AuRon could not delay, not for a dwarf-hour. “I have a friend in danger.”
“I’ll show you the way out from the gardens. We shall simply fly from there.”
He brushed Wistala’s snout—how like Mother she looked, though not as thunderous in size. Or was she? He tried to imagine her from a hatchling’s perspective, as she stood there sniffing at the wounds he’d inflicted, but it made his hearts hurt.
With that, he left.
The Copper sent one of the Drakwatch messengers to fetch Rayg. He had that young Firemaiden, Takea, tend to Nilrasha’s wounds while Ayafeeia looked at his sister. No one had serious injuries, and scale would grow back.
He felt, if anything, exalted. He’d triumphed, at last, over his brother, the Gray Rat. AuRon seemed in a hurry to leave, and he would like nothing better than to see the tail of him.
The assembly had been a parade of horrors. First, DharSii’s speech had put the fat pot on the boil. A low murmur started in the back and didn’t cease until DharSii left. Dragons, even soothed by burning oliban, could be mercurial. He’d felt his rule creep more than once to the edge of a precipice as the three visitors spoke.
Names had come up that hadn’t been heard on Imperial Rock in years: DharSii, NiVom, ImFamnia . . . there were still factions who thought NiVom, his old comrade in the Drakwatch, a superior dragon, and there was nothing like absence to let a memory grow up into a legend.
About legends—he’d once been told that there’d been talk of DharSii becoming Tyr. He’d won a terrible battle that saved some Upholds and brought them the cattle from the east and south and opened up the oliban trade. NiVom himself had apparently been selected to succeed Tyr FeHazathant, before being driven away by false—or were they?—charges.
The Imperial Line and the leaders of the principal hills had given him the title Tyr. If they chose to quit obeying him and support another, could he count on the Aerial Host, or the Drakwatch, or the Firemaids?
His rule had been mixed in accomplishments of late. They’d won the war against the demen, but at a cost in blood from drakes and drakka, dragons and dragonelles. The benefits would not be felt for some time, as more and more trade moved through the Lower World without being raided. Then there was the matter of the blighted kern.
Without kern, illness was on its way. How many dragons, seeing their hatchlings sicken or grow twisted and stunted and weak of tooth and claw, would blame him?
Suppose they decided his reign brought more trouble than promise? Every dragon made Tyr had died with the title.
Rayg, moving with the discretion of a human in a chamber full of restive dragons, spoke briefly with the Copper and then picked up the crystal and its chain and wrapped it in a piece of soft leather.
“I’m no wizard, my Tyr.”
“I’m not expecting wizardry. For now, keep it somewhere deep and dark and just observe. The Queen of the Ghioz is using it—she sees and hears through it, I believe.”
“Sees,” Rayg said. “Hears. You are sure of this?”
“Speaks as well. She took control of a dragon. She responded to our conversation. I don’t think she’s hiding among the griffaran. It must have been through the crystal.”
“It still must be a trick of some kind, or some form of special suggestion or training. Perhaps she manipulated that dragon’s mind. I’ve heard of such things.”
“Don’t let the Anklenes have it unless I approve. I don’t want another spy or assassin wandering the Lavadome. And above all, don’t put it on yourself. The last thing I want is your mind overthrown.”
“I shouldn’t care for the experience either. Don’t worry. I’ll treat it like hot metal.”
Rayg departed with his wrapped, deadly treasure. The Copper made a private note to keep a bat on him and watch for strange behavior.
With that, he turned back to the assembly, who were all speaking again. He heard DharSii and NiVom mentioned more than once in the chatter.
“So, Ghioz has sent us an offer,” he said.
“They do seem to want peace,” LaDibar said, speaking for the first time.
“Pieces, more like,” HeBellereth, leader of the Aerial Host, said. “Pieces of our Empire.”
LaDibar ignored the interruption. “But they offer a peace in which they would hold every advantage. They can survive without the Lower World. We will starve without the Upper.”
That met with a growl of assent from the assembly.
