Dragon Strike

“They’ve massed much of their marching army at the passes on the east slopes of the Red Mountains. We couldn’t risk much over-flight of Ghioz itself because of the roc-riders, but there is much river traffic heading up to the Iwensi Gap, heavily laden barges full of grain. That and even more rocs in the south over the Sloai Horsedowns may mean thrust into Hypatia.”



“LaDibar, these rocs, are they fast fliers, or are they more for endurance?” the Copper asked.



“They’re said to be the farthest-flying creatures of the sky over a distance. Griffaran are said to be quicker in a fast flutter, but like dragons they tire after the first sprint.”



“Perhaps Ghioz used them to spread sickness to the Anaean crops,” the Copper said.



“The elves once won a victory in the Age of Wheels by sowing locusts in Old Uldam’s fields,” LaDibar said.



“Anaea is remote and little known,” HeBellereth said, tapping the sculpture of the plateau with his tail-tip. “That plateau cuts them off from all but the strongest climbers.”



“Or fliers.”



“Those hag-riders certainly knew it was important to us,” NoFhyriticus put in. “They attacked Anaea first.”



“Perhaps some of those roc-riders are former dragon-riders,” LaDibar said. “The principles of flight are the same. Same knowledge of winds and safe altitudes, same survival skills . . .”



“The Ghioz seem to be waging a subtle sort of war against us,” the Copper said.



“War! That’s quite an ascent from a few slave-raids,” LaDibar said. Growls of agreement came from the entrance. “Just because we can imagine them poisioning our kern doesn’t make it so.”



“We’ve just had a war, a hard one, against the demen,” NoSohoth said.



The room went silent. The Copper’s decade-long pursuit of a final victory over the demen had wearied the Lavadome. Every hill had suffered losses.



He knew there were whispers. That he was only settling an old score against the race who had wounded him.



“It served its purpose,” the Copper said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “There’ll be no more griffaran eggs stolen now, and we have vast new areas of the Lower World open to traffic. We can use the rivers again without fear, and the Star Tunnel could one day support many dragons.”



“We are short of wholesome kern now, my Tyr,” NoFhyriticus said. “You can’t eat cold, dark, and damp.”



“Still, we have losses to make up,” NoSohoth said. “It doesn’t help that we’ve lost promising hatchlings to the kern-sickness.”



“If it was the Ghioz, the Red Queen picked the perfect time to strike,” HeBellereth said. “Let the Aerial Host go to the islands, Tyr. I’ll burn their slaveships and smash their pens. The winds will be blowing hard in the Sunstruck Sea, they’ll affect those featherweights more than dragons.”



“Perhaps they wish us to do just that,” LaDibar said. “I agree, the Red Queen might know we’re weak now. If we attack her she could rally all Ghioz to the fight.”



“We attack her?” HeBellereth said, stomping his feet so Yellowsand Desert seemed in danger of gaining a few new canyons. “The Ghioz mass in the Horsedowns, stir up trouble in Bant, take slaves from our Upholds, and you speak of us attacking them?”



“Don’t forget the kern poisoning,” the Copper said. “As though we’re rats in some grotty waste-shaft.”



LaDibar stiffened. “That conclusion is utterly unfounded.”



“I have reports of winged birds above Anaea this summer,” the Copper said.



“My Tyr’s information is always very carefully chosen,” LaDibar said. “It always seems to support what my Tyr wants to do. We caught one deman raiding griffaran eggs and suddenly every lost egg is the fault of demen. If the Drakwatch had had trials in logical leaps during your famously long stay in the training caves, your scores would have astounded the Lavadome.”



“I have a scar from an egg-raid and still feel the pain in my firebladder when I grow angry,” the Copper said. “It’s started throbbing again just now, LaDibar.”



“My apologies, Tyr. But nature may have put the blight on the kern. Perhaps some new parasite has found its way to Anaea. Diseased crops are nothing new. Send an Anklene mission to investigate, and we’ll have an answer after observing healthy crops against sick ones for a cycle or two.”



“Years, you mean. We can’t do without kern for years.”



“Who else grows kern?” NoFhyriticus asked. “Perhaps we can trade, somehow, through intermediaries.”



