The pair sat together, staring off in companionable silence. They stayed that way for several minutes, until a commotion by the fire drew their attention.

  Apparently the wildlings' argument had been resolved and, by the look of things, not to everyone's liking. Ness in particular was stomping around, kicking rocks as she grabbed various items scattered throughout the camp.

  Aytin and Faelon shared a look. Curious, the dragonette wandered over and caught Rina's attention. He pointed to Ness and made a questioning gesture.

  "Ness fly tribe. More we. More dragonettes."

  "She fly tribe?" Aytin asked, testing the new word.

  "She fly tribe. Get companion."

  'Okay, she's taking news back home and getting... someone?' From the context, there seemed to be more to the word than he originally thought. "Get huntresses?"

  "Yes? No?" Rina looked a little uncertain. "Companion, yes. Huntresses, maybe."

  "Companion?"

  The huntress waved at him. "Companion."

  "Okay..." Maybe there were some connotations of that word he was missing. It would be interesting to meet this "companion", whoever they were.

  With just her bow and belt to weigh her down, Ness only needed a short run to get airborne. She made a few circles to gain altitude before flying off at a fast clip, on a course destined somewhere to the northwest.

  Exactly how far she was traveling wasn't clear. When Aytin managed to ask how long she would be gone, the answer he received was, "Less day." Whether that meant an hour or getting back before their next breakfast was hard to say, and the huntress didn't actually seem too sure herself.

  With Ness on her way, Rina returned to preparing the venison, now aided by both Aytin and Attalee. It didn't take long to finish the butchering process and season the cuts with salt and wild herbs.

  The wildlings had balked at the amount of salt that Aytin was using. To them, it was probably like pouring an entire jar of honey onto a few apples. But eventually he managed to get across the idea that Faelon was providing the salt and it was what he wanted. They acquiesced, although neither seemed particularly happy about putting something so valuable on common deer.

  Most of the meat went over the coals to cook on spits. The scraps, Aytin added to the now empty porridge pot, along with water, the remaining seasonings, and a handful of oats. It was about as basic a stew as there was, but it would do.

  "Tribe?" Aytin asked as they were cleaning up from the butchery. He wanted to know more about the wildlings before trying to hire them as... well, mercenaries.

  "Tribe, yes?" Rina asked in return.

  "Uh..." He wanted to ask how many there were, but realized they didn't have their word for numbers. With a shrug, he indicated the two of them as well as Attalee and held up three fingers. Then repeated, "Tribe?"

  "Ah." She clearly understood the question, but seemed unsure of how to answer. At first, she tried to hold up fingers, but quickly gave up the attempt.

  Suddenly, her eyes seemed to light up. There was a pile of firewood nearby, and Rina snagged a long, slender stick. After clearing a patch of dirt, she made ten deep dots. With each dot, she spoke a word, which Aytin dutifully repeated.

  "One, two, three..."

  When she was done, she circled all of the dots. Then she started drawing more circles, again accompanied by their number.

  "Twenty, thirty, fourty..."

  At a hundred, she stopped and held out one hand, silently counting. "Tribe hundred eighty dragonettes. Maybe."

  A hundred and eighty dragonettes was a good sized group. Larger than the population of most keeps, in fact.

  "Huntresses? Warriors?"

  Rina looked like she was about to answer when Attalee barked something at her. It sounded chastising, and the more junior huntress looked a little chagrined.

  "Sorry," she told Aytin, and shook her head.

  'I guess Faelon isn't the only paranoid one here.'

  He had been trying to get an idea of how many fighters they might be able to hire, but if some stranger came up to Luffin keep and started asking about how many defenders they could muster, he would be suspicious as well.

  Instead of hunting for some more innocuous topic, Rina turned the question around. "You tribe?"

  Deciding it couldn't hurt to answer truthfully, Aytin replied, "Much flying. Much days." He pointed vaguely to the southwest.

  "Fly big water? Ocean?"

  He nodded. "Dragon fly much."

  "Dragon Faelon?" It was obvious what she was thinking.

