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“No. You feel like an itch I can’t scratch.”
“You want me to get off?”
“Yes, but don’t. I’ll get used to it. Maybe we should try walking for a while. I don’t want to shrug you off when we’re at the cloudline.”
AuRon started walking, stomping with his legs as he moved. The stomping helped, for some reason.
“This is different from a horse,” Hieba said. “You’re more side-to-side rather than up-and-down. You’re higher than a horse, too.”
AuRon curved his neck to look back at her; she was swinging back and forth as he planted first one foreleg, then the other.
“I’ve seen men riding elephants. They’re higher still, though a full-grown dragon is near that height.”
“How long until you’re that big?”
“If I live, hundreds of years. Dragons grow slowly once their wings are uncased.”
Hieba looked wistful. “Wish I could see that.”
“You saw NooMoahk. He was as big as we get.”
“He was old; he had sort of a sunken-in look. But I didn’t mean any dragon. I meant you. Elves and dwarves live a long time. Sad that humans and blighters don’t. We miss so much.”
AuRon threaded his way through the buildings and over piles of rubble, buildings-on-top-of-buildings to either side leaning over him. The old city’s empty windows looked blankly down on them, as if to say, I remember the mighty kings in their chariots parading this street. You are just wanderers in the graveyard of an empire, insignificant and forgettable.
“Hieba, there’s a philosopher named Awu. He was a dwarf of another time and age, who somehow ended up king of one of the Eastern Realms at the rim of the Typhoon Seas. Back then, the hominids were divided into ‘greater’ and ‘lesser’ races; the elves and dwarves were considered the greater races, the humans and blighters the lesser ones. He said the shorter-lived races would be thriving when the others were gone and just legends. In his mind, the great races think only of themselves, the lesser live and build for their children and grandchildren’s world. He wrote, ‘Each of the Great Race stands on his own, and can rise to the stature of a colossus in the given span of years. Each of the Lesser stands on the shoulders of the last generation. In time, the pyramids of the Lesser will be the taller.’ ”
“Then perhaps my grandchildren—”
“You and Naf have a clutch?”
“No. No, not yet. With matters as they are . . . I’ll explain later.”
They could see the sky, framed by the fanglike hanging towers of Kraglad. “I’m going to open my wings now,” he warned. “Let me know if you feel like you’re losing your grip.” AuRon felt her slender limbs tighten about his neck, just where the collar Djer removed had rested. He felt a tug at his neck. “Owww,” Hieba said.
“Leave the chain alone,” AuRon said. “It’s a dwarsaw, not a halter.”
“I remembered it from long ago. It didn’t look dangerous.”
“Just take my neck.”
He dragon-dashed forward—wings flapping—and rose into the air.
“Heeeeeeee!” Hieba shrieked, in delight this time. AuRon felt her arms go around his neck, but didn’t dare look back; while taking off, he needed to stick his neck out stiffly forward.
He was above the old rooftop gardens of the city, rising for the inverted towers. He dipped one wing a trifle and banked out of the mountain-rending cavern and into the late afternoon sun. Only when he caught an updraft and shot to the cloudline did he risk looking back at Hieba.
She still had her legs tight about his neck; the blood vessels there throbbed under her grip. Her mouth was open, and her shoulder-length hair fluttered in the wind like a black banner. Her skin was flushed from bosom to face, and her white teeth shone against her coppery skin.
“Good?” AuRon asked.
“This is . . . this is . . . this is . . . rapturous!” she shouted.
“Enjoy.”
“Enjoy? Why do you ever land? If I were you, I’d find the tallest mountains in the world and never leave the clouds.”
“You’ve never lived through a storm in the heights. It gets cold. Dragons like it cool and dark, not ice-coated with the wind howling.”
