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“Why is dragonscale so valuable to humans?” he asked FeLissarath.
“Jewelry, I’ve heard. Tips of sword scabbards, or holding wooden shields together. In some principality or other on the banks of the Inland Ocean, they use it as currency because it’s impossible to forge, and dangerous to get hold of. Very wealthy hominids will lay it on their roofs to keep off fire. Some of the larger hominid cities suffer terribly from fires, nothing to do with dragons.”
“It might behoove us to have a shortage of it now and then, especially when there’s a particularly large crop of kern. I think we could get more bags in trade for scale.”
“We have good relations with the kern kings, and the values were set long ago.”
“To their advantage. I’ve heard one of the kings now has a stairway decorated with golden dragonscale.”
“He’ll slip and break his neck when it rains.” FeLissarath laughed. “Ah, the follies of humans. They don’t live long enough to really learn what’s important in life. Did I tell you about the bear I got yesterday? Yes, you heard me right, a bear….”
The Copper spent a good deal of time on the western road. Thanks to a bridge collapse at the Tooth Cavern, almost an entire pack-train of kern was lost when inattentive handlers allowed the mules to bunch up on one of the more rickety spans.
They were already making repairs when he arrived to survey the damage—thanks to the bats, he heard about it the same day it happened and left immediately—and a Firemaid was flying back and forth carrying thralls—mostly men, who, if their workmanship wasn’t quite as skilled as that of dwarves, at least labored more willingly—and tools from one end of the break to the other.>Her tail flicked up, but she kept watching the mushrooms. “So you’ve found me. I understand you’re to be mated to the late Tyr’s own granddaughter. Well-done.”
“No, you misunderstood. I refused her.”
She turned and looked at him. “Refused her, or refused Tighlia? That was a foolish thing to do. Such a strong connection to AgGriffopse’s line would be to your advantage.”
“I’m not looking for an advantage, just a chance at what…what my parents had.”
And who took that away? Not Tighlia.
She looked away again, flicked out her tongue, and consumed a black beetle climbing the stones. “I’ve changed my mind about mating. I’m taking vows as a Firemaid.”
“Have they threatened you?”
“No, they’ve not threatened me. I’m a poor drakka from a lowly line. What could they possibly take away that I cherish?” She blinked, and the Copper saw a wetness in her eyes; then she took a cleansing breath. “Our eldest was thrilled to hear me decide to take the vows. Offered me any guard post I wished.”
“No. Come back to Anaea with me. There’s nothing to stop us from mating.”
“Nothing but the fact that I don’t love you. I was just using words, words used by mated dragons for ages, and they worked their magic. But the Skotl clan is on the rise now, and they’ll never let go of Black Rock. I had hopes for you.”
“I thought—”
“I made you think, you mean. Yes, just as Tighlia said. I was after your lineage, your position, not some comedy of a mating.”
“How do you know what Tighlia said?”
She looked uncertain for the first time since he’d come upon her, resting on the wall. “I can guess. She’s a venomer, thanks to that tongue of hers. Go. Mate with that sickly little thing.”
She jumped off the wall and ran, making a retching sound, leaving the Copper feeling as though his body were dissolving, flowing into the rocky soil of the Lavadome.
Nothing to overcome now. The course of his life was set. Perhaps he’d take up hunting.
Their mating was done, and done quickly.
A goodly crowd turned up to watch them leave the Imperial Resort. According to NeStirrath, Halaflora had fond memories attached to her, for she used to ride atop her father as he went from hill to hill. AgGriffopse thought air and travel might improve her weak constitution, and his mate had no interest in leaving the Gardens atop the rock. So she was associated in the dragons’ minds to AgGriffopse more than to Ibidio.
Almost everyone of the Imperial line trooped out behind them, even SiMevolant, who disliked the dirt and rough stones. Thralls walked to either side with pieces of soft cloth at the ends of sticks, wiping dust kicked up by the mating party from his scales.
SiDrakkon led the party, with griff extended and a challenging eye, as though daring any of the spectators to throw dung. Imfamnia skipped next to him. Her wings were bulging against translucent skin and soon it would be her turn.
The party halted twice to let Halaflora catch her breath.
They finally came to the shaft everyone called the Wind Tunnel. Some trick of direction and air density ensured that this short tunnel to the slopes of the plateau always had a howling wind passing through it, equal to an uncomfortable mountain-top in a storm.
It was also called the “death tunnel,” for sometimes escaped thralls tried to climb out of it, or thieves tried to creep in from above. The winds usually snatched them up at some point and hurled them down the shaft. But no one called it the death tunnel today.
