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Wistala gave more orders for any of the young dragonriders in the Aerial Host, plus such of their women as wanted to take up arms, to be readied to defend the lower galleries and windows in the Imperial Rock.
Then she went up to the top level. From there she could see and direct the defense of the Lavadome.
She learned she was fortunate in one matter. HeBellereth and two of his dragons of the Aerial Host had returned to the Lavadome with small injuries from their brushes with pirates on the Sunstruck Sea. She saw Ayafeeia whispering to him.
“If there’s going to be a battle, Wistala, you should be properly suited. We must have you looking the part,” HeBellereth said.
“What do you mean?” Wistala asked.
“Follow me, my Queen,” Ayafeeia said. “We still have a moment to prepare, and the engagement in the tunnels is not yet decided. Let’s hope it’s all for nothing, and the Firemaids hold them.”
“I’d rather help at the tunnels.”
HeBellereth was breathing hard, twitching to get into battle. “You’re the Queen. Your place is here. Ayafeeia, see to your Queen. I’ll go and reinforce the tunnels to the river ring.”
With that he rushed to the gardens and launched himself into the red light of the Lavadome.
Ayafeeia led her down to a chamber beneath the old Imperial Residence. Wistala had only visited it once before. It was a storehouse for gifts from the upholds, trophies taken in war, first lost scale of Imperial Line hatchlings—that sort of thing. Within the cramped chamber were a number of barred cages holding the most valuable items.
Veeeeee—Ayafeeia whistled through a nostril for thralls, and some fat old servants of the line appeared.
“The Tyr’s armor,” Ayafeeia ordered.
The thralls pointed and Ayafeeia nosed open a barred stall. In it were gleaming pieces of dragon-armor.
“Most dragons don’t like armor in battle—we have scale and the additional weight slows you down. Besides, you can’t fly with this heavy plate. It was built for FeHazathant but I believe you’ll fit in it, with your framing and musculature.”
The thralls and Ayafeeia extracted the pieces. Someone had kept it polished and oiled the leather straps. It was beautifully arranged and decorated; perhaps some dwarf had helped fashion it.
They put it on. Wearing something against the scale felt odd to Wistala. She felt herself a prisoner of the armor. But it did cover her head, chest, hearts, and flanks admirably—though her crest was squashed.
“I don’t know,” Wistala said. “It’s supposed to be for the Tyr.”
“You’re Queen-Consort, and the Lavadome is under attack. You want dragons to see you, don’t you?”
“Not being able to fly makes sure of your courage,” Wistala said. “Your leader can’t fly away when he’s wearing this.”>BOOK THREE
Charity
“The only succor a dragon gives freely is death.”
—From Hazeleye’s notes on dragons
Chapter 15
Wistala slept in the luxury of the Tyr’s chamber. Her brother was away; she felt she deserved the rich bed of the finest damasks, so tightly woven to the cushioning they were guaranteed not to catch on scale.
Also, there was less of a chance that a messenger would seek her here instead of the Queen’s chamber. Nilrasha was a fine dragon, but she had garish tastes; there were far too many skins and interesting bone sculptures of various animals and hominids for Wistala to relax. It was like trying to sleep in an abattoir.
Exhausted from travel, from revived grief in visiting the deathscapes of her parents, and from calls to her attention from NoSohoth so frequent that they invaded her dreams.
The Firemaids and Drakwatch are having a mock battle beneath the griffaran columns you must judge, my Queen. CoTathanagar wishes an audience, he has heard there must be a second messenger for NoFhyriticus in Hypatia and is wondering if the position has been filled yet. There are three new hatchlings in Wyrr Hill you must view. The Tyr’s Demen Legion is appointing a new captain and the dwarfs are attaching the Lavadome from the river ring…
Dwarfs? Attacking from the river ring?
She opened an eye. Strange roars and calls had broken out from the Audience Chamber.
She rolled out of bed and became tangled in the curtains—curse them, some chamber-thrall must have drawn them; they were open when she’d settled down. She staggered out into the passageway leading to the Audience Chamber, dragging purple material.
