[Age of Fire 05] - Dragon Rule

by E. E. Knight - (ebook by Undead)

  She watched NoSohoth paint new laudi and messenger insignia on the youngster.

  However AuRon might feel about it, Wistala’s brother’s offspring were doing well in the Grand Alliance. Perhaps too well for their own good. Already there were whispers that the Copper was starting his own line to supplant the old and venerable Imperial Line.

  AuRon looked forward to an evening with nothing more serious on his mind than deciding whether to have leftover mutton or fresh chicken for his evening meal.

  Dairuss sweated under the late spring sun. Sheep were being shorn, rows of crops planted, the winter’s craft goods and woodwork were being hauled to the markets and boat landings for sale or transport, and Hypatian salt was cheaper than at any time in living memory.

  Until their white-scaled neighbor decided to drop in. AuRon watched NiVom circle his resort, now with a comfortable wooden outside sleeping area added so he and Natasatch could sun themselves as they napped.

  NiVom landed, dancing on sii and saa with impatience.

  “AuRon, I’ve just heard some news. There’s been a catastrophic attack on the Lavadome. Dwarfs, I believe. Dozens are dead, especially among the drakes and drakka. Our Tyr has failed us with tragic results, and we must act. Will you fly with me?”

  “I’ll fly with you anywhere, NiVom, but if it’s to fight against my brother—I won’t do it.”

  “Dearest, we’ve spoken about this,” Natasatch said. “I’ve told Imfamnia we’re with them. You have our support, NiVom, if the other Protectors believe another Tyr could do better.”

  AuRon stiffened. How much of this was playacting, how much was real? Well, they’d take their roles. “My mate has her own mind about politics, as you see.”

  “Well, AuRon, you’re still welcome to come, either way. I’ve asked some other Protectors to meet in the Lavadome. Perhaps you can talk some sense into Tyr RuGaard.”

  “You mean to attend to matters in the Lavadome, or use his sense to relinquish the throne?”

  NiVom sniffed the wind. “The fastest way may be to fly straight to the south entrance. I can’t predict what the other Protectors will say, but many have told me privately they believe it’s time for a change. With luck, there’ll be no fighting. Too many Tyrs have fallen in a bloodbath. I’d like this to be different. Spilled blood always leads to bad blood.”

  Fine fellow, that NiVom, AuRon thought. According to Imfamnia, he’d been intended to be Tyr at some point, but other, ambitious dragons had fomented a plot against him. Perhaps he should have been Tyr. Why the Spirits put the burden on his brother’s uneven shoulders he never knew.

  The choice of mutton or chicken would have to be left with Natasatch.

  “Farewell, my love. Do your best for King Naf until I return.”

  “I would tell you to be careful, my love, but I know you. You’ll take the safest road again. I hope it leads you back to our door.”

  Chapter 16

  Wistala had all manner of important news to relay to her brother.

  First she had to track him down.

  At the Lavadome they told her he’d gone to see Nilrasha in her eyrie. Nilrasha said she’d just missed him; he’d visited for a few days to forget his worries, but then had gone up to see NoFhyriticus in Hypat.

  Wearily, Wistala flew north, glad that she enjoyed the exercise of flight.

  The Tyr’s banner was flying over NoFhyriticus’ resort in Hypat. At last!

  Hypatian workmen were still building it, of course, though in size, if not in height, it now equaled the Directory. All this for one dragon!

  It resembled four pyramids joined by long, column-filled walkways wide enough for two dragons. In the center was a vast courtyard, open to the sky, with a feeding pit leading down to the kitchens. Each pyramid housed a sleeping chamber for a dragon or two, and bedchambers and workrooms for servants. Terraced gardens built from bricks of destroyed structures from the Red Queen’s siege of Hypat surrounded the resort. The gardens were fed by two vast pools, probably both freshwater, judging from the plants lining the rims.

  The lushness of the gardens let her guess where the servants spread the dragon-waste. No need for mushroom and low-light tubers to feed livestock here.

  She was greeted by a young drake who served as NoFhyriticus’ assistant. As he bade her inside to Tyr and Protector, thralls announced her presence.

