Dragon Avenger

She was making herself miserable and hungry for metals, so much so that the tools hung by the hearth looked tempting. Rainfall had written a letter to the metalsmith’s guild in the coastal town of Sack Harbor asking for a quantity of brass and copper meant for the melting pot but so far only an answer had arrived naming a price. Wait, that Jessup fellow said something about spare shingles. . . .



“Stog, thank you for an honest tale,” she said.



As the night deepened, she wandered the grounds, prowling, really, for the vegetable garden’s fall planting was coming up, and if she was sharp, she might get a raiding rabbit if wind and shadow favored her.



Were she Father, she’d take Stog’s knowledge, every memory, every path, and learn about the Wheel of Fire dwarves and the Dragonblade. There were headless, clawless corpses of her own blood with only her left to mourn. What had those men shouted?



“The Avenger”?



But she was alone and small. Even Father in full fury hadn’t been a match for the dwarves, and she had nothing like his experience in battle.



Then there was her promise.



Even the worst cave has a best spot, Mother would say. She’d found a good spot here at Mossbell. But if the thane claimed Mossbell, there’d be no more clean, quiet cellars and hearth-roasted goats or Widow Lessup’s mutton stew and gravies. Hammar would certainly turn her out—or worse—and if Rainfall sold his estate, would he be able to find a new home with a growing dragon in tow? They’d make a sight on the road: an invalid elf riding muleback, a pregnant girl hardly out of childhood, and a stumpy-legged drakka. Of course, Mother would tell her to improvise.



Curse Hypatia and its laws and courts and judges, robbing a kindly elf of his all. Hammar shaped the law into an ax to cut down a better citizen than he.



Couldn’t the law be used to strike back at Hammar? No. Rainfall understood it better than she; he’d called it hopeless and would sell.



Of course. She hurried back to Mossbell, dragon-dashing when she saw the door and flushing a rabbit.



The household had gone to bed, and she had to draw back his bed curtains and wake him. The room smelled like the hot stones in their grate that warmed the metal plate that supported his bedding.



“Rainfall, I’ve got it,” she said when he left off blinking and rubbing his eyes.



She was disappointed to see the number of leaves left on his pillow as he drew himself up with his new bedrail. “Let’s have a light and hear it, then. For—”



“Never mind.” She spat into the iron plate that caught the wax from his bedcandle. He lit his candle from the flame. “Some great lord would probably give you employ just to do that,” he mused.



“I’ve had an idea about the estate.”



“Let’s hear it, then.”



If she had the right muscles for it, she would be smiling. She tried pulling her griff as high as she could, and felt the corners of her mouth go up. “Sell Mossbell to me! I’d let you live here until the end of your days, without asking for anything. My way of repaying the debt I owe you for saving me.”



Rainfall’s face fell. “Ah. An excellent idea, but it wouldn’t work, I’m afraid.”



“Why not?”



“Wouldn’t be legal. There are actually two objections. You must be a Hypatian Citizen to own Hypatian land. The estate also controls the bridge and road, and only a titled Hypatian may own that.”



“So to own the estate entire, I must be a Hypatian citizen and titled. No other objection?”



“No. I’d once hoped Lada would marry well, but she’s been dishonored beyond any man with a title taking her.”



“Why can’t I become a Hypatian citizen, and titled, then?”



At that Rainfall’s hand gripped the bedrail so hard, his knuckles went bloodless. “By the Guide Divine, you’re right! Why not? Rah-ya, Tala. Rah-ya! I know just how to do it. Rah-yah! What a joke! To my library, I’m sure there’s a precedent of use.”



Chapter 17



ainfall sat in his reception hall with the tablets on his lap. “It’s a sacrifice, but one I’m prepared to make for our sake. Look on the words with me one last time, Wistala.”



The words may have been illustrious, but the reception hall wasn’t much. According to Rainfall, there’d once been a grand set of chairs and trophies in the form of helms, scabbards, and weapons belonging to his grandfather—all long since sold. Only his azure battle sash remained, draped behind the very ordinary chair that sat against the wall opposite the arched door, bereft of the gilding that had once adorned it.



