by E. E. Knight
“This is how it should be,” Aumoahk said, sighing in satisfaction at the display with a slight whistle through his slit nostril.
“Father. Tremendous news!” Ausurath said, his sii spread gravely as he bowed to his father, saa jumping all about and tail thumping as though they belonged to a different drake. “The Tyr had promised me a place in the Drakwatch. It’s the surest path to the Aerial Host. NoSohoth himself told me so!”
“The Firemaidens do all the real work,” Varatheela said. “Nilrasha says that if you want a lot of noise and dirt, summon the Drakwatch. If you want a victory, call in the Firemaids.”
AuRon read excitement in all their faces. Their father, dull and gray and full of little but correction and reproach, how could he compare against such shining glory? Had he lost his hatchlings to the Copper? Of all that stood or slithered or flew through the two worlds, him?
You have doubts, Natasatch thought to him. Even on a day such as this.
It’s my temper. The pageantry’s nice enough, I suppose. It’s this Grand Alliance business. Everyone is fresh off fighting for their lives and sharing out spoils. It’ll look different after the first famine when the hominids start grumbling about how much dragons eat.
The Copper and the Hypatian high officials bowed to each other, speaking words long arranged. He’d heard most of it from Wistala, grand-sounding bargaining that put a lengthy dwarf-contract to shame.
“I know there’s more behind, husband.”
“Yes. Well, there’s a lot of talk about the glories of Silverhigh in the Lavadome. I don’t think brother RuGaard, as he styles himself, has new poems composed and read at his dinners to offer lessons about its folly.”
The Copper and various representatives of the Hypatian races added tinder to the eternal flame. The dwarves threw in some sort of chemical that sparkled bright blue, the elves added wood, and men bits of oily charcoal. As for the dragons, Wistala and the Copper spat.
They’d asked him to add his own fire, representing the Isle of Ice, but he’d declined and his siblings hadn’t pressed him. Besides, there was hardly space at the top of the Ziggurat for two dragons, let alone three.
I wonder if the lessons of Silverhigh must be relearned, or can they be learned from? Natasatch thought to him.
The lives of many a hominid and dragon alike will be shaped by the answer.
You can’t think your sister is part of it. She thinks all her elves and humans and so on are quite her equals. AuRon. So cautious. Except once—on the day you won me.
And almost lost you just as quickly. It rather reinforced the lesson.
So what shall we do? Go back to the island and scrape out a living? After the hatchlings have seen all this, can they be content with play-hunting sheep? I’d have them know more of the world.
AuRon sniffed the air. Scents from across half a world rose from the crowd. Not just smoked meats and fresh-baked breads, but the decorative scents, floral or woodsy, metals, sweats, dried herbs being smoked or stewed, the dust of the poured stone the Hypatians used in so much of their construction, dogs, cats, horses, and other beasts, and above all, dragon. The Isle of Ice smelled like sheep, peat, and melting glacier.
I’m being a blockhead. Let’s enjoy this day, bask in the sunshine, and see my sister’s dream come to life. For one day, at least. Maybe one day will be example enough.
The future’s an unlit path, yet to be made, Natasatch thought.
“Where’d you get that?” AuRon said.
“My thoughts, as I watch the hatchlings crane their necks to see better. It seemed appropriate.”
“My beloved has become a philosopher.”
“It comes from being mated to an enigma,” she returned.
“An enigma who loves you, and lives only to see our hatchlings thrive,” AuRon said aloud, looking at her.
She took a deep breath and spread her wings a little.
“Hatchlings,” Natasatch said. “Mind each other and enjoy the ceremonies. Your father and I are going to fly for a bit, so that we might see events better.”
Together, they soared.
A Few Words of Drakine
FOUA: A product of the firebladder. When mixed with the liquid fats stored within and then exposed to oxygen, it ignites into oily flame. GRIFF: The armored fans descending from the forehead and jaw that cover the sensitive ear-holes and throat pulse-points in battle. LAUDI: Brave and glorious deeds in a dragon’s life that are incorporated into the lifesong.
PRRUM: The low thrumming sound a dragon makes when it is pleased or particularly content.
SAA: The rear claws of a dragon. The three rear true-toes are able to grip, but the fighting spur is little more than decoration.
SII: The front claws of a dragon. The claws are shorter, and the fighting spur on the rear leg is closer to the other digits and opposable. The digits are more elegantly formed for manipulation.
TORF: A small gob from the firebladder, used to provide a few moments of illumination.
About the Author
E. E. Knight graduated from Northern Illinois University with a double major in history and political science, then made his way through a number of jobs that had nothing to do with history or political science. He resides in Chicago. For more information on the author and his worlds, E. E. Knight invites you to visit his Web site, vampjac.com.
