SORCEROUS SIGNALS
Written by Barbara Davies / Artwork by Marge Simon
Irascible























"Marjan, where are you?"

Jospar was in a temper by the sound of it. Marjan exchanged a grimace with another handler. What have
I done now?

"Ah, there you are." Her boss was peering round the entrance to the dragon pens. He looked even more
redfaced than usual, and that ferocious scowl didn't bode well.

"Yes, Guv?" Marjan brushed sweat-slicked hair out of her face. Taking care of the dragons who had
finished racing for the day was hard work.

"Zinda's broken her collar bone. I need you to ride Irascible in her place."

Marjan blinked. "In the Jade Cup?" Was this his idea of a joke?

Jospar rolled his eyes. "Of course in the Jade Cup. What else did you think I meant?"

Exercising Irascible daily was one thing, but it was quite another to ride him in a race that last year killed
one rider and crippled two others—dragons might not cause one another serious damage, but the same
could not be said of their riders. And there was another thing.... "But he hates me, Guv!" She had the
bruises to prove it.

Jospar waved her quibble aside. "Not as much as he hates Feroz."

True. No male could ride the yard's most promising and unfortunately most moody dragon—a legacy of
mistreatment by someone when Irascible was a mere hatchling.

"I thought you'd leap at the chance," he continued, frowning. "Aren't you always going on about how
much you'd like to ride in a race? Well, this is your opportunity." Marjan raised an eyebrow and the yard
owner had the grace to blush. "And you'll also be doing me a favour," he conceded. "If I withdraw
Irascible this late in the day, we'll get hit with a hefty fine. Might as well run him. Even if he comes in last."

"Ah."

"You'll get Zinda's usual riding fee, of course," he continued, his tone persuasive. "And ten percent of
the prize money if you win, five percent if you place."

Jospar must know any chance of placing was so slight as to be infinitesimal. Still the riding fee would be
welcome.

"What do you say?"

The thought of riding in the most prestigious and dangerous event in the racing calendar was daunting,
and for a moment she seriously considered turning her boss down. But if she did, the odds were he
wouldn't ask her to ride for him again. She'd have to transfer to another dragon yard if she wanted to
fulfil her ambition. She scratched her nose and hoped she wasn't making the worst decision of her life.

"All right."

Jospar looked relieved. "Good. Get yourself cleaned up and over to the Changing Room then. You've got
half an hour."

* * *

The valet led Marjan into the Changing Room.

"Now that's what I call scraping the bottom of the barrel," sneered someone. It was Vel, of course,
resplendent in his red-and-white silks. The handsome rider had won three Jade Cups in a row and was
favourite to win a fourth. She was surprised he could pull his helmet on over such a swelled head.

"What happened to Zinda?" a rider in black and white asked.

"Broken collar bone."

"But isn't Feroz your yard's number two?"

Marjan shrugged, unwilling to go into the reasons she had been chosen over the more experienced male
rider, and followed the valet over to Zinda's clothes peg. The others were already in their colours. She
had better hurry.

"Thanks." The valet nodded and went to help someone else. She pulled the thin yellow-and-green
breeches over her own trousers—it got cold at altitude.

"Jospar must be mad," someone muttered.

No. Just desperate.

With a jingle of spurs, she stamped her feet into Zinda's tight-fitting boots. She eased on the back
protector and buttoned it, then pulled on the green-and-yellow jacket—Zinda was slimmer than Marjan,
so the fit was much snugger than she'd have liked. Then she adjusted the belt and clips that would hold
her marker flags, and tied the scarf around her neck.

The door creaked open, admitting the noise from the crowded stadium, and a race official peered round.

"Riders, please," he called, raising his voice above an announcement about spectators not leaving their
bags unattended.

As the other riders streamed through, Marjan crammed on the yellow-and green crash helmet, grabbed
her goggles, and hurried after them.

The crowd's roar as the riders emerged into the grassy centre of the ring-shaped stadium was
deafening. She tried not to let it intimidate her, but could not but contrast Vel's relaxed stride and
pleased wave as fans began to chant his name with her own head down, shoulders hunched gait.

There was a thin layer of cloud, she saw, looking up at the circle of sky visible above the stadium, but
not enough to unduly concern her. She'd probably freeze during the mountainous part of the course,
but warm up again over the desert.

A worried face was peering down at her from the VIP boxes. She recognised Irascible's owner. Poor
Geber must be wondering if Jospar had taken leave of his senses. The announcement that a novice rider
was to replace the popular Zinda had hurt Irascible's odds. They were now 30/1, according to the chalk
marks on the bookmaker's boards; Vel's mount, Victory Chaser, was 8/11. She grimaced and kept on
walking.

