Free Shadowed By Wings by Janine Cross

back and regarded my building with pride. It would serve its function admirably, regardless of its extreme lean to the left and the fact that a crawl-hole at shin level stood in lieu of a door. All the humble structure required to validate it was the monthly purification rite of a daronpu.
    A glimmer of green and purple up under the roof’s overhang caught my attention. I shielded the sun from my eyes with one hand and squinted.
    I was looking at a dartanfen.
    Such spiders were considered a sign of luck, understand, a sign of favor from the Pure Dragon, for they bore the same colors as a bull. I grinned absurdly at the spider as it spun fine silk in the shade of the slanted roof I’d built.
    “You’ll not learn how to serve Re, standing there like a fool,” a voice growled behind me. I turned and met the gaze of the dragonmaster. His bald head gleamed in the sun’s glare, and for a moment, the venom in my blood made his pate look like a mosssplotched chestnut.
    “Think you that I’ve angered Temple just to have you gawk at insects in my stables? That’s not why I’ve spent the last days arguing with the Ranreeb over ancient scrolls and debating with Temple fools!” He jerked a calloused thumb to the east. “Get you to the vebalu course with the other apprentices, or I’ll whip you for your sloth.”
    I flared my nostrils. Alas, venom brings out the worst of my temper. Always.
    “Temple can’t refute my legitimate claim to serve Re,” I argued. “The Scroll of the Right-Headed Crane clearly states that anyone who has been rendered clean by a holy knife and has been chosen by a Temple-sanctioned dragonmaster may serve a bull.”
    “I don’t need reminding what the scroll says, girl. And what is stated in the scrolls and what actually occurs in Malacar are frequently two different things!”
    “Temple can’t deny me this position. It can’t .”
    The dragonmaster’s face turned puce as he struggled to retain his anger. I remembered, then, how precariously balanced he was upon the knife-edge of insanity, after years of venom exposure.
    “But I’m sure that your clever arguments will have swayed even the dullest Temple minds in my favor,” I hastily added, to assuage him.
    His teeth chattered briefly, as an excited cat’s do before it pounces upon a bird, and then he shuddered and his shoulders convulsed once, violently.
    “We’ll see if I have or not,” he rasped. “Doesn’t matter now, anyway.” He smiled maniacally. “There was an uprising last night. Several Hamlets of Forsaken joined forces and launched an attack on Clutch Maht. The Ranreeb flew out this morning to deal with the rebels.”
    “So I’m safe.”
    “Safe, gaah! Unless you train hard and survive this year’s Arena, you’ll not be safe. Re will gut you with one swipe.”
    “You’re not sending me into Arena until I’m ready!” I cried, alarmed.
    “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do! There are rules, Temple governs Arena… .” He sputtered angrily, then pointed wildly to the east, as if he could fling me away with the gesture. “Get to the vebalu course and start training. Now!”
    I bit my tongue and turned from him to pack the tools back into the crate.
    As I crouched to open the lid, a hot ember snapped against my back, burning through the cape I wore into the flesh of my left shoulder. I yelped, leapt to my feet, and spun around in one movement. Venom-tainted, my vision spun several heartbeats after my eyes did, and I swayed like one drunk.
    The dragonmaster stood with a short braided whip dangling from one hand.
    “Yes, Komikon!” he shouted.
    I licked dry lips. “Yes, Komikon.”
    “Don’t forget it again!”
    “Yes, Komikon.”
    “And never turn your back toward anyone, understand? Ever.”
    “Yes, Komikon,” I replied. But he was already walking away.
     
    I walked east, in the direction the dragonmaster had pointed, into the adjacent stable courtyard. I say walk, but it felt as if I drifted, my