His painted neighbor did keep her messengers busy.
AuRon didn’t know of that many pressing issues. Istach was settling into the ceremonial duties of a dragon-Protector, supervising winter feasts and exhibitions of babies and newly matured male warriors and so on. The only thing his offspring had asked him about in her brief reign was a request by some Hypatian mapmakers to survey the mountains—evidently Old Uldam was nearly unknown to them—and a request from some Hypatian librarians to inspect what little was left of NooMoahk’s old collection of books and scrolls. She’d never mentioned any difficulty with Ghioz.
Imfamnia probably had some bauble or other she wanted to exhibit in front of Natasatch. Natasatch, both out of politeness and interest, marveled at Imfamnia’s collection of glitter that seemed to serve no other purpose than occupying a few moments putting it on and then taking it off again.
Well, AuRon decided, he’d show Imfamnia. He’d leave his mate behind, or send her to the capital in Hypat or the storehouses of the Chartered Company. A silk-train had set up a market in Dairuss and Naf and Hieba had made them a present of some very fine purple bolts, Natasatch’s favorite color. Dragons had little use for silk, though, and their scale were rough on it, so she’d keep a little for a divider curtain and trade the rest for a bauble or two. Perhaps Hieba would like to try a dragon-saddle once more and advise her on getting the best value.
Imfamnia arranged a meeting in the old woods where AuRon had given Hieba over to a human logging encampment—strange fate had led her to meet Naf that way. Naf had told him privately that when word came of a girl who made dragon noises coming out of the woods he’d suspected he knew the identity of both girl and dragon, and made it his business to visit the encampment in his rounds as a commander to check up on her. Eventually, they’d fallen in love.
There were still loggers at work, here in the well-watered valley between Ghioz and Old Uldam. Game was plentiful and Imfamnia had arranged a selection of fresh frogs, smoked deer, wild boar in a sweet mustard, smoked-fish-stuffed raccoon in garloque, groundhog stewed, and an assortment of birds that were difficult to identify with heads, feathers, and feet removed.
“I do so love eating rough,” Imfamnia said. “I feel quite like one of those back-to-nature dragons when I dine like this.” She swung her head around and poked one of her cooks with a wingtip. “Turn that spit more quickly, there’s my man, and don’t skimp on the cherry sauce.” She sniffed another’s bucket and ladle. “Oh stars, you aren’t using nearly enough onion in this.”
“Roving is such an adventure,” she mused.
Istach, who’d flown the whole way with a side of bullock to add to the feast, had had her offering rejected. “Not fit for dogmeat, dearest. Never worry, I’ll teach you how to hang beef properly.”
AuRon hadn’t brought anything at all. He was hoping there wouldn’t be feasting, so he could plead hunger and the need to hunt to shorten the meeting.
“Where’s NiVom?”
“Oh, he’s off in Bant, settling things there again. Bant, Bant, Bant, always trouble in Bant. Tribal blighters see a tree struck by lightning and decide the omens are right to start raiding our salt trains again.”
The trio ate. Imfamnia snuck in one of the loggers’ spits and a copper platter holding barbecued pork, each time trilling out an oops: “I’m such a metal hog. AuRon, you’re so lucky not to have scale. Istach, doesn’t it drive you absolutely mad, the smell of hot iron? I’d swallowed it before I knew what I was doing. Ah well, they won’t miss it. Istach, have some more of that spiced wine, it’s a favorite of mine.”
AuRon, knowing how scarce smithies were in the frontier, rather suspected they would miss it. Istach politely tongued the offered wine.
There wasn’t much to discuss. There was talk of whether to build a road between Ghioz and Old Uldam, and then a second between Old Uldam and Dairuss, or whether to use the existing rivers which would be longer and slower and seasonably unreliable without an equal amount of work put into dams and portage stations. AuRon was at least suspecting that there’d been some kind of bloodshed between men and blighter that had to be resolved, but apparently there was nothing but the usual complaints of thievery that the dragons couldn’t resolve without keeping track of every lamb and loom in their lands.
