Dragon Outcast

by E. E. Knight

“Oh, we wouldn’t have to fly out together, silly. Go out separately, and meet where she couldn’t see.”

  The Copper felt bar-struck. “I meant a dragon should just have his mate.”

  “So we are never to…I thought you just mated with Halafora to make the line happy.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t make the mating anything less for that. She’s been kind to me.”

  “And you to her. Too kind. Do you ever—”

  “I don’t want to talk about that. You’ve got the wrong idea about me if you think I could—”

  “Could? Do you have another injury I’m unaware of?”

  He rattled his griff. “Would, then. No. Not while Halafora lives. I’ve pledged myself to her, and that’s an end to it.”

  “But do you still love me, RuGaard?”

  He couldn’t answer that. If he did, he’d never be able to look at Halafora across a feast again. He turned tail and left the Firemaid’s cold, chaste quarters.

  Chapter 24

  He told FeLissarath and his mate that as soon as the bridge was completed and he could turn his attentions to Anaea, they would be free to leave.

  “The odd thing is, I don’t think we want to go,” FeLissarath said. “The hunting is good, and we have friends here among the humans and condors. Perhaps we’ll leave the palace to you and set up somewhere in the mountains. A little cave. Really rough it, like young, wild dragons of the north first mated.”

  His mate looked at him and she loosed a prrum.

  Talk turned to politics, as it often did. Rumor had come up through the Drakwatch that SiBayereth, SiDrakkon’s first clutchwinner, had been killed, not in a duel, but in his bath. Some were saying he was assassinated in retribution for some of the killings and forced duels that had been taking place with greater frequency since SiDrakkon turned Tyr.

  Others said that he’d bodily insulted some maiden dragonelle and she’d taken the traditional revenge of a female wronged and discarded.

  The Copper returned to his cushions and his mate, exceptionally happy to be in Anaea and out of the Imperial Resort and its feuds. He slept with his neck across hers in silent appreciation.

  So eager were the FeLissaraths to be in their new digs that they started hunting for caves almost immediately, and turned over all the day-to-day temple duties to him.

  Now that he had his wings he hunted for NiVom, searching the mountains to the south, but there was no sign of him. He spent a rather cold night in the mountains—the Upper World made him feel exposed and watched; he didn’t like it, even when the unpredictable weather was nice—and flew back in the morning.

  It was a brilliant, clear day. The sort of day that wouldn’t think about being evil, and instead put off ill tidings until the next overcast.

  He saw a distant dot. It was a dragon, male—and therefore not Nilrasha, nor FeLissarath. It was light-colored, reflecting the sun, perhaps white.

  He beat his wings hard toward it. He hoped if it was NiVom he’d recognize him rather than think him an assassin, despite the improbability of his being in the air. The dragon turned a little, not running away then, but coming toward him.

  They rushed toward each other with frightening speed. The Copper saw that it was a light shade of bronze, though a good deal smaller than Father, at least Father as he remembered him. The dragon gained altitude at the last moment, as though seeking an advantage, and the Copper veered away, fearing a tailstrike on his weak wing and upset by something odd about its lines.

  The dragon had a rider!

  The implications so upset the Copper that he dropped toward the palace as fast as he dared—Rayg said that he couldn’t be certain that the joint wouldn’t give way under what he called “extraordinary stress” but refused to further define it.

  His wing held as he leveled off, making for the staircase cut into the side of the mountain, topped by the familiar outlines of the dragon palace.

  The other dragon—for some reason the term hag-ridden popped into his head, but he couldn’t remember the origins; perhaps it was some story mother dragons told their hatchlings to compel them to behave—followed his course, though it made no attempt to catch up.

  He came in for a landing at the wide lower entrance hall, and Fourfang trotted up.

  “Get my mate and Nilrasha. Danger!”

  Fourfang glanced up and turned around, doing a fair attempt at running on all fours to get back inside the palace.

