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“You weren’t at the raid on his nest cave,” Hazeleye said. “I was. AuRon, war has come out of the north; its source is the very island and the very man you were destined for when we were on the ship. It is not a war of territory, of conquest, of loot, of pride, of women, of any of the reasons that take sword from sheath and fill the sky with arrows. It is a war of death. Barbarians come from the misty north only to kill and supplant. There are no slaves taken, no prisoners exchanged, no children spared unless they are human. It is a race war, pitting man against elf and dwarf. Blighters fight as allies of the men, for now at least, but I’ve read tomes of the Wizard of the Isle of Ice. He means to clean the earth of them, as well.”
“This is the Wyrmmaster?” AuRon asked. “The wizard within the circle of man?”
“Where did you hear this?” Hazeleye asked.
“From blighters preparing for war.”
“He doesn’t seek power for himself, but for his kind. Even men who oppose him are counted his enemy and murdered. He wishes to usher in an age of men, to fulfill what he calls Man’s First Destiny. I’ve heard weary hours of it, and have no wish to belabor you.”
“Hominids killing each other off, even in race war, is nothing new. I know your history.”
Hischhein shook his head. “This is not a kingdom or two. This is war on a scale never before seen. From the rolling ocean to the west to the myriad isles of the east, he means to clear the land for the sons and daughters of men. Elves, dwarves, blighters, and yes, I believe even dragons are to be swept away.”
“I thought he used dragons.”
“He does,” Hazeleye said. “As slaves. As warhorses. The dragons he has have no more free will than . . . than . . .”
Than an exploding pig? AuRon thought to himself.
“. . . than a hawk trained to bring down a duck.” Hazeleye finished, then added in Elvish. “And I’m the cause of it all.”
AuRon met her gaze, trying to read further in her eye.
“What’s that?” Hischhein asked.
“A curse,” Hazeleye said.
“He’s ordered them to do more than hunt, AuRon,” Naf said. “They wreck cities, devour and scatter herds, pull down bridges, sink boats—”
“I’ve seen it firsthand, Naf,” Hazeleye said. “AuRon, I gave up hunting dragons after that last trip. The ship docked and offloaded the other two hatchlings. Some of the Iceislers gave me a tough time for losing you. If they had known I’d loosed you, there’s no telling what they would have done. Even the lowliest dockhand muttered about ‘elvish indolence’ loudly enough for me to hear. One of the beastmasters raised his hand to me, if you can believe it. I gave him the toe of my boot where he won’t soon forget it, and I bit another’s earlobe off.” She clicked her teeth together for emphasis.
“I set to training hunting dogs and falcons. I’d had enough roaming, so I settled in Krakenoor, city of the bluewater elves and of my youth, and it’s approaches are thick with elves who’ve rooted for their Last Age to be near it. Krakenoor’s older than any land of men. ’Twas a beautiful old place; there was the Wetside built so it floated out on the Inland Ocean, and the Dryside.”
“I’ve read of it,” AuRon said.
“You missed your chance to see it, unless torn pilings and fallen walls are of architectural interest. Krakenoor is no more. Alas! for its old boardwalks and water gardens. Perhaps we’d lived in peace too long, with friends to the north and primitives to the south. The dragons came at dawn, two dozen if there was one, flying in from the sea low enough for their wingtips to raise white splashes where they brushed the sea. They tore through the fishing fleet as it was heading out, capsizing the larger boats and knocking the bottoms out of the cockleshells. I had a view. I was out with my osprey on the cliffs above the Dryside, south of the old watchtower. There were dragons larger than you, AuRon, with pairs of men atop neck and haunch, in sort of basket-saddles to either side. Others were your length or smaller, following the great ones, some with riders and some without.
“They divided. A pair of big ones and most of the little ones bore in to the sea-fortress on the Wetside harbor mouth. It has withstood tempests, surf, and war, but never such a storm as this. The timbers were thick with paint, and the firebuckets weren’t enough for dragon-foua. Orange fire, reflecting the rising sun, broke out in a dozen places, but especially near the longbridge connecting the Wetside to the Dryside. Elves who didn’t wish to burn to death leaped into the bay, but were met by wingless drakes.”
Hazeleye shuddered, then went on. “Dryside put up a fight. The elves in the citadel made it to the towers and walls. My own eyes caught Lord Fairwind in the courtyard with his seven-foot bow of yew. I’ve seen him draw it at festivals, the bow cosseted in his right foot as he pulls the string with both hands to his eye while balancing on the other leg. He can drive a lead-cored arrow deep enough into an oak so the feathers are all that can be seen of the shaft. He put one of his steel-tipped arrows into the neck of a great dragon, bringing it and its riders down in the old wood-chapel. As he ran from the fire of others, I saw another dragon fly in and seize him from behind. It dashed him against the Citadel’s walls.
“I hardly have the heart to tell the rest. I ran and hid among some brush on the far side of the tower, which was pushed over into the sea. Men came in from the sea in longboats with the heads and tails of dragons fore-and-aft. The dragons hunted any elves who tried to flee, and the men came for murder, not for plunder. Even the smallest babes in swaddling clothes were spitted on the broken timbers of the city, before all was set aflame. The dragons attached some sort of iron contraption to the ends of their tails, and began to smash things up. The dragons saw to it that no stone stood upon another. They broke the foundations of the tower with tailswipes and pushed it with elves still screaming inside into the sea.
“The dragons rested in the ruins of the city feasting on their prey, then roared inland. Those who had hurt themselves in battle went afoot, the rest aloft. Death and destruction passed over me time and again until the merest flutter of a crow’s wings put me on my face in the undergrowth.
“I lay there, watching, praying for the sun to hurry across the sky before I was discovered. When darkness came I started east.”
“We know they’ve served the dwarves, and men who will not join them, likewise,” Hischhein said, his face wet with the story of Hazeleye’s grief. “It is always the same. The dragons see to it that there is no rumor of approaching war. They come in sudden fury from the darkness, and the men follow to take advantage of the chaos. Ancient Hypat wears a circlet of burned cities, and it will be the next to fall, I fear. The Wizard of the Isle of Ice has sent an ambassador to my cousin, our queen. He thinks the Dairuss a barbarian people, an opinion perhaps many of the Ghioz shared until this last lesson in true barbarity. The queen plays for time, shows him preparations for war, which are in truth preparations for our defense. Our good cousins in Hypat will find their eastern doors held while we still live.”
“The queen’s first duty is to her people,” Naf said. “She could spare her land much grief by becoming an ally of this far-off wizard. The people already complain about the refugees from the other side of the mountains. When they hear that war is coming out of the east, they may force her to choose the wizard’s side.”
Hischhein looked at Naf in blank astonishment. “The Dairuss are ignorant of politics. I am surprised that you, commander of our foremost forces, would even think such thoughts, leave alone give voice to them. Those words, which I will endeavor to forget, could cost you your command.”
AuRon saw that Naf’s eyes were alight with battle. “Hischhein, the Dairuss aren’t as ignorant of the affairs at court as you think. Chamberlains tell stories more interesting than who has a certain green-eyed smoke-dancer brought to his suite at night.”
“How-how-how dare—,” Hischhein sputtered.
Naf lunged. The explosive energy in coiled body flashed out, turning over the furred chairs, and he pushed Hischhein across the low wall and over the edge of the cliff. At the last moment, he grabbed the Ghioz’s ankles.