  Rich curtains adorned the walls of NoFhyriticus’ resort, polished lamps threw light on scrubbed floors. Pools filled with fragrant flowers added their notes to the heavier dragon smells.

  “Ah, my Queen-Consort,” the Copper said. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

  “Your resort is coming along splendidly, NoFhyriticus,” Wistala said, trying to find polite words as he showed her around. They could use some of this stone in the north to build watchtowers against the barbarians, or on the proposed wall to cover the Iwensi Gap where the Falngese turned west to flow into the Inland Ocean.

  “It serves its purpose,” NoFhyriticus said. His gray skin was painted in elegant Hypatian designs, his claws painted like a Hypatian Directory banner. “The Hypatians always come away impressed. It projects an air of stability and permanence.”

  It projects an air of indulgence, Wistala thought. And close-packed humans. How many servants had he picked up over the years?

  Thralls, thralls, thralls. Thralls to part curtains, thralls to light and extinguish flames so they traveled on an ever-unrolling carpet of flickering light, and an entire train of thralls each carrying three fat cushions atop their heads, so when they finally sat down and rested they did so with joints, head, and tail protected from contact with harsh flooring by combed sheepskin and thick coconut matting.

  “Many mouths to feed,” Wistala remarked.

  “What, am I hosting more than my Tyr and Queen-Consort tonight?”

  “No, I meant your servants.”

  “How do the Hypatians feel about you keeping so many thralls here?” the Copper asked. “You must have the population of a town.”

  “Oh, I am bringing in a few gardeners and such to help with the feast, seeing as we have visitors of distinction. Usually I’m only attended by a dozen or so.”

  NoFhyriticus discussed matters in Hypat intelligently enough as they dined. He was even aware of trouble in the north from the barbarians and recent Ironrider raids on Wallander, though King Naf of Dairuss and his Protectors had driven them off.

  Ripe young human females dressed in the sheerest of fabrics began a vigorous dance to a band of musicians playing in a high alcove. Once hot and puffing, they reached for elegantly shaped vases and began pouring warm streams of oil on each other’s bodies as they moved. The smell of the runoff filled the room.

  “The dance is entertaining enough—you can’t fault these humans for their flexibility, but the sweat on their adornments and in the oils makes for a pleasant atmosphere.”

  “I’m sure you can afford the best dancers in Hypatia.”

  “Only when my Tyr visits. Otherwise I enjoy the simple life.” He let out a long belch.

  “Where did you get all this coin?”

  “The Ironriders attacked another caravan, and that young dragonelle Protector of yours, oh, in those mountains with the blighters—Ulam, no, Uldam is it?”

  “Istach,” the Copper said, growing animated. “I expect great things from Uldam. It’s rich in cattle. It will make a good bulwark against the eastern kingdoms and the principalities on the Sunstruck Sea.”

  “Well, for now she did a fine job chasing the Ironriders away. The merchant prince of the Silkway gave me a partial share of the proceeds in thanks. Silks are much in demand with all the wealthier daughters of Hypatia, and the summer festival season is coming up. He had some never-before-seen colors that commanded fantastic prices.”

  “That’s humans for you,” the Copper said, taking another tongueful of gold. “Wasting their gold on frippery. They should buy a few more sword-arms to see off the Ironriders, rather than dressing their daug
hters like market dancers.”

  “We can’t just have our Protectors taking what they want,” Wistala said. “It causes resentment.”

  “Wistala,” the Copper said, “the more the Hypatians prosper, the more we will. Their achievements of late are largely thanks to the dragon half of the grand alliance.”

  “Still, we should be modest in what we consider our due,” Wistala said.

  The Copper waved away another platter of food. Wistala thought the bearers looked underfed: What cruelty it must be to carry such a weight of meat with your own belly empty. “We have to give them a generation to get used to us. Maybe two generations. What is that, thirty summers up there, or thirty-five?”

  “About that, my Tyr,” NoFhyriticus said. “Yes, Hypatia is growing rich again. The Princedoms of the Sunstruck Sea are sending their sons to Hypatia to learn at its libraries. Its fishing and trading fleets sail the Inland Ocean uncontested—and if that great canal ever gets cut, they’ll reach the wild western sea. Hypatian halls supporting Hypatian couriers and Knights of the Directory could be built even in the far north again, if you’d encourage it. You’ve inaugurated a blessed age.”

