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That was not quite true. AuRon still had a few books, Djer’s ring, and the dwarsaw, secreted in the pouch of skin that held his armored fans.
“After what happened back there, it will be a brave blighter that goes in my cave for a few years. Nothing there matters. I would like to talk to Naf, and there’s a dwarf to whom I owe much that I haven’t seen in years.”
“Dairuss is not a rich land, AuRon. There are terrible tragedies happening on the other side of the mountains, around the Inland Ocean. Naf knows about it more than I; I just know that our land has more and more people coming through the passes every month. They sicken, they starve. The Silver Guard turns away many more, and none can say what happens to them.”
“What do they flee? War? Starvation? Disease?”
“It is dragons, AuRon, a plague of dragons. Naf can tell you more. He’s spoken to many of the elves and dwarves.”
“Dragons? If it is so, I cannot blame them. My kind are hunted wherever they live, from the deepest cave to the highest peak. If you expect me to fight against my own kin, just trying to protect home and clutch—”
“AuRon, I don’t think it’s like that. These dragons are slaves of men, who ride them into battle as the Ironriders do horses. The dragons do the bidding of another, and his orders are harsh.”
“Does he have an signet?”
Hieba rubbed her thighs, thinking. “Yes, I’ve heard tale of a golden circle, with an open-armed man within. Do you know aught of it?”
“Only a piece or two in a long chain of events, at most. Barbarians from the north, a wizard . . . and an old wrong.” He thought of the emblem that had once rested on his snout. “I wonder who knows the full tale?”
“Naf may introduce you to the one. It is she who said we must seek you out.”
Zanakan, the City of the Golden Dome, stood between two long arms of mountain. Old battlements, fallen into ruin, traced the ridges down to a stronger wall and gate below. Wood and stone stood in the gaps of older, greater battlements like scarecrows standing where soldiers should be. It was a strange sort of city, AuRon thought as he circled above it. More people lived outside the walls than within, judging from the occupied shacks and tended cooking fires. A broad loop of the Falnges writhed between the sheep-covered hills to the city’s gates. A stone wharf and wooden piers covered a length of riverfront that rivaled the great ports below the falls, but AuRon could discern little activity at the river. There were many boats, but sails had been converted to tentage, and lines that should have held up masts tied boat to boat or pier.
Alarm horns blew from the steps of the Golden Dome, a star-shaped structure with six points radiating from the dome-covering. This landmark, a legacy of Tindairuss, gave the city its fame and name.
“Don’t go any lower,” Hieba shouted. “Crossbowmen wait in those towers around the dome. Go into the mountains—there’s a watchpost high on the north side. Can you see the trail leading to it?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a ledge big enough for you. Land there.”
AuRon had seen the spot she described—his distance-vision rivaled an eagle’s,—but there was no need to boast to a weak-eyed human.
“Are there men with crossbows there?”
“Yes, but when they see me, they’ll not shoot. The scouts of the Silver Guard call Highhold home. They know me.”
AuRon still made a fast pass over the stone stairs of the tiny castle clinging to the side of the mountain like a barnacle on a breakwater. No stinging arrows rose, and he turned and made a slower pass below the arrow slits set in the side of the structure, giving the watchers a good view of Hieba. He saw a landing spot before a door in the side of the castle. The men had planted a flower garden on their doorstep with dirt hauled from below. AuRon did his best to land without crushing the blooms, but his hind leg still inadvertently stomped a row of flowering ferns.
Faces appeared at the windows, and an iron-banded door opened.
“By the hair of a she-elf, she did it,” a man called to his fellows within.
AuRon felt Hieba sag upon his back. She climbed off his back and fell to her knees. She kissed the gray-green stones of the mountain and looked up at the Sun.
“Thank you, blessed life-giver,” she said.
Men streamed from the fort until fourteen stood in the courtyard. Two more remained at their stations on the battlements, looking out at the mountain pass to the north and plains to the east.
“Beyond our hopes! Hieba, little darkling, you’ve come back,” a man said. He was as craggy and pocked as the mountain, and topped by the same white crown.
Hieba flew to him. “Evfan, you old condor, you haven’t drawn your allotment yet? Worried that the valley air will kill you?”
Evfan planted a kiss on her forehead. “It’s quieter up here nowadays. We’ve missed you, and so has the commander. My heart stopped for a moment when I saw the wings come up out of the east. I thought it was our turn.”
“Has the war come that close?”
“They burned out Enderad and Ilslis on the other side of the Paired Passes. What’s left of the Apatian elves are scattered in the valleys or outside these walls.”
