Dragon Strike

by E. E. Knight

“Yes, there is a message from the Red Queen,” a voice that was only partially his answered.

  Like speech in a dream.

  He froze, seized by the same irresistible instinct that made him spin legs downward as he fell or that made him squat when he voided his bowels.

  He found himself speaking in a voice not his own, high-pitched, with the words coming out at all the wrong intervals: “This pathetic, scaleless . . . excuse for dragonkind doesn’t have . . . the backbone of a river fluke. We speak to you dragons . . . now as the Queen of Ghioz.”

  “What insult is this?” his brother’s mate said, raising her head.

  His voice continued: “We propose a division of influence. The Upper World shall be mine, and the Lower World . . . shall belong to the dragons, and we will have . . . peace and such commerce as benefits . . . us both. Accept this and enjoy prosperity, or reject Our terms and starve in the dark. Fight Us, and you’ll . . . find your second offer to be much worse terms, with the alternative the extinction your kind . . . toward earning.”

  AuRon wanted to smash his head against the floor—anything that would remove the awful alienation his own body had taken on itself.

  As though spellbound, he continued: “We will accept . . . a delegation of no more than two dragons to attend Us and discuss the arrangements further. In return, We propose to send . . . two dragons as Our representatives into your realm.”

  Horrified, AuRon wondered what would happen if his body just stood here speaking words not his own forever. Would he stand here, a living, speaking statue, soiling floor and self, until he starved or died of thirst?

  The voice that wasn’t quite his continued: “As for this wretch, We suggest you . . . kill it. It has a nasty habit of worming its way into the confidence of its prey and then striking from behind. That is what it did with the Wyrmmaster on the Isle of Ice, and it had some thoughts along the same lines with Our royal person.”

  Good-bye, AuRon. You were most useful to us, whatever your intentions. Even now our daggers are poised to strike that traitor Naf. Little Hieba will be heartbroken. Ah, well, there are plenty of balconies for her to hurl herself from.

  With that, he jumped at the Tyr, his brother.

  Two flashes of green.

  One struck him, hard, the other interposed itself between his saa and the recoiling Copper. He felt his claws rake scale.

  A tail struck him across the snout.

  White and yellow stars obscured his vision. It may have been Wistala’s, it may have been Nilrasha’s. It hit too fast for him to tell. Then on his side, a saa clawing at his throat—

  —But instead of opening him up, two claws hooked under his necklace and broke it away. He heard the clatter as it bounced off a wall.

  Feathers batted from above to the sound of alarmed cries.

  Limp as a water buffalo with a broken back, he realized Wistala was atop his neck. She’d scratched his neck where she’d ripped away the chain, and he bled. Hers was worse. He had cut both Wistala and Nilrasha along their sides and haunches.

  “Wait, wait!” Wistala called. “This is not his doing! The Queen of the Ghioz—she spoke and acted through him.”

  The Copper pushed away a mass of feathers and claws. “Griffaran guard, back! It’s over.”

  AuRon raised a sii, a pathetic gesture. But it was his own. He controlled his body again.

  The Copper stared down at AuRon. “By our laws you should die.

  “But being Tyr has its privileges. One is the ability to dispense mercy. Should you, AuRon, ever be able to hold death in one sii and life in another you’ll come to know the temptation in both. Once, long ago, you might have killed me, quite easily, but you didn’t,” the Copper said. “All things are now equal, as far as I’m concerned. I will forget the present; I hope you will forget the past.”

  “The court has never seen such a tumult since the arrival of the Dragonblade,” Ayafeeia said. “You came very near to dying, visitor, on the very stones where my grandmother’s blood was spilled.”

  “The crystal,” Wistala said. “It serves as a link with the Queen. I wonder if this is some doing of the great one that NooMoahk once possessed?”

  That blighter fetish? AuRon wondered. How could an oversized hunk of luminous rock control a dragon’s words and movements?

  NoSohoth and the Firemaids were calming the crowd. The Tyr climbed back upon his perch.

  “Crystal?” AuRon asked, righting himself.

  “You weren’t speaking those words, were you?” Wistala asked.

