“If you have any younger relatives, I’d welcome their society here—if they have a yen to travel.” OuThroth said, bowing. “I’m still unmated,” he added, unnecessarily.
“A dragon under the tutelage of NoSohoth is on his way up,” Yefkoa said, simpering.
They bowed out their farewells, thanked him for his hospitality, and took off across the river, heading for Dairuss, the Protectorate of AuRon’s mate.
“He’s still a bit wet about the wings for a border post, I think,” Wistala said.
“Titles are bought and sold these days,” Yefkoa said. “Nowadays your title doesn’t matter so much as the sheer number of them behind your name. It takes much of a sunrise to list NoSohoth’s. He’s always willing to sell a few. You see the quality of dragon it gets us.”
Chapter 5
Even from an altitude, the tower stood out. Its position when viewed from the east, framed against the sea, presented an unmistakable landmark. And if that wasn’t enough, a light burned atop it. The Copper judged it an ordinary fire reflected and magnified with polished metal, set as a beacon for night-travelers, or perhaps a warning for ships about the dangerous break in the coast.
The last time he’d been here he’d been half out of his mind with regret and recrimination. AuRon had known something of the dragons here—he’d had communications with them in his time on the Isle of Ice, and they’d used the landmark to take their bearings. All he remembered was the vague loom of the tower and the cold, misty coast.
On the flight he’d toyed with the dragonhelm Scabia had given him. If it did in fact amplify mindspeech, it didn’t work very well on him and Wistala. Perhaps there wasn’t enough of an affinity between them. Or she wasn’t wearing it. All he received was vague impressions, like a remembered dream, and most of those were of DharSii or Scabia speaking. He’d had enough of both to last a lifetime.
The lands he’d flown over looked cold and unfriendly. Hostile, too. The barbarian villages had piles of lumber and were putting old fences back into repair and constructing new ones around unprotected clusters of buildings. His passage overhead seemed to cause some consternation, the barbarians shuffling their livestock and children about like disturbed ants.
The only philosophy that makes sense is to treat all as your friends, or none. I think all’s more pleasant, don’t you, lads? Tyr Fehazathant used to say when visiting the wingless drakes in the Drakwatch. The Copper had done well treating all as friends—though perhaps he’d have lasted longer on the throne and kept his mate besides if he’d adopted the latter mind-set.
He circled above the tower three times before starting his descent. Closing the wing today would be extra painful.
The mistress of the tower was an old crone who walked with the aid of a cane. She was supervising the unloading of a dwarf-driven, mule-drawn wagon. The mules didn’t care for his presence and brayed an alarm as he landed. She still had bright eyes and a kind of beauty about her, the way a wind-bent tree clinging to a cliff’s edge over the sea was picturesque in its twisted tenacity.
“I’ve seen you somewhere or other before, Copper,” she said, in intelligible but flat dragonspeech. “You fly in a very distinctive manner. What’s your name?”
“RuGaard,” the Copper said, fiddling with his wing and pulling it shut with a pained wince.
“The old Tyr? I have seen you before, years since. Passing eastward, you were.”
“Thank you for the compliment of your memory.”
“The day I start forgetting dragons is the day I’ll be fit for my last trip beyond the surf aboard a flaming raft. But I’m not ready for my last ride yet, if you think you’ll be taking over in the name of the Empire—”
“Nothing like that. I’ve given up all claim to any title or position. It’s been years since I’ve had any part of the Empire. I’m a wandering exile, lonely for the smell of my kind.”
“Smell we have, all you want, free as air. You take anything else, I expect you to work for it. Everyone earns their keep in the tower, man or dragon.”
“What is the price of a decent meal?”
“A ride to the top of the tower. Don’t worry about a saddle, I know how to hook on to scale for short trips. I need to check the fire-wardens up there. I found some drips of whale oil at the bottom of the tower, which means they’re getting sloppy again, and I don’t want my tower burned to the ground. Ain’t like whale oil is cheap, neither.”
