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“Tyr RuGaard—your dragons said you were unlike any Tyr since FeHazathant. I am beginning to understand their opinion.”
“Thank you. But I warn you, praise in the Lavadome often comes before the bite.”
“My Tyr, I saw many deman skulls about the entrance to your fine towering rock. I’ve no wish to see mine displayed in a place of prominence, especially with such a meal as you’ve fed me dissolving so pleasantly within.” He belched. “My compliments to your cook. It’s been long since I ate flesh flavored with anything but the tears of the meal’s friends and family.”
Chapter 21
The courier dragonelle’s arrival on the Isle of Ice set all the dragons to talking and arguing. Yefkoa spoke of a time of decision for the dragons.
And of their Tyr, a prophet who would lead them all into the bright sun of a new age.
For such a young dragonelle, she spoke well, fearless in the face of strangers.
War in the south—a lost kingdom of dragons—Ironriders on stout horses with big, hearty livers—dragonelles and drakka dying in battle.
The population of the Isle of Ice was mostly female, and their sympathies naturally ran to the dragonelles fighting for their lives. She painted pictures with her words and the dragons began to stamp and roar in agreement.
Save for AuRon. Wistala had joined with the Copper and had flown herself into this scrape. She would have to fly herself out.
“Is the isle flying to the aid of the dragons, Father?” Varatheela asked, her hindquarters dancing.
“Did I ever tell you how I came to be in that cargo hold?” Natasatch asked AuRon.
“Not willingly. I asked you once about it, I recall. You said you were captured while hunting.”
“That was true—after a fashion.”
“Tell me,” AuRon said.
“I was a few weeks from my first trip aboveground,” she said, toying with a dry shard of one of their hatchlings’ eggs she’d kept as a piece of memory.
“We did not have a large cave, but there was a long tunnel leading to the surface. I liked to explore the tunnel, at least the dragonlength or two near the mouth of the egg-cave. To me, that was like going aboveground. I was exploring, when suddenly I saw a pair of legs walking past me.
“Before I knew it I had a sword-point before my eye. The elf offered me a choice, speaking Drakine. Silence or death. I was at the high end of the egg-cave. My voice would have carried had I screamed. The family might have been saved. I tried to scream. I decided on it. But the sound never came. I was frozen. I bought my own life with their death.”
“That elf—was it the one from the boat? Hazeleye?”
“No. A friend of hers.”
“They made you a captive.”
“Yes. Less than I deserved. I’ve carried this with me, told myself I was young and frightened. Deep down, I know I chose myself over my parents.”
They regarded each other in silence.
“AuRon, I don’t think dragons can survive by isolation and hiding. It just gives our enemies more time to increase and organize.”
“We will organize too.”
“We can’t even keep our flocks intact,” Natasatch said.
“That’s not important. If we were threatened—We’d make this place a name of dread and terror. Boats burn easily. I’ve seen it.”>Takea lay behind, an arrow through her throat.
Wistala went to her side.
“Bats! Some bats here!” Wistala called.
“It doesn’t hurt, Wistala,” Takea whispered. Wistala put her head close to the drakka to better hear her words. “I can feel the wound. It is bad, isn’t it? But it doesn’t hurt. Strange.” She still wore the brown beak on her head. Wistala thought the horn-lines in it made it look like an agate.
