!" Setareh called, picking up her riding coat from where she had draped it on a stone.

Gatalas was close by. He followed her voice and dropped down on his knees by the stone. Setareh placed his hand on the stone, and then my Rider was tracing the lines of a design carved into the soapstone. His eyebrows widened as his nimble fingers told him what that familiar design was. By this time I had reached the stone, so he could reach up a hand to touch my leg and borrow my eyes, confirming his suspicions.

It was a tamga rune, a carving of a two-horned triangle above a horizontal line that had three, slightly curved vertical "legs." Both Gatalas and I knew it: Gatalas wore it as a tattoo on one arm and I as a brand on my left flank.

"That's the tamga of the Sandspitters!" Gatalas called out, excitement charging his voice, "Setareh, Horsebutt! The Sandspitters unit was here! My unit! They're still alive!"

"Oh, yes!" Setareh shouted in relief and did an air punch while I whinnied in relief. Our friends were still alive! Skuda, Striker, and all the others... hopefully still alive and well. The mission was not yet over!

That sense of hope lent a spring to our steps as we continued moving along the Tihuţa Pass, now keeping our senses open for signs of our unit. We were not a large one, but still thirty to forty horses can make a significant impact on the ground.

And we soon saw unshod hoof prints in the ground and the bent dried grass stems of their passing. They did not have the benefit of the special shoes I was wearing, so there were some marks where horses had skidded on bare rock. The Tihuţa Pass was a wide spread, sprawling route with rolling, grassy hills- not so many trees. A cavalry unit would find this more comfortable terrain then the more steep Prislop pass of our first day in the mountains.

"I wonder what direction they came from?" Gatlalas mused to me as I moved at my trademark fast amble, following the tracks, "We're only now hooking up with them. We didn't see any sign of hoof prints in the Prislop and Rodna passes."

::We were split apart into three divisions:: Farna thought-sent, and I translated this to my Rider, ::Our band was the one following the most direct route, but I think Banadaspos wanted the other units to sweep around the sides and come in at the bandits, but the other divisions never came to support us when we were attacked. Who knows what separated them from us?:: She shook her head in sorrow, ::Our division was riding for quite a while before we encountered the enemy, so we had put some serious distance between the others and us. But this seems the Sandspitters really had wandered far out of the way if we only are seeing their tracks here.::

"Hopefully we'll learn that soon from the Sandspitters themselves," Gatalas responded grimly.

Behind him, on the pack behind the saddle cantle, Lux looked down, following the tracks of hooves heading over the brow of the slope before us. The sky stretched above, now autumn blue with a few streamers of clouds. The kitten flicked his tongue out, scenting the air, trying to sense more useful clues for us.

We followed the tracks, making good pace. Our hopes kept rising and rising as we moved further along. Oh, to see our comrades again! To reassure each other we were still alive! Gatalas was excited, but I could also sense a bit of tension in him, too.

::I've been tossed out, so I hope they won't be too disappointed to see me. I know good ole Rasparagnus was never my biggest fan.::

I snorted and was about to toss back a reassurance well-laced with sarcasm when something got our attention.

Mostly because the something was nothing.

The hoof prints abruptly ended at the top of the saddle-brow. They were heading in a straight line and then just disappeared. The now- unmarked track flowed ahead from us, spreading into a distant horizon beautifully crowned by two pine-covered mountain slopes.

Looks like we had found our portal, and, on a mountain pass- not in one of the valleys or foothills, as we had anticipated! We were expecting to see it today, but not here, not this soon! Welcome to the Carpathian mountains and the mysterious Tihuţa Pass- aka the Borgo Pass! It's the place where nothing makes sense.

Well, we knew the general location, but where, exactly, was the portal? Gatalas and I and Darya had seen a portal not long ago when looking for stray sheep. We didn't seem to have any of that luck today.

Wings fluttered as the Amazons landed around us, chattering away.

::Yo! Whad's goin' on here, Firemakers? Looks like a terrible spot for a camp! Led's move along, huh, idiots?:: Purple Sonja offered politely.

