by E. E. Knight
Messy pieces of roc fell away, spraying the sky. Or worse, clung to the Copper’s scale and horns and griff.
One of his guard dropped down to glide close beside. The Copper flinched from the sudden flutter of wing, hating his nerves. That was no way for a Tyr to act, startling at your own guard.
“All right?” a griffaran asked while the other circled above, searching for more enemies.
“I’m well. Follow,” the Copper said. He dared a glance back at where the arrows had struck. Two feathered souvenirs stuck into him, one high in his mass of wing-driving muscle, the other at the base of his tail.
Then there was the blood dripping and drying from his snout and crest. He must look a fright.
Dusk had settled into the arms of the valley. Dragonflame flashed bright as the Aerial Host spread terror across the tenting. The bats hadn’t mentioned that great sculpture looking out south toward the Lavadome.
The dragons who had no flame left picked up wagons and thatched roofs, coops and trees, anything that could be set aflame and carried a little way, there to have the process repeated.
So the flame spread from roof to warehouse to dock to boat. Flapping, diving griffaran attacked knots of men who gathered to fight either dragon or flame, or patrolled the outskirts of the city to look for reinforcements. Now and then a griffaran rose to report to HeBellereth, who circled above all with his dragons, looking at the wounded, sending members of the Aerial Host to protect downed dragons as they retreated toward the outskirts of town.
The destruction had not been achieved without loss. He marked a fallen griffaran, bloody atop one of the city’s famous domes. A collapsed building had an unmoving dragon-tail projecting from the rubble.
“The whole city united will not stop that fire now,” the Copper said, smelling the awful sweet stench of burning flesh. “Recall the host. Let’s go to the palace and see what’s left.”
He felt a pang for the Ghioz. Any people who could shape mountains into art, apparently just for the satisfaction of it, had his grudging respect. Perhaps he would let some part of their society blossom after this too-long-delayed trimming.
He wondered what kind of effort it would take to shape that great flat face into a dragon-head. It would be a project mostly of cutting away, after all. Or perhaps a frieze of a profile. That might be even easier.
Such a monument would let the world know what had happened here this day, for all time.
A small portion of the Queen’s guard held her palace until death.
Dragons breathed fire onto the balconies and dropped their riders. They met AuRon and his raggedy Dairuss under their war-chief fighting inside the temple with what was left of the Red Guard.
The Copper decided he much preferred having AuRon as an ally. He seemed to have the knack of making friends who didn’t demand blood or gold or rank in exchange for their service.
Some of the Queen’s servants took their own lives rather than surrender. The Copper found a heap of corpses, male, female, even children, lying peacefully beneath a statue of the Queen.
The sight depressed him.
Dragons, at least, had more sense. They accepted a new Tyr and got on with their lives.
Time, indeed, for dragons to get back to the purpose of living.
They found the crystal in a blue-domed chamber, high in the mountain. Careful star-charts were etched above. He picked out patterns both familiar and unfamiliar. AuRon wondered if the stars bore some purpose related to the crystal or if they’d preceded its installation. There was an even smaller passage, too cramped for any but a human, that led up to a tiny platform with a good view of the sky.
AuRon guessed the crystal chamber lay just behind the forehead where the eyebrows met, or perhaps just above.
He sent for his brother. The Copper might be interested in this if he could squeeze up the stairs.
HeBellereth made it, well dusted with scrapes and scraps from the stair-passage walls, along with a slender young Firemaid named Yefkoa who had distinguished herself with fast flying.
“I was afraid I would have to go for oil to work him through,” she said.
“I wanted to see the source of so much misery.”
So they stared, the four dragons, at the Red Queen’s seat of power.
She’d set an impressive throne against it, built a comfortable seat and arm and footrest. Instead of facing outward, the throne-chair faced toward the crystal, so that one might peer deep into it. The throne itself was built on some sort of mount that allowed it to rotate around the crystal.
“So careful, with each and every step,” Naf said. “Until she found this. Then she thought she could see everything.”