“It is a staple in both Ghioz and Hypatia,” LaDibar said. “Ghioz is closer.”



“Brilliant,” HeBellereth said, banging his forecrest against the star-painted ceiling with a thunk. “We’ll trade dragonscale for kern with the Queen who probably poisoned it in the first place. A few score more dead hatchlings, and then shields and arrowheads made out of dragonscale in the hands of our enemies. Well done, LaDibar!”



“I gave facts. I offered no opinions as to how those facts should be acted on, you Skotl egg-sack.”



“Cry settled!” the Copper snapped. “NoSohoth, remember to ask the plasterers to repair the damages. Let’s have another ladle of oliban on the fire, there! All of you, just be quiet a moment, breathe, and let me think.”



The Copper circled the Upholds. For some reason, he though more clearly when he walked. After two circuits he had an answer, an unusually elegant one, if HeBellereth’s assessment of the Ghioz was correct.



After all, there would be no need of kern if the dragons could return to the surface. Kern, in and of itself, wasn’t necessary, except for dragons who lived long without sunlight.



But he would be laughed out of Imperial Rock if he put such an idea forward. While still in egg, every dragon of the Lavadome was taught that they had to hide from hominid assassins, concealing their strength and egg-caves deep underground.



“What would you all say to an alliance with Hypatia?” the Copper asked.



“An alliance? With a hominid power?” HeBellereth said.



“They’d never keep their word,” NoFhyriticus said. “We’re talking about hominid kings, not dragons. If a hominid ruler keeps a promise from one solstice to another they etch the title faithful on their obelisks.”



“My Tyr,” CoTathanagar said, poking his head in through a hedge of crest and horn. He’d polished his scale to a blue as bright as the sky for the meeting. “I have just the dragon for you for this commission. My cousin CuNiss. His Parl, perfect! And such a diplomat! He knows just when to use sweet words and just when to bite a head off.”



“I hardly think biting the head off some Hypatian noble would help negotiations along,” LaDibar said.



“Oh, not a king or anything, just some ventwipe or whatever wretches important hominids employ to keep their orifices clean. It has a most salubrious effect on the waste-elves of Yellowsand.”



“I shall give it my deepest consideration,” the Copper said, tempted to add, The next time I’m in difficulty at the Tyr’s personal waste-chute and need something ridiculous to ponder.



But it wouldn’t be to advantage to insult CoTathanagar. He had relatives in most of the Upholds and Firemaid posts in the Empire.



“Perhaps we should continue this discourse another time,” the Copper said. The idea of an alliance with a great hominid power like Hypatia needed time to sink in. If he left them talking, they’d resolve on it being impractical, even dangerous.



At a wink from his Tyr, NoSohoth called the meeting closed. Little factions formed between those inside the room and outside as dragons of like mind discussed the matter.



He thought about it all through his meal, eaten alone since Nilrasha still hadn’t returned from her meeting with those Firemaids. His former mate-sister was probably telling war stories.



He went to his gallery, alerted the griffaran, and took wing for a few circuits of the Imperial Rock.



The flight was an easy one. He never dared be too vigorous, since he still didn’t quite trust Rayg’s artificial joint, though it had not failed him since it had been properly installed. Rayg had just put some new rigging in it—some animal’s tendon that blighters used in their bowstrings—and it would be a shame if he—



Later he wondered if it was his bad wing that saved him. He had it slightly closed as he flew, making his other side work harder to give himself the momentum to stay aloft. His instinctive protection of the injured wing caused him, at the first sense of a presence falling from the Imperial Rock, to close the wing, forcing a quick turn-dive.



He heard the sound of teeth snapping shut just behind his head and felt a blow across the back.



A flash of red scale passed. He felt the air of the scaly missile’s passage more than the wing-strike. By the time he turned his head to see what was happening, the two griffaran converged on a smallish dragon.



The dragon made one more attempt to fly at him, lashing hard with sii and flapping through the griffaran, but his eagerness to come to grips with the Copper left him open to the griffaran talons. They tore at his wings and the red tumbled broken-winged to the earth below.