Haraket, once the Overseer of the Tian Dragon Courts, squinted in equal disbelief, looked briefly stunned, and then stumbled forward. “Ari? Ari? By Nofet’s breasts—you miserable cur! You’re alive! You’re alive!”

They fell on each other, embracing like long-lost brothers. “Sobek’s teeth, I should have known you were too evil to die!” Haraket rasped out. “You jackal! You dog! How did you come here? Did the Bedu bring you? Tell me you have not lost Kashet—”

“I have not lost him; it would take a god to part us, I think. But there is more—” Ari said, pushing Haraket a little away and gesturing behind him. And as Haraket’s eyes fell on Kiron, he saw them widen yet again with disbelief. When he and Ari parted completely, he continued to stare at Kiron and finally said, “Is that—that can’t be—but you’re dead!”

“No more than Ari,” Kiron said, flushing a little. “And I’m afraid you have Ari to blame for the deception.” Then he raised his head, with pardonable pride. “I did not steal that little red dragon, Haraket. I raised her from the egg, as Ari raised Kashet, but in secret; and in truth, you could say that she stole me.” And with that, he whistled.

Avatre might have been waiting for his call; she shot up out of the pen to the complaints of the others, whose rest she had disturbed. It was too crowded there for her to fly straight up from the sand, but as the Tians exclaimed and pointed, she half leaped, and half flew from the rooftop she jumped up onto, hovered for just a moment to pick out a clear space, and landed in a backwash of wing-made wind and airborne sand. In the next moment she was butting Kiron with her head, and looking curiously at the newcomers, while Ari beamed.

“Hu!” exclaimed someone from behind Haraket. “She’s a beauty, by Haras!”

“You think she’s a beauty, wait until you see Tathulan and Re-eth-ke,” Kiron replied, rubbing the sensitive skin under Avatre’s chin.

“You have more?” said another, raw envy in his voice.

Haraket shook his head, and passed his hand over his shaved head. “I am—I am at a loss. Vetch—I suppose you have another name now?”

“Kiron, son of Kiron.” He looked up at Haraket, and realized that he did not have nearly so far up to look now . . . “Which is my right and proper name.”