Dragon Rule (12 page)

“SoRolatan didn’t put up much of a fight. He was raiding a marketplace and some old women started pelting him with garbage. When he flew back to the Golden Dome, sputtering outrage, I met him there with some spearmen. He roared a warning but fled as fast as his wings could travel.”

“Your people chose well, picking you as king.”

“They had few enough choices. All I had going for me was the knowledge that I fought the Ghioz when no one north of Bant dared defy them, and retrieved our old throne from the heart of the Red Queen’s Empire.”

AuRon remembered him sitting in it, bloody and battered.

Naf looked at the sky, chuckled. “You should hear the tales that pass for the official history of my battles. Back in Dairuss, they whispered that I was striking left and right, winning smashing victories and leaving a series of Ghioz generals embarrassed. Culminating, of course, with our great raid on the throne-city you helped us win. Oh, AuRon, I have been closeted with two very disappointed historians, correcting their texts so they know my gallant band spent most of their time in desperate flight from superior numbers.”

“Most of my victories are little but escapes as well,” AuRon said, thinking of his encounters with the Dragonblade. Strange to think his brother, of all dragonkind, had been the one to kill that remarkable human.

“So, what will it be, Naf? Another gallant fight, defeat, and you’ll end your days in these swamps or some valley in the Red Mountains? I promise you, if you accept me as Protector, you’ll hardly know we’re here. My mate and I will find a comfortable cave, and bide our time there until you need us.”

“I suppose mock-independence is preferable to no independence. I just don’t want a court full of Hypatians running my country for me.”

“We’ll keep them away.”

“Then let’s call it a bargain,” Naf said, grinning. “That Imfamnia, I thought she said something about dragon blood?”

“You speak Drakine?”

“I picked up a little from SoRolatan,” Naf said.

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but if you want to taste my blood, you’re more than welcome. Try some out of my tail, there are fewer nerve endings there.”

Naf carefully cleaned his knife and gave AuRon a small nick, then drank from his waterskin cup.

“Most invigorating,” Naf said.

“Try not to get used to it,” AuRon said. “I don’t care what my brother does, but I don’t want to bleed every time you hold a feast.”

He returned to his family with the small nick already healed. They awaited him at the king’s stables. Istach was sleeping atop a barn, watching the stars. She was an odd one.

“You look tired, my love,” Natasatch said, comfortably curled up in an old cow basement.

“I flew a great deal with Naf in the last few days. We covered his whole kingdom.”

“How goes the diplomacy?”

“I have to tell you something, highlight of my song. My brother—well, Wistala, mostly, has put me forward as dragon lord—Protector, or whatever they call it—of Naf ’s Kingdom. Naf has agreed that we might serve.”

Natasatch’s eyes brightened as though filled with dragon-flame. “A Protector!”

“You would like me to take the role?”

She let out a loud
prrum
. “They’re all respected. Most are considered powerful. I’ve heard some become very rich.”

“My brother was one before he became Tyr, I understand. We won’t grow rich here, though. Dairuss is a poor land, it just happens to be situated at a crossroads between south, east, and west.”

“But you don’t like the idea, it seems.”

“Getting mixed up in this way with hominids. It’s dangerous,” AuRon said.

“But Naf wouldn’t hurt us. Did you not tell me he is your oldest hominid friend?”

“That’s exactly why I don’t desire this position.”

Natasatch asked, “To be of use to a friend?”

“This ‘Grand Alliance’ my brother imagines, and Wistala is refining, could be the death of that friendship. I’d help Naf if it meant tearing my wings to pieces flying for him and losing teeth in his enemies’ necks. But he’ll only live so long. Who knows what manner of king might replace him, or what the Grand Alliance will one day demand of Dairuss. I fear that dragons who set themselves up to rule an empire on the backs of the hominids will only find they’ve left their undersides vulnerable.”

T
he throne room atop the Imperial Rock in the Lavadome was buzzing. Oftentimes, it seemed that the Tyr was the last person to know what was going on. NoSohoth had gathered a crowd of important dragons—well, with so many living on the surface as Protectors these days, what passed for important dragons in the attenuated Lavadome—so he assumed it would be good news. Bad news always ended up being whispered in his ear.

“He’s done it,” Wistala said, marching up toward the throne room with a smaller striped dragonelle just behind. “There, my Tyr, no threats or battles required. Instead of a defeated enemy, he brings an ally.”

The Copper was still getting used to Wistala as his Queen-Consort. When Nilrasha had first brought up the idea of someone to stand in for her at the ceremonies and so on, that the Queen was expected to attend, he simply said that she should pick her replacement. He assumed it would be Ayafeeia—she was of very noble birth, being the granddaughter of Tyr FeHazathant, and though she had no interest in politics could be counted on to show her face at a feast or a hatchling review.

Instead he ended up with his sister, Wistala.

She was a capable enough dragon and happy to forget the wrongs they’d done each other as hatchlings. Wistala had some obtuse ideas about how hominids should be treated. The Copper wanted the Hypatians as a privileged elite, who would keep the other hominids in line. Wistala seemed to think that the Hypatians should be dealt with as equals.

“The easier an ally comes, the easier he goes,” the Copper said, quoting the Tyr—or rather FeHazathant. FeHazathant would always be “the Tyr” in his mind. The great old dragon who had adopted him when he’d virtually drifted into the Lavadome could only be emulated, never replaced. On the rare occasions when NoSohoth could be diverted from his blather about trade routes and thrall markets, the Copper liked to have him quote FeHazathant’s sayings.

“How many dragons will he need?” the Copper asked.

“Just himself and his mate, and their daughter while she remains with them. Istach is her name. She flew here with the news that AuRon the Gray is the new Protector of Dairuss.”

