“What purpose have they? They’re very hard to command, so it’s not to serve as soldiers of the Empire. Mindless yet cunning murder is all they are capable of. If NiVom and Imfamnia could plan a murder of a score of feasting dragons, what else might they attempt? I’m convinced that one day they’re to be loosed into the Lavadome, when NiVom is finally done with the last of his enemies. When someone has something NiVom wants, they die. I would warn NoSohoth to keep clear of the Lavadome, for I’m sure NiVom wouldn’t mind having his wealth.”
“What do you want of us?” a dragon called.
“All I want is my mate. The dragonelle I pledged myself to.
The Empire has gone mad, and sooner or later NiVom and Imfamnia will decide she’s an inconvenience who must be destroyed. I must protect her, whatever the risk to myself. Were I killed, she might even be allowed to go free, as there’d be no further use for her.”
DharSii stifled an attempt by CuSarrath to speak. He probably wanted to mention his first mate, Halaflora, who allegedly died with fertilized eggs inside her. Lavadome rumor, based on court gossip, said they were another male’s, but he knew that to be false. Lavadome rumor also said that Nilrasha, his mate, had choked her, for she’d been found standing over the body with poor Halaflora’s blood on her sii. Halaflora had always been sickly and had difficulty eating. The Copper believed Nilrasha’s story that she’d choked on a chicken bone. He had to believe it, or many difficult years in the world had been wasted.
“I intend to rescue her from the rocky tower of her captivity and take her away, on foot, as she can no longer fly any more than I can see out of this eye.”
Wistala looked at the ground at that, he noticed.
The Copper walked up and down the line of the Aerial Host, as he had seen their commanders do before battle. “Then I will depart the Empire, never to return, at least while it exists in this fashion, literally bleeding dragons to death for a single powerful dragon’s purpose. I will take as many dragons as wish to come with me. Whether I will be your Tyr or not in our new home, that’s for you to decide. I don’t particularly want the burdens—I’d much rather act as an occasional adviser to a younger, more vigorous dragon, or a veteran of many lands and many battles such as DharSii.”
That perked them up. Some looked at DharSii with new interest.
“Now, who will join me on this march? I can guarantee, nothing like it has ever happened in the history of dragons. We will go south, through the heart of the Hypatian Empire, seeking neither enmity nor succor, until we stand at the base of the rocky tower that keeps my mate from me. I do not expect the rightness of my cause to shield me, but it will strengthen me to face whatever the fates have in store for us. If I find that they have murdered Nilrasha, a flightless dragon, alone in a remote fastness, held without communication or congress, I will attempt to avenge her. I will not ask any of you to join me for that.
“One final journey, into the Empire and then back out again. We will proclaim, again and again, that we seek nothing but my mate and then the freedom to leave unmolested. Which of you will come with me and DharSii?”
They’re about to jump, AuRon thought to Wistala. They’ll all jump one way or another. Either with us, or on us.
He wished his brother had given him some warning of the nature of the speech. Wistala hadn’t known, either; she’d jumped when the Copper said he was accompanying him on his march.
As he listened, he was shocked to see Varatheela in the group of listeners. She looked well, strong and supple and in condition, with Wistala’s wingspan and his own mother’s long neck and tail.
AuRon did his best to ignore his daughter, tempted as he was to admire her. She hadn’t much cared for him since she’d breathed her first fire and he knew it. If he stared at her, she would never move, or worse, would say something against the Copper’s speech.
“I’ll come with you, my Tyr,” a thin golden dragon said.
That was the first. A malcontent, a dragon who bore a grudge against his fellows.... It proved nothing. It was the second that counted. If two would join the Copper, he might have the rest jumping in.
“You fools! You’ll burn!” CuSarrath snarled.
“All the better,” said the haggard gold dragon who was the first to join the Copper. “Trolls won’t be able to eat us.”
In the end, a majority of the Lights joined their old Tyr. They ended up with seven, all of whom had memories of his time as Tyr. AuRon suspected they’d been moved to sympathy. He felt them go over to his brother when his brother said that the rightness of his cause would not shield him, but it would strengthen him. He wondered just how much of that speech was DharSii and what belonged to his brother. DharSii certainly looked satisfied with the result.
