Dragon Rule (31 page)

“Only you have a chance against them,” the Copper said.

One against five? AuRon admired his brother’s definition of “a chance.”

Wistala was shielding AuRon with her muscular bulk. Arrows and bolts and heavier projectiles bounced off her armored skin the way rain ran off a cliff face. He could achieve little on the ground—he jumped into the air, beating his wings madly to gain speed and altitude.

The
griffaran
swerved, coming at him from either side.

AuRon felt his wings and spine protest at the backbend, reversing course like a cracking whip.

The
griffaran
had evidently never flown against a scaleless dragon before. Their heads came together with a satisfying
konk!

The third overshot. AuRon got on his tailfeathers. Rage at Imfamnia’s betrayal made running a line of fire down the bird’s back easy.

It screamed as it burned and fell.

AuRon turned to race after Imfamnia, who was putting as much sky between herself and the fighting as possible.

A hard punch struck him across the back. He looked back; a
griffaran
had its claws dug into his middle back. It extracted a set of bloody talons and reached for the wing joint, ready to tear out his wing—

A flutter of feathers and whoosh—the
griffaran’
s head was off and the body, dragged by the wind, fell off behind him in a shower of blood.

AuRon, astonished, saw another
griffaran
drop its comrade’s head.

His brother and sister needed him below. He turned and dove, coming in behind the archers trying to score a hit on Wistala or Shadowcatch without striking Ouistrela.

It felt good to at last to loose his flame. He flapped hard with his wings, arresting his dive and creating a whirlwind of pebbles and dragonfire. The archers shielded their faces and either tried to burrow into the hard earth or fled.

The red dragon, not eager to fight, was jumping up and down and exhorting some human spearmen to close. AuRon whistled to him. When the red turned his head, AuRon struck him across the snout with his tail.

His strange
griffaran
savior raked the red across the throat. The red yelped and bounded away, calling on dead
griffaran
to save him. The
griffaran
fluttered down to come to the aid of the Copper, who was alternately breathing fire and kicking rocks at a line of spearmen trying to close in.

The red ran for his plump life, knocking archers left and right. If that red was representative of NiVom and Imfamnia’s backers, perhaps his brother should have stayed in the Lavadome and fought.

Shadowcatch and Ouistrela grappled and tore at each other still, swishing tails and batting wings keeping the barbarians from closing in on the little party by the easiest route. Straining
saa
loosed boulders that rolled and bounced down the mountainside in front of their hatchling’s old cave. Madly whipping tails sent showers of pebbles into enemy eyes.

The biggest boulder of all was green and metal-protected. The clattering bangs of light war machines firing their spear-sized projectiles sent Wistala into a rage.

Ouistrela, much torn about, saw that her support from the Grand Alliance had vanished. With a contemptuous flap of her wings, she backed away, throwing fire this way and that.

AuRon watched the Copper dragon fight. His brother continued to amaze him. The Copper was no great fighter—his limited vision, dragging limbs, and general off-balance awkwardness put him at a disadvantage against any dragon near his own size. The Copper wasn’t stupid—he had his faults, but he wasn’t stupid—he must be aware of his disadvantages in combat.

Yet he threw himself into battle regardless. And he didn’t fight with the fury of a dragon with his blood up, he didn’t throw himself upon the nearest enemy and lose all his wits in a red madness; he fought craftily and cannily, using wing and tail to both strike and defend.

The barbarians, lacking the support of the dragons they counted upon, quit the fight, running in little groups with shields held over heads and spears up to ward off aerial attack.

They needn’t have bothered. AuRon had no flame left, anyway. Long flights on short rations tended to dry the firebladder. He settled for making threatening dives to hurry them along.

AuRon turned back to what was left of the fight. Shadowcatch was in a poor way, his wings had bites and tears in them. But he still raged, smashing dead men and broken spears into splintered pulp. Wistala looked a little like a ragged porcupine, with numerous arrows and spears stuck in her. Very little blood ran from the wounds, however, so AuRon expected there would just be the painful work of extracting broken-off tips. His brother had a number of men gathered like a herd of sheep in surrender, begging for their lives with upraised palms.

