A giant, bloated bat and a dwarf had just finished a meal inside.
The bat was unremarkable except for its size and its over-large ears. Wistala knew that there were some big bats in the Lavadome; the vermin did well suckling on the blood of cattle and dragons, when they got the chance.
The dragons tolerated them, mostly because they’d been part of the fight against the Dragonblade’s riders. But she still suspected the dragons of squashing them on the sly.
“Let’s hear his story, then,” Wistala said.
“Don’t be afraid,” Ibidio said. “Tell this dragonelle your story.”
“Could I have a sup, first, your lordship?”
“After!” Ibidio insisted. Wistala thought Ibidio looked a little drained. Maybe she’d stayed in seclusion for more than one reason.
“Well, it was like this,” the bat began. “Himself kept a few of us around as messengers.”
“Himself who?” Ibidio prompted.
“Tyr RuGaard. Or Upholder RuGaard, as he was then.
“I’d come back from delivering a message. RuGaard wanted to ask something about the construction of a bridge. I was tired, and went right to the ceiling to find a comfortable spot. This horn-blowing woke me up, and I saw RuGaard’s human girl blowing on the horn, and both the Tyr an’ his Queen standing over the frail dragon, his mate.”
“I don’t suppose we’re going to hear from this girl?” Wistala asked.
“Her name was Rhea. She met with an accident. But this family servant RuGaard gave to Rayg’s family, Fourfang, he heard her at her death, talking about it.”
“Where is he? Another room?” Wistala asked.
“He’s afraid to return to the Lavadome to tell the story. But I heard it myself with two witnesses present.”
“The female’s story, or this Fourfang’s?”
“The human told Fourfang of her death.”
“A human woman is dying, and she uses her last breaths to tell a story about a dragon dying years ago?” Wistala said.
“She was afraid of telling the truth. Nilrasha killed Halaflora. She told RuGaard the truth, and he lied for her, stuck a bone in her throat. Vermin.”
Wistala heard from the other witness, a beardless dwarf of the sort that seemed to wash up in the Lavadome, to do odd jobs until they built up enough of a hoard to move on to wherever they were going. This one must have been in the Lavadome a long time; he moved stiffly and held his toothless mouth shut.
He only told his story with much prodding and prompting from Ibidio.
He didn’t have much information to offer—all he told was a story about working a ferry in the depths of the western tunnel leading to Tyr RuGaard’s old uphold. RuGaard and his mate traveled west, and soon after, Nilrasha followed. She asked questions about whether RuGaard seemed happy with his new mate.
Wistala thought the dwarf the next thing to useless. If Wistala wanted to get an idea of a dragon’s feelings, the last thing she’d ask would be a wandering dwarf.
“So, a terse dwarf and a thirsty, blood-addled bat are going to bring down Tyr RuGaard?” Wistala felt a little sorry for Ibidio. A dead daughter, a fled daughter, and a third sworn to celibacy in the Firemaids.
“No,” Ibidio said. “But I believe I can bring down Nilrasha. She’s his real weakness, not the bad sii or the lazy eye or the wing joint. Tell us the truth, did he have his family killed?”
“That’s a truth not even my brother himself could tell you.”
“Don’t say a word of this to anyone, if you value your position,” Ibidio warned.
“I might say the same to you,” Wistala said. She turned and left Ibidio with her hate and her witnesses.
Chapter 12
Imfamnia called a meeting to discuss relations between Ghioz, Dairuss, and the new Protectorate of Old Uldam. This one came from a veteran Roc-rider who had survived the war between Ghioz and Lavadome and threw in with the new Protectors.
His painted neighbor did keep her messengers busy.
AuRon didn’t know of that many pressing issues. Istach was settling into the ceremonial duties of a dragon-Protector, supervising winter feasts and exhibitions of babies and newly matured male warriors and so on. The only thing his offspring had asked him about in her brief reign was a request by some Hypatian mapmakers to survey the mountains—evidently Old Uldam was nearly unknown to them—and a request from some Hypatian librarians to inspect what little was left of NooMoahk’s old collection of books and scrolls. She’d never mentioned any difficulty with Ghioz.
