by E. E. Knight
“That elf—was it the one from the boat? Hazeleye?”
“No. A friend of hers.”
“They made you a captive.”
“Yes. Less than I deserved. I’ve carried this with me, told myself I was young and frightened. Deep down, I know I chose myself over my parents.”
They regarded each other in silence.
“AuRon, I don’t think dragons can survive by isolation and hiding. It just gives our enemies more time to increase and organize.”
“We will organize too.”
“We can’t even keep our flocks intact,” Natasatch said.
“That’s not important. If we were threatened—We’d make this place a name of dread and terror. Boats burn easily. I’ve seen it.”
“Yes, we may last long on this cold, foggy island. But eventually we’ll be a crowded, sick isle full of thin-scaled dragons eating seal-blubber and fish.”
“Difficulties that can be overcome. Why could we not fashion tools and mine as the dwarves do? Are our limbs weaker, our brains smaller?”
“Our bodies are bigger. We would have to engineer tunnels tall and wide.”
“If we fight for one set of humans, we’ll just make enemies of the other set.”
“Better than both allying against us.”
“You’re too clever,” he said.
“You’re too cautious. Even a few dragons may make a difference. You told me an old friend was in trouble. Can we not help him?”
“A few dragons wouldn’t help him. I’ve seen the fliers who hunt him. They’re a match for a dragon.”
“All the more reason to fight now. Will not these fliers be just as much a match for us tomorrow?
“I think,” Natasatch said, “this has gone beyond reason. You’re worried that your brother may be on to something. Is it his success that troubles you?”
AuRon felt his firebladder pulse. He’d never felt like biting his mate in his whole life until now. The impulse shamed him. “Whatever he has planned, it’s not for our benefit, or that of dragons. There is no interest but his own in these doings.”
They watched the dragonelles stomp and roar as they talked to the courier.
The young dragonelle took off. Three others joined her, one of the isle’s altered males.
“Coming, AuRon?” Ouistrela called. “We’re off to inaugurate this ‘age of fire.’ A new age of dragons! Battle screams and horseflesh as far as the eye can see!”
“Will you go?” Natasatch said.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Every moment could be important.”
“If you don’t go, I will.”
“What about the hatchlings?”
“You and your sister were fending for yourselves by this point. Not all of our kind are leaving. There are dragons on this island hoping some men would land for a change of diet. I expect they’ll survive. Just as well. The sheep will be lambing soon and they could use a break.”
AuRon read the resolution in her eyes. “Well, if we’re going to get involved in this war, we might as well do so with some force. I will join you.”
“Let us go, too, Father!” the hatchlings clamored in various iterations.
Perhaps there would be wounded we could let them finish, Natasatch thought to him.
“Let them take care of themselves while we are away. That is experience enough. Remember, hatchlings,” AuRon said, looking at their disappointed faces, “talk to the wolves as often as possible. They will teach you much about moving in cover and in the open, hunting, and above all, cooperation. The strength of the wolf is the pack, as they say.”
“I’ve often heard that quoted,” Natasatch agreed.
AuRon, with his mind made up—or made up for him—felt at ease. All doubt and regret had vanished. There was just need for action. “I’ve an idea where our first stop should be. We fly to Juutfod.”
AuRon had not been to the dragontower since his time as a courier for the Wizard of the Isle of Ice, though he had visited the wharves where Varl tied up his boat and some of the oceanside sights.
The men of Juutfod accepted dragons as part of their daily lives. Without the Wyrmmaster, they’d happily given up their raids on the south and used their dragons to protect fishing fleets and remote settlements.
The tower was much the same. More outbuildings had sprouted around it, like warts. And the town beneath had taken inspiration from the tower—there were round houses of stone, long buildings with thick walls and heavy-timbered roofs, and wooden homes and pens and workshops all around with smoke rising from the chimneys.
A dragon-rider rose to meet him.
He’d been told a few of the riders and their mounts had survived. The female dragons of the Isle of Ice had come to this place looking for males. Some dragons were content to be saddled and reined, it seemed, as long as they were well fed and rested in comfortable housing.
His old friend Varl had settled in this village. He smoked fish and made crab paste that the dragons had always found tasty on the Isle of Ice.
“Perhaps you’d better talk to them,” AuRon said to Natasatch. “I’ll keep watch above.”
Once he was sure of Natasatch’s reception—they let her land and she began to speak with the dragons and dragon-riders there—AuRon went seeking Varl among the mead-dens and group-houses near the docks. His boat wasn’t in, but Varl sometimes took months off between the seasonal fish runs.
He did, however, see a pair of familiar hominids outside of the dens. The warrior Ghastmath, looking thinner without his armor, and the elf with the raven walked down the street, tossing colorful rings back and forth between them using a small stick.
“I see you made it off my island again,” AuRon said.
One of the rings clattered to the paving stones.
“You,” said the warrior Ghastmath.
“Here I was looking for the mariner Varl to help me find you,” AuRon said.
“Can we talk somewhere out of the wind?” the elf asked.
“What is your name? I don’t believe I ever caught it.”
