20 #2
Oddly enough, Severin doesn’t sound upset. If anything, there’s a smug satisfaction in the idea of my corruption at the prince’s hands.
“Apologies for the indecorous behavior, my friend.” Vawn takes a flask from his pocket and leans over the carpet’s edge, pouring a little of the alcohol over his damp fingers before offering me a swallow. I take the tiniest sip and nearly choke.
“That’s insanely strong,” I gasp.
“Perfect for traveling,” he replies. “One swallow packs a strong punch.” He takes a sip himself and tucks the flask away. “A gift from the Lady. She refilled my cigarettes, too. All sorts of new scents. Which one would you prefer, carpet?”
“Do you have a citrus scent?”
“Indeed I do.”
He lights the charna cigarette, taking a puff and then pulling me against him with a delighted sigh, as if a smoke, a drink and a woman are the only things he requires for perfect happiness.
He’s hard against my rear, but he doesn’t comment on it, nor does he grind against me.
Pleasuring me seems to have been his only goal.
So far, my embarrassment has sealed my lips, but finally I manage to finds words. “I apologize, Severin.”
“For being young and human?” he says. “Think nothing of it. No harm done. But I feel as if you two weren’t listening carefully to my treatise on wyverns…
so perhaps I should continue it while we cover the remaining distance to the border.
Afterward I will ask you each some questions, and we will see how much you learned. ”
Vawn groans. “Must we?”
“Consider it payment for your indiscretion,” says the carpet. “It will be fun… for me. Let’s begin. Now I make it a point not to judge living things for their behavior—”
I cough loudly and Vawn makes a snorting sound.
Severin continues unperturbed. “And yet, despite my tolerance for all creatures, I must open this discussion with the simple fact that wyverns are as dumb as rocks.”
Both Vawn and I snort-laugh that time.
“Unless it is the wyverns’ rutting season, their instincts are limited to hunting for food and protecting their territory from wyverns outside their pod.
In order to train one of the beasts, a human must first convince the wyvern that he’s one of the pod.
This is usually done by crafting a wyvern costume and dousing oneself in the urine of two or more wyverns who are already part of the pod.
“Wyvern costumes are usually crafted by stretching leather or fabric over wooden frames to form wings and painting those wings with colorful circles. Wyverns are easily fooled. They can be tricked by even the most rudimentary of disguises.
“The process of obtaining the wyvern urine can pose a challenge, since wyverns tend to relieve themselves while in flight or while perched cliffside.
Some wyvern trainers pile raw meat on the edge of a cliff and wait with a bucket on a ledge below, or they hang by a harness attached to the rocks, ready to be doused by the incoming stream.
Sometimes, procuring the scent can take days or weeks.
“Once the urine and the costume are obtained, all that remains is for the trainer to approach the wyvern and allow it to see and smell him. The wyvern will then accept the trainer as part of the pod, and the trainer will be able to get close enough to attach a saddle and bridle. For the next several weeks, the trainer should continue to wear the scent of wyvern piss, phasing it out slowly until the wyvern become acclimated to the trainer’s natural scent.
“Most experts suggest that wyvern trainers and riders continue to wear armor that features wing-shaped protrusions, even small ones, as well as colorful ring patterns. Otherwise, wyverns have been known to experience moments of ‘prey clarity’ and devour their trainer, even if they’ve known the trainer’s scent for years.
As I mentioned, they are creatures of almost no intellect, utterly without any capacity for affection.
Even their pod loyalty is fragile, easily disrupted, requiring frequent visual and olfactory reinforcement.
Anytime a new rider comes near a wyvern they have not previously ridden, they must wear the scent of that wyvern’s urine or the scent of the original trainer’s urine. ”
Vawn mutters, “I think I have to take a piss now.”
“I dare you to ask him to stop,” I whisper back.
He winces. “I can hold it.”
“Perhaps the most difficult part of training a wyvern is teaching it to fly as directed,” continues the carpet.
“Since the only things that motivate a wyvern are food and territory defense, they must be trained to recognize a specific area as their domain.
For this reason, wyverns become nearly useless and practically ungovernable once they are flown outside the region where they were trained.