::Yes! This is boring. Nothing to fight. Or eat.:: Blossom agreed, ::Just a bunch of hoof prints that... ooh. That's weird. Since when do horses fly?::

::Do you see anything ahead of us? Anything involving shimmering mirages?:: I sent to the Sisters, ::We're looking for a portal.:: I also included a mental image of the waving, shimmering portal that Gatlalas, Darya and I had seen.

The Sisters split up and flew ahead, cartwheeling and spinning, checking out the terrain from all angles. They got a few good arguments and claw fights out of it when some Sisters banged into each other. It erupted into rather silly insults about ancestry, hissing, and general clawing. It always ended abruptly with only dignity being hurt. Entertaining, to be sure, but no useful information for our quest.

::Da's a big negative,:: Sonja said for her troop, finally, when they reconvened and landed by my hooves ::Youse sure dere's somet'in here? Looks pretty vacant ta me.:: She flashed a little dragon grin at me, ::Maybe ya inhaled sometin' from da hot spring when ya snorted in da water, horsie. 'Cuz dere sure ain't nothin' here but a whole lot of nothin'::

I rolled my eyes and decided not to respond to such a profound statement.

Farna stepped up by me and stared ahead, nostrils flaring. Setareh leaned forward on her back, gazing into the distance.

"Can't you see it, Setareh? You are a priest." Gatalas urged helpfully, tightening his gloved hand on my neck harness grip.

"Yes, I usually can see the gates, but this one is throwing me. I sense it, but not powerful enough sensations to identify the location. Darn, I was hoping I could see it more easily than this!" Setareh said, squinting her eyes and flaring her nostrils so she wound up copying her Turkmene, "The Star Priests are better at it, but we Forge Priests still can pick up on the basic signs. Anyway, Gatalas, you've seen a portal, right? I remember one of the Star Priests telling me that you and your little sister found one recently."

Gatalas nodded, briefly explaining that annoying, rainy day when I had carried the brother and sister into a portal. (I don't enjoy taking two people on my back, so I admit I was not at my most winning and charming on that day. Still, the experience had been quite fascinating.) Normally it's the priests who can detect these portals, but some of the priests had thought that maybe having close relatives in proximity to each other was the key. The bond of blood combined with the bond of Rider and Partner had triggered us to see the portal.

"I see," Setareh said softly, "Lux, can you just move a little bit further back on Eyeful and I'll just..."

::Holy Hrani- what are you doing! Ouch! Hey!::

::Setareh! Why are you climbing off me?::

"What in the name of the Lie? Setareh? Arrgh! Oof! Who said you could...?"

I would have bucked if the load on my back had not just increased. Now, Setareh sat behind Gatalas on my clenched back and Lux had perched himself on Gatalas' shoulder.

I gave a horse whistle-squeal in irritation. I am no cute pony at a Firemaker village party giving rides to the itty bitty kiddies!

"Okay!" Setareh said brightly, "Hey, Eyeful, you've got more stripes on you than I ever would have guessed. You're almost like an African zebra!"

"Pwrf gwt yr hndz 'ff 'f m'mouff?" Gatalas said hoarsely.

"Oh, sorry, Gatalas," Setareh removed her hand from his face; she had slid on quite fast and not realized she had blocked my Rider's mouth.

::Women!:: Gatalas snorted to me- and, then, to Setareh, "Pray, do tell, just what are you attempting?"

Setareh's voice came from my back, a strange sensation for me since she had always been on another Turkmene, "Look- all of you! Open your eyes and see! There it is! Just as you say, Gatalas!"

And we three saw the shimmering borders of the portal, set just a bit to the left of where we stood. It was the twin to the shimmering portal Gatalas, Darya and I had experienced.

"B-b-but we're not related," Gatalas finally said, matching my thoughts perfectly.

"I know," Setareh breathed, "But it's still working for us. Maybe we somehow are related, Gatalas- some long distant ancestor. Or it's simply because I am a priest. I just had to try it out sitting behind you and see what happened."

Gatalas' voice thinned a bit in skepticism, "How we could be related escapes me, if you came from the Baltics and I grew up in Pannonia."

