The Narrow Corridor flight path was blocked. Again. Third time this year they approached the twin peaks that marked the entrance, just to spot a patrol dragon swooping laps with bright red banners flapping on their saddle.

“Fuck the Gods,” Paralian leaned back and groaned. “This is going to add hours to our time, and we already set off late!” She slammed her fists against her thighs just to feel something other than rising anxiety. Pain, pain was good.

“Right, an alternative route then,” she spoke her thoughts out loud as always, despite Lysander stating multiple times that he couldn’t hear her when they were flying unless she yelled. Ten hours of yelling daily? Hard pass.

This was the best way to cut through the northern mountains and reach Minah.

She did not need to close her eyes to picture a map of the area, it was ingrained into her memory as though she had flown it a thousand times. Possibly had. She never bothered to count. Waste of time.

The sky was clear and the wind was mild, safe enough. Leaning forward, she knocked her fist against Lysander’s neck, where the dragon’s skin was thinner and he could feel her instruction. One large feathered wing rose and they banked left. She tapped again with both hands to straighten him out, and a second instruction to fly higher.

Lys dipped his head and veered straight for the selected path. Safe enough if he was happy to fly it, they had gone down that way during a storm once, and learned that bringing in cargo late was better than bringing in no cargo at all.

A high call cut through the air, like a flute blown sharply.

Her head whipped around to the patrolling dragon. They were hovering in mid air and facing them. Shit.

Lys glanced back, his bronze eye rolling to fix on her. A question: do we high tail it, or play their game?

“Act normal,” she signed quickly, not wanting the patrolling dragons to see. Even from a distance. They had damn good eyesight.

A spec shot out of the Narrow Corridor and came straight for them. Small, with large wings, the dragon caught up to them with ease and began to circle.

“Goodies,” Para sighed as Lys picked an outcropping to land on. Patrols never bothered with them. Ever. Why waste time on a dragon and rider pairing who were flying according to the law: keeping to paths and maintaining a suitable speed.

Lys turned his head, so his good eye and good ear were facing the patrol. Not the side he was partially blind and mostly deaf on. “Good afternoon,” his voice was more gravelly than usual.

“Afternoon,” said the landing dragon.

Para didn’t hold her breath, that would be a giveaway that she was nervous.

“Any issues?” Para uncrossed her legs and allowed them to droop either side of Lys’ neck, sitting forward as far as her harness allowed. Her knees ached and her feet were prickling. She wiggled her feet in her shoes, claws scratching against the ends. They would need a trim soon before she destroyed another pair of shoes.

“We are stopping all those passing through to inform them that the Narrow Corridor is closed until further notice.”

Her heart slowed.

“Yesterday’s hard winds and rain knocked a dragon into a cliff side. A mud slide brought down part of a cliff face and the rest may collapse at any moment.

Her mounted partner sighed and pulled his lips tight. “We have been having problems with this passage for months –”

Oh I know.

“ – and will likely close it permanently.”

“Wait,” Para raised her hands, “close it?”

“As a trade route, or entirely?” Added Lys.

The rider shrugged his narrow shoulders. “We cannot stop people from entering but strongly advise against it.”

She exhaled at the same time that Lys dropped his head and sung a relieved note. Truly, they were relieved, perhaps not for the same reasons the patrol may believe. Their deliveries had stringent deadlines.

“What are you carrying?” The dragon cocked her head to eye the boxes strapped to Lys’ saddle.

Lys responded with practised ease. “Trade supplies from the Island of Tor. Few fruits and vegetables that only grow on Tor, they sell for a lot on the mainland. Our entire economy depends on them.”

A little much, Para thought, but the rider had dark patches beneath his eyes, and the dragon’s feathers were in rough shape. Not the vision of well rested individuals.

“So you see,” Para parted her hands, “we need to get these to Minah as soon as possible, before they go bad.”

The patrol pair blinked at her, as though confused that she was speaking.

“Yes yes,” the rider flicked his hand, “that’s fine. As soon as we check your cargo, you can be on your way.”

She bit down on her tongue. If they opened those boxes, they wouldn’t find anything resembling fruits or vegetables.

“Sure,” she responded, chipper. “As long as its quick.”

Three clips secured her to the saddle. One either side that attached to her riding belt, short enough that she could kneel, but not stand. The third was longer, this one she did not detach. It was belted separately and could not be unclipped so easily.

She walked across Lysander’s back. The saddle was well fitted, consisting of several wide and thick leather straps, for breathability as well as practicality. It was more a harness, allowing his mouse brown feathers to poke through.

The patrol dragon stopped alongside Lys, craning her head over his back as Para reached crate closest to the front of the saddle, with the fewest straps. Intentionally easy to access.

“Oh, you have a riding partner,” the patrol dragon said, and looked at Para, “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice you.”

She kept undoing the holding straps. “That’s fine, I’m easy to miss.” A VirNox, with Smilodon canines of differing lengths, light fissures shining throughout. Very easy to overlook.

She was used to it, but being used to it did not make it any less irritating.  

“This is a racing saddle, not a cargo saddle,” remarked the dragon.

Clearly her questionable existence was forgotten.

“We are a private cargo shipper,” Lys responded with practised ease. “The racing saddle suffices for the small loads I carry.”

Finally the lid of the crate popped open. The patrol dragon leaned over and audibly sniffed the pile of fruits. Para caught a faint whiff of sweet essence and mentally noted to their decoy replaced, the smell was beginning to turn a bit ripe. The time freeze spell kept the fruits fresh for months and could not be layered. Once it wore off, that was is.

“Thank you. Next one.” The rider gestured to the next crate.

Her chest tightened. “You can’t expect us to open every single crate? That will take hours, and we don’t have hours.”

