by E. E. Knight
AuRon didn’t know why that troubled him, but it did. “You could have told me.”
She clacked her griff in reply.
“Well, if we’re going to ask for advice, let’s at least fly down to her rather than bring her here. I don’t like her poking around Dairuss.”
AuRon recognized the Ghioz Protector’s resort. NiVom and Istach had settled in to the old carving on the mountainside. The face had scaffolding over it and works were being carried out on an enormous scale.
“A feast?” Imfamnia said, upon their arrival the next day. “Why didn’t you say so as soon as you landed?”
She shared a quick prrum with Natasatch, who said: “I’m still getting used to all the traditions between Protectors. Istach said something about asking permission to land, making sure I didn’t alight above you . . .”
“Oh—we’re equals and friends, Dearflame. Don’t trouble yourself about protocol. We’re neighbors. What’s more, we’re few dragons in a land of many men. We must learn to rely on each other.”
Imfamnia guided them inside. Some of the doors and passageways had been enlarged to accommodate dragons. The floors shone brighter than they had even under the Red Queen.
“Mind your claws, please,” Imfamnia said.
“I’m to host an Imperial Feast,” AuRon said. “The Tyr is coming, along with some of the court and members of the Aerial Host.”
Imfamnia’s scale raised and resettled as she thought. “An Imperial Feast, no less. I’m only too happy to be of service to my neighbor. I must call my mate. NiVom!” She sent a human servant scurrying with a nip, his head tucked in between his shoulders like a turtle.
“I’m worried about having enough for them to eat,” Natasatch said. “Dairuss isn’t crawling with cattle. From what I understand lambing season is coming up and the herds can’t be disturbed.”
“When is it to be?”
“Sixteen days’ time.”
“Oh, food’s no trouble at all, then,” Imfamnia said. “We’ll load a few barges with cattle, and we’ll have them at the door of your King Naf ’s dome in three days’ time, with a day to spare in case of mischance. Just don’t hold it up in the mountains, or anything. Somewhere easy to drive cattle from the riverbank.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Natasatch said.
“What do you want in return?” AuRon asked.
Imfamnia waved a sii in the air. “Oh, call it a gift, in honor of your new rank as Protector of a key province.”
“You’re very kind,” Natasatch said.
“Will you be serving gold coin or silver to welcome your guests?”
“Coin?” AuRon asked.
“You grays are always forgetting coin. Yes, coin puts everyone in a pleasantly satisfied mood.”
“There’s precious little coin in Dairuss. It’s a poor province.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can urge your thralls—”
“Slaves, you mean,” AuRon said. “We don’t keep slaves, whatever you call them.”
AuRon, don’t start a quarrel with someone who is trying to be kind to us, Natasatch thought to him.
“Well, if it’s simply a bit of coin holding you back, I’d be happy to loan you some,” Imfamnia said.
“I’m grateful for your help with the food, but I must not accept coin,” AuRon said.
AuRon! Natasatch thought.
She led them into a balcony room AuRon remembered from his previous visits. The blood and flame had long since been washed away, as had the Red Queen’s taste in two-color decor. The Protectors of Ghioz preferred white and gold, accented with a little blue of various shades here and there.
“What’s keeping my mate? Dearflames, I must insist on supplying you with some coin. The Red Queen had centuries’ worth of coin tucked away. We’re always sniffing out new troves. You know the Ghioz of old buried their parents with it.”
“They don’t object to their ancestors being dug up?” AuRon asked.
“Ghioz? The only thing they regret is that they didn’t find the grave first. Even for humans they’re unusually bad.”
“If there’s to be an Imperial Feast I must get my scale into shape.” She rapped her tail against a gong and humans began to flow in from crevices like water into a leaky boat, lugging wooden boxes full of tools.
Her scale looked perfect to AuRon, but then dragonelles had a better eye for that sort of thing.
