Page 82 of Ale Storm

Yes.

“I like your sister more now than I did two days ago.”

Jildarin issued a grudging harrumph sound. Or maybe that was a throat clearing. He probably had scales in his mouth after grabbing that male dragon by the neck to hurl him about.

She called you a servant and a lowly human, he said.

“Yeah, but I could hear the adoration and respect in her voice.”

I believe she did respect that you faced a dragon and even wounded him. Jildarin sounded pleased by that. Even my mother has observed that you will battle our kind without fear.

Oh, there had been fear, but Rylana kept that thought to herself. “Soon, your whole family will warm up to me.”

It is not necessary that they be warm. Simply that they leave us in peace.

“I’ll agree to that. And I’ll poke any dragons who show up with hostile intent in the nose.” Rylana lifted the lance. It was no longer icy cold, its magic seeming dormant, but it had a well-balanced weight, and she’d seen evidence that it was a fine weapon. How surprising that it had been stuck in the rocks all that time and nobody had stumbled upon it and taken it. She hadn’t even needed a log-inspecting, magic-sniffing hound to find it.

Jildarin glanced back and let out a deep rumble-laugh. Markotisin deserved to die after activating the magic in one of those lances. What a fool.

“Activating the magic?” Rylana asked, though she’d seen what he meant. Before the dragon had breathed fire at the lance, it had appeared inert and permanently embedded in the rocks.

Long ago, with the help of their gods, legendary dwarven smiths made those weapons to defend their nearby mines and encampments from a particularly predatory group of dragons in that era. They enjoyed going out of their way to slay the two-legged beings, especially the dwarves. As you can see, the weapons were made from mithril, which is inherently magical on its own, then enchanted with even more power, power that grows stronger when dragon fire touches it. I believe that is what allowed you to remove it from the rocks where the dwarves embedded it millennia ago. All over that valley rest cairns, each with a lance thrust into it, supposedly marking the graves of fallen dwarven warriors. Were the weapons easy to remove, goblins would have scoured the valley free of its treasures long ago.

“So… I should thank that dragon for trying to incinerate me?”

I thanked him for you.

“You almost broke his neck.”

Yes. For daring to attempt to harm my business partner.

“That was rude.” Rylana bent forward to lay her cheek against his scaled back, wanting to say they were more than business partners now, surely, but it wasn’t as if they’d yet found an opportunity to consummate their relationship. And even if—when—they did, would he admit that they were… mates? By now, she knew that other dragons would never acknowledge her as more than his female servant. And it wasn’t as if they could get married in the human way and have children. That thought saddened her, but she made her tone light and added, “You need me to keep your books.”

I need you for many reasons.

“Like my boobs.” Rylana grinned and sat up, patting his scales.

Those will interest me more when I return to my human form.

“I’ll count on it.”

I sense… Jildarin flapped his wings and adjusted his route. He had been flying straight out of the mountains and west toward Lumi Lake and Tranquility, but he shifted toward the northwest.

“Not any more dragons, I hope.” From the floor of the valley, Rylana hadn’t seen which direction the females had flown. South and back to their preferred warm climate, she hoped.

Dwarven magic.

Jildarin flew over the forested foothills until the Icefang River and main road leading down from the mountains came into view. A wagon train of cargo rolled along, propelled by magic, and numerous passenger carriages and troop-transport conveyances led the way. Near the front rolled an armored carriage far more adorned than the others, with metalwork creating intricate patterns, and were those gems glinting in the afternoon sun?

Uniformed and armed dwarven guards escorted the lead conveyances. Several looked toward the sky, perhaps seeing—or sensing—a dragon flying near.

Despite his many wounds, Jildarin spun and circled. And would that tail swish be considered a sashay? Whatever it was, it wasn’t threatening. The watching dwarves didn’t raise weapons.

I believe that is the conveyance of King Ekton. Almost abruptly, Jildarin went from sashaying to flying swiftly toward the city. The odious female dragons distracted me from my quest to serve superior fare to him.

“That’s the main reason I hate them too,” Rylana said.

There is so little time to prepare now. I hadn’t even solidified my plans for a meal. Do you think he’ll come tonight?