  The Copper backed into the entrance to get solid Anaean stone between himself and the stranger—there was that term again, hag-ridden.

  The man shouted words down at him, but he couldn’t comprehend their meaning.

  “May I land?” the dragon roared.

  “What is it, my lord?” Halaflora said from the entrance.

  “Stay back. If a fight begins, use your flame to help me and then run for the Lower World.” He stuck his head out. Oh, this was cowardly! He stepped out.

  “Cry parley and land away. Beneath me, now.”

  The dragon turned one more circle and landed well, though it rocked the man in his leather seat a little. The hag-rider wrapped the reins around a curved tooth at the front of his seat and hopped off, though he kept hold of a rope linking him to his leather seat.

  The Copper tried not to stare at the elaborate reins linking dragon, head and wing, to the rider. There were copper rings punched through the skin of the dragon to better fix the lines. He wondered if that hurt.

  The man glubbed out a few words.

  “That’s Parl,” Halaflora said. “It’s a trade tongue here on the surface.”

  “Can you speak it?”

  “Only a few words. I know a greeting.”

  “Then say it.”

  She coughed something out that sounded like the mindless yapping of a dog.

  The man took off his helmet and said something in return.

  “He’s being polite,” she said.

  And there the conversation sputtered and died out. The man spoke to his mount, and the dragon said, in a rather thick accent: “We have come to bring peace.”

  “That’s good. I hope you may also go in peace.”

  The dragon translated for the hag-rider. The man responded, through his dragon: “We seek allies in a great war. A war that unites dragon and man against their common enemy.”

  Hawks and mice uniting against the dogs and cats! The Copper didn’t know what to make of it, but he was in the Imperial line and needed to answer well.

  “If you are so united,” the Copper said, “why do you need to speak the man’s words? Why do you fly tied head and wing tip to the man? Answer me that, and don’t bother saying anything to him.”

  The bronze looked nonplussed.

  “I tell the man that, and he will be angry,” the bronze said.

  “All the more reason not to translate it.”

  The hag-rider yapped something.

  “That was a ‘What?’” Halaflora said.

  The Copper smelled Nilrasha lurking somewhere. He suspected she was slipping around the side of the palace, next to the stairs.

  “It is a great war,” the bronze said. “We win battles.”

  “I’m happy for you, then. I’ll welcome any dragon who wishes to come in friendship, parley, and leave in peace. Leave your men at home, though. It’s bad manners to bring armed men into a free dragon’s home.”

  The dragon said something to the man, but it didn’t take long. The Copper suspected much of the wordplay had been lost. He hoped the meaning remained.

  The man showed his teeth and raised his hand to his chin. He gave a twist of his hand, as though fixing his faceplate.

  “We may return,” the dragon said.

  “Yes, I think that was it,” Halaflora added.

  The man climbed back up onto the bronze and took up the reins. He prodded the bronze with his pointy boots, and the hag-ridden dragon flapped up into the clean blue sky.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Nilrasha said, looking up. “The
creature’s riding him like a horse.”

  “If that’s the great alliance, I think we should have no part of it,” Halaflora said. “I’d sooner trust a dwarf.”

  That night the three of them talked the matter over across the feasting floor.

  Nilrasha tore into her meal of kern-fattened pig, tearing off lusty bits and swallowing them, while Halaflora ate in her usual dainty style due to her trouble swallowing.

  They presented a pretty contrast, the Copper thought. But he couldn’t consider aesthetics.

  “I think we’ll have to tell Tyr SiDrakkon. This is a matter for him.”

  No one objected to the compound name, a serious insult had they been back at the Rock. At least in that respect, all three were alike.

  “I’m going to send word through the bats. I’m afraid it will get confused, so I’ll follow to answer questions,” the Copper said.

  “What if the rider comes back? Shouldn’t you be here?” Nilrasha asked.

  “I’m not even sure I’m the Upholder. The FeLissaraths have moved to their lodge cave, but they still attend all the Anaean ceremonies, preside over them, in fact.”

