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It was sealed, so he didn’t dare open it. Losing it was out of the question—the harness was well made, and he had been told to bring back the reply. Was he bearing his own death sentence back to the Wyrmmaster?
He only just remembered to call at the Juutfod tower, so preoccupied was he with what he might do to escape the situation. There was another message to bear back to the Isle of Ice, so he added the tube to his bandolier. As he headed out to sea from Juutfod, he paused, circling. It would be safest to just fly back south, tell Naf all he could, and help his friends prepare for the storm gathering as little flags in the mapcase. But that would leave Natasatch and who knows how many eggs in the hands of a murderous madman. He wavered, tilting his wings first south, then northwest. South, northwest . . . south, northwest . . . Naf, Natasatch.
He chose Natasatch.
He decided to deliver the messages immediately upon landing, and wait until the Wyrmmaster had read them to take action. Perhaps Hross assumed that in the intervening years AuRon had fallen in with the Wyrmmaster, and forgotten their old feud.
AuRon landed at the lodge, exhausted from worry and flight, on a final warm afternoon of autumn. A few of the men lounged about the place, enjoying the sunshine’s glow, and they came in to see what news he bore.
The Wyrmmaster took the bandolier with his disarming good humor. “A quick trip, my good friend. In a boat that journey would take weeks, with fair weather.”
“I didn’t want to miss my turn in the breeding cave,” AuRon said, to general guffaws. Even Eliam laughed with the rest.
The Wyrmmaster examined the tubes, and looked at the seals to see which was which. He read the one from Juutfod first.
“They’ve burned another fishing fleet at Rerok Isles,” the Wyrmmaster said. “There’ll be hunger in Hypat this winter, with no traffic in smoked fish up the Falnges.” He opened the second, and read it. He pursed his lips, and read it again.
“Will the men of Maganar stand with us?” Eliam asked. “Or does that ungrateful cur have more friends?”
The Wyrmmaster handed the message to the Dragonblade.
“You can go and rest now, AuRon,” he said.
AuRon shifted his weight and caught himself. “NooShoahk, you mean, Your Supremacy.”
“You mean your name isn’t AuRon? Never has been?”
“I’ve heard the name, yes, but never used it. Why should I? I’m proud of NooMoahk; he fought alongside humans just as I would. No, my name’s not AuRon.”
“There’s a man who says that you are a gray dragon named AuRon, and that you’re a friend of the dwarves.”
“What man? I talked to a woman at Juutfod, and the guard only at night.”
“In Maganar. He wrote a note, asking if I knew your history. Come to think of it, I don’t know much about your origins.”
Members of the Dragonguard gathered, and Eliam stood before the Wyrmmaster, his hand on his sword hilt. AuRon tried to keep his tail still.
“Someone at Maganar said this? It wouldn’t be that elf calling himself Wickman, would it? Tall, thin, spidery looking?”
“There’s an elf in Maganar?” the Wyrmmaster said.
“Perhaps a part elf, but he looked and smelled of it. I thought it strange, but as I was new there—”
The Wyrmmaster rounded on his men. “Who served at the battle with the Wheel of Fire?”
“Me, sir!” a Dragonguard said.
“With Thunderarm, was there a strange man, tall and thin?”
“Yes, sir. Dark as well, and most of the rest were fair. He seemed an odd duck. Stayed out of the battle, but he was older, and none of the woodmen thought aught of it, so neither did we. Name was Wicker or something.”
“Wickman?”
“Yes, sir, I think that’s it.”
The Wyrmmaster turned red. “By the storms, Thunderarm’s held a viper to his bosom. No wonder his mind was poisoned to me. This elf’s had his ear long before this dragon came. That’s how the elves work, my men, since the first man planted his crop and looked to build a cabin in their woods. They plot and they plan and they infiltrate and deceive with honeyed words that hide the taste of hemlock. He’d have me doubt my own messenger, this dragon who’s lost three kingstones of flesh winging my messages as fast as the wind. Someone will be taken to account for this!”
“I’m sorry I didn’t report him to you sir,” the Dragonguard said, visibly worried. “Now that I’m thinking of it, he did bathe a lot. Had books, too.”
