“Naw,” Fang said, and the others also shook their heads, hominid style. “That LaDibar, he’s the one you have to watch out for. Shifty-like.”
“Still visiting the thrall pens and the demen quarter, I hope?”
“Aye, Tyr, nothing brewing there but soup bones. As long as the feed’s good, they’re happy.”
“Aye, jes’ like us’n,” old Gang said, licking remaining fangs clean of the last bits of blood.
The Copper met with his court the next day, making it clear to them that it was a strictly informal gathering. He ordered a plain meal rather than an imperial feast. They had platters brought into the Audience Chamber, now filled with dozens of newly captured battle banners of Ghioz and collections of skulls and stained hides from the Ironriders.
NoFhyriticus the Gray, a mainstay for sensible advice, was much missed in his new role as Protector of Hypatia. He was an even-tempered dragon, both slow to anger and slow to trust. He was doing well among the humans of the Directory, but the Copper found himself absentmindedly waiting for him to speak at times, so used to NoFhyriticus’ counsel was he.
Of course he had HeBellereth, as the Aerial Host was much in need of rest and refitting after the expedition against the pirates of Swayport.
LaDibar was still a fixture. The Copper had tried making him an upholder, but he pleaded illness that prevented him from making “a proper exertion in duty, as a Protector should.” He had a vast storehouse of knowledge in that brain of his, however, so he was still useful to the court.
LaDibar still displayed the revolting habit of exploring his ears, nostrils, and gum line with his tailtip when deep in thought.
CoTathanagar had been reluctantly brought into his inner circle. While the Copper found him distasteful, pig-headed, and ambitious, he knew the ins and outs of Sreeksrack’s thrall trade, knew Ankelene politics, knew the hominids, knew which Skotl was forbidden to mate with a Wyrr, yet seemed to get along well with all the clans. Besides, the Copper found it useful to have someone around who, no matter what the job, could supply a name to handle it. And for the most part, those CoTathanagar put forward performed decently enough in their various responsibilities.
And then there were the Twins. SiHazathant the Red and Regalia. But the Imperial Line and the rest of the Lavadome usually just called them the Twins. Others didn’t seem to mind their familiarity, but they gave the Copper the shivers. Brother and sister, looking much alike, always at each other’s side, eating and sleeping together. Of course, they’d shared the same egg so by looking at it one way they were the same dragon, but still—an eerie, otherworldly air hung about them.
They were well-liked by the Ankelenes, too. Always experimenting on their thralls in matters of feeding and breeding and exercise. He’d told them to quit giving thralls dragon-blood; a victory toast among allies or a bribe to bats was one thing, but intentionally breeding a hybrid of something as dangerous as a human—he forbade it.
But they were sensible dragons, fond of feasting, and popular, especially with Ibidio’s little faction. She thought them a blend of AgGriffopse and FeHazathant.
Finally, there was Naf. When the Copper first introduced Naf to speak to his court, it had caused some consternation—a thrall addressing dragons as equals!—but they indulged their Tyr, who could be forgiven a blind spot and a soft heart now and then.
He wanted to discuss the matter of the oliban shortage.
“Drive the gatherers harder,” CoTathanagar advised. “A stout whip hand will get it flowing again.”
“Za! From what, twigs and bare stone?” LaDibar asked. “It’s whipping and greed that got us into this situation to begin with.”
“There’ll be fighting here, if we’re not careful in rationing it,” HeBellereth said, stating the obvious.
“Steaming it rather than burning it makes it last longer. But steaming only works in a small cavern,” LaDibar said. “Or if you stand right over the vat.”
“It must grow naturally somewhere else.”
“The Princedoms of the Sunstruck Sea are said to have it,” LaDibar said, examining the contents of a nostril on tailtip. “There are unexplored islands farther south as well, but the weather is so wild at the equinoxes, colonies or a regular trade would be difficult to maintain.”
“More difficult than us being at each other’s throats light and dark?” NoSohoth asked. Friends of his managed the oliban
trade and the Copper suspected—no, make that knew—he profited from the Imperial concession.
