Dragon Rule (15 page)

“I’m afraid so, my Tyr. There’s problems with the
oliban
trade. Perhaps it’s not so critical, now with the Lavadome less crowded, but so many of the trees have been harvested now, the ones left are small and at great height.”

Oliban
was a sort of sap from rare trees that looked like citrine quartz when properly dried. Burned in the plentiful braziers used for light and warmth deep in the dragon caves, it produced a pleasing, soothing aroma that relaxed dragons. It was traditionally burned whenever dragons met in groups to keep tempers from flaring.

“We must see about replanting it elsewhere, in suitable soil,” the Copper said. It never ceased to amaze, the matters that came under his nose. One day the proper burning of a dead egg, the next horticulture. He’d made a study of
oliban
, just as he had
kern
and other products necessary to draconic health and comfort. “The Ankelenes can do a survey of places where it might grow. There’s less need for
kern
now, perhaps in Anaea.”

His old uphold had rich volcanic soil. Or did
oliban
need sea air to thrive? Something about salt, he’d have to ask the Ankelenes.

“Yes, my Tyr.”

“We should have attended to this before,” the Copper muttered.

“Hard to think about a few loose tail-scale when there are swords about your throat,” NoSohoth said.

“What else do you have for me. Briefly, please, for I am tired.”

“Nothing that can’t wait until you’ve rested from your flight and enjoyed a few meals. There’s some rather good blind bonefish in the larder.”

“I’ll spend a few hours in the Audience Chamber. I can try to keep myself awake. I don’t want my dragons to think themselves unattended. I’ll be on the shelf in one hour; see there’s some coin to pass around.”

“Just some poor Hypatian amalgams. Next to worthless.”

“Well, there’ll be some gold from the sack at Swayport shortly.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” NoSohoth said. “I rather think the Imperial Treasury spends more on the Empire than it gets in return. If it weren’t for NiVom squeezing what he can out of the Ghioz, we’d be destitute.”

“We? You mean me, you old hoardbug,” the Copper said.

“My Tyr, have I ever denied you grateful coin?”

“No. I’ll think about finances later. I’m for a splash, then you can admit the petitioners into the audience hall.”

He shook off the thralls busy polishing his claws and oiling his artificial wing joint and descended to his baths. The heat and steam would work faster than any thrall.

The fleshy human female thrall in attendance gave the air a juicy aroma that made him relish his bath. She spread frothy bubbling fats on his scale and scrubbed them off again with a bristle brush. One of his predecessors, SiDrakkon, had made a fetish of the place, filling it so the musky feminine reek made one’s head swim, but that was entirely too much of a good thing. One had to come out of the bath sooner or later.

Feeling delightfully clean, he hissed for his monitor-bats.

Aged Ging and her son Fang came in, trailed by a tired-looking Gang. Ghoul had disappeared some years ago in the Star Cave, but then he’d always been the slowest of the three.

“A sup, a sup, my Tyr?” they chorused, like eager, whining puppies.

They whined for blood, of course, and he relented and let them open a vein in his
sii
where he could keep an eye on how much they slurped down. They were the descendants of bats that had been dining on his blood for generations, and they’d grown into monstrous versions of the original clan; they were the size of largish dogs these days, and toothy young Fang displayed a pebbly skin that might be mistaken for his brother’s dragon-hide. Fang had cunning eyes and sharp ears, and a nose for sniffing secrets, and a devious mind. The Copper trusted only Fang’s weakness and lust for dragon-blood.

The Copper resolved not to feed Fang’s offspring dragon-blood. These bats had grown quite freakish enough, thank you.

He’d learned to question them after a feeding rather than before. So eager for blood were they, they’d tell him anything if they thought it would please him into letting them nick open his skin. The Copper would rather hear what he needed to hear than what the bats thought he wanted to hear.

“Any news?” he asked, as the bats burped out their satisfaction with the bloody suckle.

“NiVom and Imfamnia are breeding blighters,” Ging, the best-spoken of them said. She had a network of other bats who, the Copper suspected, suckled off her own substantial frame. “They mean to lauch a war ’gainst Old Uldam, use blighters against other blighters, it seems.”