Imfamnia probably had some bauble or other she wanted to exhibit in front of Natasatch. Natasatch, both out of politeness and interest, marveled at Imfamnia’s collection of glitter that seemed to serve no other purpose than occupying a few moments putting it on and then taking it off again.
Well, AuRon decided, he’d show Imfamnia. He’d leave his mate behind, or send her to the capital in Hypat or the storehouses of the Chartered Company. A silk-train had set up a market in Dairuss and Naf and Hieba had made them a present of some very fine purple bolts, Natasatch’s favorite color. Dragons had little use for silk, though, and their scale were rough on it, so she’d keep a little for a divider curtain and trade the rest for a bauble or two. Perhaps Hieba would like to try a dragon-saddle once more and advise her on getting the best value.
Imfamnia arranged a meeting in the old woods where AuRon had given Hieba over to a human logging encampment—strange fate had led her to meet Naf that way. Naf had told him privately that when word came of a girl who made dragon noises coming out of the woods he’d suspected he knew the identity of both girl and dragon, and made it his business to visit the encampment in his rounds as a commander to check up on her. Eventually, they’d fallen in love.
There were still loggers at work, here in the well-watered valley between Ghioz and Old Uldam. Game was plentiful and Imfamnia had arranged a selection of fresh frogs, smoked deer, wild boar in a sweet mustard, smoked-fish-stuffed raccoon in garloque, groundhog stewed, and an assortment of birds that were difficult to identify with heads, feathers, and feet removed.
“I do so love eating rough,” Imfamnia said. “I feel quite like one of those back-to-nature dragons when I dine like this.” She swung her head around and poked one of her cooks with a wingtip. “Turn that spit more quickly, there’s my man, and don’t skimp on the cherry sauce.” She sniffed another’s bucket and ladle. “Oh stars, you aren’t using nearly enough onion in this.”
“Roving is such an adventure,” she mused.
Istach, who’d flown the whole way with a side of bullock to add to the feast, had had her offering rejected. “Not fit for dogmeat, dearest. Never worry, I’ll teach you how to hang beef properly.”
AuRon hadn’t brought anything at all. He was hoping there wouldn’t be feasting, so he could plead hunger and the need to hunt to shorten the meeting.
“Where’s NiVom?”
“Oh, he’s off in Bant, settling things there again. Bant, Bant, Bant, always trouble in Bant. Tribal blighters see a tree struck by lightning and decide the omens are right to start raiding our salt trains again.”
The trio ate. Imfamnia snuck in one of the loggers’ spits and a copper platter holding barbecued pork, each time trilling out an oops: “I’m such a metal hog. AuRon, you’re so lucky not to have scale. Istach, doesn’t it drive you absolutely mad, the smell of hot iron? I’d swallowed it before I knew what I was doing. Ah well, they won’t miss it. Istach, have some more of that spiced wine, it’s a favorite of mine.”
AuRon, knowing how scarce smithies were in the frontier, rather suspected they would miss it. Istach politely tongued the offered wine.
There wasn’t much to discuss. There was talk of whether to build a road between Ghioz and Old Uldam, and then a second between Old Uldam and Dairuss, or whether to use the existing rivers which would be longer and slower and seasonably unreliable without an equal amount of work put into dams and portage stations. AuRon was at least suspecting th
at there’d been some kind of bloodshed between men and blighter that had to be resolved, but apparently there was nothing but the usual complaints of thievery that the dragons couldn’t resolve without keeping track of every lamb and loom in their lands.
Istach yawned, being still a young dragon and having flown far with a burden of bullock, and Imfamnia dispatched her to her slumber. She hardly made three dragonlengths into the shelter of a copse before collapsing into deep, regular breaths.
“Ah, to be young again, and just drop off like that,” Imfamnia said.
“A hogshead of wine might have had something to do with that.”
“Oh, yes, I forget how it goes to the head of those who aren’t used to it. I learned all about wines from the old Queen, Tighlia. She was quite the connoisseur.”