“We have news of the recent battles at Swayport,” HeBellereth said. “Remember that dragon who attacked you over the pirate ship? Four of the Aerial Host tracked him to his refuge. He’s outside now, in chains. The new flier, your brother’s son, was one of the party that captured him.”
What did they expect him to do, order him executed for serving humans in a war?
“Bring him to me.”
The black dragon seemed to fill the Audience Chamber.
“You’re not about to start a fight in here, are you?” the Copper asked.
“No. Whatever they told you, I came with your dragons and their riders willingly. I wished to meet you without fighting.”
“We shall see about that,” the Copper said. “Get those chains off him.”
Thralls brought pry bars and cutters. A few snips and clatters later, he was free. As free as he could be, surrounded by strange dragons and beneath the waiting talons of the Griffaran Guard.
“What is your name?” the Copper asked.
“Shadowcatch.”
“Shadowcatch, my Tyr,” NoSohoth prompted.
“My Tyr,” the prisoner finished.
“Why were you seeking us?” the Copper asked.
“After our fight in Swayport I asked some questions of some sea-elves I know—don’t tell me to reveal their location, I’ll keep the secrets of one who’s been kind to me or I’ll bleed out.”
“Sea-elves? I thought Wrimere killed them all,” LaDibar said.
“Never mind the sea-elves,” the Copper said.
“I’ve been among few enough of my kind,” Shadowcatch said. “Thought I’d join you. Seems like a good bunch of fighting dragons. I’m used to living with my own kind. Having females about, too.”
“You thought you’d find us hospitable after you tried to kill our Tyr?” HeBellereth asked.
“That was just war, and I was hired to fight. Nothing personal, my Tyr.”
“Of course,” the Copper said.
“I say we bleed him out and let the Aerial Host drink to your health, my Tyr. He’s an assassin if I ever smelled one.”
Shadowcatch’s scale bristled but he said nothing.
“You’d like to join us, Shadowcatch? What are your qualifications?”
“I can fight,” he said. “I’ve lived in the Upper World on my own since the Wizard got himself roasted by that NooSho—I mean AuRon. The Gray.”
“Ah, yes, the Gray. Many paths lead back to him,” the Copper said. Any friend of the Gray might be an enemy to him. Though now he had the advantage of his brother; three of his four hatchlings were serving the Lavadome in one manner or another.
“You like good food, I see,” the Copper said.
“The folks who hired me fed me well even if they couldn’t always pay.”
“An easy life?” the Copper asked.
“You’d be surprised what having a dragon hanging around keeps away. Yeah, I call it an easy life.”
“One thing about you impressed me. The other dragons they’d hired. They flew away as soon as they saw the strength arrayed against them.”
Shadowcatch ground his teeth, creating a low clatter like woodpeckers all working the same tree. “Trash, those. Halfwit vagabonds from the Wizard’s Isle.”
“AuRon’s Isle, you mean.”
“Some call it that.”
“When we attacked, they flew away, but you stayed. Outnumbered forty to one or more, if you count the hominids, you stayed.”
/> “Yes,” Shadowcatch said.
“Why?”
“They paid me. I gave my word to them. I’d keep it.”
“Your word’s that important to you, that you’d die for it?” LaDibar asked, as if he was having trouble with the concept.
“Certainty nothing. I have a way of surviving.”
There was more to this black dragon than met the eye. He might be a little fat, and stupid-looking as the thickest Skotl, but there were depths to him, the Copper decided.
“Ever since then I’ve been thinking I need a bodyguard,” the Copper said. “Someone a little more intimidating than griffaran. Hominids don’t fear anything with feathers as they ought.”
“But—my Tyr,” NoSohoth protested. “He’s an outsider. He tried to kill you.”
“As he says, that was just business. And as for being an outsider, it’s the same one that led to me being acceptable to Skotl, Wyrr, and Ankelene as Tyr: no clan can trust that he won’t move against one of his own. If you took my coin and my food, you wouldn’t try to kill me, would you, Shadowcatch?”