She introduced herself as Gettel and clung to him using her knees and ankles. The Copper sighed and extended the wing again. He double-checked the condition of the locking-peg. It would be just his luck for it to give way at the top and have him kill the mistress of the tower by accident.
The Copper wasn’t used to bearing a person. He’d last done it in his youth and he didn’t like the sensation. His neck was a vulnerable spot for a blade.
“So, sick of old Scabia at the Sadda-Vale, m’dragon?”
“I’m lonely,” the Copper said, honestly enough. “I’ve spent too much of my life in decisive thought and action. A life of contemplation of the day’s fish haul and techniques of de-boning and filet preparation isn’t for me.”
“If it’s activity ye seek, I can use you. There’s coin in it for you to eat—I know there’s precious little of that where you come from. Not just messenger-flying, either, but real fighting. Feel up to taking on some dwarfs? I’ve a rich commission from the Hypatians.”
“I’ve no enemies among dwarfs. All mine are farther south.”
“Your Empire. They tried to get me to join, but I don’t care to call another my master. Between them to the south and the barbarian chiefs to the north, Juutfod is in a bad way. Both would like to claim this tower and my dragons.”
“I don’t care to call anyone my master, either,” the Copper said.
“RuGaard, you won’t. Partnership is what I’m thinking. I know your reputation. I’ve heard you praised by tongues that don’t find words of praise easily. To be honest, I could use a dragon with some leadership experience in the tower. I can put it on paper if that’s your preference. Got a copy of the old Chartered Company articles around here somewhere that I copy from, if your tastes run to laying everything out on a bit of thin rag.”
“I’m as rusty as this wing joint. To tell you the truth, being Tyr was mostly a figurehead position. People listened to me because I was up on a golden perch with bodyguards all around.”
“We could give it a try for a while. You might find you like it here. I know there’s dissatisfaction down south. We might get another recruit or two, and I could sure use ’em, if this tower’s to keep free to do our business the way we like.”
This was close enough to perfect that the Copper wondered if it was some kind of trap. Was old Gettel holding some kind of bounty offer from the Empire for his death or capture? Would she take him below, just to have an axe-wielding blighter strike his neck from the shadows?
“I’d like to know more about this tower and what it does,” the Copper said.
She escorted him to a wooden platform large and heavy-timbered enough to support a curled dragon. It could be raised or lowered from a quadruple brace by means of chains and heavy woven cables.
“Counterweight at the other end,” she explained. “This is the fifth version of the lifter. Just six men working a capstan can lift our heaviest dragon to the top. Try to keep to the center—less wear and tear if it’s balanced.”
She reached up and rang a brass bell three times by its pull. There was a pause and then the Copper felt the wood shift beneath his feet. The platform ascended as though by magic. Guide-cables kept it stable.
In the light-filled upper chambers, dragons reclined with viewing slits to the world outside and wide balconies to the central shaft. The Copper guessed she had eight full-grown dragons. There were two drakes and six drakka, a typical ratio. One female, probably ready to lay eggs, had a splendid retreat near the ground floor, with a heavy timbered egg shelf with huge iron-bound beams forming a lattice that protected her yet gave her light, air, and a good look at the activity of the tower.
The wealth and knowledge that went into the construction of the tower astonished him. When he’d seen it years ago, he’d assumed it was some relic still standing from a lost high civilization, but on closer inspection of the walls and timbers it looked as though it had been built in his lifetime. The Copper had had no idea any humans outside Hypatia could achieve something like this, save under the whips of slave-gang organizers such as the Ghioz.
So there was inspiration and mind in the north, as well. Perhaps the barbarians would one day rise to greatness. “How would you like to be known here? You’re welcome to leave your name behind, if you like.”
“I’ve plenty of identifying marks. Still, we might as well confuse the issue.”
“Some of the dragons take names in the local tongue. ‘Broadwing’ and all that. It’s more friendly to human mouths.”