Brother of the Dragon by Paul B. Thompson and Tonya C. Cook Page B

Mara,” said Tiphan smugly. “She can be the carrot for our centaur friend.”
    Mara was not amused, but she took the lead, and they resumed their march. Fifty paces behind her came Tiphan and Penzar. Elu, silent and strong, walked patiently at the rear, laden with the baggage.
    *
    Amero knelt by the water’s edge and dipped his hands in the cold lake. Mud and dried blood loosened from his sore fingers, clouding the clear water.
    Across the lake, smoke rose from scores of small fires between the rows of seedlings. It had taken two days of back-breaking labor to clear the ice from the orchard, swathe the tender seedlings in mounds of straw, and get the warming fires going. It was too early to tell whether their efforts to save the orchard would be successful.
    Like everyone else, Amero tore at the frozen soil with his bare hands, pulling sharp shards of ice away from the delicate plants. As he looked at his cut and bleeding hands, he dreamed of metal tools for every villager – bronze that would cut through ice and frozen turf, turning hard land into garden. More than ever he knew the future of humankind lay in the mastery of metal.
    “You’ll get chilblains if you stay out here with wet hands.”
    He turned, recognizing the voice. Lyopi draped a fur cape over his shoulders and held out a steaming mug of tea. Rising, Amero took the clay cup from her hands. Its warmth against his sore palms was just the solace he needed.
    “Thanks,” he said. “I sometimes wonder how I lived so long without you to take care of me.”
    She laughed. “So do I.”
    They strolled back to the unfinished section of the town wall. Even before they reached it, Amero could hear chimes and sistra ringing inside the Offertory. The Sensarku made their instruments from Duranix’s cast-off scales. Amero considered it a waste of good metal, but the Sensarku were devoted to their ceremonies and repeated them every day.
    “I wonder what happened to that fool Tiphan,” said Lyopi with characteristic bluntness. “I didn’t think he was the type to run away because of a single blunder. He was too proud for that.”
    Amero sipped his tea. “He hasn’t run away. He’s on some quest.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Anari, who sleeps near Mara, told me Tiphan came in the night and woke Mara to tell her they were going on a journey. He also took Penzar, who’s a good tracker. They left before any of us knew about the danger to the orchards. He’s gone to the east to find something.”
    Lyopi crossed her arms, burying her hands beneath her arms to keep them warm. “Find what, do you think?”
    “Common sense, I hope.”
    Flames flickered up above the walls of the town and Offertory. Lyopi drew in breath loudly. “They’re ‘purifying’ the cairn because it was touched by your unclean self,” she said. When Amero didn’t reply she added, “Aren’t you offended?”
    “Why should I be? I don’t care what beliefs the Sensarku follow as long as they do their work and mind the village elders.”
    “Very wise,” she said, with mild irony. She knew when Amero said “village elders” he really meant “the Arkuden.”
    A new, more distant sound drowned out the chanting from the Offertory: the sound of rams’ horns blown by sentinels high on the cliff above Yala-tene. It was a danger signal, warning of an impending attack.
    Amero and Lyopi raced to her house. Whenever an alarm was raised, all able-bodied adults in the village gathered at the north end of Yala-tene armed with sword, axe, or spear. Amero found Lyopi’s injured brother Unar trying to rise from his sickbed in answer to the call.
    “Down, down,” Amero said, pushing the wounded man back on his pallet. “No one expects you to fight.”
    “But, Arkuden —”
    “Lie still, Unar, or I’ll have your sister sit on you.”
    “Ugh, threaten me with anything but that!”
    Lyopi glared at them. “Shut your mouths, or I’ll raise lumps on both your heads!” She brandished a