Bazil Broketail by Christopher Rowley Read Free Book Online Page A

the profound dragonish woe that enveloped his huge, leathery charge. The eyes, those immense yellow and black saucers, seemed milky and opaque, decidedly unfocussed.
    “You fought well, Baz, and you’ll fight again. We’re not going to let this thing beat us.”
    The eyes blinked, cleared.
    “Humph! What are you talking about? I have no tail-how can I fight dragons without a tail? The legions won’t have me now. It has all been a waste.”
    “I have a plan.”
    “Oh, do you? Well, keep your plans, fool boy! We will be in Quosh by midwinter. Harrowing and hauling, breaking ice on the mountainside, oh what a life it will be.”
    Relkin noted all the five classic signs of a “sulky” dragon.
    “Roll over. I have to get to those cuts on your back.”
    “Ah me, ah my, now for the sting and the smart. This is a grand life, did anyone ever tell you that? Getting chopped up in the arena and rubbed with stinging juice in the night.”
    Despite the complaints, Bazil did roll over and present his five-foot-wide back, with the huge shoulder blades and the thick arches of muscle that met along the spine.
    Relkin wetted a swab with the liniment and started disinfecting the bigger cuts.
    As the liniment soaked in, Bazil shook and cursed in sibilant dragon speech, ancient terms that fortunately had no meaning in human tongues.
    Relkin decided the time had come to bring up his scheme, concocted on the way back from Old Rothercary’s shop. “I was at Rothercary’s shop on Hag Street this afternoon.”
    “And what would you be wanting from a brujo? That sort of thing is frowned on as you well know.”
    “He offered me some blood from a Cunfshon steerbat. For ten silver pieces.”
    “What? We don’t even have
two
silver pieces between us.”
    “I know, I know, but there might be ways of getting some.”
    “You contemplate a life of crime now? Think again, boy. This is Marneri—the witches find out in no damn time at all. Then you be for it.”
    Baz cringed as the swab got close to an infected cut. As Relkin swabbed it, the big dragon hissed loudly for a second or two, then resumed human speech.
    “Anyway, what’s the point of blood from a Cunfshon steerbat, and what the hell
is
a Cunfshon steerbat? I can’t even say that, it sounds so horrible.”
    “I don’t know, I never heard of it either, but Rothercary swears that it will re-grow lost limbs, even tails.”
    “Bah, what does Rothercary know about dragons? When has he worked here in the dragon yards? His potions are meant for humankind, not the dragonfolk.”
    “No, listen, I believe him. We will get ten pieces and we will buy the blood of a Cunfshon steerbat. Then we will re-grow your tail.”
    “Bah! I will probably grow a donkey’s tail. I am not going to rub the blood of anything from the witch isle on any part of me.”
    “I can’t believe it will hurt to try. You have to get your tail back. You have to be able to defend yourself. Smilgax has demanded a rematch.”
    “What?”
    “Yes, he has called for a rematch, in protest at the awarding of a draw in your bout. He will fight you for the right to meet Vastrox.”
    Bazil groaned, long and low.
    “We are done then! The hard green will beat me to death and go on to glory in the legions. You will bury my ashes in the graveyard and they will give you another dragon. I have failed. You will be free of me, Relkin.”
    “Nonsense, Baz. I will buy the blood of the Cunfshon steerbat and we will re-grow your tail in time for the combats.”
    Bazil yawned. This whole idea would fail on the most obvious fact.
    “How will you get ten pieces of silver? You own nothing but the clothes you wear. You are dragonboy, homeless orphan. In the village the law said that unblooded dragon not allowed to own any damn thing, dragonboy not allowed to own any damn thing either.”
    Relkin clenched his fists in determination. “I will get it! You remember when I climbed to the top of the palace tower and saw the garden of orchids?