“There’s just one, tiny problem, AuRon. The Tyr—well, he’s banned me from his court. We had rather a misunderstanding about something that wasn’t my fault at all; it was my foolish first mate and his friend the Dragonblade. They somehow blame me for letting the dragonriders into the Lavadome.”
“I’ve heard a little about it. Your first mate was Tyr SiMevolant then, I believe.”
“Yes, and he was cruel and stupid. But he thought the Dragonblade was just what we needed to survive in a world of men. Have you seen his blade? I was shaking so hard my scale half-dropped out for fear. Yet Tyr RuGaard seems to believe I had something to do with those men taking over the Lavadome.”
AuRon rather doubted she had been that terrified. Though she did have a reputation for running from a fight. But enough of the past. “If I’m to be hosting this feast, I’ll say who’s to be invited and who’s not. You and your mate will be my guests. It’s the least I can do for your help with the victuals. But I’ll have to refuse your offer of coin. The food is generosity enough.”
“I won’t press you. I knew from the moment I saw you we would be firm allies. Ghioz and Dairuss. With your hardy warriors and our rich lands, we’ll have nothing to fear on our borders! I can’t think of what’s keeping my mate, he must be ill again.”
It wasn’t much of a feeding pit. The early-winter rains made it look even more dismal.
He settled on Great Neck in Dairuss as the location of the celebratory feast, and decided to hold it during the afternoon so the dragons would have light to find places to sleep after.
He’d chosen the location for the feast for a number of reasons. First, he didn’t want dozens of dragons flying over Dairuss’s Golden Dome and unsettling Naf ’s people. Too many of them were refugees or children of refugees from dragon attacks during the Wizard’s old race wars, and panicked, stampeding hominids would scurry about starting fires and looting each others homes or spirits knew what else in the chaos.
Great Neck also had the advantage of being easily spotted from the air; it was a distinctively shaped loop of the Falngese river, reminiscent of a swan’s curving neck. It was close to Ghioz and had a good landing, and the ridge of the neck gave a commanding view. For ages there’d been sentries posted there to watch the river and lands eastward. It was also the old tribute dock for southern Dairuss when it was part of the Ghioz Empire, so there was ample riverfront for NiVom and Imfamnia’s barges of fattened cattle. There’d always been enough commerce and activity, never mind travelers hiking up the ridge for the view that a small town offered to plenty of workers who could be hired to assist with the feast.
Better yet, the locals looked like much of Dairuss: poor, simple country folk in patched-together clothing that looked not all that different from the local sheep. Dragons who otherwise wouldn’t listen when AuRon described Naf ’s kingdom as rustic hill country would accept the evidence laid before their eyes and noses.
He’d overlooked how dragons expect to dine formally—circled around a low feeding area like all the animals of the savannah drinking from the sole remaining waterhole. Servants would rotate with platters, always beginning with the most favored guest—who would naturally be the Tyr—and moving down the social scale. Wistala told him that once upon a time a duel could be fought over being seated last, so a good host usually placed his mate and himself at the final two positions.
They ended up laying down felled trees for the dragons to rest upon, so they wouldn’t end up squatting in the mud and flying away with caked scales. Naf ’s lumbermen worked hard, chaining horses to the big boles and draggin
g the trunks into line.
Imfamnia and NiVom were kind enough to arrive early, with a few dozen thrall cooks used to prepare dragon cuisine. AuRon thought NiVom looked haggard; perhaps he had been sick of late, though he flew well enough. A big meal would do him some good.
At last the big evening arrived.
His brother did not arrive with as many dragons as AuRon had feared. Wistala arrived with the Copper, a more mismatched pair would be hard to imagine, with Wistala big and broad-winged and her brother thin and limping without scale clean and sparingly polished and hardly a laudi on his wings. There were only a few representatives of his court and their mates, some curious Ankelenes exhausted from flying, and a smattering of the Aerial Host, including their commander HeBellereth.
Istach helped him with the introductions. She had a remarkable memory for names and kept close to prompt him as he greeted and announced his guests.
When Imfamnia and NiVom made their appearance, coming up from their barges on the riverbank, arriving late, once the feast had been well joined, all the assembled dragons hushed.