The Copper was relieved to hear LaDibar talking sense for a change.
“If the peace is questionable, what of the alternative?” the Copper asked. “Is the threat credible?”
“Ghioz has raided our coasts,” HeBellereth said. “Stolen our property. They’ve fortified their piece of Bant. And then there are those cursed birds. They’re like griffaran, faster-flying and quicker-turning than dragon, and our fire is almost useless. They simply rise out of the way, they can climb faster than a dragon.”
“They carried off thralls from my cousin’s estate in Komod,” one of the Wyrr leaders said.
At this the Copper wished Sreeksrack present. He’d enjoy his reaction to the idea that another headhunter might carry off thralls to which he was entitled.
“I have more recent reports from Anaea,” the Copper said. “Great birds, which must have come from Ghioz, have been seen over the kern fields in the mists and dark. They do not fly all the way there to take the scenery, I think.”
At this there was more grumbling.
“I was not aware of this,” LaDibar said. “Did the Upholder send a new report?”
“I have sources of my own there.”
“Can you trust the observation of one of those bats?” LaDibar asked, making the logical leap.
“I’m convinced that Ghioz put a blight on our precious kern,” the Copper said, feeling his firebladder pulse at LaDibar’s tone. “I think we can all guess who advised them as to the importance of the kern trade. Those of you whose hills lost hatchlings to the blight have my promise to avenge those deaths.”
He let that sink in a moment, then continued.
“Ghioz has invited its own destruction. If we cannot have kern, we cannot long exist in the Lower World. Perhaps we can get a trickle from the southern provinces, but will that be enough to keep the Lavadome healthy?
“I offer an alternative. We only need kern because we do not see sunlight from year to year, unless our duties call us to the surface. I propose a return to the sunlight.”
At that all gasped.
“The hominids will unite to destroy us,” LaDibar said.
“Yes, they fight among themselves now, but let them know of our existence . . .” an elderly Firemaid agreed.
“I did not say this would be easy, or without danger. Wistala, you’re familiar with hominids. I’ve been told you spent years in Hypatia. Tell us your judgment.”
His sister stared up at him, wondering for a moment. “One dragon is a curiosity. How they would react to a score of scores, I cannot say. But Hypatia, with a thousand or more years of culture dating back to Anklamere’s time or before, has need of friends if she is to resist the Red Queen. We may find more welcome and gratitude if we but speak to them.”
An excited murmur broke out.
“As equals,” Wistala said.
And the excitement turned to growling. Equals? Hominids? Stupid, short-lived, shortsighted . . .
“Hear her,” the Copper called. “Hear her, now.”
He read new feelings in her expression, he thought. The pity and perhaps contempt had been replaced by something else. He thought it might be respect, but wondered if he flattered himself.
“Certainly, an individual hominid can’t compare to a dragon,” LaDibar said. “But together, they accomplish great things. They’re like ants—they have a form of collective intelligence.”
Wistala raised her head. “Tyr, if we must fight the Ghioz, we would do better to have allies.”
“We would.”
“Hypatia has warriors, men and elves and dwarves and the ships and roads to move them. If they were aided by your—our—dragons, it could mean a new beginning for hominids and dragons.”
“I’m more concerned about an ending,” the Copper said. “An ending to dragons hiding underground. Will you speak for us to Hypatia?” the Copper asked.
“What may I promise them in assistance?”
“At the very least a few of your Firemaids. Much will depend on the Red Queen’s moves.”
“If we return to the surface, who will have the Lavadome?” CoTathanagar asked. “Will there be more than one Tyr? Who shall rule the individual hills?”
“I am not saying abandon the Lower World. We will keep the Lavadome a cradle for dragonkind. Perhaps newly mated dragons will return here always, to lay in peace and safety.” The Copper’s emotions had given him a tongue for words. Might as well use it to talk of a happy future instead of one of battle and sacrifice. “Years from now we will bring our hatchlings and they will hear the story of how we rose anew out of terror, out of murder, out of persecution.