Dragon Strike

Takea lay behind, an arrow through her throat.

Wistala went to her side.

“Bats! Some bats here!” Wistala called.

“It doesn’t hurt, Wistala,” Takea whispered. Wistala put her head close to the drakka to better hear her words. “I can feel the wound. It is bad, isn’t it? But it doesn’t hurt. Strange.” She still wore the brown beak on her head. Wistala thought the horn-lines in it made it look like an agate.

“We’ll get that shaft out and close you up. You’ll sit the rest of this fight out.”

Takea tapped her tail. Wistala heard her hearts fluttering. “Sister, do not lie to me. I can feel my hearts slowing. We loosed HaVok himself on them, didn’t we?”

“For a while,” Wistala said. She’d failed. She’d failed her sisters in the Firemaids, all for a stupid hatchling’s fancy-dream.

“I would have opened my wings next year. I wonder if some male would have wanted me, with the glory of a fight like this to my name.”

“I expect so,” Wistala said.

She removed something from deep in the pocket of flesh behind her ear. It was the rabbit’s foot. “Tell Zathan—I must break my promise to him. Return . . .” She began to pant.

Wistala, half choking and blinking tears, looped the little ring on her wing-spur.

Takea’s voice grew quiet and clear. “Pity the humans never showed up. It’s a good idea you have, though, Wistala. I mean, why couldn’t we share white cities in the sun. Dragons would even make fine thanes, I expect. We could see brigand camps from miles off and keep the roads safe. Dragons could even—”

Her head lolled and her body seemed to shrink, save for the swelling wing-cases.

The Drakwatch pried Paskinix, with some difficulty, out of his hole. He, of course, had a hidden exit, but the bats had discovered it and an expert blighter thrall-netter waited where the bolt-hole joined river-tunnel.

Paskinix showed admirable dignity as they brought him before the Copper in the empty assembly hall. He was so gaunt the Copper wondered if a soft tail-tap would pass right through him. The horny plates of his self-grown armor looked oversized, some old trophy of a ancestral deman worn in tribute, perhaps.

The Copper ordered food to be brought. Paskinix, sensibly, did not even make a pretense of refusing. Instead, he opened that strange swinging deman jaw and began to stuff himself.

“Not too much, or you’ll make yourself sick,” the Copper said, by way of starting.

“My last meal, I suppose, now that you’ve holed me at last,” Paskinix said. “May as well enjoy it.”

“I am ready to make peace if you are,” the Copper said.

“Peace? With what? My people are destroyed.”

“This old war is not my fault. It was going on when I came here.”

Paskinix swished out his mandibles and spat on the floor. “We have claim to the Lavadome too, dragon-king. It was here the sun-shard fell to earth, and it was here the first demen recovered it at the dawning of thought. Only the Eternals are older than ourselves.”

“All the more reason to share its control. I propose to give you a voice in the Lavadome, my old friend.”

“Our people have shown a curious brand of friendship.”

“We’ve forged a history. We’ve learned to respect each other. Out of that respect, cooperation can bloom. I have some lovely gardens here atop the rock, and the blueblooms are bigger than ever since I put them on that mix of bat-dropping and dried cow dung. I could show you the old pools one of my predecessors put in, a very fine set of caves, and I know you like things warm and moist and comfortable. Perhaps you could move your household there temporarily while we work out an understanding?”

“I am . . . suspicious.”

“Of course.”

“You hold every advantage. Were I to have conquered the Lavadome the way you had the Star Tunnel, I would not be inviting you to the most comfortable cavern off the Wisterfall.”

“You’ve played so many tricks yourself you expect them in others. I have spoken honestly to you. If I have been generous, it is because I wish your help as an ally.”

“Ally? All my warriors together would hardly be a match for a pair of your dragons.”

“Ah, but you count your experience in the Lower World cheap. I am engaged in a war on the surface.”

“Then I wish you fortune. The Red Queen burned out our sun-mines on the surface years ago.”

The Copper wondered what a sun-mine was but decided not to ask.

