Free Dragon's Blood by Jane Yolen Page B

FIGHTERS met outside in less than an hour, dressed in leathers. Jakkin, being the youngest and unfamiliar with the pits, had never owned his own coveralls. He wore a pair of fawn-colored ones that Jo-Janekk had found for him. They were too long and had to be rolled up. There were several strange scarrings on the legs. Jakkin did not ask where the deep scratches came from. He was afraid he knew. He was grateful, though, that they let him be part of the roundup. Some bonders felt that a successful roundup changed a boy into a man. Jakkin was grateful and, though he wouldn't admit it out loud, very frightened. He had heard a lot about drakk, none of it good.
    "Master Sarkkhan was not in his house. He's away at the pits—" Jo-Janekk began.
    "Fewmets, that's right," Balakk cursed. "I forgot. He's got two fighters. Hoping to have a winner at the minor pits with them. He's
hungry, is Master Sarkkhan. Hasn't had a winner in months. Not even at a minor. Well, I hope he has them today, or that we find those pieces of waste. Otherwise, I'd not bet a coin to fill a dead man's bag against a sack of gold but that he'll have us on half rations before nightfall."
    "Now, Bal," Jo-Janekk began, "you know he's not that kind of master. He came up from bond himself."
    "The worst kind are gold masters, they say," Kkittakk put in. "Worse than born masters."
    "You haven't been here long enough to know," said Frankkalin.
    "Save your fire for the drakk," Likkarn warned them. "We can't wait till Sarkkhan comes back, win or no win." He rubbed his hand over the bib of his coverall, touching the place where his bag lumped. "You can't wait with drakk flying out there." He looked at Jakkin. "Do we have to take this bag of waste?"
    "Yes." Balakk gave the answer without hesitation, and as he was now senior, Likkarn could not quarrel with him.
    Jakkin could feel the cold sweat begin
again, beading his neck and running down the crease of his back. He wondered that he could feel so cold when he should be hot in the confining leathers.
    Wordlessly, Frankkalin gave out the knives. Long, straight bladed, they resembled machetes with bone handles. Each man got one. Likkarn, Balakk, and Frankkalin carried extinguishers as well, the three that could be spared from the hallways.
    "Stingers for stunning, but finish them with knives," Balakk cautioned. "We can't waste power. There's not another shipment of power packs due into Rokk till next year, and we're already low." He did not have to mention Likkarn's killing of Blood Brother. It was on everyone's mind.
    Likkarn grunted and looked away.
    Balakk continued as if there had been no interruption. "And once the drakk are down, they can be cut easily enough. Just be sure they
are
down, though, and always come at them from behind. Even a downed drakk can sometimes make a pass at you with his claws, a reflex like. Knew a man once, had his leg near took off by a drakk he thought was
dead." He shivered. "Those ... those..." Even his curse words seemed inadequate. He spit to one side. "I hate them."
    Though they all knew the basics of hunting drakk, no one minded the extra warning. Then Jo-Janekk handed out the masks. "Clip them to your shoulder straps and snap them on at the last," he explained. "There's no smell like a dead drakk. It'll fair incapacitate you. Let's hope we get lots of them today."
    "
Drakk!
" they shouted together, lifting their knives and stingers overhead. As if the shouted word guaranteed success, they shouted it again, Jakkin louder than the rest. He put his fear into the word and hurled it from him, then pumped his arm high, catching the sunlight with the blade. "
Drakk! Drakk! Drakk!
"
    The ululation continued to echo as they marched out of the yard, a band of seven in gray-and-tan leathers. The other bonders stood by the barn doors to watch them pass.
    Jakkin wondered suddenly if Akki, too, watched from the hospice or if she were away on some errand of her own. He threw his chest out and