Setareh nodded while I began to paw in irritated frustration at their inactivity, "But we're both from the Iazyges tribe, so maybe we do have a distant ancestor. That, and me being a priest, must both have had an influence."

I snorted and snapped at the air with my sizeable teeth ::Can you two continue this scientific theory of relativity at a quieter time? The gate is in front of us! Let's go, or let's stay, but let's DO SOMETHING!::

Gatalas could not agree with me more. He nudged me with his heels gently and I plunged forward, leaping through the portal. Warm energy waves stroked my sides, and then I was on the other side! My hooves thudded into green grass. It smelled divine!

It looked exactly like it had before... except now there were hoof prints running into the distance.

And it was much warmer... late summer instead of fall.

::Whoa! The temperature got hot, suddenly. And it smells like summer! That is just too amazing!:: Lux purred in surprise, as Farna, Kourosh and the Sisters of the Scale all slid through and joined me in this hotter, greener version of the Tihuţa Pass.

Amazed, I felt Gatalas nudge my sides again, and I walked forward. Farna, Kourosh and the dragons clopped, padded or winged along in our wake. We moved carefully, senses stretched out to take in any sign of an enemy.

Eventually we came to another Tamga rune, this one carved into the trunk of a long dead tree. Once again it was the triangle-on-line-with-legs symbol of the Sandspitters. But this time, the tamgas for "follow" and "meet" and "ahead" were added in. Gatalas knew those symbols; every Sarmatian brat was taught them and their meanings. It was by no means a written language like Broomhead markings, but symbols were an easy way to tell an illiterate people about locations and identities. And, most importantly, warnings.

This did not seem to be a warning, though. It was a hope from our Sandspitter comrades that other units had crossed over as well. Both Galatas and I were impressed how cunningly the markings had been made in the tree- almost subtle in their patterns. Only a Sarmatian would have seen they were more than natural wood grain.

At this point, Setareh swung off my back, and I sighed in relief to be back to one Rider again. I watched as the young woman ran a hand over the carvings on the dead tree. She looked at her hands and rubbed them, small bits of bark dropping from her palms. She nodded, as if working out something with herself, then walked over to Farna to tighten the girths on the battle mare's saddle. Farna nickered softly and nudged the girl, as if she, too, seemed to be considering the same thing.

"Gatalas," Setareh said, wiping her brow, "That carving and the horse prints are pretty new. The Sandspitters can't be more than two days ahead of you. The mission's still alive, so we should go back to the original plan."

Gatalas leaned back, trying to stay calm, and I pawed at the ground, picking up the nervous anticipation from my Rider, "You mean, Setareh, that I go on and deliver the Draco to the Sandspitters- and, hopefully, other units who made it?"

Setareh nodded, "Yes. Eyeful is much faster than Farna, I think, and Farna is also getting over an arrow wound. Dear Ravenwing was just barely able to keep up with Eyeful. You and your Turkmene were pegged for this mission, remember, because you're both among the fastest bond pairing out there. The original idea was that we would locate the portal, I would get you over it, and then you would go on to deliver the Draco at top speed.

"With Banadaspos gone, the Roughnecks need the Draco more than ever. And, don't forget, some of the Sandspitter unit Star Priests survived too, for them to help the unit get over the portal. They'll know what to do with the Draco. And it'll be there to protect them from whatever it is that has been ensorcelling dragons- that balaur?."

"And what about you, Setareh?" Gatalas asked, tightly, worry in his voice.

"Pshaw! I go back, like I was originally supposed to. It's even more important than ever I get back, Gatalas, to let the caravan priests know what happened to Banadaspos and the Side Stranglers." Setareh stroked Farna's broad, bare neck, "Farna's surefooted in these mountains, so I think we'll make good speed back to canyon where we overnighted with the caravan, then we can head northeast for a few hours. I know of a place in the area where I could try to patch a communications link with the caravan priests."

::Ahhh, more of that amazing technology we Sarmatians are not to supposed to know about?:: Gatalas thought sent to me.