  "Bad dragon," he explained. A snapped stick and pointing at his wing told the rest of the story.

  She looked incredulous. Maybe even a little sick. "Bad dragon break wing?"

  "Yes. Bad dragon break wing. Bad dragonettes break good dragonettes."

  "Good dragonettes?" She pointed at him, then spread her arms in question. "Others?"

  Aytin nodded. "Me. Others... more sleep? Bad sleep?"

  "Dead?"

  "Dead," he echoed. "Good dragonettes dead."

  "Bad dragonettes? Bad dragon?" Now she looked worried. And Attalee appeared to be listening intently from nearby.

  'Why do I keep messing things up like this?' Aytin turned towards Faelon, hoping for some guidance, but the dragon just returned his gaze curiously. 'Of course, he doesn't know the language.'

  Sighing, he decided to answer truthfully. "Four bad dragonettes dead. Faelon make dead." He pointed back towards the ruined keep. "Bad dragon, bad dragonettes, fly my tribe."

  "Your tribe bad dragonettes?" Attalee demanded.

  Desperately shaking his head, Aytin said, "No! My tribe good dragonettes! Bad dragonettes..." How to describe demanding ransom? Should he even try?

  He set a pile of rocks in front of the senior huntress. "Yours." Then he snatched one away.

  That got a grudging nod. "Steal."

  "They steal my tribe. Steal," he pointed at the pile of supplies. "Faelon and I fight." Aytin picked up his spear and jabbed it in the air. He was exaggerating his own actions in the ambush, but that didn't really matter.

  Attalee's next question wasn't one they had words for. It took some gesturing and back and forth to get the question across, but in the end the point was clear. She wanted to know if the brigands would return, and when.

  Aytin thought about consulting with Faelon. He wasn't ready for this conversation. He didn't know enough of the language and the senior huntress was looking unhappier each time he opened his mouth. But he knew that evading the question would make them look even worse.

  The best option would be to continue the course he had started on. "They return here," he confirmed, and saw Attalee's expression harden. "Maybe seventeen days. Maybe twenty-five days. Bad dragonettes come, Faelon fight. I fight."

  "You bring death. Dragon Faelon brings death."

  With a few quick steps, Attalee took to the skies. The senior huntress didn't travel far, just to the top of the canyon walls. But it was beyond easy reach for anyone without working wings.

  Rina looked unhappy as she explained her leader's words. She appeared hurt, and maybe even betrayed.

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  It made Aytin feel sick. He hadn't done anything to hurt these people. If he did nothing, they would probably escape notice when the brigands returned. But if he and Faelon recruited them, some would certainly die. Maybe all of them.

  He wouldn't lie to them about that. If worst came to worst, he and Faelon would face Xantha and Kalthor and all the others alone. And then they would both die.

  'I have to convince her,' he thought to himself. 'I have to.'

  Attalee was the senior huntress. She was the one Rina would follow, even if it was grudgingly. And it was her word that would carry the most weight with the rest of the tribe.

  How, though? He needed to explain. To make her understand what he and Faelon were fighting. How much the tribe stood to gain from helping them.

  And he needed a peace offering.

  "What happened?" Faelon asked as Aytin stood and strode past. "What did they say?"

  "I told them about Xantha and the rest. They weren't happy."

  "Ah."

  The word didn't come with any condemnation, but Aytin felt it all the same.

  "They're not dumb," he said, as he started picking through the cache, looking for something in particular. "They have eyes, and they can see that we don't exactly look like conquering heroes. Hells, I wouldn't be surprised if Attalee thinks we're thieves. We have this big pile of loot and we're being chased. Sounds pretty suspicious when you put it that way."

  Faelon bristled slightly at the insinuation, but seemed to accept the logic after a moment's thought. "A point. How do we convince them otherwise?"

  One of the boxes looked about the right size, but it was filled with bolts of fabric. Aytin set that one aside before he answered. "I don't know if we do."

  Faelon's eyes narrowed. "We are no thieves."

  "No, but we can't prove it. At the very least, we can come across as honorable thieves."

