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A few bands of warriors put their backs to decorative rocks and tried to sell their lives dearly. But the raging dragons uprooted trees and boulders and sent them bouncing into the men. The shattered few who managed to dodge the projectiles were pounced upon and torn to bloody pieces.
AuRon, transfixed on his perch, had never seen dragons die like this. This day would no longer be a triumphant celebration of the destruction of the Red Queen and Ghioz. It had become a day of mourning for a tenth part of dragonkind.
That night he sought Natasatch in her quarters. She was attending to the travel expenses of a thrall or two and seeing that her dyes, paints, and dusts were properly sealed for transport.
“Thank the Gifts you’re alive,” AuRon said.
“That was a . . . distressing scene. I’m glad none else of our family were there.”
Silence took over, as though it sat down between them. A clatter of sandaled footsteps along the passage outside broke through.
“Your honor! Your honor!” A gray-clad thrall burst in, panting. “The Queen comes!”
AuRon glanced outside, saw one of the griffaran guards swooping along the promenade-balcony.
Next room! It’s empty. Up and over the divider! she thought to him.
He slipped up and over the divider and landed lightly. He pressed tight against the wall, so that anyone glancing in would see an empty apartment. He heard the distinctive tinging of decorative coins clinking against scale.
“Ah, Natasatch, I’m so glad you’re still here,” Imfamnia said. “I’d like to speak to you.”
“I thought my Queen might need me,” she replied. “It is a black day.”
AuRon heard a frustrated sigh echo over the partition. “NiVom says we’ll have to come up with a new word to describe such losses. He thinks we’ve lost one dragon in ten, so he’s calling it the ‘Decimation.’ Most of the losses were among the Lavadome dragons, fortunately. No one of importance lost. Oh, the male twin, that pseudo SiHazathant, Regalia’s brother. He was killed. She’s become quite imbalanced, as they were very close. I don’t expect she’ll be able to rule the Lower World without him.”
“With dragons so established on the surface, I wonder why even keep the Lavadome, save as a curiosity,” Natasatch said.
“You don’t understand. You’ve always been a surface dragon. It means more to us than any egg.”
“Will there be some ceremony for the dead?” Natasatch asked.
“If only your mate were here, Natasatch.” Imfamnia sighed. “He’s a sensible dragon and hates the Lavadome almost as much as I do. He’d get to the bottom of this killing.”
The walls were decorated with copper plates, AuRon noticed. He could just make out reflections from Natastach’s lodgings.
“He also keeps his side of bargains. He’s staying in exile, with his brother, the former Tyr,” Natasatch said.
“Does he indeed?” Imfamnia turned away and made a great show of inspecting a woven hanging. “Never slips in for a quick, discreet visit?”
AuRon held his breath.
“He has no wish to become entangled in politics. I suspect he’s unhappy. I am, too, truth be known. I get lonely.”
“Do you now? You know, Natasatch, I could hear your claim of abandonment—I promise you the Sun King will act in your favor—and find you a suitable mate. True, you run a very small province, but it’s an important one. Half our slaves come from the lands of the Ironriders. With the new tunnel to the Lower World that those miserable dwarfs overcharged us for, you’re second only to Ghioz as the most important entry point west of the mountains.”
“I’ve been . . . disappointed—with mating once. I’ve no wish to take a second.”
Imfamnia touched her snout to Natasatch’s. “Taking a second mate is the best decision I ever made. The great NiVom is such a fine dragon. So many good qualities. So quick-witted. Who would have imagined him using a decorative throw to stop poisoned crossbow bolts?”
AuRon heard Natasatch shift her hind legs about. Don’t squirm, dear, you always squirm when you’re trying to come up with a half-truth.
“I don’t understand half his conversation,” Natasatch finally said. “He’s such an intelligent dragon. I wish . . . I wish he’d make allowances for dragons who do not have the benefit of education.”
Infamnia laughed. It was an unnatural sound for a dragon to make at normal times and the racket sent nervous chills up AuRon’s spine—a dragonelle choking or having a fit might make that yakking sound. Typically dragons kept amusement to themselves with a private prrum, what a human might call a chuckle. Only dragons who’d been much among humans imitated their laughs. Imfamnia’s sounded like a dying hominid caught in her throat. “Oh, I just sing songs to myself when he gets going. I caught him rolling various sorts of balls and plates off the Gold Palace roof once. He was breaking some relics dating back to the blighter charioteers, or so the Red Queen’s elvish historian claimed. Said he was experimenting with shapes that might allow riders to travel dragon-back with easier passage of wind. Speaking of wind-passage, NoSohoth said that if you lacked a vigorous young escort, he’d be happy to sit next to you at dinner. The old lecher. I always thought Tighlia had him snipped.”
“Me?” Wistala said. “Why would he be interested in me? He’s rich enough to buy and sell my province ten times over.”
“That’s just what I was wondering. If he reveals the answer, I’ll be most grateful if you’ll tell me before you tell anyone else.... I would like to enjoy your confidence. Have you ever wondered why I’ve visited you so often, my dear?” Imfamnia asked.