“What is she doing here,” the Copper said.
“Perhaps some oliban,” Wistala suggested.
“What is oliban?” Natasatch asked.
A few of the assembly tittered.
“It’s a sort of sap from rare trees in the south,” an Ankelene named NoFarouk said. “When burned, it is most soothing.”
AuRon heard whispers. “No welcoming coin . . . no oliban . . .
“Our new Protector isn’t very courtly,” HeBellereth said.
“If being courtly is what’s required of a Protector, perhaps you should get a new one,” AuRon said. “NiVom and Imfamnia are my guests. Dairuss isn’t the Lavadome, and whatever she did in the past she’s been a good friend to myself and my mate now.”
The Copper’s one good eye looked AuRon’s way. “This is my brother’s Protectorate. He sets his own social conventions. He may invite who he will. I think, however, it would be best if I depart. Please, good dragons, do not consider this an insult to our host or our new allies. But I must choose my society.”
The Tyr moved off to contemplate the river.
Just like my brother. Skulking off, AuRon thought to Natasatch.
We musn’t make an enemy of the Tyr, she thought back. Then aloud: “I’ll see to it that some food is brought to him.” Natasatch quit the feeding pit and did her best to order some servants to follow with platters.
With that, HeBellereth rose, and the members of the Aerial Host followed his example.
Wistala came to her feet, said, “I shall return,” and trotted off after him.
The feast had turned into a disaster.
“I’m sorry we caused such a rift in your celebratory feast,” NiVom said.
Imfamnia laughed. “Well, I never. What, he thought I might attack him? Our Tyr, who has smashed our enemies aboveground and below, retreats at the sight of one ragged exile? And a female at that?”
Ragged? Natasatch thought to Auron. She’s dye-washed her scales to add contrast. Her servants have labored many hours with brushes to get that pattern.
The rest of the dragons shifted about nervously.
“Protector AuRon,” NiVom announced. “I’ve brought a specialty of my kitchens. In these waxed baskets—a dessert fit for the Tyr, even if he’ll have none. Brains in sweet brandy!”
She extended her wings and rotated them down, a sort of a bow crossed with a flourish, to AuRon’s mind, beautifully executed.
Part of him couldn’t help comparing Natasatch to the former Queen of the Lavadome. Everything NiVom’s mate did, she did gracefully.
Wistala settled down next to her Copper brother.
“I suppose I’ve let you down. Nilrasha would have smoothed all that over much better, or warned AuRon about Imfamnia in the first place. I’m not very good at these squabbles.”
“Neither am I,” the Copper said. “It’s the way many of the dragons in the Lavadome were raised. There’s nothing important for them to do, so they pick at each other. Reminds me of the baboons I saw in Bant. They’re either hurling dung at each other or picking nits.”
“Baboons,” she laughed. “Well, AuRon’s put together a good feast. You’ll have a fine cold breakfast in the morning.”
“I suppose I should have a conference with him. Just to see how he’s getting on. I’d like to know more about that daughter of his, Istach.”
“Why her?”
“Doesn’t she remind—well, never mind. She seems a bright young dragonelle and it’s a waste to haver just trailing after her parents like a hatchling. Did she come off badly in a fight as a drakka?”
Wistala wondered at this sudden interest. She hoped he hadn’t set his heart on winning all of AuRon’s offspring—three of the four were already serving the Grand Alliance. “I don’t know. I believe she grew up on that island of theirs.”
“There’s something about this I don’t like” the Copper said. “Imfamnia’s not a threat. She does incidental damage with her vanity and greed, it’s never intended. She just loves being the center of attention and having things her own way. In a way, she enjoys being an outcast. It gets others talking about her.”
“I don’t know her at all. She was gone long before I arrived at the Lavadome. She’s a terrible fighter in the air, I can attest to that.”
