AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He explored farther south, flying up a vast river-mouth that for a while was indistinguishable from the Inland Ocean itself. Then it narrowed into true river, though a wide one. Just before dawn he came upon the bridge, a massive construct with a patched span in the middle. He vaguely remembered this bridge from his travels in Djer’s cart.
It seemed the sort of place humans frequented, so he flew a little farther upriver and found a forbidding cliff with a nice stretch of sand under it. The river had retreated somewhat because of the season, but there was good fishing in the pools and the tangles of water-weed were thick with pinchy-crawlies. He hadn’t had the freshwater variety in years, and he enjoyed himself before settling down for a brief nap.
He woke in the afternoon. It was a pleasant fall day and the air beckoned. He took off and rose high in the sky and flew back toward the bridge. Once there, he followed the road north and came to what might charitably be called a town on the edge of some vast collection of fields and pastures, with forest to the west and what looked like some mining cuts to the north near another tangle of roads.
He checked the smaller of the enclaves first, circling slowly lower and lower so as not to alarm the population with too quick a descent.
Nevertheless, he saw cattle and pigs driven into the woods and sheep scattered in the hedges under the frantic efforts of boys. Fools. If this was a livestock raid he wouldn’t dawdle so.
Dragon-eyes had their uses, and he spotted a sign out in front of the inn, just as that strange collection of hominids had promised. A green dragon, sure enough, though they’d rather stylized the icon.
He found an obliging field, grazed short within sight of the inn’s roof-peak, and settled down to wait. The woods were kept far enough back that he would have plenty of warning of arrows if they shot, if they had bows strong enough to cross the field, that is. An open hill behind guarded his rear.
Boys, probably shepherds’ sons, crept from tree to tree with what they thought cunning stealth and woodcraftiness. A summer running with the wolves to the north would do them an improvement. He watched a fistfight break out among four or so and the loser went running home—or perhaps was dispatched with a message.
Downwind, dogs barked endlessly. He couldn’t help his odor. If the dogs didn’t like it that was just too bad.
The field smelled mouthwateringly of horses and cattle, but there was no helping that. He’d wait.
When the locals finally showed up he understood the delay. They came in some numbers, in fits and starts and with much discussion at each advance. The collection dribbled away as it crossed the field. A tall female, with comely hair by human standards and evidently well able to feed her young, judging by the fit of the long robe, stood next to a figure swathed in blankets and a heavy, droopy velvet hat, carried on a litter by two stout-looking men.
“My name is Lada, dragon. May we approach in safety?” she said, enunciating carefully in Parl. The figure swathed in blankets seemed to find her pronunciation funny, as she heard a rather raspy chuckle.
“I came for converse,” AuRon said. “Parley. Please.”
The one who called herself Lada made a gesture in the air with her right hand and they stepped forward. The two litter-bearers kept glancing back at the others hovering nearer to the inn or in the middle of the field. A local dog dashed halfway out into the field, let loose with a terrific bark, and ran back to his humans with tail tucked.
How Blackhard’s pack would have snickered at such behavior.
They came a little closer into an easy distance for humans to speak.
The one swaddled in blankets tipped her head up. “Here I was waiting on the wrong dragon. I waited for the green and the gray shows up.”
AuRon recognized the face beneath the droopy hat, mostly because it wore an eyepatch. Hair like winter birchtwigs supported the brim of the hat. It was the elf, Hazeleye, both his capturer and his rescuer. Happily, she’d collected the debt for freeing him long ago, which had resulted in the overthrow of the dragon-riders of the Isle of Ice and his mating with Natasatch. The wizard who’d organized and purposed their race war against the other hominids had once told him that elves were like tree bark on poplars—peel back one layer of plotting and a new one appeared underneath.
“Wistala. Her name’s Wistala.”
“I know that. She’s a good friend to this place and we all long for her return.”
“Why is that?” AuRon asked.
“Her counsel would be most valuable,” Hazeleye said.
“Then you don’t know where she is.”
“I’m afraid she went off east hunting you, AuRon,” the one called Lada said. “She has been gone for years. But then she was a rover.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” AuRon said. “Couldn’t you have told her you dispatched me to—”
Another yap broke in on his thoughts and the dog dashed away then. He’d come a few paces closer before barking, but shortened his warning.
“I haven’t seen her since before the dark days of the dragon-riders,” Hazeleye said. “Thank you for finishing them and freeing the dragons from their thrall.”
She’d spent her many years in the study of dragons. AuRon believed she was one of the few hominids with any true understanding. And better, sympathy.
“Are you unwell?” he asked.
“I feel the fall wind more than I once did. Do you think we might continue this conversation indoors?”