The dragons were waiting in a circle around the starter's rostrum, some more patiently than others.
Irascible's great head jerked up as he scented Marjan. His ears twitched, his nostrils dilated, and he let
out a displeased huff. Clearly he hadn't forgiven her for the stiff obstacle course Jospar had made her fly
him round yesterday morning. She half expected him to try to take a bite out of her, but he didn't.

"Sorry, boy." She thumped him hard on his back leg—dragon skin was so thick, you had to do
everything hard for them to feel it. "Zinda couldn't come."

On all sides, riders were mounting up. Marjan clambered up the ladder into the saddle strapped between
Irascible’s shoulder blades, and draped her heels round his neck. She nodded at the race official to
remove the ladder. Then she buckled the safety line that should keep her in the saddle throughout even
the most acrobatic manoeuvres, settled her goggles more snugly, and looked round.

Dragons snorted and shifted as riders made last minute adjustments to girths, reins, and safety lines. A
rider in purple and yellow nodded at her and she nodded back.

An officious looking man in a top hat took his place on the rostrum. His right hand clutched a red flag.
Irascible shifted beneath her; he knew what was coming.

"And we're just about ready for the start of this year's Jade Cup," boomed the announcer through his
megaphone. "Yes. I've just been informed they're under starter's orders."

The starter raised his flag. The stadium held its collective breath and the sense of anticipation became
almost unbearable. Marjan grasped the reins and leaned forward. Irascible lashed his tail and spread his
wings a little. So did the other dragons.

With a flourish, the starter brought down his red flag. The crowd roared. And all round the circle,
powerful dragon haunches bunched and flexed and the great beasts launched themselves skyward.

With a clap of his wings, Irascible joined them. His take-offs tended to be clumsy, and this one was no
exception, almost jerking Marjan's arms from their sockets and giving her whiplash. At least he hadn't
crashed into another dragon though. Her relief they were safely airborne was short-lived however when,
instead of following the others towards the mountain peaks to the northwest, he veered off further west.

"Where are you going?" She dug in her spurs and hauled on the reins. To no effect. They were heading
towards Morgrim's Forest. The dense expanse of pines was still home to a few wild dragons, and as they
drew closer, a dot circling above it resolved itself into a riderless female dragon. From her calls, she was
in season.

Marjan's heart rate rocketed. "Don't you dare..."

But Irascible was already swooping towards his target. She wondered how many telescopes were
currently trained on her, and how she would ever live this down.

Dragon mating is a violent, unromantic, and noisy affair, and Marjan had never experienced it at such
close quarters before. There is much biting and scratching, roaring, hissing, twisting of necks, lashing of
tails, and turning over and over as the two dragons jockey for position. But once the female indicates
she is willing, it is over quickly.

As Irascible satisfied his sexual urge he showed not the least concern for his rider. She consoled herself
that at least she wasn't in danger of being crushed, which was a real risk for those who rode females,
but it was still a rough ride. He flung her this way and that, and more than once her jaws endangered
her tongue. By the time he had finished, she was battered and bruised, her ears rang and she felt like
throwing up.

The wild dragon separated herself from her panting paramour, and with a lazy flick of her tail and a shrill
scream flew away. Irascible bellowed once after her, licked his chops, yawned, and began a leisurely circle
above the forest.

A still dazed Marjan managed to snag hold of the reins and urge him back towards the course. To her
surprise he did as she asked. It was too late now, though. There was no way they could possibly win the
Jade Cup.

* * *

Mating had cooled Irascible's temper. He was the most docile Marjan had ever seen him; in fact he was
flying like a dream. But as they dived towards the first checkpoint, where a solitary green-and-yellow flag
with the number '1' on it hung limp, she wondered why she was bothering.

Nevertheless, she ordered Irascible to roll over, which he did, and leaned precariously out of the saddle.
Stretching out a gloved hand, she grabbed the marker flag meant to ensure each rider didn't take a
short cut.

One down, seven to go. She slotted the flag's slender pole into a clip on her belt, and focussed on the
next stretch of the course, which led out over the plains.

By now the other dragons were mere specks above the White Mountains, but Irascible was slowly gaining
on them. Marjan took a moment to admire his sinuous neck, the graceful speckled wings, twenty-feet in
span, and the long tail streaming out behind him. For all his moods, he was a magnificent beast, in the
peak of condition. One day he would win the Jade Cup...but not today.