  He got a snort in response, and allowed himself a small smile. "Yes, I know. But we fed them, gave them gifts, and treated them with hospitality. Hopefully, our actions carry weight. And continue to do so."

  Another crate looked like a likely candidate. This time, he was rewarded by softly clinking metal as he pried it open, and he smiled down at the contents.

  The perfect peace offering for a huntress.

  Rina was waiting for him when he returned. She cast a questioning look at the small wooden box he carried. "What?"

  "Good," was all that Aytin would say. He needed the words to express what would come next.

  They talked for hours, only stopping to tend the fire and remove meat from the flames as it cooked. Aytin made Rina carry the first of the steaks to Faelon. To the oceans with mystery, they needed to see that the dragon wasn't some kind of monster.

  The huntress was practically quivering as she approached, steaming meat held out on strips of freshly cut bark. But Aytin had insisted, and swore that she would be safe.

  Faelon was gracious as he bent his neck down and almost delicately snapped up the first piece of venison. Rina looked like she wanted to bolt, but Aytin put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

  "Thank you." The dragon had learned that much of the wildling tongue, at least.

  "You... you are welcome," Rina managed in response.

  To Aytin, he said, "Please tell her that this is delicious. I have not eaten better in some time."

  The dragonette nodded. "Faelon say meat good," he relayed to Rina. "No eat much good meat in many days. I bad make meat." The last was said with a self-deprecating smile. She had eaten some of his tirox, after all.

  Rina nodded, jerkily, before withdrawing. Aytin followed right behind, as Faelon enjoyed his meal.

  They went back to their language lessons, occasionally pausing to sample the stew or turn the tougher cuts of meat slow-roasting over the fire.

  Attalee was still on her perch above the camp. It was hard to tell if she was on watch for threats from within or without, and Aytin did his best to ignore her.

  That was, until the sun had risen just past its zenith. After just a few hours, he wasn't fluent in the wildling tongue. Far from it. They had an odd way of speaking and strung words out in ways that didn't sound right.

  But once he had realized that, everything began to fall into place. There was a flow to the way Rina spoke, and words were easier to place once he got used to it. Some were still unfamiliar, but it was easier to guess their meanings. And with practice, he was beginning to pick out more familiar words behind the accent.

  It would have to be enough.

  "Attalee, we need to talk!"

  The senior huntress flicked an ear dismissively at Aytin's call. "About what?"

  "All things." When she didn't immediately move, he added, "Please."

  Grumpily, she rose to her feet and took to the sky. Circling the camp twice to gain altitude, she tucked her wings and dove like a falcon on a rabbit. It looked as if she were going to slam into the rocky canyon floor, but at the last moment, Attalee flared. In an impressive display of skill, the senior huntress came to a stop within arm's length of the source of her ire.

  "Well? I wait."

  But Aytin didn't back down. He looked up to the taller dragonette and resolutely returned her stare.

  "Faelon and I do not mean to bring death."

  Attalee snorted. "But you do."

  "We may. We bring death to enemies. Enemies may bring us death. Not you."

  He didn't catch every word of the other's response, but he caught the idea. "Empty promises."

  "We could have no death. Could hide. Not hard. Forest big." Aytin waved expansively all around him. "Hard look. Big look."

  "Dragon find you."

  She seemed so sure that he hesitated. 'Does she think dragons have some sort of magic? That might explain it.' Aytin knew that like all dragonettes, the wildlings held magic. Rina had seemed familiar with the concept, at least, although she did not volunteer what her own talent may be.

  Explaining that dragons had no magic beyond their breath and resistance to their particular element wasn't the point of this conversation, and Faelon wouldn't appreciate Aytin giving away all of his secrets. Not when the truth would work just as well. "Dragon not find Faelon before. Look days. Think him dead. We hide, they not find.

  "And we not hide. We fight. Fight evil."

  "They corrupt? They darklings?"

  Faelon didn't need to know the language to understand those words. They were close enough to his own tongue that his eyes narrowed in recognition. But they had briefly discussed what Aytin was about to say, and so he did not interrupt.

