She let her eyes roll wildly and then flopped over, closing the water-lids over her so that she would look glassy-eyed.
“Oh! Oh! Oh, no,” Lord Lobok said, his hands clasping and unclasping, then gripping elbows tight. “Someone. Ummm. Is it safe to dump water on dragons?”
Wistala rattled her sii and lifted her head. “Nur . . . what am I doing here? Ia, I’m happy for you, Lord Lobok, you live again . . .” She blinked, shook her head. “I beg your pardon, my lord, were you saying something? I seem to have fainted.”
Lobok gestured to his servant, took a quavering gulp of wine from a proffered cup. “You didn’t have another vision, did you?”
“Oh. No, I don’t think so. Hazy, so hazy. My eyes vex me. There’s a mist about you, my lord. It must be the scented candles. Excuse me, I am obliged to fly back to the throne room.”
She left Lord Lobok calling for more wine.
Three days later King Fangbreaker’s throne room was lined with many of the most noble families in the mountains, hearing the report of Field Commander Djosh. Wistala waited for it to be read again in Parl, having begged to know what the message she carried read:
Noble King and Assembled Select and Lordly Dwarves,
I write you to report a most satisfactory outcome to an attempted treachery by Lord Hammar and his barbarians on the two hundred ninetieth of this year. I thank the Fates for the eagle and his feather landed upon Lord Lobok’s door, for were it not for him not a dwarf of this expedition may be returning.
Lord Lobok insisted on our arrays being placed within hearing distance of Galahall, ready to answer a cry for assistance, and I can only marvel at his foresight, inspired, I’m told, by our lucky dragon, who sensed matters amiss.
I am told that during dinner an unusual number of barbarian leaders were present, as the infamous Hammar was building around himself a court of scoundrels. As the servants poured wine for a toast, Hammar gave some sort of code word that he was letting his illegitimate son—I shall not sully the throne room with his coarse discourse—be sold for little more than the song that wooed his mother. At this there was some stirring at the priests’ end of the table and Lord Lobok let out such a shriek of warning that we would have heard it were we camped two vesk away. Lobok drew blade and flung himself sideways behind the table, knocking over a server who was making to bring the cask of wine down on Shieldmaster Dar’s head, Lord Lobok’s bodyservant tells me.
At the calls of alarm and assistance from Lord Lobok I sent my hardhanded dwarves forward and they stormed through the windows of Galahall in good order. The barbarians made some semblance of a fight but clearly intended for the dinner to be a slaughterhouse, not a battle hall, and seemed not much experienced at close quarter fighting under roof and among furniture. Our dwarves, used to such environs, secured the boy with some loss of blood, almost all of it on the part of our opponents, and no loss of the treasure we brought to purchase him, for treachery abrogates any deal. I hope the throne will approve.
Barbarian cavalry, long prepared to finish off the villainy indoors, made an effort to harry our retreat, but our catafoua made them fall back with loss.
Wistala smiled, for she’d had Lessup’s mead-deliverers start rumors of warlike preparations in the dwarf camp where they’d just sold their honeyed brew.
I close this dispatch by saying we have lost few dwarves as we retreat in good order for the Ba-drink. I write to you in Lord Lobok’s stead, for he travels with the healing wagons, and is so dosed with medicines after his experiences he is currently unable to write legibly. If you have any orders beyond returning to the Hardhold with our young prize, they will be immediately carried out by
Your faithful Field Commander,
Djosh Scarchin
As the words were read in Parl, the dwarves grumbled and swore all over again, and King Fangbreaker paced before his throne.
“What do you say, Oracle?” a dwarf called.
Fangbreaker glowered. “This is a military matter, Guildmaster Cyoss.”
“Great King, though we would hear the dragon, you must decide, of course,” another called.
Fangbreaker turned to Wistala. “What do you think, Oracle?”
“I have not a military mind. But shouldn’t this sort of treachery be punished?”
The assembled select dwarves growled in agreement.
“I am very tired from my flight, and you all have weighty matters to long discuss,” Wistala said. “May I be excused from council of war?”
“Of course,” Fangbreaker said.