As she zoomed over a hamlet, villagers stopped what they were doing, shaded their eyes and pointed up
at her. She also saw a farspeaker observing her progress with his telescope and then going mind to
mind with the commentary team back in the stadium.

As the second checkpoint came into view, she plucked up the green-and-yellow flag without difficulty,
clipped it to her belt, and continued. Soon they were over the foothills of the White Mountains and the
air streaming past her cheeks had become noticeably colder. She tugged her scarf up over the lower half
of her face and hunkered closer to Irascible's neck.

The climb to Ice Peak Mountain, the highest point of the snow-covered mountain range and the site of
the 3rd checkpoint, seemed to go on forever, with Irascible working hard to gain altitude against an icy
wind.

Suddenly, they were at the top. There, amidst glittering ice, a solitary green-and-yellow flag flapped.
Marjan grabbed it, clipped it to her belt with the others, and banked Irascible round for the descent.

It took far less time than the ascent. The wind buffeted her, trying to tear her from the saddle, and she
hung on tight. As the ground rushed towards her, she found it simultaneously terrifying and
exhilarating. From his bellow and the flexing of his talons as he pulled out of the dive at the very last
moment, Irascible had enjoyed the experience too.

She turned him on a course that would bring him back out over the plains once more, this time heading
east towards Kambah's Plateau. The massive block of sandstone the colour of a sunset dominated the
landscape for miles around. It was home to the Canyon of the Ancients, a rift created centuries ago,
probably by an earthquake.

The canyon was a tough test of any dragon's agility. Time and the weather had created a maze of
crevices, pinnacles, and spires in the rock. Each year, to add to the fun, the race officials specified a
different route through it, and woe betide any rider who got it wrong as observers were stationed at
strategic points.

Marjan hoped she could remember the route correctly. Zinda would have known it off by heart.

She became aware Irascible's speed had dropped. They couldn't afford to dawdle, so she dug in her
spurs. He huffed and tossed his head but sped up. She hoped his docility wasn't wearing off. The
orange-red rocks of the plateau came into sight and she urged him towards them. Moments later, the
entrance to the canyon was upon them and they were diving into its depths.

For the next quarter of an hour she had her work cut out keeping Irascible twisting and turning, weaving
and dodging through the canyon when every instinct was telling him simply to climb out of it. At some
points the walls narrowed dangerously, and once, a wingtip brushed a loose boulder and set off a minor
landslide. At last the exit came into view, and there, jammed in a crevice was the green-and-yellow flag.

Marjan was still clipping it to her belt when they emerged, and so was unprepared for a near collision with
another dragon. Only Irascible's reflexes saved them from hitting head on, and even so something
caught her a glancing blow—thank the gods for the back protector!

She twisted round. The other rider's red-and-white racing colours were unmistakable. "What the hell do
you think you're doing?" she yelled after a receding Vel.

Then another dragon zoomed past her in pursuit of Vel's mount, its slipstream almost tearing her from
the saddle. From its rider's purple-and-green colours, it was Lightning Strike. She had caught up with
the other dragons, she realised, because they had stopped to fight.

The Jade Cup's rules encouraged 'vigorous competition', but precisely what that entailed was always
hotly disputed by race officials, competitors, and spectators alike. Who had started this particular brawl
she had no idea. But on the plateau below a farseeker had his telescope trained on it and was
presumably relaying details back to the avid spectators in the stadium.

Lightning Strike was closing on his prey when Vel's dragon banked and gave his pursuer the slip.
Seconds later, Victory Chaser's sharp talons tore into Lightning Strike's wing. The beast let out a shriek
and pulled free, but his assailant had managed to draw blood, and Marjan could see flaps of torn skin.
Lightning Strike was only a youngster and he had clearly had enough. Although his rider objected, he
began to spiral down to the plateau below. Another dragon had already set down there--Desert Silk from
his colours. The beast looked in one piece, but its rider.... Figures were racing towards the man lying
prone on the rock. Marjan winced and wondered how badly he was hurt.

She turned away, just in time to see Stormy Boy and Saunter Taunter crash into one another belly first,
then begin to grapple. Their riders shouted insults at one another and ducked to avoid lashing tails and
lethal talons. Safe Bet had taken on the smallest of the dragons, the female Checkmate, but he seemed
torn whether to fight or try to mate with her.

We can't afford to get caught up in this.

A sickening thud made her turn—Scarlet Prince had collided with Flamethrower and both dragons had
knocked themselves out. As they plummeted, their ashen-faced riders stared back at Marjan. Her breath
caught in her throat, but just before impact the dragons came groggily back to life and were able to rally
and make clumsy crash landings. As observers rushed to help the riders, Marjan turned her attention
back to her own situation.

