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“No, or you would have heard of it from someone other than your mate chatting about her business.”
“Offer her hospitality and show her the best exit to return to her mate or wherever.”
“Unmated. She has friends in Hypatia, it seems. Ayafeeia has some idea of convincing her to become a Firemaid.”
The Copper forgot the unfortunate business of the attack. This dragon had friends in Hypatia?
His adoptive grandfather had always said that he’d been born lucky.
“Hypatia?” the Copper asked.
“Yes, you know, the old—”
“I know where Hypatia is. Strange, we were just speaking of it this morning. My love, I’ve changed my mind. Please ask Ayafeeia to do whatever she can to get this stranger to take up residence here, even if she might not become a Firemaid.”
“She may just wish to return to her home.”
“Maybe we can mate her off to one of the dragons here,” the Copper said. “In any case, visit her when she arrives. If she seems a dragonelle of wit and initiative, and her knowledge of the Upper World profound, hint that the Lavadome may have a high position for her.”
“Certainly, my love.”
“I may just adopt her into the Imperial Line, since we’ve had no luck with hatchlings.”
Nilrasha dipped her nose.
The Copper shifted and put his tail around hers. “One disappointment just makes the rest of my fortune all the sweeter. No life is perfect.”
“Can we trust a stranger, my Tyr?” NoSohoth asked. “If you’re thinking that she might serve as an advisor on the surface, I would like to know her better before coming to trust her.”
“I hope she proves trustworthy. She may lead us back to the surface.”
Chapter 13
AuRon cursed the map he’d been given. The farther he traveled from Ghioz the worse it became. It was clearly the work of a cartographer with poor sense of direction and worse sense of scale. He found landmarks that were supposed to be on the east side of a mountain on the west side, rivers flowing the wrong way, and meadows flourishing where snowcaps were supposed to reside.
He would have blamed it on a careless hominid with a taste for wine with his work, save that some of the landmarks made sense only when viewed from the air, like a lake shaped like a dragon’s sii or a mountain crevice with stunted brush growing in the sheltered crack. Had a dragon advised them, or some roc-rider with altitude-frost fogging his brain?
The map had a mark in the corner, a little design that resembled a cloverleaf with some scrawls within. AuRon decided that when he claimed his reward, he would ask which titleor was responsible for her surveys and pay him a visit. The dwarves of the Chartered Company would never have allowed such sloppy mapwork.
On one of his backtracks over the mountain forests to the south—rugged, tree-filled canyons pierced by needles of stone—a waterfall in three steps was simply not to be found. While searching for it he marked a line of those roc-riders, flying in a V-formation like migrating geese. AuRon counted nine.
Perhaps the fliers knew where the waterfall could be found.
He turned and flew hard to catch up to them. Low clouds dotted the sky and the riders wove in and out of them.
AuRon flew closer and saw that the birds held bodies in their claws—they looked like cow carcasses, but something was wrong with the shapes, both stunted and bloated.>He landed hard, righted himself, and searched the sky.
Long necks projected from the Imperial Rock.
The griffaran dove, claws out, like hawks after a running rabbit. But this prey didn’t run.
“Death to the Tyr, killer of hatchlings!” he shouted.
Then he turned his snout to his shoulder and bit himself just under the sii.
The griffaran struck but he made no effort to resist; he didn’t even cry out as their talons tore flesh from neck and spine.
The Copper drifted over the body. Two more griffaran, attracted by the war-screams of his escort, swooped down from atop Imperial Rock.
