Dragon Strike

Wistala had eyes only for DharSii.



“Have a mouthful of gold, visitor,” Queen Nilrasha said. A few gasped, and the old silver-blue rattled his griff.



“More oliban, there,” NoSohoth said quietly, but Wistala was near enough to overhear. Hearts pounding, she wished he’d shift his great black bulk so she could see better.



DharSii’s horned head dipped and he pecked at the pile of gold at the base of the throne like a bird taking an insect.



“Thank you, Queen.”



Another big, multi-horned blue dragon, griff down and scales bristling, planted his saa in an effort to still a thrashing tail. “How dare such as you—”



“Quiet,” NoSohoth barked.



“Like that scalepainter ever tasted blood and sand in the dueling pit,” the old blue grumbled.



“Uncle, you’re no duelist yourself,” the one called HeBellereth baited.



Why could these fool dragons not still tongues? She had to listen!



“I ask no hospitality, no justice, and seek no duel and will refuse any challenge,” DharSii said.



“We’ve done away with that brutality,” the Tyr said.



“Have you?” DharSii said, looking at the Tyr. “That’s a jump in the right direction.”



“No, dragons have always—” someone protested, and was lost in a general exchange of opinions. Voices rose to an excited crescendo.



Wistala shoved forward as everyone offered an opinion of the visitor. “Tear him to bits!” “No, let’s hear him.” She’d already heard a few whispers from her fellow Firemaids about her broad frame and the length of her tail, but muscle-mass had its uses. “He’s done no wrong!” “Cowards, this is insult!” She forced herself halfway through the press so she could see and hear.



There was something about the way the Tyr held his head. Was it that bad leg he propped himself upon? No, it was the droopy eye, it made him look rather stupid, half-asleep or—



Blood and blaze. The Tyr. It couldn’t be.



“Quiet, you fool dragons,” Nilrasha roared. “Quiet!”



“Thank you,” the Tyr said, not looking at her. His eye locked on Wistala.



Wistala found her reason again. She remembered the last time she’d seen her brother; she’d tried to kill him. She’d given him that injury to his eyelid and face—she almost smiled at the thought. How had he come so far, risen so high? Of course, anyone who would conspire with dwarves to kill his own family would be bound to rise. The ethics of the barbarian kings.



DharSii spoke, as from afar.



“I’m here to deliver a report. I recently passed over the eastern slopes of the Red Mountains near the pass of the Wheel of Fire. I have seen such a mass of men and horseflesh as has not struck earth since the time of Tindairuss. The Ghioz have gathered riders from across the plains and concentrate them in the Red Mountains to the north. I saw boat traffic, barges, all along the great river, though whether this is to aid the supply of the hordes to the north or shift this mass of men and horse to the south I cannot say. I come here with no expectations, and if my old crimes still hang about my name I am ready to answer the charges. I know, I know from being in her counsels, that the Red Queen means to claim the Empire’s upholds as their own.”



“What do you care, renegade?” the old blue called.



“I’ve heard you hire yourself out to the Ghioz Queen,” a battle-scarred red said.



“That’s HeBellereth, captain of the Aerial Host,” Takea said, happy with the better view she had now atop Wistala’s back, clinging to her fringe like a lizard on a leaf.



“The Upper World can tear itself to bits for all I care,” DharSii said. “Perhaps they just mean to ravage Hypatia, but if so they’ve chosen a strange place to gather, for the Wheel of Fire could hold that pass against any number.”



Hypatia! Those old temples, the libraries, the towns full of flower, vine, and tree. Rainfall’s trees, each an old friend. Had DharSii said they were assembling at the old pass guarded by the Wheel of Fire? The Wheel of Fire were no more, thanks to her.



DharSii spoke on: “But Ghioz is assembling such a force as could tear through every Uphold of the Empire. There is one more fact you should be aware of. The Queen has taken dragons other than myself into her service, with more recent knowledge of events in the Lavadome.”



“Who?” Nilrasha asked.



“NiVom the White and ImFamnia,” DharSii said. “I am not in their confidence, but between themselves they speak much of the Lavadome.”