But good light came in through the narrow windows. Yari-Tab protested as she was removed from the sunny ledge in preparation.



“Perhaps you should step into the attendant room, Wistala, until the dwarves have gone. I don’t want to startle our guests.”



Wistala hooked her sii claw in a wall knothole and pulled open the paneled door with a squeak. She closed it again, and found she could see much of the room admirably through the knothole.



“You may show them in now, Yeo Lessup,” Rainfall said.



The lanky boy, in a new suit of clothes and his first pair of attending slippers, raised his eyebrows in surprise at the use of his household title. He gave a little bow as he turned.



“Forstrel,” Rainfall said. “When at court, always finish your bow and then go about your business.”



“Sorry,” he said.



“No need for apologies. Please go about it properly, Yeo Lessup.”



This time the youth bowed and came fully upright before leaving.



Within moments, two dwarves entered the room. They wore riding apparel with long scarves woven into diamond patterns. Their faces were masked behind stiffened leather, with gauze covering their beards. They removed their hats and bowed. The foremost was a little taller and heavier than the one behind, and had golden coins set into his belt.



“Ah, couriers of Chartered Company,” Rainfall said from the humble chair. “I trust the funds sent were adequate for your appearance?”



“Yes, sir,” the foremost answered in easy Parl.



“Well here’s a Hypatian Silver for each of you anyway for being so prompt. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”



The masks turned toward each other.



“The signs of the Diadem are not enough?” the foremost said. “We’ll show you our seals, if you like.”



“No need. It’s simply that I wish to be social.”



“Elgee and my nephew Embee, sir, and honored.”



“May I address you as such?” Rainfall asked.



“Of course, sir.”



“Elgee and Embee, this package and the accompanying letter must arrive at the Imperial Library at Thallia intact. Have you been there?”



“I know Thallia well, sir,” Elgee said.



“It is inherently of no great value, but impossible to replace. There should be no danger beyond the usual minor difficulties that go with travel. I would prefer that you go by land rather than water, for the winter winds are coming, and I should hate to lose it to shipwreck.”



“Some thanedoms welcome dwarves better than—,” the smaller one behind said.



Elgee stamped. “No need for that, lad. Sir, you have the word of couriers of the Diadem that it will arrive.”



“Give it to Heloise. If she no longer lives, give it to whoever holds the Hypatian Archive Table-Head. I expect some tokens in return, and would wish you to convey them back here with the same care.”



“Barring delays in Thallia, you should see our masks again before the moon comes about again. Will you write your price and terms?”



The younger dwarf drew a small case from his cloak. Wistala thought it looked like it held paper. The dwarf worked the box, and a fresh length appeared at the top. He offered a quill and ink to his elder, who wrote upon it. He knelt and presented it to Rainfall.



Rainfall read it. “Prices have gone up since I last used your services.”



“The roads have become treacherous,” Elgee countered.



“This covers all expenses?”



“It does. And the bonding: our coin belts shall be yours if aught is lost.”



“Ah, you no longer negotiate each separately. It is acceptable, then. Shall I sign and seal?”



“A signature is all that is necessary from a Knight of the Hypatian Directory, sir,” Elgee said with a short bow.



Rainfall signed the paper revealed at the top of the box. “Ah, how courtly the tongues of the Diadem remain. You should give lessons to your cousins of the Wheel of Fire.”



“They’d rather burn their beards than listen to—,” the younger said with a hiccupping cough that Wistala guessed to be dwarf laughter.



“Keep your tongue behind mask,” Elgee said. “Forgive my nephew, he’s but—”



Rainfall held up his hand. “No, a jest is not out of place after business is concluded. Will you stay and bed this night?”



“Diadem couriers lose not an hour, once commissioned,” Elgee said. “It is written on our cloak-latch. We ride at once. Thank you for your business—and the hot sup. There remains only the portion to be paid.”