“She saw how weak her enemies were,” the Copper said. “More, she knew how to exploit faults, primarily greed. The greatest stone gives way if you tap it in the right crack. It is a strange thing. It almost seems to be—to be looking at me.” Did the stone dislike him? What did a piece of crystal care who its owner was? “I can’t help but feel it doesn’t like me.”
“Perhaps you’re just seeing your conscience in the reflection,” AuRon said.
“Don’t speak to the Tyr that way!” HeBellereth snapped. “He saved your thin little hide, you know.”
“And helped himself to a new Uphold. One worth all the rest put together, I expect,” AuRon said. “My profound admiration, Tyr RuGaard. You’ve won a gamble for the ages.”
“What shall we do with this trophy?” HeBellereth asked.
“Perhaps we should smash it,” AuRon said.
The Copper tapped it with a sii. “Go ahead. Try.”
“Perhaps some dwarves could do it,” HeBellereth said.
“I know a man who would enjoy spending some time with it. Or perhaps the Anklenes.”
“It could be dangerous,” AuRon said.
“I thought NooMoahk lived with it for years,” the Copper said. “And you, and our sister, spent some time in its presence. It is only fair that I take my turn to see what mysteries it holds.”
“It seems to me there’s danger in it,” AuRon said. “Anklamere used it, the Red Queen. Were they who used it corrupt, or did the power within it corrupt them?”
“In the end, it seems it did them more harm than good. They were defeated despite its power,” HeBellereth said.
AuRon looked at the crystal. He’d lived with it for years. Yet it seemed different. Not in general shape. It still had a heavier end and a curve to it, an upright kidney, but he could have sworn it had grown.
Perhaps it was just a trick of the light in this chamber. “I am not convinced she is dead,” AuRon said. “The Red Queen may turn up again.”
The Copper gave orders for a guard to be placed at the entrance to the stairs.
Then he slept, more or less comfortably, on some hay in the stables at the side of the palace. And still dragons disturbed him, flying in to report a barge sunk or some cattle pinned in a box canyon. If only so many of his dragons weren’t illiterates, he would hang up a sign outside that said “Decide for Yourself.” Parl would do. It was a good vigorous language that allowed you to make your point with a minimum of words.
He woke to a glorious dawn. Maybe this was why the Ghioz made their capital here, for the views of the sun coming up as clouds raced around the end of the mountains from southwest to northeast in furrows like the fresh-plowed fields he’d seen while flying.
So much to do. Crippled griffaran who had survived their plunge, wounded dragons and men—he gave orders that the dragon-rider wounded were to have as much dragonblood as they could stand. If nothing else it would ease their passage into death. The citadel fortress might make a good place to house them, for now.
Already men were arriving from Ghioz, answering warnings that they should mark the roof of house and barn, warehouse and temple, with white linen or paint if they wished to avoid destruction.
Most of the Ghioz Empire would fall to pieces, he expected. Just as well. AuRon had already planned to set that huma
n friend of his up as king in Dar—no, Dairuss, it was called. It would be well to have an armed body of men, as long as they remembered to whom they owed their liberty.
He didn’t have anything like the dragons to manage all this. He’d have to see about taking the best and the brightest of the thralls from the Lavadome and setting them up here to act as go-betweens for the dragons and their new domain. The Anklenes had thralls who could read and write in several tongues. He would have positions for even CoTathanagar’s endless stream of relatives now. But there must be dragons to serve and protect them, Drakwatch and Firemaids to keep order.
NiVom had done an admirable job of spreading the word. He would probably make a good governor of the Ghioz Uphold, come to think of it.
He expected that he and Nilrasha would spend much time traveling between Hypatia, Ghioz, and the Lavadome. He’d have to find a nice cave somewhere—there looked to be some fine ground where those spearlike rocks stuck up toward the sky, about the right distance from each—and set up a small refuge cave, where just he and Nilrasha and a few thralls could take their ease from the travels.