“Three cheers for the lucky dragon!” a dwarf at the back shouted.
Wistala bowed backwards out of the throne room, but she saw the fixed stare in Fangbreaker’s eyes, and trembled.
Lord Lobok’s expedition returned with Rayg in triumph and glory.
It must have been strange to the thin little youth, to be borne across the Ba-drink in a garlanded boat, flanked by lordly dwarves and rowed between Thul’s Hardhold and Tall Rock, under a rain of tiny white mountain flowers—and bits of paper and wax wrapping—thrown from the balconies and the Titan Bridge.
Even as they returned a new expedition set out, under three of the Wheel of Fire’s greatest generals.
Wistala heard from the star-guild that King Fangbreaker had decided to launch a “punitive expedition” into the barbarian lands, to teach the barbarians a real lesson for the treachery at Galahall. They were keeping their exact plans secret, but the star-guild had provided detailed maps of Kark and the Blacklake area, for barbarians from that region had been identified as among the slain around Galahall.
Wistala hung about, asked if she’d be needed to relay messages, and was told that the sight of a dragon in the sky might give away the column’s presence.
When night fell, she flew away from the Wheel of Fire with all the speed she could manage and almost tore her wings off making it to the Green Dragon Inn. There she dictated a letter to be given to Hammar, and a much longer one to be sent to Ragwrist.
Lord Hammar,
You and I have had our differences in the past, but the enemies of my blood, the dwarves of the Wheel of Fire, are marching on Blacklake and Kark, intent on destruction and murder. Whether you tell your barbarian allies to move their women and children away from those areas or plan an ambush is entirely up to you.
A Daughter of Hypatia
Jessup looked at the note after he finished writing it in his chicken-run hand. Wistala pressed her librarian medallion into some very ordinary red wax he helpfully dribbled at the bottom.
“This is a dangerous game you are playing, Wistala.”
She stretched her aching wings and back muscle. “It’s no game, I assure you, and the stakes are beyond anything that can be placed on a table or dice-rug.”
“Mod Lada would like news of her son, if you have any. She saw him seized up from table after that treacherous dwarf-lord started attacking the wine stewards and signaled his ambush.”
Wistala told what she’d heard from the astronomers’ guild: “I have not spoken to Rayg, but I am told he’s been apprenticed to the Guild of Inventors. Evidently he showed some intelligence in the Hall of Inventions as he passed through it, and recognized some piece of artifice and its use, which much impressed the keepers there. It is a high honor, only the brightest dwarves gain an apprenticeship in that guild. I can assure her those dwarves are the best-treated of the Wheel of Fire.”
Jessup pulled back a lock of his remaining hair. “It is a strange road we’ve traveled since that day we buried Avalanche.”
“And there are still more trolls to slay.”
“I’ll let you deal with the trolls. I’ll keep my inn and tell your story to anyone who asks about the sign.”
“May it not have an end for a long time,” Wistala said.
Jessup reached up, tickled her under the chin. “I’ve always wanted to do that. I never tire of looking at you, Wistala. There’s something about dragons. All power and dread symmetry.”
“I must be off. I have much more flying to do, yes, all the way to the Imperial Library at Thallia. I hope they don’t panic and think I’ve come to burn it. I need to speak to a librarian.”
“What will you do there?”
“Learn about dams.”
Chapter 27
When Wistala returned to her tower a score of days later, she found all of the Wheel of Fire were aquiver. The punitive expedition had not sent communication in many days, and not a few wondered at the silence.
She received a most odd note shortly after rising the next day. Yellowteeth hurried to get her minder, who hurried to get his guild-chief, who read the note and sent for the escort Wistala requested.
So it was in the company of the star-guild that she went to meet the Dragonblade on the Titan bridge.
He stood in the center, in his armor but with sword in scabbard and cloak about him, helm hanging from his belt. His broad face was much as she remembered it, perhaps a little wearier.
“I’ve long been curious to meet this Oracle dragon for some time now, but was occupied on the other side of the Inland Ocean.” For some reason Wistala was relieved. As soon as he said occupied on the other side, she feared a mention of the Sadda-Vale.