AuRon rarely did more than politely coat his tongue with it. It was hard to imagine a more un-dragonish beverage than fermented fruit, but some of his kind were greatly fond of it.
“That was a silly affair with the war we almost had,” Imfamnia said, shortly after they agreed to get some Hypatian and Ghioz surveyors to map out a possible path for the imagined road. “It’s all your brother’s fault, in a way.”
“How is that?” AuRon asked.
“This Grand Alliance of his. It’s not under a firm hand at all. Sii hardly knows what saa is doing, and both are constantly stepping on tail. And the Hypatians!”
“I don’t know many,” AuRon said.
“Well, they’re a demanding lot, I can tell you. Fly this message at once! Don’t dawdle with the return. Can you bring these medicines north, there’s fever in Swampwater Wash and Farmer Pipesuck’s pig is ill. Protectors indeed, we’re errand runners and lost dog finders.”
“Naf just likes to have us show ourselves along the river. Makes the Ironriders think twice about raiding into Dairuss.”
“Well! Perhaps we should trade places.”
“I’ve learned enough hominid tongues in my life. I don’t want to have to learn another.”
“Oh, the Ghioz one isn’t so bad, sort of a cross between Pari and Hypatian. If you know Hypatian, it’s quite easy to learn, I’m told by the Ankelenes, but then I never was a scholar.”
“Well, I should have some water and—”
“AuRon, there was one matter I did want to discuss with you. We get on so famously, I feel like I can trust you. You’re just one of these dragons who inspires trust and sympathy.”
“Thank… you,” AuRon managed, worried at what was coming next.
“How would you like to join a little conspiracy?”
“Conspiracy?”
“You’re not usually so slow. Yes, a little conspiracy. You must know that when it comes to the ruling of the Lavadome, there are plenty of traditions and practices for obeying one’s Tyr, doing this or that properly and in style. But one area that’s sorely lacking—and we’ve suffered for it—is that there’s no set tradition for succession.”
“Birth is no good. Many a great dragon has fathered unadmirable offspring. Every time a Tyr dies we can’t have all these battles and uncertainties and torments, you know.”
“I’ve little experience in the Lavadome, and what I had I didn’t much enjoy,” AuRon said.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, it’s very much home to me even if I’m a coinless exile through circumstances beyond my poor powers.”
“Yes, well, that’s in the past,” AuRon said, not wanting to hear again her litany of “nothing was my fault” miseries.
“Of course. I hope someday to redeem myself to the dragons of the Lavadome. I’m not entirely without merit, if I apply myself I’m sure I can one day redeem my name and rejoin society.”
“Yes, well, I’ve never been much for society—”
“Wait, AuRon, don’t you want to hear my idea for improvement to the Grand Alliance?”
“I’m all in favor of improvements.”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, things aren’t going as well as they might under your brother. Yes, the wars are over and the Lavadome is at peace, but most of us expected rather more from the Grand Alliance. We barely see more gold than we did back in the days when we were furtively holding on to a few upholds. Your brother isn’t doing a good enough job supervising his ‘Protectors.’ Dragons are a greedy bunch, and that NoSohoth of his is one of the greediest. The Protectors are keeping all that surface wealth for themselves, when they should be seeing to it that it’s brought down to the Lavadome. I mean, there are hatchlings forced to eat iron ores just to keep scale on.”
“So, what are you suggesting?”
Imfamnia said, “No harm to your brother! (Unless, of course, you’d prefer some harm to come to him—but I think a little humiliation would quite suffice; he’s a dragon who’s already risen far beyond the station he deserves and should be taken down a few tailjoints.) We simply wish to have a plan for succession in place, so a new, better Tyr will take over for him.”
The rest of the conference passed in Imfamnia sounding out Istach on whether she’d like a trained thrall to help shape her scale and train her claws into a more elegant curve. AuRon quit it gladly.
He returned to Dairuss dispirited, and complained that night to Natasatch that he was considering giving up the Protectorship and returning to his island.