“Not all, two more will suffice.” His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the start of suspicion etching into his features.

She tapped her foot against Lysander’s back. A warning to be ready. Lys appeared to stretch his wings, ending with them tucked closer to his sides.

“Checked much cargo today?” She said conversationally and rolled her shoulders, eyeing the crate in front of her.

The rider answered with something about a smuggler having gone down in the Narrow Corridor recently, and the illegal cargo they were carrying. That’s where she stopped listening and started thinking.

They didn’t need the crate and the fruit was replaceable. It hurt to think about abandoning it, they really did supply unusual produce to the mainland, and it really was worth a bit. The sale of it, even slightly overripe, was enough to supply her with food and shelter while on the mainland. Three meals per day and a large bed in the best inns.

She glanced down at the open crate and grimaced, looking towards the straps that bound the crate to the saddle. She stood back and shook her head. “Could you assist me with moving this crate out of the way, I don’t want to risk knocking it over while I open the next one.”

The patrol dragon responded by rising onto her back legs and taking hold of the crate. Lys watched carefully as the crate was lifted. Waiting.

She felt him tense.

Para lunged for the front of the saddle. Lys threw himself onto his front legs and double barrelled the other dragon with his hind feet. She barely grabbed hold as Lys shot into the air.

Teeth grit, she clung on.

The ground vanished beneath them. Her eyes stung in the wind and she fought the onslaught of tears. They practised this many times, and every single time, her insides wanted to expel themselves. She took hold of one safety strap and clipped on, then the other. One last heave and she pulled herself into position.

Relief flooded her, mixed with searing dread. A horrible cocktail.

A cry sounded from behind and she spun in place. The patrol dragon was taking off, they had a couple seconds head start at most. She breathed in and looked forward.

They had gotten out of rougher predicaments.

Lys shot between mountains, wings pulling in close to avoid the cliffs.

She peered over her shoulder and swallowed a lump in her throat. Seconds behind was the patrol dragon, and just entering the path was yet another dragon. Where had the other one come from?

Where even were they? She scanned their surroundings and tried to match it to her memories.

Her seat rumbled.

“I know! I’m thinking,” she called out.

Her mind caught up and her heart eased off the incessant thudding. This was going to be easy.

Leaning forward, she braced her hands either side of Lys’s neck, where the skin was thinnest and most sensitive. A dragon did not need a rider to fly. But a navigator was invaluable. And when you navigator was Para, one had an advantage.

Every single path, turn, jutting rock, was painted into her very being.

She tapped and he responded. Turning into a branching route where the cliffs were lower and the air was bitter with sulphur.

One last time, she glanced back. The last dragon had overtaken the first and both were gaining. No heavy crates to weigh them down.

She rolled her shoulders, pressed herself down against the leather, and gripped the feathers either side of Lys’ neck to keep her hands firmly against it.

She drove her hands into his neck and they dived. Plummeting. Falling. Into a cavern. Lys unfurled his wings and beat them hard to slow down, moments before hitting the spring below.

No splashes followed.

They flew onwards, into the long passage. Patches of light illuelizated the still water. The cavern was not much of a cave, the ceiling barely held in some places. Not quite a gorge either.

Their tails were following, one weaving amongst stone behind them, the other flying above. She exhaled sharply, their dive had provided enough time for the faster of the two to catch up and almost fly directly over them. If the patrol had any projectiles, they might be in trouble.

“Time to lose them,” she said to herself, Lys wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway.

Her hands dug into feathers and Lys turned sharply. Another turn almost threw her off balance. She heard a creak and swore. “Stay put!” She yelled at the damn boxes.

She threw open the saddle bag on her left and thrust her hand into the top compartment, feeling out one mass wrapped in several layers of fine, green cloth. The saddle bag on her right had a similarly sized mass, wrapped in a course red cloth.

They were hard and cold. She ripped off the cloths and mashed the two masses together. Warming in her hand indicated they were beginning to mix. The warming combined mass became a burn.

The burn began to sting. She tossed the mass high over her head.

A breath.

It exploded in a loud cracking bang. The cry of their follower was just loud enough to hear above the echo of stone crashing into ground.

She whooped in triumph and Lys answered with his own happy trill.

One more.

The shadow clung to them, cool and unrelenting.

Clenching her jaw and tightening her core, she pushed her knees against the saddle and dug her fingers deep into feathers.

The passage split in a three way fork. She pointed Lys to the right most, where the jagged gaps in the ceiling closed as the way lead beneath a mountain. Wooden supports held the forks open, far safer than the back paths they had taken in.

She tugged sharply on his right.

Lys flew towards it, leveling his wings to glide. Almost. She watched the shadow above, flitting between gaps. The shadow of wings mirrored theirs for a moment, and gradually began to overtake.

She inhaled.

Lys flung his wings open against the path and jolted their smooth flight, wind passing became a howl as he tried to slow them. He banked sharply. Para threw her weight back, leaning against the motion. All the while, she swore a repeated mantra of ‘shit, shit, shit.’

She heard his wing tips slide against rock, felt his feet touch rock and push off again, and then came the creaking. Followed by a bang. One crate went flying down the passage and sounded with a conclusive shattering smash.

She hissed. They were going to find that and figure out exactly what they were transporting. Fuck this job and fuck the extra weight!

Lys veered down the right passage and picked up speed. 

They shot out of the miner’s entrance, flying over the landing platform in three clean beats of his wings.

The surrounds were quiet, the air as clean as possible with the mild odour of sulphur. No sign of the patrol.

She sat up and exhaled.

Her shoulders cramped and her back was starting to ache, she missed her twenties, when she could do this without feeling like a cart ran her over.

And they were going the wrong way, great.