  “It’s important that the Hypatians thrive,” the Copper said. “They need to know their position in the world depends on dragons. Thanks to dragons Hypatian messages travel faster than their enemies, their armies can reach farther, their wrath felt even in the great east, if it should come to that. They will grow dependent on us, and eventually we’ll have a vast nation of thralls to do our bidding.”

  Wistala would have dropped a scale in shock.

  “But what about all this talk of the Grand Alliance. Allies should be equals,” Wistala said.

  NoFhyriticus chuckled. “You told me your sister was fond of the hominids, but I had no idea. Wistala, smell the facts: No two allies were ever equal. Sun and moon, horse and rider, frog and lily pad—each may benefit from the association, but there’s no equality to it. Hominids must remain below dragons, or we’ll just begin to dwindle again. We can’t outbreed them, and outwitting them by hiding only works for so long. We must groom a few of them to exist only at our sufferance, like the Tyr’s legion or his bats.”

  The Copper sipped a little wine. “We’ll start small, of course. Ceremonial tributes are already common. Soon we’ll start asking for regular fees from the great merchant houses. The ones who pay will enjoy our protection and see their non-Hypatian rivals pillaged. The ones who don’t pay—well, ships may be lost to mysterious circumstances, or caravans will find their dragon-protection suddenly called away in the middle of the Ironriders Sweep. Capricious fate will teach them the caution of buying our close assistance.

  “Before long only those who pay the Dragon’s Levy will see success. Once we have them used to paying levies, we can then see some of that wealth diverted to the Lavadome and the Protector’s resorts.”

  “It seems more than enough has already gone into this resort. Greed kills, NoFhyriticus. Well, if this is the future you have in mind, I want no part of it,” Wistala said, bristling.

  “Wistala, settle down,” NoFhyriticus said. “After dinner we’re to see some new trade goods brought over from the western side of the Inland Ocean. The humans there have discovered rich new quantities of gold and gemstones.”

  The announcement thralls began voicing a new arrival. Yefkoa of the Firemaids came in, following the tail of the Protector’s assistant.

  It appeared after-dinner plans would have to wait.

  “My Tyr,” she panted—Wistala thought that Yefkoa always flew as hard as she could to maintain her reputation. “Ay-afeeia bids me tell you that NiVom’s come into the Lavadome. AuRon is with him. He’s been meeting with the leaders of the seven hills and been to Imperial Rock. She fears something is amiss.”

  Chapter 17

  The Copper, flying hard across the Lavadome with Shadowcatch and Wistala behind, had no idea which way he’d jump until he landed.

  They arrived late, with the Lavadome asleep and the oval at the peak of the dome dark. Perhaps it was his overactive imagination, but the Lavadome seemed hushed, holding its breath. Usually a young dragon or two was up flying.

  On the one sii, if Ayafeeia and Yefkoa were telling the truth, he’d just put his mate’s life in jeopardy. But NiVom wondered if his brother could be playing some sort of deep game, trying to sow division between the Tyr and his Protectors. Or make him look like a paranoid fool.

  He hoped it wouldn’t come to fighting. First, he’d assemble the Aerial Host. Then he’d replace a few of his Protectors with loyal members of the Host.

  He found himself hoping his brother was as nefarious as he thought him. He wouldn’t mind settling things once and for all with the Gray Rat.

  “Come with me, you two,” he said. “By the spirits, I hope you’re wrong.”

  Wistala and Shadowcatch followed behind as he wobbled his way toward the Tyr’s hall. He descended into Imperial Rock.

  The Griffaran Guard, who should have been waiting above the Tyr’s door, was absent.

  “NoSohoth!” he called as he went inside. “Where is everyone?” Even CoTathanagar, who was always lurking about looking for a new commission for a friend or relative, had vanished.