“Any news passing in the Lavadome?” The Copper liked to think of his conversations with the bats as catching up on news he wouldn’t otherwise hear, rather than spying. Spying on the dragons one purported to lead struck him as distasteful.

“The Ankelenes talked a lot against the attack on those pirates.”

“Old Ibidio called it bleeding dragons for the humans,” Fang said. “Wasting good blood on humans, now. What have they ever done for us but cause trouble? Useless-like.”

“He means ‘dragons doing the bleeding humans wouldn’t do,’ ” Ging clarified. “Those were her exact words.”

The Copper would have to live with Ibidio’s second-guessing and disparagement. She had laid the eggs of FeHazathant’s second-generation descendants and was of the oldest and most distinguished part of the Imperial Line. “Well, Ibidio’s always talking against me to the Ankelenes. As long as it’s just talk, I don’t mind. Is she planning anything?”

“Naw,” Fang said, and the others also shook their heads, hominid style. “That LaDibar, he’s the one you have to watch out for. Shifty-like.”

“Still visiting the thrall pens and the demen quarter, I hope?”

“Aye, Tyr, nothing brewing there but soup bones. As long as the feed’s good, they’re happy.”

“Aye, jes’ like us’n,” old Gang said, licking remaining fangs clean of the last bits of blood.

 

The Copper met with his court the next day, making it clear to them that it was a strictly informal gathering. He ordered a plain meal rather than an imperial feast. They had platters brought into the Audience Chamber, now filled with dozens of newly captured battle banners of Ghioz and collections of skulls and stained hides from the Ironriders.

NoFhyriticus the Gray, a mainstay for sensible advice, was much missed in his new role as Protector of Hypatia. He was an even-tempered dragon, both slow to anger and slow to trust. He was doing well among the humans of the Directory, but the Copper found himself absentmindedly waiting for him to speak at times, so used to NoFhyriticus’s counsel was he.

Of course he had HeBellereth, as the Aerial Host was much in need of rest and refitting after the expedition against the pirates of Swayport.

LaDibar was still a fixture. The Copper had tried making him an upholder, but he pleaded illness that prevented him from making “a proper exertion in duty, as a Protector should.” He had a vast storehouse of knowledge in that brain of his, however, so he was still useful to the court.

LaDibar still displayed the revolting habit of exploring his ears, nostrils, and gum line with his tailtip when deep in thought.

CoTathanagar had been reluctantly brought into his inner circle. While the Copper found him distasteful, pig-headed, and ambitious, he knew the ins and outs of Sreeksrack’s thrall trade, knew Ankelene politics, knew the hominids, knew which Skotl was forbidden to mate with a Wyrr, yet seemed to get along well with all the clans. Besides, the Copper found it useful to have someone around who, no matter what the job, could supply a name to handle it. And for the most part, those CoTathanagar put forward performed decently enough in their various responsibilities.

And then there were the Twins. SiHazathant the Red and Regalia. But the Imperial Line and the rest of the Lavadome usually just called them the Twins. Others didn’t seem to mind their familiarity, but they gave the Copper the shivers. Brother and sister, looking much alike, always at each other’s side, eating and sleeping together. Of course, they’d shared the same egg so by looking at it one way they were the same dragon, but still—an eerie, otherworldly air hung about them.

They were well-liked by the Ankelenes, too. Always experimenting on their thralls in matters of feeding and breeding and exercise. He’d told them to quit giving thralls dragon-blood; a victory toast among allies or a bribe to bats was one thing, but intentionally breeding a hybrid of something as dangerous as a human—he forbade it.

But they were sensible dragons, fond of feasting, and popular, especially with Ibidio’s little faction. She thought them a blend of AgGriffopse and FeHazathant.

Finally, there was Naf. When the Copper first introduced Naf to speak to his court, it had caused some consternation—a thrall addressing dragons as equals!—but they indulged their Tyr, who could be forgiven a blind spot and a soft heart now and then.

He wanted to discuss the matter of the
oliban
shortage.

“Drive the gatherers harder,” CoTathanagar advised. “A stout whip hand will get it flowing again.”

“Za! From what, twigs and bare stone?” LaDibar asked. “It’s whipping and greed that got us into this situation to begin with.”