The Copper lowered his voice. “What was AuRon playing at, inviting her? The little rat tail. He’s up to something, I feel it. By stepping away from his feeding pit, it makes me the loser. I should have held my tongue and just pretended she wasn’t there.”
“AuRon’s new to all these customs too. He mentioned something about her helping them gather enough bullocks to feast the dragons. He and his mate didn’t want to be embarrassed in his first official meeting with his Tyr.”
Her brother looked at her with such astonishment. Wistala suddenly realized that she’d overheard his thoughts. Dragons could only read each other’s minds after long acquaintance, though family members could usually pick up on much of what their shared blood was thinking.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break in on your thoughts,” Wistala said. She felt his mind dissipate and retreat from hers like water steaming off hot iron.
“I’ll have to be more careful around you,” the Copper said. “I sometimes think the only reason I survived my youth in the Lavadome was because no one knew my mind well enough to sense what I was thinking.”
“Would you like to talk about AuRon? You don’t fear he’s plotting against you, I hope. I know him, he’s an admirable dragon.”
“No. If I fall, it won’t be because he planned it. More likely he’ll knock the arm of the bowman so the arrow misses its intended target and brings me down. He’s lucky. Luck’s always favored him.”
“But he’s no Tyr of Two Worlds,” Wistala said.
“Thank you, Wistala.”
AuRon, still at the feast, listened to the chatter of the females. Most were discussing Imfamnia, either her insulting presence or her elegant appearance.
“Look at her scale tips, they’re almond-shaped. Aren’t they lovely? Simple and classic.”
“I thought scallops were in this year? In honor of the victory in Swayport.”
“Scallops? Too much work and it makes you look chicken-feathered. No, a simple almond shape is the style, in my opinion. It draws the eyes up to the face and wing and tail tip.”
“I’m going to speak to my thralls as soon as I get back to the Lavadome,” the mate of one of the Aerial Host said. “Almond shapes from nose to tail. I don’t care if I have to sit in the hygiene trench for a full light and a dark.”
The last platters of meat were emptied and NiVom brought up his special dessert, brandied brains in a buttery sauce.
“That’s a lot of brains,” Istach said.
“Where did you get all those brains?” AuRon asked. “Cattle?”
Imfamnia tilted her head. “Cattle brains? That’s thrall-feed.
Those are hominid brains.”
“Where did you get such a supply?” he asked.
Imfamnia scratched herself behind the ear. “Oh, criminals in Ghioz were some. There weren’t quite enough, though, so some of the border soldiers raided the blighters to the east with NiVom. He terrorized them into surrender and our soldiers had their heads off in no time. What’s the matter, AuRon? You look like you’re going to faint. Blighters have big heads; they’re always valued for their brains.”
Chapter 6
The Copper flew through the still air of the Lavadome, his Griffaran Guard to either side. It felt odd to fly underground without air currents to fight or take advantage of. To think, for generations there were dragons who only flew in this still, uninteresting air.
Once you’re used to the air and space above the ocean or mountains, the whirling patterns of stars and the slow courses and phases of the moon, the Lavadome wasn’t quite as spectacular as it once seemed.
But still colorful. The Copper never tired of the streams of hot liquid Earth running down the unbreakable crystal skin of the Lavadome. Though the crystal mysteriously conducted away most of the heat, enough remained that the heart of his Dragon Empire remained comfortably warm, at least to dragon sensibilities, and ideal for dozing.
It echoed rather more these days. There were fewer dragon roars from hill to hill as neighbors tossed challenges and invitations back and forth.
It wasn’t war, disease, or famine that had emptied the Lavadome, though each had taken their toll during his reign as Tyr. Rather, it was the dragons’ success in the Upper World.
The Grand Alliance meant that almost every dragon of the Lavadome could live and bask in the sun if they wished. There was plenty to do in helping their Hypatian allies manage their affairs. If nothing else, dragons made sending messages back and forth between the provinces much easier. A nation that had been fragmenting was coming back together thanks to the dragons, the way laces and buttons joined the garments humans wore over their weirdly upright frames and kept them from falling off.
