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“I would tell you to be careful, my love, but I know you. You’ll take the safest road again. I hope it leads you back to our door.”
Chapter 16
Wistala had all manner of important news to relay to her brother.
First she had to track him down.
At the Lavadome they told her he’d gone to see Nilrasha in her eyrie. Nilrasha said she’d just missed him; he’d visited for a few days to forget his worries, but then had gone up to see NoFhyriticus in Hypat.
Wearily, Wistala flew north, glad that she enjoyed the exercise of flight.
The Tyr’s banner was flying over NoFhyriticus’ resort in Hypat. At last!
Hypatian workmen were still building it, of course, though in size, if not in height, it now equaled the Directory. All this for one dragon!
It resembled four pyramids joined by long, column-filled walkways wide enough for two dragons. In the center was a vast courtyard, open to the sky, with a feeding pit leading down to the kitchens. Each pyramid housed a sleeping chamber for a dragon or two, and bedchambers and workrooms for servants. Terraced gardens built from bricks of destroyed structures from the Red Queen’s siege of Hypat surrounded the resort. The gardens were fed by two vast pools, probably both freshwater, judging from the plants lining the rims.
The lushness of the gardens let her guess where the servants spread the dragon-waste. No need for mushroom and low-light tubers to feed livestock here.
She was greeted by a young drake who served as NoFhyriticus’ assistant. As he bade her inside to Tyr and Protector, thralls announced her presence.
Rich curtains adorned the walls of NoFhyriticus’ resort, polished lamps threw light on scrubbed floors. Pools filled with fragrant flowers added their notes to the heavier dragon smells.>Still stunned from her hard landing, she reacted more slowly than she should have. She lashed out, put a wall of flame in front of two. They came through anyway, ignoring the pain of burns, and buried their weapons in her flanks.
She struck back with tooth and claw, smelling blood, sending her opponents into the next life in pieces.
Her vision red, roaring and fighting, she saw the dwarfs setting up a larger war machine, something shaped like two crossbows stacked atop each other.
The war machine disappeared, immolated by twin streams of dragon fire.
SiHazathant and Regalia came around in a tight turn, riding each other’s air.
“Now, Firemaids! For Tyr and home-cave!” Regalia cried, leading her brother in for another pass.
Later, Wistala was told that while the demen struck the dwarfs’ right, the Firemaids struck from behind. The remaining dwarfs shifted to support their center, and that’s when the Drakwatch advanced, advancing behind and through their own flame.
Wistala’s perception was correct: the dwarfs were exhausted; the attack was a last desperate gamble to avenge themselves on a dragon who’d humiliated them twice. According to dwarfen legend, the Lavadome was beard-deep in gold ingots and stolen jewels, but there’s no accounting for folklore.
AuRon’s son AuMoahk, who was studying remedies and medicines under the Ankelenes, sniffed at her armor and wounds. “We should put some salve on your nostril burns. In the Aerial Host those are called ‘warrings’.”
“It wasn’t the fight they were after so much; it was all that dead dragonflesh on the ground,” old Rethothanna said. “Look at ’em go.”
Wistala thought his legion looked like ants stripping the corpse of some small lizard.
The Ankelenes and Rayg took great interest in the detritus of battle. They examined the tree trunklike boats, driven by ingenious underwater wings that revolved and steered by fans that allowed them to come up against the flow of the great underground river.
“HeBellereth still lives!” a white-eyed member of the Drakwatch squeaked.
“Did I win you enough time?” Wistala asked.
He was in ruins. Scale riven in too many places to count, a small lake of his own blood surrounding him. He’d used his wings to shield his throat from ax blows. They were as broken as felled trees and in tatters. He’d no more fly again than Nilrasha would. He’d also lost over half his tail. It lay further down the tunnel like a beheaded snake.
Wistala managed to find a few words to answer. “Yes, you did, great dragon. Your deeds will become legend in the Lava-dome and the Upper World.”
“Glorious,” HeBellereth said. “Those dwarfs really put up a fight. I’m ready … for a good long nap.”
HeBellereth shook his head. Wistala realized he was trying to raise his neck but was unable. “You’ll need to replace me. My slipwing, BaMelphistran, is a good dragon—assuming some pirate arrow hasn’t killed him, that is. In his place I’d put young FePazathon, he’s a cool head for a Skotl. Oh, and a new messenger I suppose. That young AuMoahk might do. He’s bright as an Ankelene, and eager. He carries Gunfer into battle and they’re fast friends.”
Wistala wondered. AuRon wasn’t overly happy with his family becoming entwined in the tendrils of Lavadome politics. To put one of AuRon’s on the path to leadership of the Aerial Host should make him proud, but…