  “I would go for you, your honor. But I cannot leave my post,” Nilrasha said.

  “You could leave it in my hands,” Halaflora said. “I took the Firemaiden oath. I never did anything with the other maidens, but does that make the oath less valid?”

  The Copper felt trapped between duty and need.

  “No. I may need to argue, or even challenge. I’ll beg the FeLissaraths to return to the palace long enough for me to return to the Lavadome. I can break tradition and fly to one of the griffaran cuts in the mountainside. This is important enough. I can make the journey at night and rest in the day and be there in two days.”

  “Will your wing hold up? You’ll be far from help if that man’s contraption fails,” Halaflora said.

  “If the joint fails after all this testing and trial, Rayg will wish I’d been on the other side of the world.”

  “Your blood certainly was up tonight,” Halaflora said, as they settled into their sleeping chamber. His mate had turned several of the stone globes into rather comfortable backrests, thanks to cushions stuffed with bird feathers. “I’ve never seen you like this. Is this what war is like?”

  “No. Nothing like this, and Spirits keep it that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Far from here.”

  “You smell hot. I thought certainly you’d take your jade up tonight.”

  The world froze for a moment. “You thought what?”

  Rhea finished cleaning out her mistress’s ears and scurried out of the room. Had the girl put on weight? Ten other equally trivial thoughts washed through his head, so eager was he to avoid the consequences of thinking about what his mate had just said.

  “I’m sorry. Am I being too direct? All those years with SiMevolant as a brother. Some time at night to relax and refresh, then.”

  “She’s a Firemaid. She swore an oath. I swore an oath to you, for that matter. She’s not…not my lover.”

  “Oh, RuGaard. My lord, I won’t be hurt by the truth. I married a dragon, not some perfumed flower. There’s nothing wrong with a jade for a dragon in your…in your situation. Because of my health.”

  “Have you gone mad?” He didn’t mean it, but the words came out. Anything to stop her from going on.

  “Our mating wasn’t a real mating, after all. As much as it meant to me.” She looked down.

  “I had no idea you felt that way,” he said at last. They each studied opposite corners of the room for a moment. What came out next was inspired by kindness, rather than love, but he meant every word of it. “Darling. Let’s be mated again, then. Or mated for the first time. Whatever you call it. In tight spots, during wars and so forth, dragons have been known to mate underground. It’s tactics, you know. Just a matter of position.”

  She looked up at him, blushing.

  “Can we? Really? Would it be…proper?”

  “Proper? Probably not. But it’ll be exciting.”

  The sun rose in front of the mountains to the west and lit the night-curtains with its orange glow.

  West? In front of the mountains?

  The Copper’s sluggish brain took its time apprehending the wrongness of the lighting. He opened another eye and righted himself, rose, and put his head out of the curtains.

  Flames dotted the plateau, but they were nothing compared to the conflagration below the temple. The city of the kern kings was a solid mass of fire.

  He saw dragonwings silhouetted against the flames, and then another set, and another, flying in a line.

  “What is it, my lord?” his mate said.

  He pushed the curtains open with his tail. “War.”

  “RuGaard.” He heard a dragon voice from above, soft yet insistent.

  With a single soft wing-beat, FeLissarath alighted on the top of the temple, keeping to the shadows. His mate followed.

  “We have terrible news,” FeLissarath said.

  “A moment.” He turned to Halaflora. “Get the thralls and such meats as can be easily carried. Go to the Firemaid chamber. If they come into the palace, bring the roof down on top of the entrance and head down into the Lower World. Have Nilrasha fight and delay them; you just run. Leave the thralls behind if you must, but find the Drakwatch and tell them Anaea’s been attacked by man-ridden dragons.”

  “I understand. Thank you for not treating me like…like…”

  “I know. They may not come here. They may just be after gold.” He wished he could summon a prrum, and instead rubbed his snout on hers. “Go.”