  He found NoSohoth in the throne room. NiVom, his scales shining white, stood under four griffaran with several of the court dragons, including LaDibar of the Ankelenes, BaMelphistran of the Aerial Host, and a couple of the Skotl and Wyrr patriarchs. His brother stood a ways apart, warily eyeing the griffaran. A few of NiVom’s dreadful gargoyles occupied a Griffaran Guard perch as well, clinging to each other with claws and wing hooks in an ugly ball.

  “I represent an alliance of my own,” NiVom said. “There are some dozen of us, Protectors all, who believe your rule has grown rather—erratic of late. There’s a rumor going around that you mean to groom AuRon’s daughter Istach to take your place. We won’t have it. Many of the dragons left in the Lavadome agree.”

  “We’ll see. Call the Aerial Host,” the Copper ordered.

  BaMelphistran stood still.

  “You just lost your leadership and your good name, NoSohoth! Send for AuSurath.”

  No messenger moved. The Griffaran Guard stood still, without an actual attack on the Tyr’s life requiring action, they had no reason to become a part of the conflict.

  The Copper felt a brief dizziness, as though the polished stone beneath his feet had suddenly fallen away and he was suspended in space. He lashed his tail to keep from fainting.

  “It’s already too late,” NiVom said.

  “Meaning?” the Copper asked.

  “We’ve just recognized a new Tyr.”

  Behind him, the Copper heard Shadowcatch’s teeth grinding louder than ever.

  “You, I suppose,” Wistala said.

  “No, I’ve no ambition to sit atop Imperial Rock. The twins, SiHazathant and Regalia. They’re handsome, popular, and performed heroically during the Wheel of Fire attack. Best of all, they’re of Tyr FeHazathant’s blood. They’re consulting with Ibidio now on which Protectors are backing them. Most of them are.”

  “Even Istach of Old Uldam?” the Copper asked.

  “Yes.”

  Well, it’s the smart move, the Copper thought. Istach would do the smart thing.

  “What about you, brother?” the Copper asked AuRon.

  His brother looked from the NiVom’s group of dragons to the Copper’s.

  “To tell the truth,” AuRon said, “I’m indifferent to who sits on top of this dank rock. But I don’t care for how this is being done—threats of bloodshed, meetings in the dead of night, everyone waking to find a new Tyr in place. Even my barbarian tribal neighbors in the north would call it rotten. Suppose we gathered all the dragons of the Alliance and put it to them?”

  “That sort of thing was tried before, in the age of Silver-high,” LaDibar said. “The dragons just selected whichever demagogue promised them the most coin for their gold-gizzards.”

  “Mo
st of the dragons in the Lavadome can’t be trusted with their own waste,” NoSohoth said. “It’s up to the leaders to decide, dragons with responsibility and foresight.”

  “You, too, NoSohoth?” the Copper asked.

  “I am not following one faction or the other, RuGaard. I’ve always served whomever is named Tyr, to the best of my ability.”

  AuRon snorted, then ambled over to stand beside his sister, behind the Copper.

  “I’m with you, my Tyr,” he said.

  “We can’t do this again,” an elderly Wyrr leader behind NiVom said. “Civil war. I lived through one, just in my youth. Smashed eggs, bodies strewn across the hills, starvation. It’s horrible. Spare us that, RuGaard. You’ll be remembered as one of the great Tyrs who knew when to step aside.”

  NiVom stepped forward. “It’s up to you, RuGaard.”

  “Why are you pressing for this, NiVom? I thought you wanted to be Tyr.”

  “We’ve worked out a new structure for the Dragon Empire. The Tyr is to remain in the Lavadome, the heart of the Empire. I’ll take charge of the Protectors in the Upper World. Right now the Protectors are badly coordinated, each is acting for his own interests and those of his lands, rather than for the Empire as a whole. That’s going to stop. I say again, what will it be? Civil war? You’ll have the weaker side.”

  “I’ll have the Firemaids,” the Copper said. “Ayafeeia warned me of this plot.”

  “The Aerial Host will side with the twins,” BaMelphistran said.

  “Then there’s an alternative?”

  “I’ll give you the same one you gave me, all those years ago. Flight. Leave the limits of the Dragon Empire and never return, or you’ll forfeit your life.”

  “Then try to kill me and be done with it,” the Copper said. “I’m not leaving my dragons. I know there are some still loyal to me.”