None of the dragons had managed to take advantage of the melee to steal a lead yet. Maybe she....
Something red-and-white whooshed over Marjan, and she saw Victory Chaser heading for the edge of
the plateau and Pentar's Desert, the last stretch of the course.

Damn!

She spurred Irascible to follow but he ignored her instruction. All this fighting had stirred his blood, and
he wanted to join in.

"Come on, boy." She spurred him again. "We've come too far to give up."

With a lash of his tail and a bellow a clearly reluctant Irascible at last responded and set off after Victory
Chaser.

Beneath her scarf, Marjan bared her teeth. Whoever had started this fight had done her a favour. By
distracting the others he had delayed them enough for her to overtake them. With Vel in the lead, she
might not be able to win the Jade Cup, but she stood a good chance of getting a place.

* * *

At the next checkpoint, Vel scooped up not only his own flag but Marjan's too. He twisted in his saddle
and waved the green-and-yellow flag at her, taunting her.

"Hey!" She felt sick. Without that flag she would be disqualified. Desperate, she spurred Irascible on.

Victory Chaser lashed his tail as they drew closer, then dipped to avoid his pursuer. Below the two
dragons the last portion of the Jade Cup's triangular course was unfolding; they had left the desert
behind and were over the plains once more. Up ahead something glinted.

The stadium. If she was going to get her flag back, she had to do it now.

At her urging, Irascible spread his talons, and plunged towards Victory Chaser's back. He had
approached the wild female dragon in similar fashion, but this time his intentions were anything but
amorous. The red helmeted head craned round, and Vel stared up at her. Seconds later Victory Chaser
had rolled over and was presenting his own talons. The dragons closed and grappled, spinning over and
over, and Marjan found herself trying to make sense of a violently shifting world.

A brown tail whipped past, inches from her cheek. Then she caught a glimpse of green-and-yellow and
grabbed for it. Her gloved fingers closed round the flag and she lost no time in wrenching it free. But she
had no time to savour possession, because just then a razor-sharp talon slashed Irascible's neck and
shoulders.

The dragon's tough skin remained intact. The same could not be said of her saddle girth or safety line.
Suddenly she was falling.

By the gods!

Fear paralysed Marjan as the ground rushed towards her, and she could do little except gape at it. She
was over the plains, so there were no sand dunes, snowdrifts, or stands of pine trees to break her fall.
Her thoughts became sluggish, barely coherent. She felt a pang of regret, vague, unfocussed, and
braced herself for impact.

Pain stabbed her round the waist, but a second later it was gone and she was rocketing upwards.

The landing drove the breath from her lungs and she found herself sprawling on a surface that was black
and scaly and oddly familiar. She clutched it and raised her head. A knowing reptilian eye gazed back at
her. For a moment she could do little except blink at Irascible, then he turned his head away, and she
saw they had resumed their progress towards the stadium.

She concentrated on getting her breath back and examining her situation. She had no saddle, no safety
rope...if he took it into his head to loop the loop.... But for the moment he continued on, wings flapping
gracefully.

One hand was aching with tension: she was still clutching the final marker flag. She clipped it onto her
belt with the others, then tore off a glove with her teeth and explored her sore waist. Her fingertips
came back bloody. And there was something mixed with it—saliva. Irascible must have caught her in his
jaws.

For the last few minutes there had been a background roar, and it was getting louder. Then Irascible was
banking, going into a wide arc that would bleed his momentum. She raised her head just as he flew down
through the stadium's open roof.

Vel and Victory Chaser had already landed and were lapping up the applause and shouts of
congratulations. She tried not to resent it.

Irascible landed on the grass, the jolt nearly shaking Marjan off his back. She dropped the remaining six
feet, almost falling flat on her face—someone had replaced her leg muscles with string while she wasn't
looking. As she steadied herself against Irascible, he craned his head round to regard her.

"Thank you." The words were heartfelt but inadequate, she felt.

In response, he yawned. She gagged at the smell of his breath and rummaged in a pocket. "Here, boy."
She popped a mint lozenge on his tongue. The subsequent slurping and crunching noises were drowned
by a familiar shout.

"Second in the Jade Cup. I don't believe it!" Jospar and two of his female dragon handlers were hurrying
towards her. "Well done, Marjan." Irascible let out a warning hiss as he came too close, and he stepped
back out of range.

