The fighter flushed hot even in the cold rain, his muscles twitched with anger. His hand, holding the dragon’s harness and small saddle in an oiled bag, clenched to a fist, his blunt, scarred fingers stabbing through the leather. His partner always seemed to know the words that would irritate him most. Tariskatt was adept at getting in the first verbal thrust, especially on mornings when Lyndruss had a hangover. His dragon’s grating voice worsened the fighter’s throbbing headache and further soured his prickly nature.
“You drink, human, because you are afraid,” said the dragon. “You drown your cowardice in ale.”
“I try to drown your stink in ale,” said Lyndruss.
The dragon’s sulfurous stench, tainted by old blood, was overwhelming in damp weather. Lyndruss forced himself to walk closer. Tariskatt’s tail twitched a little. Reading his partner’s signs, the human readied himself for an attack. Anything could happen. Despite his hang-over, the fighter prepared to dodge slashing horns or savage teeth.
He did not drink to drown his fear. Lyndruss did not get staggering drunk, as did some other fighters. He drank to take the edge off blood-ridden memories, and to be social.
He had always, since childhood, detested dragons. He hated everything about them-their arrogance, their smell, their sarcasm. And now here he was, riding a dragon in the war against Takhisis. The fighter’s mouth tightened in a half-smile as he considered the sudden and peculiar twists life could take.
The gray rain spilled down his cheeks and chin like cold tears. Lyndruss would much rather skewer this ice-hearted beast with a dragonlance than ride him into battle. Lyndruss took another step toward his duty.
A tiny motion brought the human to full alert. A muscle over the dragon’s left eye arched, making one of the protrusions on his forehead stand almost erect. The movement usually happened before a swipe from the razor-sharp claws. Lyndruss already bore several scars.
Lyndruss braced himself, kept walking.
The dragon’s chill eyes held the warrior’s blue ones. Tariskatt’s tail thumped the mud a little harder.
The fighting skills Lyndruss had picked up in his travels both helped and hindered him. At first General Sharrid had given him high rank and the command of a ground force. Two years ago the general had persuaded Lyndruss to abandon that in favor of training with a young copper dragon. It soon became clear that the human fighter needed an older mount, a match for his own experience. And when Sharrid named a man to lead the air squadron, Lyndruss had been the logical choice. The only dragon available with enough expertise, however, had been acid-tongued, human-loathing Tariskatt.
Lyndruss complained about his mount to everyone, especially to General Sharrid. The commander told him that at this point in the war he had no choice but to pair the enemies. They must do their best with a bad situation. No one understood how it happened, but gradually their battles with each other enhanced their work as a team. Once in the air, they learned to use their mutual enmity as a sharp lance against a mutual foe.
“Moth,” snarled Tariskatt, tail lashing now. “Come to my flame.”
“Yellow snake,” Lyndruss returned, holding his ground.
He kept both eyes on the dragon, bending his knees more and digging his boots into the mud. The big bronze never accepted the dragonlance harness without a fight, and the warrior was almost within range to cast the leather strips attached to the saddle and dragonlance mount across the animal’s shoulders. He changed his grip on the leather bag, ready to yank it open and throw at the first opportunity.
Tossing his head to one side, the dragon suddenly changed direction and lanced a long horn straight for Lyndruss. Incisors gleamed and parted as Tariskatt opened his mouth to bite.
The human dodged, slipped in the mud, reestablished a foothold, and dove beneath the bronze’s chest under his right leg. The massive jaw tore into the slimy earth where the fighter had stood. Rolling, Lyndruss pulled the harness from its bag and threw the buckle end and the saddle over the thickest part of Tariskatt’s neck. Ducking, he managed to evade scything claws. The warrior dashed from beneath the dragon, just as Tariskatt lowered his ungainly body into the muck, intending to flatten the human. Lyndruss grabbed a gleaming shoulder scale and swung himself upward. Pulling the harness straps together, the fighter fastened the buckle one-handed. He dropped back down into the mud.