“I don’t believe I ever gave it,” she said. “Halfmoon, if you must know.”
“Halfmoon, what is an elf doing in this town? Ten years ago, these men would have weighted you with rocks and dumped you in the bay to attract crabs.”
Ghastmath planted his oversized feet. “They’d have to go through me.”
“They like the gold I bring into town,” she said.
“There are worse places to live,” Ghastmath added. “No king pushing you around. No edicts rewriting last year’s edict which rewrote the one that was beaten into you as a child.”
AuRon scratched himself behind his griff. “You’re thieves. Would you like a tip about the location of a flow of gold?”
“A dragon’s going to tell us where to find gold! Laughable,” Ghastmath said.
“I don’t bother with gold.”
“That’s right. He is a gray,” the elf put in.
“You’ll have to fight for it, or be very clever thieves. You might even get the help of those dragon-riders in the tower. The Ironriders are on the rampage south of here. I’ve some experiences with the princes of the Steppelands, and I can tell you they’re carrying off every item of value they can get their hands on and strap across their saddles. I suspect they’ll raid into your lands as well, and if the Varvar bands have anything to say about it they’ll ride back a good deal faster than they came in. The way they’re getting back is across the Ba-drink and through the pass of the Wheel of Fire. If you hunt around the paths and trails leading to that, I expect you’ll find more gold and valuables than you can carry being ridden out of the northern half of Hypatia.”
“Sounds as though you need some gallant fools to do your fighting for you,” Halfmoon said.
“Gallant remains to be seen. Fools who can sneak on and off an island with dozens of dragons hunting the hills and shores are fools I would rather have think favorably of me and mine.”
&nbs
p; Later, Wistala decided it would have been much more dramatic if they’d arrived in the middle of a battle.
But the war in the pass, which once burned as bright as dragonflame, had sputtered out.
Three dragonelles and ten drakka remained.
The Ironriders had opened a precarious path around the avalanche blocking their pass, a piece of needlework threading through boulders and across ridges like braiding. In good weather with plenty of daylight they could be across it in half a day.
The Firemaids were moving only under cover of weather, watching for Ironriders taking the new path.
What she was, in fact, doing when the riders appeared in the sky to the east was speaking to a Firemaid about having the Firemaids fly off carrying the drakka. She and the four drakka who couldn’t be carried would leave.
The dwarves had finally come out of their holes and were hunting them. The only way they could escape the dwarves was to climb, for the dwarves could not follow without much effort with ropes and anchors.
There seemed no point to staying. The Ironriders could bring only a trickle over the pass, and what little traffic there was traveled back to the steppes. The dragonelles who’d flown over the eastern slopes of the mountains reported that the great camp had vanished, with many trails leading south.
It was time to return to Mossbell and Hypatia.
The dragonelles—and a few dragons—of the Isle of Ice arrived, not in such a way that would make a fine song, or an exciting story, but only to offer the news that a few dragons, men, and dragon-riders were scouring the northern thanedoms, chasing down the Ironriders still on the west side of the mountains.
Her brother was not among them. They said he’d flown south with his mate and a strange assortment of elves, men, and dwarves.
Back at Mossbell, the dragons ate their fill of smoked horseflesh. The Ironriders had lost or wounded many mounts as they first advanced, then retreated, across the northern thanedoms.
“A call for an all-muster has gone out,” Ragwrist said. “Every thanedom in Hypatia is to gather what forces it has and march them to either the Founding Arch on the north bank of the river or the King’s Marker on the southern coast of the Inland Ocean.”
“The Firemaids were in that very spot,” Wistala said, “a month and a score of days ago.”
“Perhaps it’s a portent of victory,” Ragwrist said.
“It is a well-chosen site,” Roff said. “The bay is calm, and there’s a long, easy beach where boats may be landed and drawn up. The marshes make it difficult for the soldiers to reach the city. Sometimes a civilization must be preserved from its defenders. That is where you’ll find the last muster of Hypatia, if anywhere. That is where I’m bound, as thane.”
“That is where I’m much overdue,” Ragwrist said. “I sent Dsossa ahead with our light riders. Mossbell and the twin hills will be represented at the muster.”
“I fear we’ll be one of few,” Roff said. “The thanes in the north are dealing with the Ironrider raiders. Thanks to Wistala’s stand in the pass, they are not tens of thousands riding hard for Thallia or Hypat, but raiding villages to steal chickens.”
Chapter 22
The Copper spent a score of days having his bats scout the Nor’flow, working matters out with the griffaran, and planning.
The Lavadome was in an uproar. The eastern Upholds, source of food and thralls, were falling to the Ghioz like so many dominoes. There were daily delegations and deputations by dragons ranking from the rich and distinguished SoRolotan to the thrall-trader Sreeksrack demanding that he do something.
His only relief was in talking to Rayg. Rayg didn’t bring complaints; instead, they talked solutions.
Rayg had investigated the Queen’s crystal, which had been torn from his brother. Though it had been cracked and scuffed by the scene in the throne room, Rayg had set it in a brass frame with a chain lanyard so that he might work with it without touching it, and he’d made a remarkable discovery.
