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Dalk heaved himself around to face his braxilk once more. He stood in mutinous silence for a long moment before he finally grunted, so stiffly it was like he’d never spoken a word in his whole damn life, “Hello. I see that you have... wings.”
“I said be nice, don’t just stand there and state the obvious!” I groaned more to myself than to him. But maybe Dalk heard me, because he tried again, his tail tight with discomfort and his hands clenched into fists at his side.
“You also have... legs,” Dalk observed of the giant braxilk. “Lots of them. This is... good.”
Oh man. If Dalk ever did end up with a lady someday, I didn’t know how the hell he was ever going to talk to her if this was the best he could bloody manage. I could practically see it now, him speaking to some faceless woman in the future. Ah. Yes, the Dalk in my head said. My mate. You have arms. And a head. A nice, round head at that. Very good.
He’d probably tell her something about how well-placed her ears were too, the eejit.
“Although I do not see why you should have so many legs if you already have the wings,” Dalk was grumbling now. “Irkdu have many legs because they must move quickly over the sand with their feet. What purpose do all your legs serve?”
“Dalk!”
“They are still good legs,” Dalk amended at my intrusion, but it sure didn’t sound like he meant it, and the braxilk looked even less convinced than I probably did. But at least it didn’t seem like it was going to eat any more of Dalk’s bits. It was watching Dalk with a sort of quiet curiosity, its head cocked and its eyes keen. I wondered how much of what Dalk said it actually understood.
The Sea Sand and Deep Sky men had different accents and spoke slightly different dialects, but ultimately the languages were very close. After getting used to the accent out here I’d had no trouble understanding any of the Deep Sky people. The braxilk struck me as especially intelligent. I figured there was a pretty good chance that this big, staring creature was comprehending just about every stupid word coming out of Dalk’s mouth.
“Warrior,” Gahn Thaleo warned. Dalk didn’t turn around this time, but the irritated jerk of his tail let us all know that he’d heard. There wasn’t much time left and he knew it.
Dalk lowered his voice, and I only caught a few of his next words to the braxilk. “I have a... to impress... let... your back... and eat every last one of my remaining hairs if you want to.”
Whatever the blank bits of the sentence had been, the braxilk seemed to hear and understand it all. And apparently agree, because it finally bent its neck and lowered its wings, granting Dalk access to its wide back. As if worried the creature would change its mind, Dalk jogged forward and then leaped up with perfect power, settling himself in position behind the braxilk’s wings.
Now that he was good to go, he and everyone else were off to the races. Literally. Warrek called out a few commands, and the braxilk arrowed up into the air (the three carrying Sea Sand men a little more awkwardly than the other two). My heart seemed to take flight as well, batting up into my throat on a wild pair of wings as the braxilk all flew deeper into the valley, turning by a sharp edge of stone and disappearing. They were already so high in the air. If any one of them should fall...
But somehow, everybody managed to hold onto their mounts. Not long after they’d taken off, the first braxilk reappeared, ridden by a Deep Sky man, of course. Second place also went to a Deep Sky man. Third place went to Zoren, and we all cheered madly for him as his serious, determined face came into view, pink sight stars tightly vibrating. I let out a whoop when I saw that Dalk hadn’t come in dead last this time. No, he came in a rather shaky fourth place, his face pulled into a grimace as he appeared to bark orders at the braxilk that it may or may not have actually been obeying.
The other three braxilk had already landed, the riders dismounted. Dalk’s braxilk dove to meet them, landing with heavy grace. Dalk barely looked like he’d gotten his wits about him when his mount suddenly angled itself sharply to one side, like a capsizing boat, one wing lifting high in the air and upsetting Dalk’s balance.
A human would have fallen off the braxilk and probably would have broken at least a dozen bones. Shoulder, femur, all the ribs. Poof. Gone. But not Dalk. As the braxilk pitched Dalk off its back, during that sharply destabilizing movement, Dalk somehow managed to get his feet underneath him in a crouch against the braxilk’s spine. The next second, he was airborne, his strong legs bent, knees up near his chest, surprisingly flexible in an impressive leap that went nearly straight upwards. He reminded me a little bit of a cat in the way that cats seem to be able to magically snap themselves up into the air with no warning when they’re startled.
He landed like a cat, too. On his feet.
And then he used those feet to smartly step out of the range of the braxilk’s snapping beak the split second before it got one of his pointy ears.
I didn’t realize just how relieved I was that Dalk hadn’t fallen or otherwise annoyed his braxilk so much that it threw him down onto the rocks or ate him during the race until that moment. That moment when he was safe and sound, feet on the ground, all his bits more or less intact with no new beak marks on them. I felt a bit bad experiencing such relief because Oxriel hadn’t yet reappeared and I’d been so focused on Dalk that I’d barely even noticed.
“Oh!” Tilly suddenly said. “There he is!” She jumped up and held her Oxriel poster high above her head at the same moment that Oxriel rounded one of the mountains and came into view.
The phrase ‘green about the gills’ suddenly sprang to my mind. Oxriel did not look well as he attempted to steer his braxilk down to land among the others. At least his braxilk had the decency not to chuck him off the way Dalk’s had done. If anything, the braxilk lowered itself down for him to dismount with extra care, as if it was worried about him.
Or maybe worried about having to clean Oxriel puke out of its feathers later.
Oxriel slid drunkenly down his mount’s outstretched wing, landing dazedly on his feet and standing there for a moment, weaving, like the ground was moving beneath him.
“That warrior does not seem to do well with heights,” Zaria observed. I knew she didn’t mean anything by it, and hell, she was probably as concerned as I was seeing Oxriel’s brain and balance all out of whack. But I still felt a stab of protective defensiveness for him.
“I think Oxriel is fine with heights,” I said quickly, making sure not to sound too offended on his behalf. I liked Zaria and didn’t want to cause any friction between us. “He comes from a region nearly as mountainous as this one and I know he’s a skilled climber. I think it’s probably just the actual flying bit that’s thrown him off.”
Zaria absorbed this with quiet thoughtfulness as the next five warriors – all Deep Sky men – mounted the braxilk for their race. Predictably, nobody pissed off their mount or got their hair sacrificed to a braxilk’s beak in this round, and the race got underway much quicker than the previous one. The next two races afterwards also went quickly, and soon enough the braxilk were allowed to wander off, presumably to go grab a snack that didn’t consist of a very grumpy man’s braid.
Gahn Thaleo stood. Tilly, Zaria, and I all looked up at him. Nasrin kept her gaze focused forward.
“The first two events of the vaklok are concluded,” Gahn Thaleo said. “The ceremonial meal will now begin.”
I expected the competitors to come this way – all the food was currently laid out on a flat stone in a shady spot beside the bleachers – but they didn’t. Instead, they all just sat down where they were. That left Oxriel, Zoren, and Dalk as the only men standing. They looked at each other for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to do but not wanting to ask the Deep Sky men. It was funny, and more than a little cute, the way the three of them spoke some furtive, wordless conversation of confusion in that moment. They may have had their differences, coming from different tribes of the Sea Sands, but at least out here they considered each other allies if not exactly friends.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was Dalk who made the first move. He didn’t sit down, but turned himself towards the food and started to walk. Zoren and Oxriel looked like they were about to follow when Gahn Thaleo held up a hand then sliced it down through the air.
