At the Queen's Command Read Online Free PDF Page B

magnificent.”
    Being a member of the Ventnor family and then the Queen’s Own Wurm Regiment had afforded Owen ample opportunity to study wurms up close. He often spent time on his grandfather’s estates caring for his uncles’ wurms, though he’d never been given the chance to ride one all by himself. Not being of noble blood nor possessed of great wealth, he could not afford to buy a commission in the actual wurm companies. That not withstanding, he was more comfortable around the great beasts than some of their riders.
    Without a second thought, Owen descended into the pit. He kept toward the edge where the mud remained shallow and worked his way toward the beast’s head. The Prince, who was better dressed for a foray into the pit, followed him. Owen moved slowly, taking great care not to slip—less out of concern for his clothes than not wanting to excite the wurm.
    Ten yards from Mugwump’s head he squatted, gathering the tails of his coat into his lap to save them from the mud. He smiled; he couldn’t help it. Of the many wurms he’d seen, Mugwump was by far the most impressive.
    Forty feet long, perhaps a bit longer, the wurm was covered with black scales. Though the wurmrest’s dim light made it difficult to be certain, the scales shone far more brightly than the dull wurmflesh common in the Regiment. The beast’s horns and claws appeared more substantial than on Regimental wurms. Moreover, gold and scarlet stripes and dots decorated the scales and horns. Owen had never seen anything like it on a living wurm.
    Mugwump lay his lower jaw in a puddle, a leafy branch from some bush sticking out of it. As the men drew close, he opened one golden eye, the tall, slender pupil narrowed slightly, and a semi-opaque membrane nictitated up over the golden orb. The creature raised his head slightly, dark water dripping from his jaw line.
    “Captain, beware.”
    Though Owen knew what was coming, he didn’t move.
    The wurm dropped his wedge-shaped head. A wave of mud splashed up, coating Owen from the waist down and spattering him above.
    Owen howled with laughter and the wurm snorted. The soldier wiped mud from his face and smiled broadly. “My uncle had one that pulled similar tricks. He was vicious at molt. We’d have to wait until he’d almost finished shedding, then deal with him.”
    Prince Vlad raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were not a wurmwright.”
    “I’m not, but the Ventnor family wurmwright was a good man. Lost his wife and children to the Black Pox. He took me under his wing whenever I was home from school. Time in the wurmrest kept me out of sight and from having to deal with my cousins. It became my refuge.”
    “Then,if I might, I would like to avail myself of your experience.” The Prince whistled.
    Mugwump shifted. Plowing up a muddy berm, the great beast swung his head around and thrust his snout between the two of them. Hot breath came in short blasts from his nostrils, strong enough to almost knock Owen over.
    Steadying himself with one hand on Mugwump’s muzzle, the Prince moved toward his eyes. “Go over on the other side. You know where the aural canal is?”
    “Yes, Highness.” Owen advanced, ending up ankle deep in mud just behind the creature’s jaw, a couple of feet below one of the golden eyes. The wurm’s aural canal sat just behind and a little above the corner of the jaw. An armored scale as big as a dinner plate shielded it.
    “Now, if you will, Captain, take hold of the canal cover and try to shift it. Gently.”
    Owen cautiously slid his fingers under the scale. Dragons had two layers of flesh. One, the scales—hard like fingernails—were anchored in the lower layer. That lower layer felt supple and warm, much like a snake that had been sunning itself. Mugwump’s flesh felt normal, reassuring Owen.
    He manipulated the canal cover, slowly at first, then with a bit more vigor. It felt loose, like a tooth almost ready to fall free. For contrast he tried