  “No,” AuRon said. “It was—I couldn’t control my tongue.”

  “I think she can see and hear through it somehow,” Wistala said. “How else could she know she was addressing the Tyr? How did she know there were many dragons present?”

  “She learned that Naf still lives, and where he is,” AuRon said.

  “Naf?” Nilrasha said.

  AuRon’s mind was once again ahead of his voice. “Naf, the leader of—I must warn him.”

  Anxious, he looked to his sister. “Is there a faster way out of this place?”

  “I confess—” Wistala said.

  “To fly in which direction?” the Copper asked.

  “North.”

  “You can climb out one of the griffaran holes,” the Copper said. “Above the river ring. Not the easiest path, but the shortest.”

  “Or there’s the wind tunnel,” Nilrasha said. “You could fly out of that. This time of year the wind blows outward.”

  “But I wouldn’t advise it,” the Copper said. “Better to follow the griffaran.”

  AuRon looked at the feathered menaces looming all around. “Perhaps not.”

  “Ayafeeia, show him to the wind tunnel. It’s his neck. Take some food before you quit us, AuRon. You’ll need it as ballast in the tunnel.”

  With that, he turned and began speaking to a human servant wearing soft leather and furs.

  Wistala embraced AuRon. “Come back, brother. I’ve a great deal to tell you.”

  “Perhaps. I have a mate and hatchlings of my own, far off in the north. Her name is Natasatch. She was a captive dragon as we might have been. I’ve been too far away from the home cave. It’s in a place called the Isle of Ice.”

  “I know it from maps. Strange, I once passed close to it but was warned off by men mounted on dragons.”

  “They’re gone now,” AuRon said.

  “In any case, Father would be overjoyed at that news. That’s all he wanted for us. To have some hatchlings in peace and safety.”

  “Peace and safety,” AuRon said. “If only the dwarves sold those, the world would be a better place.”

  “I see you still like to tease.”

  “I thought it philosophy. Well, I wish you would join us.”

  “Perhaps,” Wistala replied. “But if there’s hope for dragons in the world, I believe it lies here, in the Lavadome. Yet I fear for my friends in Hypatia, with the news we’ve had today.”

  “I’ve met some of them. At an inn with a strange sign.”

  Wistala’s eyes widened. “You’ve been there?”

  “You’re right. They do fear the coming war. We were born into a hard generation, Wistala.”

  “We still have much to do, it seems. Well, I will not delay you,” she said. “Our reunion is one worthy of a song or two, I expect. Good-bye again, AuRon.”

  He looked at Ayafeeia. “I am ready to fly, if you are ready to guide.”

  “You’re quick to depart us,” Ayafeeia said. “Would you not prefer to resolve matters here first, with your brother and sister?”

  AuRon could not delay, not for a dwarf-hour. “I have a friend in danger.”

  “I’ll show you the way out from the gardens. We shall simply fly from there.”

  He brushed Wistala’s snout—how like Mother she looked, though not as thunderous in size. Or was she? He tried to imagine her from a hatchling’s perspective, as she stood there sniffing at the wounds he’d inflicted, but it made his hea
rts hurt.

  With that, he left.

  The Copper sent one of the Drakwatch messengers to fetch Rayg. He had that young Firemaiden, Takea, tend to Nilrasha’s wounds while Ayafeeia looked at his sister. No one had serious injuries, and scale would grow back.

  He felt, if anything, exalted. He’d triumphed, at last, over his brother, the Gray Rat. AuRon seemed in a hurry to leave, and he would like nothing better than to see the tail of him.

  The assembly had been a parade of horrors. First, DharSii’s speech had put the fat pot on the boil. A low murmur started in the back and didn’t cease until DharSii left. Dragons, even soothed by burning oliban, could be mercurial. He’d felt his rule creep more than once to the edge of a precipice as the three visitors spoke.

  Names had come up that hadn’t been heard on Imperial Rock in years: DharSii, NiVom, ImFamnia . . . there were still factions who thought NiVom, his old comrade in the Drakwatch, a superior dragon, and there was nothing like absence to let a memory grow up into a legend.