What a world of possibilities awaited them.
That lithe little Firemaid he’d met the previous year arrived and collapsed almost on top of him.
“My Tyr,” she gasped, “your Queen needs you. Nilrasha was hurt in battle in Hypatia, and Ayafeeia asks that you attend her.”
Hypatia?
“What is she doing in Hypatia?” he asked, angering. “How did she come there?”
“She led the Firemaids in battle, my Tyr.”
The Copper swung his wing, and . . . It wasn’t this little flash of green’s fault.
Oh, Nilrasha. What have you done now? Once she had an idea in her head it was like digging out an obstinate dwarf.
“I’ll come at once. You look worn-out, ummm—”
“Yefkoa, my Tyr.”
“Of course. The one who begged an escape from a mating.”
She glanced around at some of the Aerial Host, who cast admiring glances her way. “A mating to fat old SoRolatan, my Tyr, and he already mated.”
He called HeBellereth over. “I must fly to Hypatia.”
“Eat first, my Tyr. I believe it is a long way.”
“Over a day’s hard flight,” Yefkoa panted. “For me.”
“That means three days for me,” the Copper said. “Consult with NiVom on matters here. You two were good friends when we were in the Drakwatch together. It should not be too difficult to remember old times and forget the recent past. Consult, I said. You’re in charge, not he.”
“Yes, my Tyr.” HeBellereth studied his sii.
“HeBellereth, suppose NiVom asserted an old claim to the Tyrship.”
“In that case, white dragons will be even rarer, Tyr,” HeBellereth said. “I’ve little patience for renegades.”
The Copper relaxed. A little. “He may turn out to be no more a villain than that DharSii.”
“How long will you stay in Hypatia?” HeBellereth asked. “The Lavadome has no ruler while you and the Queen are away.”
He looked at Yefkoa. The dragonelle looked away, stricken.
“Long enough to burn my dead mate, I expect.”
It was a long, exhausting flight, lengthened by having to go to ground and wait out a thunderstorm. He was tempted to test his artificial wing-joint against the winds, but the griffaran guard practically dragged him to earth, where they knitted him a shelter out of pine branches laced by the effort of their beaks.
He arrived at Hypat thin and hungry, but would take no food until he learned the fate of his mate.
“She still breathes, my brother,” Ayafeeia said, as she led him up the hill toward a ruined temple with a great piece of canvas stretched between the broken columns.
“The remaining Directors of Hypatia are more willing to hear your words now, Tyr.”
“Tell them the worst of the danger is past. Ghioz has been humbled.”
He found Nilrasha stretched out in a ring of rubble. A trio of blood-fat bats snored, hanging like bulging sausages in a broken crevice. Essea reclined near her, next to a pot bubbling with what smelled like liver soup. Essea’s flanks were crisscrossed with sword wounds, and she had grease-covered burns about her sii and wings.
He observed the bound-up, blood-black stump of Nilrasha’s wing with horror.
“Nilrasha, what has happened?” he said, shocked too stupid to say anything else.
“I appear to have got my share of Firemaids killed again,” she croaked.
“Will you . . . will you live?” She was cut up all about the neck and face, and there were deep scars all along her flanks.
She rolled her head and lifted her snout. The drakka attending to his mate gasped. “Her head’s up!” one whispered to her gaping sister.
“The sun is lovely, my lord. It reminds me of Anaea, except here the air smells of the sea.”
Word passed back. “The Queen’s head’s up!”
Ayafeeia blinked in the sunshine. “That’s all she needed. A glimpse of her mate. Perked her right up.”
“The Ironriders tested their blades against my scale as I lay in the ruins, pinned,” she said. “They would have cut my hearts out if I hadn’t chewed through my wing.”
“A proper punishment for disobeying your Tyr’s orders,” the Copper said, his voice choked and harsh. But he found himself rubbing his snout against hers the next moment.
