Dragon Rule (Age of Fire #5)

“Are you worried about the dragons?” AuRon asked.

“Oh, they send smooth talkers over, to tell us all the advantages of joining your Tyr’s ‘Grand Alliance.’ Safety”—he spat. “Security”—he spat again. “Order psht! Those words go like chains about the wrist. Only they’re worse; you can’t see the manacles until they’ve bound you hand and foot like a pig to slaughter.”

If Naf went on much longer about his brother’s Dragon Empire his shepherds below might think it raining.

“I know what will happen,” Naf said. “The Hypatians will create some pretext to reclaim us, and we won’t dare resist with dozens of dragons ready to sweep over our poor lands.”

AuRon knew what it was like to be the weakest of a team of rivals. He’d always thought that the more the hominids fought each other, the better off dragons were—fewer two-legged warriors to go after his kind.

Hard to think of a good-hearted fellow like Naf being ground up in a war, though.

“It’s a good land, AuRon. The elven refugees have settled and set up craft houses and theaters and schools and hospitals. We have dwarfs coming to and fro from the Diadem, setting up mines and wells and trading posts. You ever tried dwarf-drink, AuRon? Most refreshing, like beer that doesn’t give you a headache, just the burps. We even have some Ghioz who don’t care for their new Dragon Lords setting up households, and say what you want about the Ghioz, they know how to organize and smooth and build. They’re doing very well as stonemasons and bricklayers. We could be as great a people as we ever were.”

He didn’t like the idea of flinging himself into the rivalries and politics of the Lavadome, but if it would help Naf… He gulped and took the plunge: “I promise you, my friend, if you’ll join the Grand Alliance, with me as your Protector, I’ll do my best to truly protect your lands. My sister, who’s now serving as Queen Consort to the Tyr, she wants the Alliance to benefit both.”

“I’ve met her,” Naf said. “She speaks superbly. But she’s just one voice. For every dragon like her, there’s at least one SoRolatan.”

They traveled over central Dairuss on their way back to the City of the Golden Dome, and Naf had him stop in some marshy country.

“This is a famous holdout of robbers and partisans fighting against our conquerors. Many a king has removed his throne to these swamps.”

AuRon had perfected his swamp-feeding technique in the jungles south of NooMoahk’s old cave. (Ah, if he’d only known about the trouble that crystal could cause—he would never have willed it to the blighters when he quit that old library-cavern.) You simply plunge your jaws into the swamp vegetation, suck up a mouthful of roots, stems, leaves, and petals, then hoist your head high in the air and drain the water down your throat. Any number of fish, frogs, crustaceans, worms, bugs, and leeches would then cascade down your throat. Then you’d simply spit out the greenstuff. Not the most tasty meal—stagnant water always made one’s belches reminiscent of sewage—but it filled one with water that could be quickly processed and the food digested quickly without a jumble of bones and joints clogging the gut.

“A man could get gut-sick on such water,” Naf said.

“I’ve seen hominid innards. It’s a wonder your food makes it through at all. All those bends and turns.”

“The scientists say you need more guts for grains and roots. Thanks to all that we can make it through a hard winter without starving on stored food. They keep for months.”

“So can we. We just get out of the wind, curl up, and sleep and wait for the smell of thaw.”

“No fun in that,” Naf said. “Winter’s a time of beer tapping and storytelling.” He turned sour. “Or it used to be.”

AuRon spat out another mouthful of swamp growth, pretty sure he’d swallowed a couple of turtles this time, something was rattling as it went down his throat. “I thought human kings had the best beer and professional storytellers to keep them entertained.”

“Yes, but I’m always drawn away from my own parties, so the tales and songs are played for others’ benefit. I wish I were just riding with my old Red Guards again, at times. Yes, I was in the Red Queen’s array and war livery, but duty for a soldier is easy and cares can be thrown off at night as you put off your day clothes. Duty as a king—finding it is like reading stars in a fog.”

“Can’t you leave or stop?” AuRon knew what word he was seeking, he’d read it in some dwarfish text or other, but fumbled for the Pari equivalent.

“Abdicate,” Naf said. “It crossed my mind. Hieba and I have discussed it, we considered renouncing the throne to search for Nissa—Lady Desthenae, to use her Ghioz court name. But even if I named my successor, there’s no telling who might be on the throne in a year’s time. We’ve just gained our independence. Dairuss has no traditions to speak of. Whatever I do will become tradition. It’ll be a poor start for my people if their king renounces his throne to go seek a married-off daughter.”

“They must think well of you,” AuRon said. “It’s not everyone who can work up the nerve to face down a dragon.”

“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?”