They are most useful for defending or patrolling limited areas, such as castles, borders, mountain roads, and watchtowers.
It is not recommended to use wyverns for the protection of large towns or cities, since they will inevitably become overwhelmed by the smell of potential prey and begin to gobble up the citizens.
“As with many creatures, rewards of food are highly effective during the training process. Wyverns’ favorite prey animals are sheep and goats.
They will always bite the heads off first, and they seem to prefer that part of the body over others.
Therefore, many trainers exclusively use skinned sheep’s heads or goat’s heads as rewards, not only during training, but throughout the years of their wyvern’s service.
Riders often bring a bag of sheep’s heads into battle with them to keep their beast motivated during combat. ”
He continues explaining the different methodologies of wyvern training, but my attention wanders to the change in the terrain as we approach the boundary of our kingdom.
In my Academy history class, we studied every border that Belavrin has, and how those boundaries are handled differently depending on Belvarin’s relationship with the neighboring country.
The border between Belavrin and Tularesk consists of two separate walls, one belonging to each sovereign nation, with a narrow strip of no man’s land between them.
The thickest, highest wall belongs to Belavrin, as the more prosperous of the two countries.
That’s the obstacle we’ll be facing first.
The forest along the border road is too thick to fly or ride through—almost too thick to traverse on foot.
We could veer off the road and soar over the trees, but then we wouldn’t have our escort of mounted archers beneath us to lend us support.
We’d be alone against both the wyverns who prowl the skies and the bowmen stationed along the top of the wall.
The border guards have orders to shoot anything that attempts to cross the boundary at any point other than the designated gates.
It’s a brutal agreement that applies to both walls, upheld by both kingdoms, dating back to a treaty signed before the discovery of magic.
No matter how many times the leadership of either side has changed, that rule has remained the same.
Before we left Anyssir Castle, I asked for a pouch full of throwing stars from the armory.
I thought of bringing along a bow, but I’m not the best shot.
Besides, it’s likely the carpet will have to fly evasively at some point, and in that case, only an expert archer with their legs fastened to the carpet’s surface could manage to shoot without falling off.
I’d either be hopelessly inaccurate, or I’d be tossed into the sky and tumble to my death.
Vawn took a couple of daggers and a few throwing stars as well.
At the bounty hunter’s camp, he proved that he’s a decent knife-thrower at close range, though I’m not sure his skill will hold up at a distance while we’re flying.
In addition to our weapons, both of us have a limited selection of glyphs at our disposal.
But I’m worried that it’s not enough.
I lean over the carpet’s edge, searching for ideas, for inspiration, for luck. Anything that might give us a better chance at making it through a belt of wyverns and warriors, some of whom may be on our side while others want us dead. We might not know which is which until it’s too late.
After a few minutes of flight, I spot a cluster of buildings ahead.
A big barn stands near a smaller, windowless structure with smoke rising from its chimneys.
Between the two buildings is a yard with a chopping block and a worktable, both freshly stained with blood.
The barn appears to be a slaughterhouse, with a smokehouse nearby for the meat.
“Severin, can you land near those buildings?” I ask.
“Why?” Vawn’s voice betrays his mounting anxiety. His body has grown more rigid over the past several minutes, tense with the fear that we won’t survive the crossing.
“Trust me, I have an idea that may help. Severin, how much weight can you carry in addition to us?”
“It’s really more about living energy than weight, as I mentioned in my explanation of carpet mechanics.”
“So could you carry several pieces of dead things?”
“Several what?” Vawn stares at me blankly.
The carpet shudders. “Could I? Technically, yes. But would I want to? No.”
“The barn below,” I tell him. “Now, please.”
“I don’t like this. Not one bit,” mutters Severin, but he heads for the slaughterhouse anyway.
The barn door is locked, but thanks to my strength glyphs, I make quick work of the bolt. Within the chilly interior hang several sheep’s carcasses, already skinned, gutted, and drained, awaiting their turn to be fully processed and sent off to a butcher’s shop or a local market.
A bin nearby contains the heads of the animals. I suspect the owner of this place intended to sell the sheep heads to the wyvern riders at the border… so really, we’re fulfilling their intended purpose. Just a bit sooner than planned.