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Jessup looked out the windows, as if fearing hostile eyes in the night.
Rainfall pointed to the floor before him. “It’s customary to touch the hem of the officiant’s robe of state before taking the oath, but I’m afraid this mead-spattered bit of blanket will have to do; it’s the words that matter in the end.”
Wistala laid her sii on his blanket.
“The oath-taker usually kneels before the officiant. But having four legs—”
Wistala folded her sii under her. In consequence her saa and tailvent were raised, but as they were facing in the direction of Galahall, it seemed befitting.
“Do you understand the difference between a truth and a lie, and the seriousness of an oath, Nuum Wistala?”
“I do,” Wistala said.
“Then take the oath.”
“I, Wistala, promise to take up the responsibilities of a Hypatian Citizen. I will obey the Hypatian laws, keep the Hypatian peace, and maintain the Hypatian lands and seas against all enemies. May my strength and honor sustain this oath and Hypatia’s glory from now until the end of days.”
“Rise, Citizen, and never kneel again,” Rainfall said.
“Walls fresh up and already hallowed,” Jessup said. “That reminds me: I should have Mod Feeney in to bless the post and lintels.”
“Jessup, I must beg for a delay in the rites. Wistala and I must go into Quarryness. Wake up Forstrel and tell him to put my saddle on Stog. Oh, and could I trouble you for a pennysworth for Tala?”
“Of course, sir, but she needs no pennies here. As long as I’ve got a bit of bone in back, her meals shall be free under this roof.”
“Not for food, Jessup. She must purchase Mossbell, and while I’d accept her loosest dragonscale, a land sale’s not legal unless it’s in Hypatian coin. And it’s just bad form for me to lend it to her.”
Stog could keep a punishing pace when he put his will into his hooves. Wistala loped along the road northward in the evening dark as best as she could, and finally begged him for a ride behind Rainfall’s special strapped saddle.
“Fine,” Stog said. “But sheathe your claws.”
Wistala climbed up, and Stog broke into his buck-trot again.
The night was foggy and turning cold, the moisture thick enough to collect at the branch-tips and drop with soft, wet taps into the fallen leaves. There would be a thick frost by morning, she expected.
“You dragons are supposed to be able to sing,” Stog said. “I’d like to hear a song of the merits of mules. What horse could carry this burden at this pace?”
“Is he complaining about the weight?” Rainfall asked. “My beast-tongue is not that of my forefathers—I’ve been too long in tamer lands.”
“He wants a song,” Wistala said.
“Perhaps it would help pass the time,” Rainfall said. “Beside, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing.”
Wistala cleared her throat. “Drakes and dragons are more fond of these kind of displays, and more skilled, but I’ll do my best:
While a horse will carry any fool
If the going’s hard you’ll want a mule!
Twice the load on half the feed,
A mule is tougher than any steed!
But treat him well when put to task
Or he’ll knock you on your—
“Ask no more verses of me, I’m out,” Wistala finished.
