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AuRon heard chains rattle in the darkness. It took only a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he couldn’t resist calling into the long cavern.
“Wistala, are you in here? Wistala?”
“We’ve none with that name, breeder,” a dragonelle to his near side said, from a narrow ledge cut into the cavern. AuRon saw that this cavern was like a tall tunnel, very long and narrow enough for him to touch one side with his nose and the other with his tail. It was cold and damp, icy cold water trickled everywhere, forming pools in the floor. One dragonelle had her long neck stretched to suck up water from a pool. He saw a cage about her snout, rather like a metal muzzle that he’d seen on savage dogs. The dragonelle could only open her mouth a little. It would be hard for her to eat, and impossible for her to spit fire without hurting herself badly enough so she might die of the burns. AuRon counted eleven dragonelles, well spaced out in long chasmlike cave. Most were asleep.
“What color is he?” AuRon heard faintly, within his mind.
“He’s a gray,” was the answer, a louder mental echo of thoughts directed elsewhere.
Mind-speech! The first he’d heard since mixing with the dragons on this island. He had almost forgotten what it felt like.
“AuRon, is that you?” came across, faint but firm. The words felt familiar.
“Wistala?” AuRon thought back, running toward the source of the mind-speech. Green eyes flickered at him in the darkness, from the perch farthest away from the gate. “Wistala, are you here?”
The dragonelle raised her muzzled head. “You are the gray, that gray from long ago. AuRon son of AuRel, who escaped to drown at sea rather than live in a collar.”
AuRon stopped, smelling the female. She was familiar, but so briefly and so long ago had he known Natasatch that he hardly recognized her.
Chapter 24
AuRon knew her sound, her scent, and her eyes, but the rest of her was changed as much as he. Her scales had turned into the shimmering green sea of a dragonelle’s rather than the duller color of a female hatchling. Her tail and her neck were both long and supple; the slightest movement of either riveted his gaze. He looked at her decorously folded wings and wondered what they would look like spread and aloft in the warm glow of sunshine.
“So you ended up here after all. Of breeding stock, no less,” Natasatch said with her mind.
“I’ll tell you all about it. Let’s go outside,” AuRon thought.
“He doesn’t waste any time, and hardly a bud on his crest,” one of the other dragonelles said dryly.
Natasatch pulled at the collar around her neck with her saa spur. “I’ll listen,” she thought. “If you can get them to take this off.”
AuRon hurried to the Dragonguard. It would be good to have someone to confide in, someone with whom he could curse this mad system. “I’d like to take one up. The one on the far end, Natasatch. Could you unlock her from the wall?”
The guard chuckled behind his visor. “Heh. She see new dragon, try old trick. She’s forget, humans know her. No, you want mate you inside mate. Get used to it. You no want her, she plenty too much trouble.”
“I’ll go to the Wyrmmaster.”
“They his rules.”
AuRon turned, putting as much contempt into the gesture as he could, and returned to the dragonelle cavern. He made the long walk back to Natasatch, ignoring the ribald comments from the other females. A couple of the dragonelles swept droppings off their ledges as he passed, hurling challenges with their cast. He concentrated on the sound of trickling water to keep them out of his mind.
“You’ve tried this before,” AuRon thought.
“Me, and some others.”
AuRon made the short jump up onto the platform beside her. She tried to snap at him, but it just turned into a thump of her muzzle on his crest. She glared at him.
Natasatch’s ledge was wide enough for her to lie on, and there was an alcove cut into the wall where she could sleep if she wished to curl up. Her chain was attached above the little half-cave. She backed into her alcove, still trying to intimidate him with her stare.
“I need to talk to you,” AuRon said, keeping his voice low enough so he could hardly hear himself over the sound of the water on its way to the floor. Using his voice was safer than using his mind: he did not know if all the dragonelles could be trusted. “I’m not here for that, I’m not about to mate in some filthy hole with a bunch of dragonelles watching.”
“Au—”
“Don’t use my name anymore, please. They call me NooShoahk here, so use that if you must. Tell the others you were mistaken about me. But know, I’m not here to breed hatchlings for this wizard.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“As soon as I know, I’ll tell you. I’m casting about, learning my way around.” AuRon lowered his voice to a mere breath of a whisper. “These dragons he’s commanding, they’ve killed friends of mine and many, many others. The Wyrmmaster thinks himself some kind of prophet; he’s on a mission to clear the earth for man. Using dragons.”