::If so, why didn't we do that before, after we saw the devastated Side Stranglers?:: I sent to Gatalas, but then realized it would have taken us well out of our way, put more time on the journey. It would also give more time for scavengers to pick over the battlefield of any useful clues. The current need when we saw the decimated unit was to find out more about the situation before reporting home for reinforcements. Maybe it was not the wisest decision we could have made considering we were so few, but Setareh, Gatalas and we Turkmenes knew we had a narrow opportunity to collect information.

This led to some interesting arguing between the Firemakers as they worked out why/why not about splitting up. It was namely Gatalas being worried about Setareh's safety as she made her way back alone. Setareh kept pointing out this would not have been the case if he had still thought her a well armed teenaged boy on a powerful war horse. The rest of the world outside of her priest community and immediate family thought she was one, and she had been traveling on her own between caravans as a journeyman for some time now. Besides, she still had her wards, her lovely explosive devices, her bow, and her dagger. She knew how to fight, and she happened to have the protection of a powerful war mare (a war chieftain's mare, too) and a swift, cunning Sarmatian saluki hound.

In the end, Setareh won, pointing out that she would actually be safer than Gatalas, since she knew the hazards we had already crossed, and he was riding into the unknown.

That appealed to my Rider's sense of responsibility (and adventure), so all was well on the Sarmatian front.

There was still plenty of daylight, so both Firemakers could make good time. Supplies were divided up hastily, and Farna's old harness rolled up and tied on top of the packs behind her saddle. It would become the harness of the next Scepter Holder's horse- if we all survived this adventure.

Two Amazons, Myrtle O' No Mercies and Primrose the Berserk, volunteered to go with Setareh and her companions.

That touched me quite a bit. I did not expect the Sisterhood to split up, but both Amazon Terrors wanted to help provide an extra bit of scouting and protection for the Firemaker and her companions. Besides, it meant they might have a few more adventures that the others did not experience, and that would give them some more bragging rights when (if?) the bachelorette unit got back together. They would go with Setareh as far as the edge of Nowheresville Village, and they hoped they could do some naughty nicking of Firemaker supplies and weapons from the village. Then they'd go back to Fortress Amazonia and, hopefully, reconvene with the others.

::Just be careful, ladies!:: Purple Sonja warned the dark grey and the straw green/brown Amazons, ::Stay close to da Firemaker each night and don't go out huntin' in da evenin'. Remember what happened to youse da last time!::

::We know, we know, Commander!:: Primrose the Berserk replied with a reassuring purr, ::I don't want to go through that fun experience again. And I have no wish to hurt any more innocent nightjars. ::

Our parting of ways also meant Lux had to choose, as well. I would have bet my evening's rations that Lux would have chosen to go with Setareh, and I am glad I did not.

He made it clear he wanted to go on with Gatalas, the Sisters of the Scale and me.

::But I can see you're most comfortable around Setareh, and you can learn a lot from her, Primrose and Myrtle.:: I told the growing kitten.

Lux was sprawled on his side on the ground, soaking in the sun like a scaly cat. He raised his head and rubbed it against my downturned one and trilled, ::Yes, but we also might meet more dragons along the way, and we still haven't met anyone who knows what kind of dragon I am.::

::Indeed. And let's not forget I am useful for your flying practice and blah, blah, blah. But you do have a point there, Lux- spark. We are likely to meet a greater variety of the People as we get closer to the reason why they are attacking Firemakers, :: I snorted softly, ::And it's also going to get more and more dangerous, I think. ::

::Eh, right. That old threat of danger, again. Yawn:: Lux casually gestured at his scarred, newly-shaded hide, ::I'd rather be attacked as a free dragon than be a hostage of the River Rats.::

And he growled, his growl actually carrying a real hint of strength in it, now. The little ribs, throat and lungs were growing stronger, no doubt.

::That's the spirit, trooper!:: I told him and touched muzzles to him.

Gatalas had been watching our exchange and nodded, "Remember, also, what the priests told us, friend. That Lux should go with us on our mission. They sensed some sort of interesting paradox about Toothlesss, the Eastern dragon going west to befriend a Viking and Lux, a dragon taken east by Vikings and there being similar problems on two borders." He nodded, "It's good he will join us."