Chapter 14
NiVom startled at the step of the messenger-flier. His firebladder ached as though it had been stabbed, and it took a moment for it to calm down. Anxiety always gave him a sour bladder. The messenger had been the wrong color for his mood. For just a moment, RuGaard stood in front of him. Then he realized it was a gray, serving as messenger for the Light Wing of the Aerial Host. He was standing in their expansive quarters in front of a copper sheet etched with ancient Elvish characters. Imfamnia had found it somewhere among the Red Queen’s possessions years ago and saved it from being shredded and devoured. He really should make a study of Elvish someday. There was a good deal of it lying about in the Red Queen’s old archives and some of it might be very interesting reading. It would be nice to know the words ringing his face every time he looked at it. For all he knew, it was the Red Queen’s final curse on those who would steal her palace.
The Red Queen and Imfamnia shared a fault: vanity.
“My Tyr,” the messenger said, bowing.
No briskness to the bow, no excitement to the step. It must be bad news. Messengers always crackled with energy when delivering good news, even when exhausted after a long flight.
“Refreshment? Food? Wine? Co-comfortable lounger?” he finished awkwardly, realizing he was about to offer a gray coin.
“No, my Tyr. Thank you, my Tyr,” the messenger said.
“Out with it, then.”
“CuSarrath found the former Tyr. He was with his brother, sister, and that renegade DharSii.”
“I take it CuSarrath didn’t bag the lot.”
“No, my Tyr. In fact—”
“Well, he’s a slippery fellow, the old Tyr. We fought together, back when a campaign in the Upper World was a rarity. With Ghioz, over a nothing dustbowl of an uphold. We won, though.”
“Of course you did, my Tyr. But if you don’t mind me saying, you’re mistaken. He didn’t get away. Not exactly. He’s marching south.”
“Into Hypatia? He and what army?”
“That’s just it, my Tyr. Ours. Some of the Lights went over to him.”
CuSarrath! Strong of wing but weak of brain! He should never have allowed the Light Wing its own headquarters; it should have remained attached to the rest of the Host. He’d have the Grand Commander’s head for this—
Back to the matter at hand, NiVom. Matter at hand. He struggled to return his face to the usual calm interest he displayed when dealing with messengers.
“Dare I ask if there’s more?”
“CuSarrath asks for more dragons. All of the Aerial Host, gathered at Hypat. He sends that it is urgent, but the rebels are traveling on foot, so there is time.”
On foot? Why under the stars would they do that? A dragon was ten times as fast in the air. It made no sense.
“Been in the air long, gray?”
“Three days getting here, my Tyr.”
“Very well. You’re relieved. Recover for a day, and report back for duty to the ready post. Before you go, send up a fresh messenger. The fastest they have available.”
When the new messenger arrived, he gave orders to the Grand Commander of the Aerial Host to send as many of the Heavy Wing as he could back to Ghioz. He could suspend operations on the Sunstruck Sea for now.
Waste, waste, and more waste. If they were lucky, they’d lose only supplies. If they weren’t, the supports and auxiliaries with the Aerial Host would be captured. But the political threat must be dealt with, and quickly. If he’d learned anything in his years in the Lavadome, it was that each Tyr lay atop a heap of duties and challenges, an ever-shifting mound of old bones, new enemies, traditions, and, most important, rivals.
A Tyr needed support atop such treacherous ground. He would have to consult Rayg.
The trip to the Lavadome was tiresome. It seemed everyone was still shocked by the massacre at the feast in Ghioz. NiVom dropped a hint or two that it may have been a very deep plot by certain interlopers who once thought they were fit to rule the Lavadome and the Upper World.
Before seeing Rayg, he paid a quick call on Regalia, the titular ruler of the Lavadome. He needed to console her on the loss of her brother. He was enormously satisfied to find her keeping to her quarters and the throne hall empty.
She refused to see him, which worried him for a moment. Maybe he should ask Rayg to fix something else . . . but best to consult with Imfamnia before making such a step. She could become so touchy, even in areas traditionally left to male dragons.