More arguments broke out, debate on whether NiVom had planned to seize the throne or whether the “Jade Queen” and NiVom had been lovers before his flight from accusations of treachery. Takea started to explain, but the Copper quieted his dragons.



“NoSohoth, better send for more oliban,” the Copper said. “Matters grow heated. The griffaran guard will have the first dragon to draw blood, I promise. Double the guard.”



Wistala glanced up at the fearsome-looking birds, perched just above the trophy banners. They wore sharpened metal guards on their claws and beaks.



One of them, missing feathers from tears across his chest and with gaps in the trailing feathers of his wing, screeched. Other griffaran appeared from the shadows behind the Tyr and joined their fellows on the perches, an uncomfortable squeeze by the look at it, facing front and back so each looked at the assembly down the other’s long tailfeathers.



“They tore an assassin to bits the other day,” Takea whispered.



“Have them start on DharSii,” someone called.



“He’s my guest,” Queen Nilrasha said. “Stop that talk. Any dragon who doesn’t recognize the favor he’s done us, or the courage it took, flying far into uncertain welcome, leave and don’t return.”



DharSii gave her a brief bow. Wistala couldn’t see whether he shut his eyes or not.



Wistala thought the praise a little overdone. Perhaps the Queen had sent him to lie to the Lavadome? She eyed Nilrasha, who stared at DharSii hungrily, as though he were a bullock turning on a spit.



DharSii bowed to the Tyr. “What you choose to do with my observation is up to this fine assembly. I’ve done my duty to the cave of my birth and will leave you now. Unless the Tyr would hinder me?”



“Only long enough to thank you. Have another mouthful of gold. You ate but one before. Or have some roast pork. There will be a banquet after this meeting.”



“I didn’t come here for gold. But others may,” DharSii said.



With that he bowed and turned. He glared at the dragons close around, and they parted for him, giving him a path to the door.



He stalked toward the entrance, eyes traveling over the assembly. Most dragons looked away as his gaze fell on them. But one did not.



DharSii froze in front of Wistala.



“You! You live,” he said.



“I was rescued by the Firemaids,” Wistala said. “They brought me here.”



“I . . . I am relieved.”



Takea slid off her back with a thud, righted herself, shaking her head.



“I have oathed myself to the Firemaids,” Wistala said. “To repay my debt.”



“Add impressed to relieved, then,” DharSii said. “I tried to tell you, once, years ago. Not that it would have aided your purpose. The dragons here aren’t much interested in the surface, except as a source of food and slaves.”



“Who does he speak to, there?” Nilrasha asked.



Ayafeeia, who had a longer neck than most, raised her head. “That’s Wistala, here for her presentation.”



“What was that name?” the Tyr asked.



DharSii gave a brief bow and stalked toward the door, as stiff as though someone had plunged a spear into him, Wistala thought. His tail just brushed her across the base of her neck as he passed.



She watched every step, every swing of the neck as he left, but he did not look back.



“What did you say was—” the Tyr asked, but the growl of conversation smothered the rest of his words.



“My name is Wistala,” Wistala said. “Daugter of AuRel and Irelia, granddaughter of AuRye the Red and EmLar the Gray.”



Another babble broke out. “EmLar? Didn’t explore . . .”



She pushed forward in earnest, felt a slight thump as Takea landed on her back again.



“AuRye,” someone murmured. “Weren’t he and his mate in that back-to-nature cult?”



“No. They fled the civil war when Sofol hill was burned out . . .”



“Anklene, wasn’t his mate?”



She stared at her brother. “My Tyr,” she said.



“Welcome to the Lavadome, Firemaid,” her brother replied.



Nilrasha glanced from one to the other, as did Ayafeeia. Wistala couldn’t say whether she enjoyed the moment or loathed it. Her emotions were buffeted as though by a fierce spring thunderstorm.



“Why, look at their snouts and teeth. They might be—” Nilrasha said aloud, but the words ceased as though snapped off like a brittle twig. Wistala felt the mind-speech more than she heard it.