The last thing Setareh did was to suggest that Gatalas dress himself and me in our Sandspitter armor.

"But I can't wear the armor, anymore," Gatalas protested, "I was discharged until further action could be taken. I don't have any right to wear it."

Setareh shrugged and made sure her own little fireball weapons and bow and dagger were secured to Farna's harness, "That's your choice, Gatalas. I wouldn't turn down such protection myself, if I had such armor," she winked in self depreciation, "After all, I helped make your armor.

"But at least put Eyeful's armor on. Since you're approaching your own unit, it's best they see you coming as a friend, and from a distance they'll know you are one of us."

"Or that I could have stolen armor from a Sandspitter who might not have survived the journey up here?" Gatalas countered back, smiling ironically and crossing his arms on his chest.

"But would such a human be able to ride a Turkmene? I highly doubt it."

She had a point.

Grumbling, Gatalas unrolled my armor and tacked me up. I sighed in anticipation. I loved wearing my armor as much as I loved wearing my embroidered neck bands and the little wooden horned skulls that dangle from my breast collar.

It's all about accessorizing.

Setareh helped him with the deed, so soon I was, once again, a proud little Sandspitter dragon.

Gatalas, however, refused to don his armor, no matter how much Setareh, Farna and I pled with him. He kept insisting he did not deserve it.

::You and your silly Sarmatian honor, ape face,:: I told him sadly, ::Why should I be the one who gets protected and you aren't?::

He laughed and stroked my face, securing my chamfron head guard a little more, "It means you have to protect me all the more, Horsebutt."

I snorted and nipped him hard on the arm for that comment.

Before we parted, Setareh and Gatalas both wished each other many Sarmatian blessings.

"May it be many years before you feed the worms."

"May you only see the most beautiful of sunsets and fight the ugliest of enemies."

"May all your dreams come true, especially those involving ravens and horned serpents befriending you."

"May... oh, what the hey, Gatalas!" Setareh made as if to give the symbolic Punch of Peace but then hugged Gatalas hard, "I'm going to miss your company, ya big blond lunk."

Gatalas stiffened as if he had been hit by lightning. Then slowly... slowly... he let his arms go around Setareh and hug her back. A small grin worked itself from hiding.

For a moment they held each other in their arms, two spiritually-scarred friends who had found trust and companionship on the road they shared. They released each other with a sense of reluctance.

Gatalas stroked Setareh's cheek, and she did not flinch but smiled back, her eyes glittering with genuine affection.

"I'm going to miss you, too, forge priest," Gatalas said, smiling broadly, "Now you go and use those bombs of yours to blow up any bad guys real good for me, y'hear?"

Setareh laughed throatily and tapped Gatalas' shoulder. "Why, I do believe you just invented Sarmatian redneck speech!"

"I've been hanging around Purple Sonja too long," Gatalas replied, and added, waggling his eyebrows, "Fry mah hide!"

The two Firemakers laughed and parted company, each swinging onto a Turkmene.

"Come on Kou!" Setareh called.

The fawn colored Kourosh uncurled himself from a perfect half circle and ran up to Farna, wagging his plumed tail. He lolled out his tongue and woofed in anticipation.

He ran up to me and yipped, so I lowered my nose so we could touch noses. He did the same for Lux, who stretched himself long from my back until his head reached the hound's. The sisters trilled down their farewells to him.

Gatalas reached down and pat the dog gently and then ruffled his head.

Satisfied with his farewells, Kourosh trotted back to Farna's side.

Then Farna moved off at an elegant, long-legged stride. Kourosh bounded after her, and two Sisters of the Scale soared over the Turkmene's head.

::Fair winds and fly well, youse Sisters and Firemaker!:: Purple Sonja called out, and her troops all called out roars and trills.

Setareh waved and Gatalas saluted back.

"Keep yourself warm!" Both Firemakers called to each other.

Farna gave a long, proud whicker. I answered it with a loud neigh of my own. I don't think it needs any translation.

We watched the Forge Priest move towards the gate, which lay not far behind us. We had come though it so recently that we all could still see its faint shimmer.

