by E. E. Knight
“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 that 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 Parl 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 postion—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 Lavadome. 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.
“What, already?” Natasatch said.
“It’s possible that NiVom and Imfamnia’s plans are well-advanced. Maybe if they learn he’s suspicious of them, they’ll forget whatever it is they’re planning.”
“While you’re doing that, I think I’ll invite Imfamnia over for a visit.”
AuRon only knew one or two ways into the Lavadome, and a windy tunnel out of it. Long flights didn’t fatigue him the way they did other dragons, so he made the trip in two days.
He wondered how much Natasatch would tell Imfamnia. Well, it didn’t matter. Not even NiVom and Imfamnia would be able to put their plans into effect, with the head start he had.
He flew straight to the Imperial Rock and spoke to NoSohoth about getting a private audience with his brother on an urgent and secret matter.
The Copper dismissed his Griffaran Guard to wait outside. “Our Protector of Dairuss never was one to start a fight.”
“I have finished my share,” AuRon said.
“Follow me. It’s late, and I know a place we can talk.”
He led AuRon down a series of ramps and passages going down through the heart of Imperial Rock.
They ended up in a big, sand-floored cavern. AuRon wondered if it was an arena or a theater of some kind.
The acoustics in this cavern were strange. The sand soaked up the sound of their clawfalls and tail-drags. But when they spoke, the words echoed off the empty shelves and rough cavern roof.
The Copper found a broken metal scale-file on the lowest shelf of the arena, sniffed it for a moment, then swallowed it whole.
“The Tyr doesn’t rate better metals for his gold gizzard?”
The Copper let out an acidic belch. “A little iron only makes the rest of the ores more effective.”
“Our father said something about that.”
“Your father, you mean,” the Copper said. “He never sought that title in my case.”
“Well, we’re somewhere where we can spot listeners ten dragonlengths away. What do you have to tell me in private?”
Choosing his words carefully, AuRon relayed his suspicions about the treachery brewing in Ghioz.
“What’s your course, AuRon? Are you trying to divide me from NiVom?”
“I’m telling you what I saw and heard. You’ll have to sort out what it means.”
“You know what this room is?”
“Some sort of theater or debating hall—that’s what I was told as we passed it the first time I came here.”
“I killed the Dragonblade here, in a fair fight.”
AuRon had heard something of it, but he still warmed toward his brother. “You have my thanks. Our world’s a better place for it.”
“If you’re plotting against me or mine, I’ll kill you. Here. Under the gaze of your offspring.”
AuRon’s firebladder pulsed. “I said I’ve told you the truth. I don’t know what it means. I can’t say what sort of dragon NiVom is, except that he’s quite intelligent—maybe the most intelligent creature I’ve ever met. But for all his acuteness, I think his mate’s the more dangerous.”
The Copper’s scale resettled itself. His good eye looked away, into a middle distance.
“What did you come all this way to tell me face-to-face?”
AuRon glanced around the arena. Strange how the habits of a conspirator and an informer were identical. “Your Protectors in Ghioz, Imfamnia and NiVom. I’m sure they’re plotting against you. They’re breeding—creatures. You’ve seen some of them in their attack on Uldam, but I think there are others. Strange bats or gargoyles. I’ve heard them speak of a change, a new Tyr being put in.”
The Copper put a sii to a recent wound in his neck.
“I’m curious about this move of yours, AuRon.”
“Move? You speak as though my actions are part of a strategy. I am not directing forces for a battle. Your ‘Protectors’ in Ghioz are your enemies. It’s not just the greater glory of your Empire or Grand Alliance or whatever it’s called, but they’re plotting something.”
“You take your responsibilities as a Protector of the Grand Alliance seriously.”
AuRon felt better, having unburdened himself. He owed his brother nothing, but it was still the right thing to do. “I take the fate of dragons seriously. There are few enough dragons left in the world. I’m not interested in there being even fewer, which is what will happen if there’s a war between us.”
There w
as the noise of dragon voices outside. NoSohoth said in a booming voice, “The Tyr is in private audience. He must not be—”
An aged female’s voice: “Oh, none of your delays, you old puff-toad. I will speak to the Tyr. His Queen is guilty of murder and he must answer for the murder of my daughter!”
How had NiVom and Imfamnia moved so quickly? No one could have outflown him.
A group of dragons entered. AuRon didn’t know the Copper’s retinue well enough to say who was who, but it was led by an aging, but still formidable, female.
“What’s all this, Ibidio?” the Copper asked.
“It’s about your mate, my Tyr. We believe she is guilty of murder.”
Chapter 13
The Tyr ordered everyone up to the Audience Chamber. Anyone might wander into the old dueling pit, and he did not want old bloodstains revealed to just anyone.and he
The procession of dragons trooped all the way back up in anxious silence. The Copper was grateful for the delay. It gave him time to think. His first instinct, to declare Ibidio a mad dragon, would not go over well in the Lavadome. Ibidio had many friends, both open and in secret.
The Copper faced a formidable assembly. Ibidio might be described as the head of the “First Line” of the Lavadome, the principal root of the Imperial Line. Her experience dated back to the glory days of the establishment of the first Tyr, FeHazathant, after the civil wars were over. With her were his descendants, the twins SiHazathant and Regalia, who shared an egg and a yolk sac before hatching.
LaDibar stood a little behind and in between. The seriousness of the occasion forced him to keep his tailtip from exploring various orifices for once. A few other dragons of the Imperial Line stood safely at the rear of the party.
Only NoSohoth stood a little apart, as if declaring his neutrality and waiting to see his Tyr’s reaction.