  About legends—he’d once been told that there’d been talk of DharSii becoming Tyr. He’d won a terrible battle that saved some Upholds and brought them the cattle from the east and south and opened up the oliban trade. NiVom himself had apparently been selected to succeed Tyr FeHazathant, before being driven away by false—or were they?—charges.

  The Imperial Line and the leaders of the principal hills had given him the title Tyr. If they chose to quit obeying him and support another, could he count on the Aerial Host, or the Drakwatch, or the Firemaids?

  His rule had been mixed in accomplishments of late. They’d won the war against the demen, but at a cost in blood from drakes and drakka, dragons and dragonelles. The benefits would not be felt for some time, as more and more trade moved through the Lower World without being raided. Then there was the matter of the blighted kern.

  Without kern, illness was on its way. How many dragons, seeing their hatchlings sicken or grow twisted and stunted and weak of tooth and claw, would blame him?

  Suppose they decided his reign brought more trouble than promise? Every dragon made Tyr had died with the title.

  Rayg, moving with the discretion of a human in a chamber full of restive dragons, spoke briefly with the Copper and then picked up the crystal and its chain and wrapped it in a piece of soft leather.

  “I’m no wizard, my Tyr.”

  “I’m not expecting wizardry. For now, keep it somewhere deep and dark and just observe. The Queen of the Ghioz is using it—she sees and hears through it, I believe.”

  “Sees,” Rayg said. “Hears. You are sure of this?”

  “Speaks as well. She took control of a dragon. She responded to our conversation. I don’t think she’s hiding among the griffaran. It must have been through the crystal.”

  “It still must be a trick of some kind, or some form of special suggestion or training. Perhaps she manipulated that dragon’s mind. I’ve heard of such things.”

  “Don’t let the Anklenes have it unless I approve. I don’t want another spy or assassin wandering the Lavadome. And above all, don’t put it on yourself. The last thing I want is your mind overthrown.”

  “I shouldn’t care for the experience either. Don’t worry. I’ll treat it like hot metal.”

  Rayg departed with his wrapped, deadly treasure. The Copper made a private note to keep a bat on him and watch for strange behavior.

  With that, he turned back to the assembly, who were all speaking again. He heard DharSii and NiVom mentioned more than once in the chatter.

  “So, Ghioz has sent us an offer,” he said.

  “They do seem to want peace,” LaDibar said, speaking for the first time.

  “Pieces, more like,” HeBellereth, leader of the Aerial Host, said. “Pieces of our Empire.”

  LaDibar ignored the interruption. “But they offer a peace in which they would hold every advantage. They can survive without the Lower World. We will starve without the Upper.”

  That met with a growl of assent from the assembly.

  The Copper was relieved to hear LaDibar talking sense for a change.

  “If the peace is questionable, what of the alternative?” the Copper asked. “Is the threat credible?”

  “Ghioz has raided our coasts,” HeBellereth said. “Stolen our property. They’ve fortified their piece of Bant. And then there are those cursed birds. They’re like griffaran, faster-flying and quicker-turning than dragon, and our fire is almost useless. They simply rise out of the way, they can climb faster than a dragon.”

  “They carried off thralls from my cousin’s estate in Komod,” one of the Wyrr leaders said.

  At this the Copper wished Sreeksrack present. He’d enjoy his reaction to the idea that another headhunter might carry off thralls to which he was entitled.

  “I have more recent reports from Anaea,” the Copper said. “Great birds, which must have come from Ghioz, have been seen over the kern fields in the mists and dark. They do not fly all the way there to take the scenery, I think.”

  At this there was more grumbling.

  “I was not aware of this,” LaDibar said. “Did the Upholder send a new report?”

  “I have sources of my own there.”

  “Can you trust the observation of one of those bats?” LaDibar asked, making the logical leap.

  “I’m convinced that Ghioz put a blight on our precious kern,” the Copper said, feeling his firebladder pulse at LaDibar’s tone. “I think we can all guess who advised them as to the importance of the kern trade. Those of you whose hills lost hatchlings to the blight have my promise to avenge those deaths.”

  He let that sink in a moment, then continued.