We watched as she raised a gloved hand and then, quite suddenly, Setareh and Farna seemed to vanish into the air.

My mind filled in a missing pop sound, even though it was actually very quiet.

Behind her, Kourosh disappeared, and then Primrose and Myrtle.

Then there was nothing ahead of us but a beginning track of hooves seeming to rise from nowhere, and the wind blowing bits of grass seed and milkweed through the sky.

I felt Gatalas square up his shoulders and then say, "All right, Turkmene, my friend. Let's show how fast we can fly without wings!"

I needed no second urging. It had been too long since we had really been able to enjoy a good romp through these mountains.

::Hang on, Lux!:: I warned, and I heard his claws dig into the pack behind the saddle. He chirped that he was ready.

::FLY!::

And then I spun around and burst into a gallop.

Aahhh, that felt... GOOD!

My muscles, long clenched from powering up and down mountain slopes, stretched out in pleasure, and my lungs filled with crystal clear, late summer air. My hooves thudded the distinctive tattoo of a running horse, a primal beat that has inspired Sarmatians since ancient days.

Except now, for the first time, I galloped with a flock of dragon warriors flying overhead. It was a wonderful feeling, as though we Sarmatian Dragons really were dragon warriors in more than name.

The Amazons kept pace with me, sometimes even overshooting me, but that was a rare thing. Eventually, my endurance took over, and they started to slow down, but I continued racing along at my legendary gallop. Yes, I know I am repeating how fast I am, but that's just me. I like to flatter myself, especially since there are no other Turkmenes in the vicinity to admire my greatness.

Wind sheared past my neck, grass blades and dust flew in the air, the world seemed to flash by in tilting angles on each side.

Gatalas laughed in joy and raised his arms, clinging to me by his legs and the stirrups. Lux also laughed in joy, calling out that I was not going fast enough yet.

Now that I could move on my own we covered the pass at ground eating speed. The pass remained a broad path good for galloping, following gentle rises and falls. I knew it would eventually feed down into a valley again and I would have to slow down for steep descent, but now we could still make speed.

The sun moved lower into the sky, the edges starting to turn red and then maroon. We were not out of the pass yet, and it looked like we might need to overnight here. I was not keen on that, since this pass had less shelters and trees than the previous two passes.

::Yo, Eyeful! Careful! Careful! :: Jessamine the Juggernaut called down from the sky, above us. She was the fastest of the Sisters and able to keep up with me relatively well, ::I see a Person coming our way. Be careful!::

Heh! I gritted my teeth. Wasn't it still early in the evening for the ensorcelled dragons to be abroad? But, maybe. as we got closer to the source of this ... this ... balaur , did it become easier and easier for it to ensorcel dragons and send them out earlier and earlier in the day?

I slowed down, then, realizing I should not let the Amazons drop too far behind me. If there was something about us Sarmatians that prevented the Sisters from being ensorcelled- and I was believing more and more that would be the Draco- I needed to make sure the Sisters were protected.

Gatalas leaned back, helping me as I slid my haunches into a lope and then a soft, long reaching trot. We heard the Amazons' wings as they caught up to us.

::Dragon coming,:: I warned Gatalas, ::Be ready, friend,::

He grunted in agreement, and I soon heard him retrieving and stringing his bow.

Behind him, Lux gave a nervous little bark of worry. ::Bow or Draco?::

That must have cued my Rider onto something else, because he urged me to stop fully. I did so, my hooves digging into the warm, thin dirt.

He rummaged on my back, and, with my backward facing equine vision, I could just see Gatalas put back the bow into its gorytas and then retrieve a very long something that had been strapped across my rump.

Lux had actually been perched just in front of it.

And then a dragon exploded into view in front us, loping over the top of hill ahead, coming down to meet us.

::Hurry, Firemaker!:: I called to Gatalas, tensing in place for confrontation.

It was a medium sized dragon, a long-necked, solidly built sort with vestigial wings and a ridge of large bone plates running along its humped and padded spine. Its brow carried forked sensors and two, small, spiral red and black horns. Its coat was a light brown color with gold-scaled chevrons, creating an interesting mosaic.