“Gather all the dropped shields and weapons left lying about, put them in a pile here, then you may return to your boats, or however you came here,” he said in rather faulty Parl, holding head high and standing square. AuRon repeated the instructions in the northern tongue and they fell to their knees and cried out in gladness at the dragon’s mercy.

AuRon thought his brother carried off that lordly, implacable air rather well. Better than he himself could have, at any rate.

Yes, the Copper had courage. Courage and heart and the ability to keep his head. It had taken him far and won him a mate AuRon admired. He also wondered about RuGaard’s first mate. Clearly she’d seen in the ungainly young dragon with the slack eye a quality others missed.

Your wrath shouldn’t win
.

Maybe AuRon could have done better by his brother. Snuck him food from the egg shelf. He’d been a greedy little hatchling, even stealing what he could from his sisters.

In his way, he’d done more for dragons than AuRon had. AuRon admitted to himself that he’d gained them a safe refuge, hard for men and elves and dwarfs to find, and even harder to attempt to control. His brother had made it a world where dragons were no longer hunted.

Then there was his sister. Wistala, who didn’t set dragons above the hominids as the Copper did, or apart from them as AuRon would have it, but beside them, cooperating as best as she could. Had she been wrong? Too idealistic? Blinded by memories of a kindly old elf who’d taken her into his home?

AuRon couldn’t fault her.

Each of them were products of birth and circumstance. Each had found a way to make their outlook work. Only time would tell who was right.

The question was, which approach would last?

 

The
griffaran
who’d turned on his companions settled on the Copper’s back to rest and rearrange his feathers.

The
griffaran
, a grizzled veteran with feathers that were thin and dull, but with a painted beak showing bright markings of rank, executed a bob before his brother.

“Who are you?” the Copper asked

“Named Miki!” the oldster squawked in a
griffaran
’s usual punchy Drakine. “Years ago. Many! Others forgot! Not me!”

“What happened years ago?” his brother asked.

“You saved an egg. From demen. ’Twas me!”

Miki shot out his story like a dwarf rock thrower war machine, in quick bursts of words. He’d been raised to be loyal to the dragons, and especially loyal to the Tyr who had saved him.

“Great RuGaard Miki Tyr! Always! Protect Tyr!”

“Thank you,” the Copper said.

“What now?” Wistala asked. “If this island is part of the Grand Alliance, they won’t let us stay here.”

Shadowcatch inspected his torn wings. “I’m not going anywhere for the moment. I don’t suppose there are any thralls around who are good at stitching?”

“Even united, we can’t hold a hole against the Aerial Host,” the Copper said. “They’ll simply fly in demen and dwarfs and who knows what else.”

The surrendered barbarians dropped the last shields in a pile and the Copper waved them off with his tail.

“Wistala and Shadowcatch, you’d better let your gold gizzards make what you can of this,” the Copper said.

“So much for a peaceful exile,” AuRon said.

“Well, the civil war was at least brief,” Wistala said, crunching a shield down into an easy-to-swallow size.

“It’s only begun,” the Copper muttered.

“Where can we go?” Shadowcatch asked. “This isn’t a big enough island to hide us. Not many caves, as I remember.”

“They’ve made an enemy today,” AuRon said.

“Two enemies,” Wistala said.

“Three,” the Copper added, his good eye alert and intelligent for the first time during their trip.

“Five,” Miki squawked, either assuming Shadowcatch made four or employing the wrong word of Drakine.

“In any case, we need to go somewhere safe, where we can to lick our wounds and have a moment’s peace to think. Hypatia is barred to us. From the Isle of Ice they’ll be able to watch all the shores of the northern part of the Inland Ocean.”

“The Great East?” the Copper asked.

“I’ve been there,” Wistala said. “Dragon bones are a much-prized item for their medicines.”

“Old Uldam is big, with many valleys and caves,” AuRon said. “My daughter might be willing to hide us, at least for a little while.”

“That’s a long way off,” the Copper said.

