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“They must think well of you,” AuRon said. “It’s not everyone who can work up the nerve to face down a dragon.”
“SoRolatan didn’t put up much of a fight. He was raiding a marketplace and some old women started pelting him with garbage. When he flew back to the Golden Dome, sputtering outrage, I met him there with some spearmen. He roared a warning but fled as fast as his wings could travel.”
“Your people chose well, picking you as king.”
“They had few enough choices. All I had going for me was the knowledge that I fought the Ghioz when no one north of Bant dared defy them, and retrieved our old throne from the heart of the Red Queen’s Empire.”
AuRon remembered him sitting in it, bloody and battered.
Naf looked at the sky, chuckled. “You should hear the tales that pass for the official history of my battles. Back in Dairuss, they whispered that I was striking left and right, winning smashing victories and leaving a series of Ghioz generals embarrassed. Culminating, of course, with our great raid on the throne-city you helped us win. Oh, AuRon, I have been closeted with two very disappointed historians, correcting their texts so they know my gallant band spent most of their time in desperate flight from superior numbers.”
“Most of my victories are little but escapes as well,” AuRon said, thinking of his encounters with the Dragonblade. Strange to think his brother, of all dragonkind, had been the one to kill that remarkable human.
“So, what will it be, Naf? Another gallant fight, defeat, and you’ll end your days in these swamps or some valley in the Red Mountains? I promise you, if you accept me as Protector, you’ll hardly know we’re here. My mate and I will find a comfortable cave, and bide our time there until you need us.”
“I suppose mock-independence is preferable to no independence. I just don’t want a court full of Hypatians running my country for me.”
“We’ll keep them away.”
“Then let’s call it a bargain,” Naf said, grinning. “That Imfamnia, I thought she said something about dragon blood?”
“You speak Drakine?”
“I picked up a little from SoRolatan,” Naf said.
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, but if you want to taste my blood, you’re more than welcome. Try some out of my tail, there are fewer nerve endings there.”
Naf carefully cleaned his knife and gave AuRon a small nick, then drank from his waterskin cup.
“Most invigorating,” Naf said.
“Try not to get used to it,” AuRon said. “I don’t care what my brother does, but I don’t want to bleed every time you hold a feast.”
* * *
He returned to his family with the small nick already healed. They awaited him at the king’s stables. Istach was sleeping atop a barn, watching the stars. She was an odd one.
“You look tired, my love,” Natasatch said, comfortably curled up in an old cow basement.
“I flew a great deal with Naf in the last few days. We covered his whole kingdom.”
“How goes the diplomacy?”
“I have to tell you something, highlight of my song. My brother—well, Wistala, mostly, has put me forward as dragon lord—Protector, or whatever they call it—of Naf’s Kingdom. Naf has agreed that we might serve.”
Natasatch’s eyes brightened as though filled with dragon-flame. “A Protector!”
“You would like me to take the role?”
She let out a loud prrum. “They’re all respected. Most are considered powerful. I’ve heard some become very rich.”
“My brother was one before he became Tyr, I understand. We won’t grow rich here, though. Dairuss is a poor land, it just happens to be situated at a crossroads between south, east, and west.”
“But you don’t like the idea, it seems.”
“Getting mixed up in this way with hominids. It’s dangerous,” AuRon said.
“But Naf wouldn’t hurt us. Did you not tell me he is your oldest hominid friend?”>“Are you worried about the dragons?” AuRon asked.