They chatted with mind-pictures for a few moments, quietly catching up on each other’s experiences, but he was still Tyr, among dragons who’d fought bravely and deserved recognition. A Tyr who thought only of his mate was no Tyr at all.
“I must learn more about the situation here,” he told Nilrasha. “I will return as soon as I may.”
“I will just be asleep anyway. But bring me some silver, if you see any plate about. I’m absolutely famished for silver.”
The Copper joined his chief Firemaid, and heard her account of the battle.
“By the way, Ayafeeia, your sister slipped off again. NiVom begged mercy, and I granted it. I’d have that DharSii fellow back too, if we could just find him.”
“Wistala knows more about him than she gives away, I think,” Ayafeeia said.
He had no reason to be embarrassed at his sister’s name.
“Speaking of relations, how is my sister?” the Copper asked.
“She managed to break her wing again in battle in the pass. Intentionally, as it turns out.”
“You don’t mean she did it to feign injury?”
“Quite the opposite, brother. She did it to tell the other Firemaids that they stood there until either victory or death. They bought a little of both with their valor.”
“Would you have her action rewarded?” the Copper asked.
“Yes. She did good service with the Hypatians in battle before the city.”
The Copper considered. Could he trust Wistala with the management of matters in Hypatia? Where would her loyalties ultimately lie?
“Your mate will be well, my Tyr. Her appetite is good, her heartbeat strong,” Ayafeeia said.
“Hmmm?”
“You looked worried. You always bob your head when you’re concerned about something,” she said. “Do not be alarmed. The secret is safe with me.”
Chapter 27
The summer wore on and left. That next fall was as brightly colored in the north as if all the blood spilled in the Iwensi Gap had run down off the mountains and been drawn up into the leaves of the trees.
Lada said it was the trees showing their approval of the dragon alliance—at a whisper from Rainfall.
In Hypatia, it made the day warm enough so that it was pleasant in the sunshine, but not so hot that the crowds filling the street to observe the ratification of the Grand Alliance sweltered.
The city reminded AuRon of bones all jumbled together. Unlike a rural village in the north, where the same set of carpenters built all the homes and barns in a similar fashion, va
rying details only to defeat prevailing winds or to take advantage of the lie of the land, the city, uniform in color but variegated in components, clustered with the haphazard density of whelks clinging to an old bit of pier.
The high road sloping up to the Eternal Light had never seen such a crowd—at least not in living memory, according to the old timekeeper on the fourth level AuRon spoke to.
Each of the columns flanking the road held a drake or drakka, leaning out and looking down, or a griffaran.
Wistala stood on the level just below the Eternal Light with her collection of elves and dwarves and men, a jewel glimmering above and between her eyes on a silver-chain headdress. He spotted Halfmoon, Ghastmath, and Fyerbin standing in the throng, ermine-edged robes held closed with jeweled brooches as big as a dwarf’s helmcap.
As usual, Wistala had been a fountain of information about Hypatian history and custom and the meaning of this oversized stairstool. His brain had become befuddled somewhere between the Contract of the Kings and the Restoration of Truth.
He watched his brother limp up the long road, those thick-beaked birds above, spine-painted demen in heavy, sun-shading helms all around, carrying not weapons but banners in thick limbs. The crowd stared at them in particular, a rarer sight than even long-haired elephants—which trailed at the back, bearing booty taken from the Ironriders.
The Copper looked well, thick scales polished to the highest sheen, trimmed neatly and, he suspected, subtly edged with black paint to make them weave fascinating patterns as he stepped. One hardly noticed that he limped.
He had enough sense to keep those horrible bat creatures out of view, if they were with him.
Strange, the difference that glass made. The Copper no longer looked vaguely stupid with sleep, but alert as a startled snake.
AuRon saw Natasatch and the hatchlings—he really must stop calling them hatchlings, for they were drakes and drakka now—and edged over toward them. They’d been in and out of the dragon-parade at the old circus pavilions all morning, meeting the Lavadome representatives of the Grand Alliance.