Marjan was only too glad to let the handlers take over Irascible's care. One took hold of his reins and
began crooning nonsense to him, while the other scratched him in a sensitive spot with a metal comb
just the way he liked it.

"What happened to his saddle?" Jospar frowned. "Good tack doesn't come cheap, you know."

Marjan sighed. "It should be back along the course a little way, Guv. Victory Chaser sliced through the
girth."

"Checkpoint markers, please." A race official appeared next to her, palm outstretched. She pulled the
green-and-yellow flags from her belt and handed them to him. "Thank you. Now please clear the area.
Other dragons are coming in and you're in the way."

A shadow falling over them showed he was telling the truth. Hurriedly they moved aside as Safe Bet
landed, his rider clearly overjoyed to finish third.

Jospar circled Irascible, giving him a visual examination. "Seems in one piece," he told the handlers. "Get
him checked over properly, though. Then give him some food and water and get him ready to fly back to
the yard."

"Yes, Guv." The handlers led the dragon away to the pens.

"Subject to confirmation," came the announcer's voice over the megaphone, and the hubbub lessened as
spectators quieted to listen, "the result of this year's Jade Cup is as follows: First: Victory Chaser." At
the favourite's name, hats were tossed in the air and cheers rang out. "Second: Irascible. And third:
Safe Bet."

"Well done, Marjan," Jospar called, waving at someone in the VIP box. She turned and saw it was Geber,
face wreathed with smiles. Irascible's owner waved back at them.

"He saved my life," she told her boss.

"Who did?"

"Irascible."

Jospar gave her one of his rare smiles. "Guess he doesn't hate you as much as you thought he did."

* * *

Marjan had stripped off her silks and was having the punctures around her waist tended by the medic
when the Changing Room door opened and Vel stamped in. He strode across the floor, stopped in front
of her, and crossed his arms. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes flashed with anger.

"You'd do anything to win, wouldn't you? Well you can bet I'm going to appeal."

"What are you talking about?" asked Marjan.

"Haven't you heard?" asked a rider who'd followed Vel in. "There's been a steward's inquiry. They've
disqualified Victory Chaser. There's going to be an announcement about the revised results any second."

"Disqualified? Why?"

"Don't play the bloody innocent with me," Vel said with a snarl. "Just because the head handler of some
second-rate yard couldn't take a bit of vigorous competition..."

"It was more than that and you know it." Her own cheeks grew hot. "You stole my marker flag, and
what's more you nearly got me killed."

His lip curled. "I took your flag by mistake, and you can't prove otherwise."

She gaped at him. "Hang on a minute. Are you saying I reported you?"

"Don't try to deny it. I..."

"It wasn't anything to do with Marjan, Vel," the other rider said. " I was talking to the Clerk of the Course
a moment ago. One of the observers at the Canyon says you took the wrong route through it."

"Wrong route?" The look on Vel's face was one Marjan would long cherish.

The other rider nodded. "You know the rules. That's automatic disqualification."

Just then the Changing Room door burst open and Jospar walked in.

"Excuse me." A valet rushed to intercept him. "You're not allowed in here. Riders only."

Jospar sidestepped him and continued walking. He stopped in front of Marjan. "You're needed in the
winner's enclosure for the presentation."

"Me?" She thanked the medic, pulled down her tunic, and tucked it in her trousers.

"Yes you." Jospar clapped a large hand on her shoulder. "Come on. Tidy yourself up and look lively.
We've a Jade Cup and some gold to collect."

So it was true. A sense of unreality settled over Marjan. "Just give me a moment, Guv."

"Oh, and Geber wants to talk to you, too. He's thinking of making you his permanent rider. Said he's
never seen the beast so biddable." Jospar scratched his jaw. "Mind you, letting him mate at the start of
the race wasn't a tactic I'd recommend. Luckily there was nothing in the Jade Cup rules about it, though
by next year there probably will be."

Marjan flushed at the memory of that embarrassing incident. "What about Zinda?"

"What about her? I don't s'pose she'll miss riding that brute." Jospar gave her a wry look. "Would you?"

She let her silence speak for her.

"Anyway. We can talk about all that after the presentation. Come on." He turned and walked towards the
exit, and after a moment she followed him.
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Barbara Davies is a freelance writer and lives in the English Cotswolds.
Her fiction has appeared in Marion Zimmer Bradley's Fantasy Magazine,
Lacuna, Tales of the Talisman, Lorelei Signal, and Neo Opsis, among
others.

A collection of her short speculative fiction: Into the Yellow
and Other Stories is available from Bedazzled Ink.

Please visit her website: http://www.barbaradavies.co.uk