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Could this human never answer a simple question?
“She’s found different ways of expressing that love.”
They walked in silence past some sweet, almost rotten-smelling vines, which she told him were “hops.” Her grandfather, and some elf relative named Ragwrist who now lived on his old estate of Mossbell, had advised the innkeeper that along with the sweet honey-mead he offered he should give his patrons a choice of bitter beer. AuRon listened attentively and remembered none of it except her smell. And so they came to a cliff-top with a good view of the moonlit bay. Only the faint susurration of moving water and a gentle fall wind broke in on his thoughts.
Wistala had chosen her cave well. Ample food to be had, defensible, and water wasn’t a problem. Of course it was near hominids, but they seemed to get along just fine. Though according to his father, favors granted to one generation were oft forgotten by the next.
“What will you do?” she asked.
AuRon wondered about this woman. She was so different from the spirited Hieba he’d watched grow from a girl. Her slightly sad manner reminded him of Mother, when too long parted from Father.
He wondered if comparing a human to a dragon somehow dishonored their memories.
“Have you not decided?” she said after a moment.
Lost in his thoughts again. Well, he could give as obscure an answer as she. “I’m going to have a good nap in this cave. Then in the morning I think I’ll dive and see if I can’t find some big crabs deep out in the river there. It seems to have a rocky, sandy bed and that’s just what they like. Then in the morning I’ll trade the crabs to that innkeeper for some more eggs and sausage.”
“I mean about your sister,” she said.
“I haven’t made up my mind.”
“If you do see her, tell her we miss her here. We’re a little worried about that pass the Wheel of Fire used to guard. We’ve heard that Ironrider scouts and traders have ridden through, armed, with no more than a wave from what’s left of the dwarves there. It will take a strong heart to rally Hypatia’s north, if they should ever send more than scouts and horse-traders through, for we’ll get no help from the south.”
Why couldn’t humans ever solve their own problems? No wonder the dragons of Silverhigh grew weary of fighting.
“This is good-bye, unless you remain among us many days,” she said. “I may be called away. We’ve a mother-to-be in the shepherd hills and the cold is bringing illness.”
“Thank you for guiding me. The walk did me good. I’ve flown too much of late.”
She half smiled. “May I touch your nose? Your skin is so different from your sister’s.”
He dipped his head and felt her hand pass down his snout. She giggled.
“Your skin ripples.”
“Little buds rather than scales,” he said. “They change color.”
“I noticed earlier. Remarkable. Farewell, AuRon. Return for more sausages. You’ll be as welcome as your sister. Will you?”
He decided to answer her question. “You can tell Hazeleye that I believe I’ll have a word with those dragons allied with the Ghioz. They might have knowledge of my sister. Their Queen owes me an old debt, which I shall collect.”
“I would have wished you a good journey before. Now I’ll light candles to guide you past doubt and ignorance and into knowledge.”
AuRon cleared his throat. “Candles. Does that work?”
“I doubt it. But it’s nice to think it does. Horrible thing for a priestess to say.”
“I’ll remember you to my sister,” AuRon said, taking one final deep draught of her air. “Assuming I find anything more than a memory.”
Chapter 7
Wistala couldn’t make sense out of Paskinix’s orders to his dreadful, taunting demen.
They put her in a filthy, cramped widening of a tunnel that they couldn’t be bothered to clean. She had to have water brought to her, one precious bucket at a time, and she begrudged every splash and lost drop, as they never gave her quite enough to slake her thirst.
The demen were unhappy to have her alive, grudging her every mouthful of the wretched, rotten food they ate, but unwilling to kill her.
They bothered her in every way possible, kicking and prodding her as they passed, throwing their filthy, ropy waste at marks on her side and flank as though engaging in target practice, and not letting her sleep with their continual noise on the part of her guards, but they did not cause her any real agonies.