Istach yawned, being still a young dragon and having flown far with a burden of bullock, and Imfamnia dispatched her to her slumber. She hardly made three dragonlengths into the shelter of a copse before collapsing into deep, regular breaths.
“Ah, to be young again, and just drop off like that,” Imfamnia said.
“A hogshead of wine might have had something to do with that.”
“Oh, yes, I forget how it goes to the head of those who aren’t used to it. I learned all about wines from the old Queen, Tighlia. She was quite the connoisseur.”
AuRon rarely did more than politely coat his tongue with it. It was hard to imagine a more un-dragonish beverage than fermented fruit, but some of his kind were greatly fond of it.
“That was a silly affair with the war we almost had,” Imfamnia said, shortly after they agreed to get some Hypatian and Ghioz surveyors to map out a possible path for the imagined road. “It’s all your brother’s fault, in a way.”
“How is that?” AuRon asked.
“This Grand Alliance of his. It’s not under a firm hand at all. Sii hardly knows what saa is doing, and both are constantly stepping on tail. And the Hypatians!”
“I don’t know many,” AuRon said.
“Well, they’re a demanding lot, I can tell you. Fly this message at once! Don’t dawdle with the return. Can you bring these medicines north, there’s fever in Swampwater Wash and Farmer Pipesuck’s pig is ill. Protectors indeed, we’re errand runners and lost dog finders.”
“Naf just likes to have us show ourselves along the river. Makes the Ironriders think twice about raiding into Dairuss.”
“Well! Perhaps we should trade places.”
“I’ve learned enough hominid tongues in my life. I don’t want to have to learn another.”
“Oh, the Ghioz one isn’t so bad, sort of a cross between Pari and Hypatian. If you know Hypatian, it’s quite easy to learn, I’m told by the Ankelenes, but then I never was a scholar.”
“Well, I should have some water and—”
“AuRon, there was one matter I did want to discuss with you. We get on so famously, I feel like I can trust you. You’re just one of these dragons who inspires trust and sympathy.”
“Thank… you,” AuRon managed, worried at what was coming next.
“How would you like to join a little conspiracy?”
“Conspiracy?”
“You’re not usually so slow. Yes, a little conspiracy. You must know that when it comes to the ruling of the Lavadome, there are plenty of traditions and practices for obeying one’s Tyr, doing this or that properly and in style. But one area that’s sorely lacking—and we’ve suffered for it—is that there’s no set tradition for succession.”
“Birth is no good. Many a great dragon has fathered unadmirable offspring. Every time a Tyr dies we can’t have all these battles and uncertainties and torments, you know.”
“I’ve little experience in the Lavadome, and what I had I didn’t much enjoy,” AuRon said.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, it’s very much home to me even if I’m a coinless exile through circumstances beyond my poor powers.”
“Yes, well, that’s in the past,” AuRon said, not wanting to hear again her litany of “nothing was my fault” miseries.
“Of course. I hope someday to redeem myself to the dragons of the Lavadome. I’m not entirely without merit, if I apply myself I’m sure I can one day redeem my name and rejoin society.”
“Yes, well, I’ve never been much for society—”
“Wait, AuRon, don’t you want to hear my idea for improvement to the Grand Alliance?”
“I’m all in favor of improvements.”
“Well, to be perfectly honest, things aren’t going as well as they might under your brother. Yes, the wars are over and the Lavadome is at peace, but most of us expected rather more from the Grand Alliance. We barely see more gold than we did back in the days when we were furtively holding on to a few upholds. Your brother isn’t doing a good enough job supervising his ‘Protectors.’ Dragons are a greedy bunch, and that NoSohoth of his is one of the greediest. The Protectors are keeping all that surface wealth for themselves, when they should be seeing to it that it’s brought down to the Lavadome. I mean, there are hatchlings forced to eat iron ores just to keep scale on.”
“So, what are you suggesting?”
Imfamnia said, “No harm to your brother! (Unless, of course, you’d prefer some harm to come to him—but I think a little humiliation would quite suffice; he’s a dragon who’s already risen far beyond the station he deserves and should be taken down a few tailjoints.) We simply wish to have a plan for succession in place, so a new, better Tyr will take over for him.”