It charged at me, its eyes glazed. I reared up to protect my Rider from what I knew could be a very painful blast.

We had, indeed, found a Sandspitter.

It just happened to be the real thing.

Out of the corner of my eye, my back-facing vision saw Gatalas was now holding up the Draco pole in both hands. The gold-plated Draco head mounted on top gleamed in the dying light, and the red, segmented silk streamers of its tail and tongue rippled in the breeze.

Magnificent! My heart swelled, and I arched my neck in pride, imitating a proud, war dragon.

This was certainly a new experience for me: a Sandspitter fighting against a Sandspitter, but in a very ironic way.

The Sandspitter's eyes were slit pupiled, and it roared a ululating call that echoed from the hills around us. It took a breath as if to pull in oxygen, and I braced myself for its painful, scouring attack. I hoped Setareh's armor would hold true to protect me, though it had been designed for Firemaker rather than dragonic enemies.

Still I sent out a laugh of battle joy, ::Bring it on, dragon! I'll have you know I taste terrible!::

There was a crack of air as the Sandspitter suddenly veered to my right side, claws digging into the ground, avoiding a direct blow with me. It then bolted past me, turning in a wide loop, coming back around towards me.

I turned to face it as a troop of draconic she-demons descended on the Sandspitter, claws flashing, and nasty sticky flames exploding from their mouths.

::Take that, ya big bully!:: Purple Sonja screeched in powerful joy, letting loose a pungent flame that flashed along the Sandspitter's side.

::Drink of my sticky flame of doom, you scorching fiend!:: called out the yet unnamed gray and rose dragon

::Jessamine! What is best in life?:: screamed Blossom the Butcher, swooping down to claw at the Sandspitter.

::To crush your enemies and their eggs, to see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their wom- I mean their dragonesses!: Jessamine the Juggernaut roared back.

It was a truly amazing attack, and the Sandspitter backed away, shaking its head.

Once out past the immediate range of Amazons, it tried to leap towards Gatalas and me. I reared up again, striking out with a hoof.

The Sandspitter never impacted with me, as I had dreaded. Instead, it slammed to all fours again and lowered its spiral-horned head. It shook its head again as if recovering from a daze and snarled softly, a sound resembling water bubbling up from a deep fissure.

This time, when it raised its head, its golden-green eyes were clear, not glazed, and they gazed upon all of us in flat- out amazement.

I went back down to all fours, too, and Lux trilled in delight, ::Oooooh, that Person's hide looks exactly like your armor, Eyeful!::

The Sisters of the Scale ranged around me, hovering in the air, snarling threats.

::Surrender now, oh ye lone dragon barbarian, for ya have been smote by da Amazons of Terror, da Sisters of da Scales!:: Purple Sonja called out, her thought speech showing she would take no sassing back.

I did not doubt the Sisters meant their words. Fourteen agile Terrors with well placed, stinging, sticky-fire and nastily sharp claws and beaks could do serious damage to a lone Sandspitter. Its breath-weapon was unique among dragons, but it could be dominated and muzzled by clever Amazon claws. Some of the sisters also were wielding their nasty vine bolas, so that gave them an extra advantage in bringing down the Sandspitter.

"I don't think it was the Sisters of the Scale who stopped the Sandspitter," Gatalas said to me, his gloved hands gripping the Draco's battered pole. Lux poked his little, wolflike face over Gatalas' shoulder as he perched his front paws on the Firemaker's back.

::Well, I doubt it was my scrawny, scarred carcass!:: I sent back, staring fiercely at the Sandspitter and baring my teeth.

The Sandspitter watched me for a moment. It stood taller than me by one head, and I was surprised it was not as large as I would have expected. It was, however, much broader than I, especially in the shoulders and flanks.

Then the Sandspitter surprised my by purring. It dropped to its front knees in a dragon bow.

::Permission to Mindlink...?:: I sent guardedly.

It was accepted and the dragon purred more, ::Oh, gladly shall I grant it, fairest desert nymph.::

Its- his- thought speech was masculine and kind.

Huh? I felt my ears stand up in puzzlement.