Wistala lifted her head and dropped a piece of chain at a sudden thought. “I know a place. Food, it is remote, there are even a few dragons there. We may even have a friend.”

“What’s that?” the Copper asked.

“The Sadda-Vale,” Wistala said. “It’s ruled by an old white dragon-dame named Scabia. She said something once about being distantly related to us. Our grandsire may have come from the Sadda-Vale.”

“I thought that was a legend,” the Copper said. “Some bit of Silverhigh everyone’s forgotten.”

“There are still dragons there. DharSii, for one. He lives there at least some of the time.”

“If we are to leave, we should go soon,” AuRon said. “Imfamnia might be back with more
griffaran
, or those gargoyle creatures.”

“I can’t make it,” Shadowcatch said. “My wing’s torn up.”

“Can you swim?” AuRon asked.

“I think so.”

“If you can make it to the shore in the east, there’s a tower—”

“Yes, I know it. The Dragonheight. That woman’s place. I know her, she’s gotten me jobs in the past. She’ll stitch me up in a trice. Didn’t occur to me to swim all that way, though. Hope I don’t sink.”

“Will you be all right?” Wistala asked.

“I can buy you some time. Make them think we’re hiding on one of the outer islands. I can make enough racket to make them think the whole Lavadome’s squatting in those sluice-caves. Do a bit of bellowing at anything that comes close. Besides, I could do with a little fresh crab. That’s the one problem with the Lavadome, no shell-carriers. Keeps the digestion clean.”

AuRon forgot his unhappiness for a moment. Shadowcatch’s thoughts rarely moved far from his stomach or fighting.

“More might come than you can handle,” AuRon said.

“You know me, NooSh—err, AuRon. I’m not a bad fighter when the blood’s up.”

“If you must, hide out at the north end of the island. The wolves have seen you with me. They’ll stand guard while you sleep.”

Wistala watched the sun drop toward the horiozn. “Let’s all be seen swimming or flying for that island, then. I’m sure we’re being watched from somewhere.”

They crept down one of the glacier-runoff streams and slipped into the water for the swim to the island. Salt water felt good on everyone’s wounds, and they took a few minutes to lick one another other clean, pull riven scale, and extract arrowheads—which could then be swallowed for a little needed metal. The Copper had shoved a few shields and helmets under his bad wing.

“Hope this contraption holds out for the rest of the trip,” he said.

“DharSii might be able to figure it out,” Wistala said. “He’s very clever. Between us and the blighters she keeps around we might be able to keep it functioning.”

“I’m not likely to make many more trips,” the Copper said. “I’d hardly dare. A whole Empire wants me dead.”

“Let’s leave the worries for another day,” AuRon said. “Join us if you can, Shadowcatch.”

Wistala gave him instructions on how to find the hidden valley, east of the Red Mountains.

“Please come,” the Copper said. “It doesn’t sound right without you grinding your teeth behind me somewhere. It’s difficult to think without the noise.”

“I’m tempted to stay and settle things once and for all with Ouistrela. But as far as I’m concerned, Tyr RuGaard is still my lord. I’ll come if I can get my wings catching air again.”

With that, the three dragons took to the skies, with Miki flying close beside the Copper.

T
hey flew in a tight grouping, flying over sandhills tufted with patchy grasses, with AuRon at the angle. Game trails followed the water found here and there, but they couldn’t catch much that offered even a partial mouthful. The bigger game herds were probably still on their way north.

Wistala wondered if they even would have made it, traveling in the north in that bleak and bitter spring, without AuRon flying at their head. He cut the air for them, and they rode with the advantage of the draft he’d created.

Miki suffered terribly from the cold. They took turns lighting dragon-fire so that he could warm his thin body. The only thing that kept the old
griffaran
going was a promise of bony fishes taken from the deep lake of the Sadda-Vale.

At one of their warmth-and-water breaks, RuGaard offered to take over the lead position to give AuRon a chance to rest.

“I’m not dragging scale,” AuRon said. “I don’t mind anything except that the rest of you are a little slow.”