“Would you care to play one last trick? Strike one more blow against your surface enemy?”

“Perhaps.”

“If I wished to reach the lands of Ghioz in secret, could I do it with dragons? I have examined the maps of the Norflow. It seems to me it runs right under Ghioz lands.”

Paskinix shut his eyes in thought.

“It does. It does at that. But why not fly?”

“My dragons cannot get near her capital because of those roc patrols,” the Copper said. Paskinix clucked in confusion. “Great birds, bigger than our griffaran. They can outfly and outfight dragons in the air. She would have two days’ warning, at least. If I could cut that down to two hours—”

“Getting there is not the problem. Reaching the surface is. But if I had a dragon or two instead of just my warriors—”

“You might get your sun-mines back.”

“I could refuse.”

“Gigrix could just as easily lead your people. I’ve consulted him on the matter already, and he is drawing us a map.”

“Then why not just kill me?”

“You fought the Firemaids and the Aerial Host to a standstill for years, with numbers less than a quarter of what we believed you to have, if the talks with your general have led the Anklenes to the correct conclusion. I would be mad to kill such a resourceful warrior.”

“Tyr RuGaard—your dragons said you were unlike any Tyr since FeHazathant. I am beginning to understand their opinion.”

“Thank you. But I warn you, praise in the Lavadome often comes before the bite.”

“My Tyr, I saw many deman skulls about the entrance to your fine towering rock. I’ve no wish to see mine displayed in a place of prominence, especially with such a meal as you’ve fed me dissolving so pleasantly within.” He belched. “My compliments to your cook. It’s been long since I ate flesh flavored with anything but the tears of the meal’s friends and family.”

Chapter 21

The courier dragonelle’s arrival on the Isle of Ice set all the dragons to talking and arguing. Yefkoa spoke of a time of decision for the dragons.

And of their Tyr, a prophet who would lead them all into the bright sun of a new age.

For such a young dragonelle, she spoke well, fearless in the face of strangers.

War in the south—a lost kingdom of dragons—Ironriders on stout horses with big, hearty livers—dragonelles and drakka dying in battle.

The population of the Isle of Ice was mostly female, and their sympathies naturally ran to the dragonelles fighting for their lives. She painted pictures with her words and the dragons began to stamp and roar in agreement.

Save for AuRon. Wistala had joined with the Copper and had flown herself into this scrape. She would have to fly herself out.

“Is the isle flying to the aid of the dragons, Father?” Varatheela asked, her hindquarters dancing.

“Did I ever tell you how I came to be in that cargo hold?” Natasatch asked AuRon.

“Not willingly. I asked you once about it, I recall. You said you were captured while hunting.”

“That was true—after a fashion.”

“Tell me,” AuRon said.

“I was a few weeks from my first trip aboveground,” she said, toying with a dry shard of one of their hatchlings’ eggs she’d kept as a piece of memory.

“We did not have a large cave, but there was a long tunnel leading to the surface. I liked to explore the tunnel, at least the dragonlength or two near the mouth of the egg-cave. To me, that was like going aboveground. I was exploring, when suddenly I saw a pair of legs walking past me.

“Before I knew it I had a sword-point before my eye. The elf offered me a choice, speaking Drakine. Silence or death. I was at the high end of the egg-cave. My voice would have carried had I screamed. The family might have been saved. I tried to scream. I decided on it. But the sound never came. I was frozen. I bought my own life with their death.”

“That elf—was it the one from the boat? Hazeleye?”

“No. A friend of hers.”

“They made you a captive.”

“Yes. Less than I deserved. I’ve carried this with me, told myself I was young and frightened. Deep down, I know I chose myself over my parents.”

They regarded each other in silence.

“AuRon, I don’t think dragons can survive by isolation and hiding. It just gives our enemies more time to increase and organize.”

“We will organize too.”

“We can’t even keep our flocks intact,” Natasatch said.

“That’s not important. If we were threatened—We’d make this place a name of dread and terror. Boats burn easily. I’ve seen it.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">