  “Ghioz has invited its own destruction. If we cannot have kern, we cannot long exist in the Lower World. Perhaps we can get a trickle from the southern provinces, but will that be enough to keep the Lavadome healthy?

  “I offer an alternative. We only need kern because we do not see sunlight from year to year, unless our duties call us to the surface. I propose a return to the sunlight.”

  At that all gasped.

  “The hominids will unite to destroy us,” LaDibar said.

  “Yes, they fight among themselves now, but let them know of our existence . . .” an elderly Firemaid agreed.

  “I did not say this would be easy, or without danger. Wistala, you’re familiar with hominids. I’ve been told you spent years in Hypatia. Tell us your judgment.”

  His sister stared up at him, wondering for a moment. “One dragon is a curiosity. How they would react to a score of scores, I cannot say. But Hypatia, with a thousand or more years of culture dating back to Anklamere’s time or before, has need of friends if she is to resist the Red Queen. We may find more welcome and gratitude if we but speak to them.”

  An excited murmur broke out.

  “As equals,” Wistala said.

  And the excitement turned to growling. Equals? Hominids? Stupid, short-lived, shortsighted . . .

  “Hear her,” the Copper called. “Hear her, now.”

  He read new feelings in her expression, he thought. The pity and perhaps contempt had been replaced by something else. He thought it might be respect, but wondered if he flattered himself.

  “Certainly, an individual hominid can’t compare to a dragon,” LaDibar said. “But together, they accomplish great things. They’re like ants—they have a form of collective intelligence.”

  Wistala raised her head. “Tyr, if we must fight the Ghioz, we would do better to have allies.”

  “We would.”

  “Hypatia has warriors, men and elves and dwarves and the ships and roads to move them. If they were aided by your—our—dragons, it could mean a new beginning for hominids and dragons.”

  “I’m more concerned about an ending,” the Copper said. “An ending to dragons hiding underground. Will you speak for us to Hypatia?” the Copper asked.

  “What may I promise them in assistance?”

  “At the very l
east a few of your Firemaids. Much will depend on the Red Queen’s moves.”

  “If we return to the surface, who will have the Lavadome?” CoTathanagar asked. “Will there be more than one Tyr? Who shall rule the individual hills?”

  “I am not saying abandon the Lower World. We will keep the Lavadome a cradle for dragonkind. Perhaps newly mated dragons will return here always, to lay in peace and safety.” The Copper’s emotions had given him a tongue for words. Might as well use it to talk of a happy future instead of one of battle and sacrifice. “Years from now we will bring our hatchlings and they will hear the story of how we rose anew out of terror, out of murder, out of persecution.

  “But without gaining security in the Upper World, there will be no existence in the Lower. Does anyone doubt this?”

  If they did, they didn’t say so.

  “So will we have peace or war with the Ghioz?” He looked down at the young Firemaiden at the front.

  “You, you—”

  “Takea,” Nilrasha supplied.

  “Takea. What do you think the choice should be? Will you speak for the Firemaids?”

  The drakka paled, and her tail twitched nervously as she found her voice. “I say they’ve not given us a choice.”

  This one bears watching, the Copper thought.

  “My thoughts exactly,” the Copper said. “What is our choice? Life at the pleasure of the Red Queen?”

  “Settle it quickly, then. One strong blow,” HeBellereth said. “Unite the Aerial Host, the Drakwatch, the Firemaids and fly to Ghioz and lay waste to their capital.”

  “No,” the Copper said. “The Queen tried to provoke us into exactly that move, I believe. They’ve made war against us at the edges of our empire, sapping our strength. I suggest we return their favor. We will attack them on the horsedowns and the savannahs. We will close mountain passes and rivers.”

  The Copper sensed their growing excitement. NoSohoth moved to put more oliban on the braziers, but the Copper stilled him with a glance. Now was the time to channel their anger.

  “Dragons of the Lavadome. When I became your Tyr I swore an oath to all of you. That we would live to see an awakening of dragonkind. There’s only one direction for dragons to go, and that is up. For years there’s been talk that one day, when we were strong enough, we’d return to the surface united and resolved to overcome any difficulty. I believe that time is now. Let us inaugurate a new age for dragons.”