  "No, not darklings," Aytin admitted. "Leader looked good friend. Not a friend. Thief. Kill dragonettes. Kill friends. She evil."

  Attalee's condescending demeanor shifted to something not quite so hostile. But she wasn't stupid. She knew there was a catch.

  "You fight dragon, you die. You want us to fight. You want us to die."

  "We do not want you to die," Aytin insisted, and then took a deep breath. "We ask you to fight."

  Her hard, bitter laugh cut like a knife. "We fight dragon, we die. Not our fight."

  "Not your fight," he quickly agreed. "Faelon kill evil dragon." That was technically true. No doubt Faelon would claim that kill, but he would need help to do it. Both to get Kalthor on the ground and keep the blue dragon there. He did not mention that right then.

  "Need help to fight evil dragonettes. Ask help to fight."

  "Ask." Her word came out almost like a curse, and Attalee glared at Faelon. With how much fear and awe the wildlings seemed to hold for the dragon, that must have taken an iron will to pull off. But she managed.

  "Ask," Aytin repeated. "First, we give gift."

  The small box was sitting where he had left it. Aytin removed the top with a flourish. Inside, nestled in little beds of straw, were several dozen metal arrowheads.

  Most were simple iron hunting tips, with a few broadheads mixed in. A handful were even the narrow hardened steel design used to punch through armor.

  Neither huntress could disguise their interest in the bounty. It would have been like throwing open a chest full of gold or mithril back home.

  Still, Attalee was wary. And Rina followed her leader's example. She had been listening to the conversation, and Aytin could tell that parts of it hadn't pleased her.

  "Gift for help?"

  "No, gift for gift," Aytin explained. "You give help, we give more metal, more steel, more salt. Bow is gift," he said, indicating Rina's new weapon. Then he pointed to the stew pot. "Deer is gift. This," he picked up the box of arrowheads and extended it, "is gift."

  Hesitantly, the senior huntress reached out and plucked a steel broadhead out of its straw nest. The gray point shone dully in the sun as she turned it over in one hand. Her jaw was clenched and ears immobile, like she was trying to keep any expression off of her face. Whether that was good or bad was impossible to say.

  "Hello the camp!"

  The shout was so unexpected that everyone jumped. Attalee blanched as she dropped the arrowhead to the rocky ground. She seemed terrified that the fall had damaged it, but of course the steel didn't have so much as a scuff.

  Four wildlings were descending from above. Ness was in the lead, and it had been her shouted greeting that surprised them.

  Two of the others had the look of guards or scouts. They each clutched spears and wore similar garb to the trio he had first met. Between that and their short bows, they were likely fellow hundresses. Both women barely spared a glance for the unfamiliar dragonette. Their attention was fully focused on Faelon.

  The last of the group stumbled as he landed. He was the only male among them, and the flight had obviously been hard on him. Panting and wheezing, he nonetheless pushed himself to his full, if average height.

  He was unarmed, save for what looked like a knife in his belt. And his clothing was far from the practical wear of the rest. It was baggy in places, as if sized for someone bigger than he was, and embroidered with intricate patterns of stitching. The whole thing was dyed various shades of blue, in a pattern that seemed more like a patchwork than a deliberate design.

  "Companion Cue," Attalee said, formally.

  The young man - and Aytin realized that the oddly dressed dragonette couldn't be much older than he was - completely ignored the senior huntress. Like his escorts, his attention was fixed on Faelon.

  Attalee frowned as he began to step purposefully towards the dragon, but she didn't move to stop him.

  He was the first wildling they had seen who didn't seem terrified of Faelon. In fact, his ears were pricked and eyes wide in a look of pure awe as he stopped, just a few wingspans away from the enormous red dragon.

  Faelon looked down at the dragonette with curiosity. He didn't know nearly as much wildling as Aytin, but he knew a few words.

  "Hello. I am Faelon."

  Whatever either of them had expected, it wasn't the wildling prostrating himself in front of the dragon. Their mouths hung open, ears forward and eyes wide as the dragonette began to chant.

  "Dragon Faelon! Dragon Faelon! Dragon Faelon!"