“Well, I like it here,” Natasatch said. “I feel at home, for some reason, with these social dragons. What is there to do on our island? Snooze out the winters, then argue all summer with the wolves and blighters about the number of sheep that may be taken. It’s no life for a dragon.”
“It is life. If this contraption my brother the Tyr has set up fails, it’ll be another fall of Silverhigh. A good many dragons will go down with it. I doubt we’ll ever rise from it again.”
Natasatch nuzzled him behind the griff. “There’s another matter. Think of the offspring. They’re doing so well here. Even Istach, who I thought would remain lurking outside our cave like a hungry dog, has found a position—one above her brothers and sister! They’re doing so well, because we’ve been here to help them along. Now, with Wistala acting as Queen, she can be of further use to them.”
“I’m not sure Wistala took the position with that in mind. She only wants to make sure everyone’s treated fairly.”
“What should we do about NiVom and Imfamnia and their ‘conspiracy’?”
“If the Lavadome breaks into factions, some will support the Tyr, some will support NiVom and Imfamnia. That seems a reasonable assumption, does it not, my love?”
“Yes,” AuRon said.
The air was too still in this cave. If they stayed, he’d have to ask Naf about finding another cave with better air flow.
“We have to make sure we’re on the winning side,” Natasatch said. “I’d put my hoard on my nest mate. He’s a survivor. You can’t even kill him with poison, I’d say.”
“Thank you.”
“But Imfamnia and NiVom are building a network of allies. If she was being honest with you.”
“I’d like to hear NiVom’s opinion, personally. He’s a smart dragon,” AuRon said.
“Imfamnia’s smarter,” Natasatch said. “She doesn’t let you know just how smart she is. She plays the birdbrain, but she doesn’t act like one.”
“So, you think we should side with them?” AuRon asked.
Natasatch paused a moment before answering. “No, my love. We have to be sure we back the victor, correct?”
“Yes. From what I know of Lavadome politics, being on the losing side could be deadly.”
“Then we must support both.”
“Just how do we do that?” AuRon asked.
“Simple. You’ll work with Imfamnia. Do all you can to ensure her faction succeeds. She likes you, I can tell. She’s taken you in on her plans very early.”
AuRon didn’t like the sound of that.
“I think she likes me too much.”
“Well, you’re an interesting dragon. Besides, your accent is irresistible, it’s
not Lavadome at all.”
“I often wonder why you feel so at home with that oversized snakepit.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps my family came from there. I don’t know anything about where I was hatched. I was taken away so young.”
“You do look a little like some of those dragons, around the griff and the jaw. You and Nilrasha, your scale lie very similarly. Maybe you are from a Lavadome family.” AuRon wasn’t sure he liked where this chain of thought led.
He continued: “No, if I’m going to support someone, I’ll support the Tyr. He trusted me here, and by doing so stopped a war with a friend of mine. I’ll support him.”
“I suspected you would. Well, Imfamnia and I get along.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to just find a reasonable dragon to take our spot—perhaps one of the offspring—and go back home?”
Natasatch stretched and rolled over on her other side. “The island? I’d rather take my chances here, to be honest. At least there are metals to eat.”
“Metals or no, too many plots and plans on the cooking fire for my taste. I had enough stratagems and deception in my life just getting that collar off your neck.
“Besides, by ensuring that one of us is on the winning side, you’ve guaranteed one of us will lose, too.”
“The victor can afford to be magnanimous.”
“I’ve seen victors who use their victory to engage in bloody slaughter, too,” AuRon said.
“Oh, that’s hominids, they’re always gutting each other to make a point. A dragon may humble an enemy, but he’ll let them live. Look at Imfamnia or that striped orange friend of yours.”
AuRon wondered what DharSii would think of all this. Where was he? He said something about trading some gathered dragon-scale for coin and paying another visit to the Lava-dome. Scale wasn’t worth as much as it once was, with so many dragons above ground these days, but he thought he could get some coin. Well, no use chasing him down.
“I think I’m due for a visit to my brother,” AuRon said.
[Age of Fire 05] - Dragon Rule Page 16