“Of course not, my Tyr. Oathbreakers, well, may their bones get ground into wizard dust, that’s all I have to say.”
“You must tell me more of the Upper World. There’s so much to know.”
“As long as it’s not where the sea elves are hiding, or one or two other oaths I have to keep,” Shadowcatch said.
“Very well. Honorable Dragons of the Empire, meet my new bodyguard, Shadowcatch the Black.”
The Copper read their expressions like a short scroll. Yes, Shadowcatch was already proving his worth. It was good to have the biggest dragon in the room at one’s back.
BOOK TWO
Hopes
“If you live to see all your plans fulfilled,
you sold your years too cheap.”
—Partnership Articles of the Chartered
Company (Notes & Additions)
Chapter 7
There had been many changes since AuRon last flew over the city of the Ghioz and the Red Queen’s former mountainside palace.
The old monument which had worn three different faces at one time or another, he’d been told, was now being reshaped under a bright new bronze mask. Workers had scaffolding up, creating a metallic snout over a steel frame projecting out of the mountainside. The stone that had once depicted hair had been smoothed and shaped into a dragon-crest.
AuRon found himself staring into the likeness of his Copper brother, multiplied in size many times.
Fluttering red flags showed him his landing spot. He suspected there was ample red and black material for such symbols, left over from the Red Queen’s preferred wardrobe and curtaining. He wondered why he found the colors so unsettling. The Red Queen’s power had long passed from this age, hadn’t it?
As he and Natasatch alighted in a whirlwind of dust from the construction, carrying some of Dairuss’ finest sewn-together sheep’s hides—they made comfortable and long-lasting rugs—trumpets blared a noisy welcome from the battlements designed to look like decor.
Imfamnia and NiVom stepped out into the sun to welcome them. Ghioz soldiers in their red scabbards and loinskirts marched and countermarched, banners were unfurled, and musicians banged and sawed and blew about their instruments as if they were trying to bring the mountainside down with their noise.
Thralls hurried forward to throw flowers on the visitors. The petals caught in Natasatch’s scale but slid off of AuRon, save for one long white bloom that stuck between the growing horns of his crest.
NiVom and AuRon bowed to each other, Imfamnia and Natasatch rubbed their folded griff.
“Welcome, fellow Protector,” NiVom said. AuRon thought him an intelligent dragon, especially in comparison to his garrulous, flashy mate.
“Oh, Natasatch, how lovely you look. I wish I had your digits, they’re so long and graceful. Mine are stunted, awful things, and even if I grow out my claws they still don’t look well.”
Natasatch gave off a brief prrum at the compliment. “Well, I wish my scale shone like yours.”
“Get your thralls to properly polish it. Chalk soda and lemon juice, that’s the thing. And if they put a little oil on it afterward; it keeps the tarnish down, dear.”
Ear to ear in conversation, the dragonelles proceeded underground. AuRon and NiVom trailed behind in companionable silence.
They sat, according to Lavadome decorum, around a tiny feeding pit with Imfamnia across from AuRon and Natasatch facing NiVom.
The food, rather than being brought up from an under-chamber, had to be brought in from another room by a thrall.
AuRon took a quick glance at the Ghioz. He hadn’t seen many up close, at least without the din and confusion all about. They were smaller and darker than the men of the north, but had wiry frames that held a good deal of strength, considering the weight of the platters brought in for the guests. Some of the thralls were bearing entire calves and small pigs, roasted with different kinds of gravies.
He had no complaints about the food. AuRon hadn’t dined so well—ever. He even sampled the wine, but hardly understood half the words NiVom and Imfamnia used in the description of its origin and reputation. It sounded as though they were describing the quality of a warrior:
“This one’s rather new and still a bit stiff; it could have been better treated by the barrel, but you’ll find it has strong legs, with the apple blossom carrying the smokey cheese behind…” and other such rubbish.
“What does wine care how its barrel treats it?” AuRon asked, and NiVom and Imfamnia exchanged looks.