“The other went into the Firemaidens, did she not?”

“Varatheela. Yes, she’s taken her second oath,” Wistala said.

The Copper wasn’t sure he liked Dairuss watched over only by dragons of his brother’s family. It was an important province. It guarded the Iwensi Gap in the Red Mountains, the route by which Hypatia had been invaded any number of times, most recently by the Ironriders under the Red Queen. There was a dwarf trading settlement at the falls, hanging there in the river’s neck like a stuck bone.

He’ll have to see about getting a wall built. The Hypatians had started such a project several times in the past, with little to show for it but some scarring in the mountainsides where quarries were dug and a road running the purported path of the fortifications selected by Hypatian engineers. The gap was cold and windy, even in summer, and if there wasn’t dust blowing off the plains there was cold rain or sleet piling up off the Inland Ocean. Anything but dwarfs and sheep quickly sickened and died in the cold and wet.

Well, there were dwarfs in the pass already. They might be persuaded to build the wall. Dwarfs couldn’t be threatened or bullied into doing something, but they might be bought. He suspected the dwarfs of the Diadem, who never put on their boots without calculating profit and loss, would command a hefty price to see it through.

Why this sudden interest in the wall? He’d known about it for years. Did he seek to put a barrier between himself and his brother? If he hadn’t once fought over an egg shelf with the fellow, he’d think him another inoffensive, unscaled gray. But grays could be tricky, with their ability to blend in and creep up on you without a sound.

Back to business. The young dragonelle behind Wistala stepped forward.

“Just as I told you,” Wistala said in her ear.

“Tyr, I ask leave to make a report,” the newcomer said, a little wide-eyed at being atop Imperial Rock, the heart of the Lavadome.

By Susiron, fixed forever in the sky
!
Jizara, how can this be? Winged and beautiful as I knew you always would be
.

The Copper couldn’t find words.

“Tyr?” almost-Jizara repeated.

“My Tyr, you mean,” NoSohoth prompted.

“I don’t know that he’s my Tyr,” almost-Jizara said.

“Why—” HeBellerath started. “You young—”

“Oh, bother the court protocol,” the Copper said. “She’s not a dragon of the Lavadome, and Tyr is ample honor for me.”

No, it wasn’t Jizara. She has stripes; Jizara’s scale was as uniform in color, save for a slight lightening along the belly, as any dragonelle. The young dragonelle just looked like her. Jizara as she might have been.

But still.

“What is your name again?”

“Istach, daughter of Natasatch.”

“I don’t suppose you can sing, Istach?”

The assembly murmured at that. Wasn’t there a report to be heard? Had the Tyr taken leave of his senses?

Bother all that
, the Copper thought.
I want to hear her sing
.

“Sing?” Istach said. “Just to pass the time when I’m preening scale.”

“Let’s hear you.”

Her eyes widened, and the Copper wondered if she thought him a bit mad.

“Go on, you can never go far wrong doing as the Tyr requests,” NoSohoth said.

“On our island we have some blighters. They sing a song when they’re digging—I’m not even sure what the words mean, they speak to us in a bad mix of Drakine and Parl. But it’s good for breaking open marrow bones, or piling cod for a roast.”

“The last bit is counting and about supper at the end of the day. That’s all I understood,” Wistala said.

“Thank you, Queen-Consort.”

The Copper tasted the air about her. No, she wasn’t much like Jizara after all. But she intrigued him, anyway. Imagine singing a simple blighter work song in the Tyr’s court.

“So are you being courted?” he asked.

She dipped her head in embarrassment. “No, Tyr. I don’t mix much.”

“Joined the Firemaids?”

“No, Tyr.”

“Not even tried?”

“Never,” Istach said, growing bolder and learning to ignore the stares of the great dragons. “My sister joined, and is doing very well, I understand. You’ve recently promoted my brother AuSurath into the Aerial Host and my brother AuMoahk studies with the Ankelenes. I did not wish to see my parents left alone.”

“Surely you want to do something useful,” the Copper said.

Some of the court was exchanging looks. Well, he wanted to know about this young dragon, so he’d ask a few questions. They’d indulge their Tyr.

Istach flicked her tongue in thought. “Oh, I learned the language of the wolves on my home island, I keep the blighters from stealing our sheep, and once I pulled some storm-wrecked fishermen to shore and brought a boat to pick them up. I’m useful to my father’s island.”

She spoke heartfully. Another dragonelle might simper and flatter in the presence of so many young males of the Aerial Host. In any case, those who spoke to him almost always wanted a favor from the Tyr. The Copper wasn’t used to such an open manner. Most dragons of his Empire either wanted his judgment and decree in their favor, advancement for themselves, or mercy for some crime. A very stupid dragonelle might not realize all the power he represented, but he didn’t think her cloud-brained. But why feign such nonchalance? No, she must be hiding some other agenda.

“I’m sure my brother AuRon is proud of you.”

“I would still guard his throat were he not,” she said.

“Such loyalty to her sire and dam at her age, newly fledged,” HeBellereth said. “Entirely admirable.”

“You interest me, Istach. I hope, now that your message is delivered, that you will stay and join the festivities.”

“Festivities!” one of the more robust dragon-dames said. “Is there to be a feast?”

“We shall celebrate the latest proof of the strength of our Alliance. Let word go out that twenty-one days hence, there will be a feast to celebrate. Let them feast in the Lavadome, let them feast in the Uphold of Swayport on the western shores, let them feast in Ghioz. Of course, the Tyr’s court and select members of the Aerial Host shall enjoy the finest feast of all.”

“Where is this feast to be?” NoSohoth asked.