“There’ll be fighting here, if we’re not careful in rationing it,” HeBellereth said, stating the obvious.

“Steaming it rather than burning it makes it last longer. But steaming only works in a small cavern,” LaDibar said. “Or if you stand right over the vat.”

“It must grow naturally somewhere else.”

“The Princedoms of the Sunstruck Sea are said to have it,” LaDibar said, examining the contents of a nostril on tailtip. “There are unexplored islands farther south as well, but the weather is so wild at the equinoxes, colonies or a regular trade would be difficult to maintain.”

“More difficult than us being at each other’s throats light and dark?” NoSohoth asked. Friends of his managed the
oliban
trade and the Copper suspected—no, make that knew—he profited from the Imperial concession.

“We have news of the recent battles at Swayport,” HeBellereth said. “Remember that dragon who attacked you over the pirate ship? Four of the Aerial Host tracked him to his refuge. He’s outside now, in chains. The new flier, your brother’s son, was one of the party that captured him.”

What did they expect him to do, order him executed for serving humans in a war?

“Bring him to me.”

The black dragon seemed to fill the Audience Chamber. “You’re not about to start a fight in here, are you?” the Copper asked.

“No. Whatever they told you, I came with your dragons and their riders willingly. I wished to meet you without fighting.”

“We shall see about that,” the Coppper said. “Get those chains off him.”

Thralls brought pry bars and cutters. A few snips and clatters later, he was free. As free as he could be, surrounded by strange dragons and beneath the waiting talons of the Griffaran Guard.

“What is your name?” the Copper asked.

“Shadowcatch.”

“Shadowcatch, my Tyr,” NoSohoth prompted.

“My Tyr,” the prisoner finished.

“Why were you seeking us?” the Copper asked.

“After our fight in Swayport I asked some questions of some sea-elves I know—don’t tell me to reveal their location, I’ll keep the secrets of one who’s been kind to me or I’ll bleed out.”

“Sea-elves? I thought Wrimere killed them all,” LaDibar said.

“Never mind the sea-elves,” the Copper said.

“I’ve been among few enough of my kind,” Shadowcatch said. “Thought I’d join you. Seems like a good bunch of fighting dragons. I’m used to living with my own kind. Having females about, too.”

“You thought you’d find us hospitable after you tried to kill our Tyr?” HeBellereth asked.

“That was just war, and I was hired to fight. Nothing personal, my Tyr.”

“Of course,” the Copper said.

“I say we bleed him out and let the Aerial Host drink to your health, my Tyr. He’s an assassin if I ever smelled one.”

Shadowcatch’s scale bristled but he said nothing.

“You’d like to join us, Shadowcatch? What are your qualifications?”

“I can fight,” he said. “I’ve lived in the Upper World on my own since the Wizard got himself roasted by that NooSho—I mean AuRon. The Gray.”

“Ah, yes, the Gray. Many paths lead back to him,” the Copper said. Any friend of the Gray might be an enemy to him. Though now he had the advantage of his brother; three of his four hatchlings were serving the Lavadome in one manner or another.

“You like good food, I see,” the Copper said.

“The folks who hired me fed me well even if they couldn’t always pay.”

“An easy life?” the Copper asked.

“You’d be surprised what having a dragon hanging around keeps away. Yeah, I call it an easy life.”

“One thing about you impressed me. The other dragons they’d hired. They flew away as soon as they saw the strength arrayed against them.”

Shadowcatch ground his teeth, creating a low clatter like woodpeckers all working the same tree. “Trash, those. Half-wit vagabonds from the Wizard’s Isle.”

“AuRon’s Isle, you mean.”

“Some call it that.”

“When we attacked, they flew away, but you stayed. Outnumbered forty to one or more, if you count the hominids, you stayed.”

“Yes,” Shadowcatch said.

“Why?”

“They paid me. I gave my word to them. I’d keep it.”

“Your word’s that important to you, that you’d die for it?” LaDibar asked, as if he was having trouble with the concept.

“Certainty nothing. I have a way of surviving.”

There was more to this black dragon than met the eye. He might be a little fat, and stupid-looking as the thickest Skotl, but there were depths to him, the Copper decided.