“We’re used to eating rough and drinking glacier runoff,” Natasatch explained.
“Oh, I do love you outdoorsy kinds of dragons,” Imfamnia said, touching Natasatch’s tail with her own. “Such stories! Tell us of the north. You must get a great deal of fresh air and sunshine; I can tell by your eyes and scale that you’ve never had to substitute kern for being above ground.”
“They used to give us different kinds of oils in the cave, with herbs suspended in them…” Natasatch gave a brief version of her captivity on the egg shelf.
“But where did you come from, originally?” Imfamnia asked her. “You look so familiar!”
“I’m not really sure—I was taken captive very young. I think I remember being underground, but it might have been images from my parents’ minds.”
Imfamnia went on describing Natasatch’s perfections of limb and scale “quite youthful-looking; you’d never know you’d mated, let alone sat atop four eggs.”
“It was five, we lost one,” Natasatch said.
“Five! Oh, if good old Tyr FeHazathant could have seen that. He’d have stuffed you and your hatchlings with cattle.”
“We managed,” AuRon said. “There’s good fishing in the north. The waters around my island are thick with cod.”
“Riches indeed,” Imfamnia said.
“I understand RuGaard is keeping up the tradition of giving gifts to those lucky enough to sit atop eggs,” NiVom said.
Imfamnia cocked her head. “Your brother is an odd sort of fellow. He’s no FeHazathant, and not nearly as impressive-looking as SiDrakkon or SiMevolant were as Tyr. He’s so clunky and offbeat, it’s rather disarming. He’s more than he appears.”
“You were the champion in the hatching struggle?”
“Yes,” AuRon said, which was more or less the truth. He had some help from the Copper and the egg-horn.
“You still have your egg-horn, I notice,” Imfamnia said, as though reading his thoughts. “Is that a family tradition, or…”
“It did me great service in getting out of my egg, so I left it in. The skin’s almost overgrown it.”
“Yes, at first I thought it was a stuck arrowhead,” NiVom said.
“There are the wildest rumors going around the Lavadome about your brother,” Imfamnia said. “We’ve been away for years, so perhaps we heard incorrectly, but there is a rumor that he betrayed and murdered his own family.�
��
“None of us treated him much like family,” AuRon said. “Except perhaps for one, but she died as a hatchling.”
“Poor little blighter, he must have had it hard,” Imfamnia said.
“Whatever’s in the past, he’s a decent enough dragon now,” AuRon said. “Going by what little I’ve seen of him.”
“Yes, his story is altogether remarkable,” Imfamnia said. “It’s like an elf made it up for a song. To rise from lower than dust and become Tyr.”
“If he has truly reformed,” NiVom said.
“What’s that?” AuRon asked.
Imfamnia tossed her snout to make light of the issue. “Oh, you can never be certain with rumors. Of course no one can say for sure, except perhaps his mate—but his first mate, my sister, a sickly little thing, she died under conditions that were… unique.
“My sister never ate but tiny little bird pecks,” Imfamnia continued, tearing off a great haunch and swallowing it as though showing a contrast. AuRon watched it pass down, like an accelerated quick trip by groundhog through a snake. “She had no appetite her whole life. But then she dies, all alone at dinner, supposedly choked to death on a mouthful of meat. Something’s not right about that.
“And then he mates an old comrade from the Firemaids—after she’s taken her oath, mind—while the poor thing’s still moist in her grave.”
Perhaps he hadn’t reformed so much after all, AuRon thought.
AuRon wondered at NiVom’s quiet, tired manner. He looked bloodless, like a dragon back from a winter thin on meals and heavy on fighting, but bore no scars. Perhaps the feasting at Ghioz wasn’t as good as his mate claimed.
Their hosts gave them a comfortable old storage cave in the mountain. The heavy doors made AuRon think it had once held valuables; it still smelled faintly of gold and there were some silver utensils that Imfamnia told them to swallow if they chose.
[Age of Fire 05] - Dragon Rule Page 11