  As she left by the inner exit he climbed out on his balcony and up. Together the three dragons watched the flames spread.

  “Less than a score, do you think, my love?” FeLissarath’s mate said.

  “They’re causing confusion,” the Copper said, watching a trio of dragons land. “Burning the city but landing at the palaces. I think they’re after gold.”

  FeLissarath spoke: “They’re man-ridden, RuGaard. We had a brush with one, but we lost him by going to ground by the river.”

  “I know.”

  “RuGaard, the Tyr must be told of this, the faster the better. Thank the Air Spirit for that clever thrall. Take the skyway to the plateau—”

  “Yes, Upholder, I know.”

  “After this night you’ll be Upholder, I fear.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His mate spoke: “We need a prisoner or two. Find out who they are and where they came from.” She stared into his eyes.

  “The most dangerous game of all, my love? We must be careful. They’ll be tougher than wild griffaran.” He turned back to the Copper. “You must make the best speed you can to the Imperial Resort and come back with everything the Tyr can send. He should come himself, at that.”

  “Oh, for DharSii’s old aerial host at this hour,” she said.

  “We’ll try from above, dear. Don’t frame against the moon—”

  “Am I a wet-wing?”

  The Copper only half listened to them talk. He watched another trio of dragons come in, landing on a triangular temple top. It was hard to see at this distance, but it seemed figures dropped off the dragons as soon as they landed. The dragons took off again almost immediately.

  “This is for my benefit as well,” FeLissarath said. “We may get lucky and snatch one out of the saddle. In case of trouble, make for the big smoke column and climb. Whatever happens, we shouldn’t lead them back here. If we’re separated, we’ll go to the high pass lookout and meet there. RuGaard, are you still here?”

  The Copper extended his wings. “Back in three days if I can. Four days at most. More means I’m dead.”

  “If you don’t see us again, lad, remember us every time you take a wild bighorn,” FeLissarath’s mate said.

  The Copper launched himself into the night.

  It took time to gain altitude, and he did so on the dark side of the mountain
backing up the temple. Curse the bright moon tonight!

  He saw the FeLissaraths take off from their palace and wheel around north to keep the attacking dragons on the moon side. He saw them gain altitude.

  Three shapes dropped out of the sky upon them, falling like hawks.

  The FeLissaraths closed up on each other, with the male slipping a little below the female, guarding his mate’s vulnerable belly.

  Suddenly the old Upholders flipped over on their backs, practically bending their spines in half. Tails a blur, they struck their lead pursuer, one high and one low.

  The Copper saw an object fall, turning cartwheels as it plummeted to the plateau. He suspected—no, rejoiced—that it was one of the hag-riders. The dragon they struck convulsed in the air and fell, limp-winged.

  But the two following avoided their quarry-turned-hunters and broke, one high and to the right, one low and to the left, a terrible perfection in their evolutions.

  The male swung under his mate again, guarding her, and the low-flying dragon passed under him. FeLissarath twitched in midair, turned sideways, and began a stiff-winged fall to the surface.

  The female flew to the aid of her mate, diving, but that just gave the one who turned high an opportunity. It dove on her, claws extended like a hawk after a duck, and raked her across the back.

  The Copper saw one wing rise, fluttering.

  But she wasn’t done yet. She lashed up with her neck, got her teeth in her opponent’s tail, and folded her wings. With her weight clinging to him, the other dragon couldn’t stay aloft, and the pair began to fall, whirling around and around to destruction on the plateau. The female pulled herself up her opponent’s tail and dug into his belly, trading bites as they went down.

  So passed the Upholders of Anaea.

  The Copper swung around toward the remaining hag-ridden dragon. He was descending to the aid of the other rider. But he saw another formation of three coming in, late to the fight but arriving before he could.

  He couldn’t match the flying of the FeLissaraths, let alone the guided enemy dragons working in concert. No flame, almost blind in one eye, and a bad wing. He wouldn’t even get one. He turned east for the Lavadome.