When one gazed through the crystal, images sharpened. One found oneself reading more quickly, with better comprehension. Details previously unnoticed leaped out.
Daring the Red Queen to try to overthrow his mind, the Copper tried it himself.
He found he could fix the lens in his damaged eye in such a way that it held the lid open. Whenever he wore it in this fashion, he felt alert, as though perceiving the world through a mind sharpened in the manner he might sharpen his claws. He made a jest that had even SiHazathant and Regalia turning their heads entirely upside-down in laughter; he noticed a new design beneath Nilrasha’s eye; and he tore through the latest tally of livestock left in the Lavadome. Sadly, the columns were all too brief.
He set the Drakwatch to rationing what was left of the food and livestock.
“Where is the Tyr who threw himself against the Dragonblade?” SoRolatan asked.
“Waiting for Paskinix and some bats to complete a reconnaissance of the Nor’flow,” the Copper said.
“Paskinix! You’ve placed our fate in the hands of a long-standing enemy?”
Ayafeeia returned with some of her dragonelles, which was some comfort. She reported that her fast-flying courier, Yefkoa, had seen fighting in Hypatia. A few Ironriders had come across the Red Mountains before the dragons seized the pass, and many times more had roared through the river gap and were riding up both sides of the great river, burning and stealing as they approached the city of Hypat.
“They may be more amenable to an offer of help now,” Nilrasha said.
At last Paskinix returned with the bats, and a favorable report. They’d found an old dwarf-mine that led to the surface.
At last he could unleash the Aerial Host. Someplace where it might make a difference.
“The day we have planned for has come. Now we can move,” the Copper said, talking over his thoughts with Nilrasha. “Engage the Queen’s attention by sending Ayafeeia and the Firemaids to Hypat. I’m a firm believer in second chances. You’ll stay and oversee matters in the Lavadome, of course. It’ll be easier for you. I’m taking the Aerial Host and every dragon who’ll come. And many of the griffaran and my personal guard, of course. There’ll be more food. If you have to, use the food stored in case of earthquake.”
“Of course. My Tyr, the Queen leads the Firemaids. If they’re to be hazarded in such a battle, I should be with them.”
“But the Lavadome still must be guarded. We have hatchlings, eggs, newly mated drago-dames heavy with eggs. With only a handful of Firemaids and young griffaran left behind to guard them, who shall be responsible for them?”
“NoSohoth is happy to remain behind. Was there ever a dragon who cared less for glory?”
“You’re not calling him a coward.”
“No, I admire him. He’s survived longer than any Tyr, quietly attending to thrall sick lists and banquet menus and allocation of caves. He shows better judgment than any of us.”
The Copper felt his muscles go liquid at the thought of what might happen to Nilrasha in battle.
“I’d be lost without you,” he said at last.
“Allow me the same feeling for you, my love. What should happen to me if you fall from the sky? A small, quiet cave with a good supply of wine, as Tighlia had?”
“Suppose we both should fall?”
“I suspect the world will manage without us. It did well before we breathed. Life will go on after our hearts stop.”
He pressed his nose to the pulse-point behind her griff. “Still, we are responsible to, and for, dragonkind. The Tyr is called the ‘Father of the People’ in hatchling rhymes. I would not have the Lavadome orphaned.”
“Then you stay. If one of us should die, better that it should be me. A Queen may be replaced. All you’d have to do is mate again. The third try is often all the more glorious after two failures.”
She withdrew, watching. He suspected she wondered if she’d gone too far. Anytime Halaflora came up, even obliquely, he became moody.
The old dueling pit
had dragons on the shelves, on the old sand in the pit, and two even stood in the entrance.
The Copper stood on the old spur, a long flange of rock where the duel-judges used to rest after giving instructions and announcing the start. From here he was above most of the dragons, except those at the very top.
“Thank you for coming to hear the news,” the Copper said. “What has come to my ears is all bad.
“One chance remains,” the Copper continued. “The Red Queen has launched war on our Upholds and Hypatia at the same time. We do not have the strength to fight her everywhere at once. There is only one course left to us, a battle of desperation.”
“You began this war, RuGaard,” LaDibar said. “Now that matters have turned against us, you would have us destroy ourselves.”
“Tyr RuGaard—at least for the present.”
“The Red Queen offered us peace and you rejected it.”
“She didn’t offer us peace—she offered us terms of surrender. What price would we have had to pay to keep cattle and kern flowing, I wonder? Hostages to good behavior? Strong young wings to fly her messengers around?
“I propose a strike at the heart of Ghioz.” He launched himself into the arena. “When I was a hatchling, I learned that the strongest snake could be felled if you but crushed its head.”
The Copper limped through the sand ring, walking around so that he could look each dragon in the face.
“I need every fit dragon who can fly and fight. I’ve no idea what we may face in the coming battle. If we are to reclaim our place in the sun, every dragon must take his part.
“How many will fly with us?”
They looked at him, at each other. Scale grated against scale and weight shifted.
“My Tyr, there are hatchlings in the cave.”
