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“Uncle, you’re no duelist yourself,” the one called HeBellereth baited.
Why could these fool dragons not still tongues? She had to listen!
“I ask no hospitality, no justice, and seek no duel and will refuse any challenge,” DharSii said.
“We’ve done away with that brutality,” the Tyr said.
“Have you?” DharSii said, looking at the Tyr. “That’s a jump in the right direction.”
“No, dragons have always—” someone protested, and was lost in a general exchange of opinions. Voices rose to an excited crescendo.
Wistala shoved forward as everyone offered an opinion of the visitor. “Tear him to bits!” “No, let’s hear him.” She’d already heard a few whispers from her fellow Firemaids about her broad frame and the length of her tail, but muscle-mass had its uses. “He’s done no wrong!” “Cowards, this is insult!” She forced herself halfway through the press so she could see and hear.
There was something about the way the Tyr held his head. Was it that bad leg he propped himself upon? No, it was the droopy eye, it made him look rather stupid, half-asleep or—
Blood and blaze. The Tyr. It couldn’t be.
“Quiet, you fool dragons,” Nilrasha roared. “Quiet!”
“Thank you,” the Tyr said, not looking at her. His eye locked on Wistala.
Wistala found her reason again. She remembered the last time she’d seen her brother; she’d tried to kill him. She’d given him that injury to his eyelid and face—she almost smiled at the thought. How had he come so far, risen so high? Of course, anyone who would conspire with dwarves to kill his own family would be bound to rise. The ethics of the barbarian kings.
DharSii spoke, as from afar.
“I’m here to deliver a report. I recently passed over the eastern slopes of the Red Mountains near the pass of the Wheel of Fire. I have seen such a mass of men and horseflesh as has not struck earth since the time of Tindairuss. The Ghioz have gathered riders from across the plains and concentrate them in the Red Mountains to the north. I saw boat traffic, barges, all along the great river, though whether this is to aid the supply of the hordes to the north or shift this mass of men and horse to the south I cannot say. I come here with no expectations, and if my old crimes still hang about my name I am ready to answer the charges. I know, I know from being in her counsels, that the Red Queen means to claim the Empire’s upholds as their own.”
“What do you care, renegade?” the old blue called.
“I’ve heard you hire yourself out to the Ghioz Queen,” a battle-scarred red said.
“That’s HeBellereth, captain of the Aerial Host,” Takea said, happy with the better view she had now atop Wistala’s back, clinging to her fringe like a lizard on a leaf.
“The Upper World can tear itself to bits for all I care,” DharSii said. “Perhaps they just mean to ravage Hypatia, but if so they’ve chosen a strange place to gather, for the Wheel of Fire could hold that pass against any number.”
Hypatia! Those old temples, the libraries, the towns full of flower, vine, and tree. Rainfall’s trees, each an old friend. Had DharSii said they were assembling at the old pass guarded by the Wheel of Fire? The Wheel of Fire were no more, thanks to her.
DharSii spoke on: “But Ghioz is assembling such a force as could tear through every Uphold of the Empire. There is one more fact you should be aware of. The Queen has taken dragons other than myself into her service, with more recent knowledge of events in the Lavadome.”
“Who?” Nilrasha asked.
“NiVom the White and ImFamnia,” DharSii said. “I am not in their confidence, but between themselves they speak much of the Lavadome.”
More arguments broke out, debate on whether NiVom had planned to seize the throne or whether the “Jade Queen” and NiVom had been lovers before his flight from accusations of treachery. Takea started to explain, but the Copper quieted his dragons.
“NoSohoth, better send for more oliban,” the Copper said. “Matters grow heated. The griffaran guard will have the first dragon to draw blood, I promise. Double the guard.”
Wistala glanced up at the fearsome-looking birds, perched just above the trophy banners. They wore sharpened metal guards on their claws and beaks.
One of them, missing feathers from tears across his chest and with gaps in the trailing feathers of his wing, screeched. Other griffaran appeared from the shadows behind the Tyr and joined their fellows on the perches, an uncomfortable squeeze by the look at it, facing front and back so each looked at the assembly down the other’s long tailfeathers.
“They tore an assassin to bits the other day,” Takea whispered.
“Have them start on DharSii,” someone called.
“He’s my guest,” Queen Nilrasha said. “Stop that talk. Any dragon who doesn’t recognize the favor he’s done us, or the courage it took, flying far into uncertain welcome, leave and don’t return.”
DharSii gave her a brief bow. Wistala couldn’t see whether he shut his eyes or not.
