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Paskinix showed them where to leave the river.
It wasn’t so much a landing as a gap in the ceiling, ringed with the shells of long-dead water-creatures. The demen had some difficulty with ropes and so on until LaDibar suggested that they just ride up one by one, clinging to the crests of the bigger dragons.
The griffaran still had a terrible time of it. They didn’t like walking and the tunnels were far too small for flight. The water-carved tunnels improved by the demen gave way to the old dwarf-mines.
In the end, the Copper convinced his dragons to drag the griffaran, each riding on a dragon-tail with beak hooked on the trailing edge of folded dragonwing.
So they went, the bats foremost, echo-sounding off the walls as they flew back and forth between the demen, who came next, and the darkness ahead. Then the dragons, with the Copper in front keeping in touch with the demen. And finally, what was left of the livestock, being driven by the men of the Aerial Host.
There was hard work at blockages. The dwarves, in their ancient fights with the demen, had walled up parts of the mines. While the demen had long since broken through these, they’d opened them only wide enough for demen to crawl through, not dragons. The demen, men, and the smaller drakes sweated and cursed in three different tongues doing the hard labor to break down the iron-reinforced masonry and open the passages further.
“I came to fight, not to dig. This is thrall-work,” HeBellereth complained.
“Would you rather dig or fight roc-riders?” LaDibar asked.
Chapter 23
Natasatch had a grueling flight south. She’d not had AuRon’s recent exercise in distance flying, and though she struggled with a dragon’s heart and AuRon did their journey with frequent stops for food and rest, she arrived at Naf’s warrior camp utterly exhausted, her skin loose and sagging and her eyes glazed with fatigue.
“I’ve . . . never . . . flown . . . such distances,” she said.
“A few days on a good diet is what you need,” AuRon said.
Naf misunderstood the reason for her exhaustion and thought she was dying for want of metal. He sent word through the camp that every piece of scrap and old coin or trade token be gathered at once.
The soldiers made them presents of food and the gathered metal. Old belt buckles and scabbard caps, broken tools and worn-down knives, as well as a smattering of coin lay in a heap the size of Natasatch’s head.
“I thank you,” she said in her rough Parl.
She ate two roast pigs, seasoned and softened with the simmering spices popular in these foothills. When AuRon saw his mate sleeping comfortably at last, breathing easy and with a full belly, he joined Naf and two of his most trusted captains over mugs of spruce ale.
Naf told them how all Ghioz seemed to be coursing through Hypatia with only the briefest show of resistance.
What forces Hypatia had not engaged in the border thanedoms hurried toward their rallying points along the coast or the Falnges River.
“All the more reason to try my plan,” AuRon said.
Naf shook his head. “Impossible.”
“Impossible why?” AuRon asked.
“No body of armed men could get into the city. The gates are too well guarded. The only large groups of men who move together are Ghioz soldiers, and we could never imitate them. The others are slaves, who wear the barest kinds of clothing. There would be nowhere to hide our arms.”
“Suppose you weren’t armed.”
“A hundred loinclothed men against the Citadel Guard? It couldn’t be done.”
“Suppose I could provide you with arms and armor.”
“Our own? My men’s own bows and blades?”
“Yes.”
“We would have a chance. Just a chance. Could I count on your help at the citadel gate?”
“Of course.”
“It could be for nothing. Hieba is probably dead.”