::I feel as though we are linked already, both in souls and in physical form, my lovely lady:: , the Sandspitter stood up again on all fours, curling his long, graceful neck in respect to me ::For you have saved me from enchantment, but yet you have managed to enchant my heart, sylph of the sands. Long have I been lonely, wandering these green, sand less wastes in search of one of my kind, and it was a Sandspitter who saved me! The Sky Lady is indeed benevolent! And, you seem to have some strange things on your back? Did you catch and kill a Firemaker? You are indeed a fearsome warrior of the desert, my dragon lady!::

The Sandspitter purred again, and I gave a rather bemused nicker, hoping it sounded enough like his purr.

::Ah, so quiet? But, maybe you are a bit shy? You like to play the hard to get game? Never shall you fear, for I am one who knows the way to the shyest heart.::

I could hear, very softly, Gatalas suppressing a snicker, ::I think it, indeed, was your scrawny, scarred carcass, Horsebutt!::

::Nah, more like what's covering my scrawny, scarred carcass. Hrani's teats, but this is embarrassing! I hope the other war mares never hear about this.::

I heard some squeaks of wonder and surprise from several of the Sisters. I also caught a comment from the always observant Jessamine that she thought the Sandspitter's gaze, while no longer ensorcelled, still seemed to be weak. Sandspitters, after all, are not known for their brilliant eye sight. He'd have to have blurred sight to see me as one of his People!

It was Lux who, once again, proved his ability to state the obvious, ::Oh, wow, Eyeful! He thinks you're a Sandspitter because of your armor! You have a boyfriend! That's so cool! Now I have to make fun of you! Eyeful and the Sandspitter, sittin' in a tree...::

::Shut up Lux!::

Oh, rapturous joy.

Some translations.

Nu, nu, vă barbari! Uită-te! - No, no, you barbarians. Look here!

Acesta este- This is

Hey, vâysâ! (Sarmatian)- Hey, stop that!

A/N - Horse nerd stuff, look out! Eyeful's height of 15 hands would be considered quite tall for a horse during the time periods in this story (Eyeful's native time line perriod of around 134 AD and their adapted time period of 11th century Europe and Central Asia.). A hand is a unit of measurement of horse height from the ground to the horse's shoulders. (One hand = 4 inches/10.16 cm.) Today modern day Akhal Teke Turkmenes remain about 15 hands, however, a lot of modern day riding horse breeds now stand 16 - 17 hands or higher, showing the view of the "average" horse is now larger.

Through most of history, horses were actually small, often pony sized. (A pony is 13 hands or less). Larger horses were bred when knights developed heavier armor and needed larger, heavy horses. The improvement of roads also meant more wagons and carriages, and larger horses were better for that sort of work, and horses seem to have been bred to be taller and taller.

There seems to be a modern view that taller horses are better, and that affects our view of history. The Vikings, for example, rode horses that are today's Icelandic and Fjord breeds. Both are considered ponies, quite the opposite of what you would think tall, burly Norsemen would ride, but yes, they rode ponies! That surprises a lot of people; I think fantasy artwork and movies depict Vikings riding huge Clydesdales or Friesians. However, these Icelandic and Fjord ponies are very powerful, strong necked and are better suited for adults and older children. They had no trouble carrying Norsemen into battle. As I often tell people who first ride Icelandic horses, they look small, when you get on them, you'll realize they are a lot of horse.

The dull-witted, horny Viking stallions mentioned in Chapter 2 and 3 are also small in size compared to modern horses and are based on the Norwegian Døle horse. These were descended from horses taken to Norway by Friesian traders just before the Viking Age. They would stand about 14 - 15 hands.

Thanks for your patience. I've been busy with real life, but I had some days off, so I wanted to post another chapter. I hope you liked it. The Roan-Mane-yun language was from Google Translate, and that's shaky, so if there are some Romanian speakers out there who would kindly help with the right translations, I would be ever so grateful! The same goes for Sarmatian (Farsi)

Also, does anyone see the significance of the Tihuţa Pass in classical literature?

Hopefully, the next chapter will not take so long to download. (Fingers crossed...)