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Big-footed rabbits fled in panic from the heat, which set puddles of water asizzle and cracked rock. Birds shot out of the patches of yellow-and-white-flowered meadow about the mountainside.
The dragons ignored them, leaning against each other and crossing necks as they caught their breath. The spreading dark smoke seemed to stain the iron-colored clouds above like blood dark against a sword’s edge.
The stench of burning troll was as bad as Wistala remembered. Unpleasant business, but it had to be done if the Sadda-Vale’s hatchlings, and dragons, were to eat the herds they and their blighter servants tended.
“You arrived just in time, my gem,” DharSii said. “Long-fingers had one more trick behind his ears for me.”
“Next time, let me follow the troll-tracks while you watch from the skies.”
“Trolls interest me,” DharSii said. “Look at them, my jewel. In form and function they’re like nothing else in the world.”
“Couldn’t the same be said of dragons?” Wistala asked.
“Well, there are great birds, as you know—the Rocs, for instance. I’ve seen art in bestiaries of two-limbed dragons—wyverns, though they appear to be incapable of breathing fire, but the record is vague on that matter and there’s no way to settle it, as they appear to be extinguished from our world.”
“I wish the same could be said for trolls.”
DharSii panted. Wistala let him breathe, suppressing her need to reassure herself that he’d come through the ordeal safe of body and sound of mind. DharSii had had a scare, and soon covered it with analysis. “The interesting thing about trolls is the ancient hominid books have no record of them. There’s plenty on dragons, Rocs, even fanciful creatures like winged lions. Anything that carries off livestock and a hunter here and there is bound to be the subject of some interest. Yet the best dwarf compilers of arcana are mute on trolls, which have huge appetites and are very difficult to corner and kill.”
“I know. Mossbell was plagued by one when I was a drakka.”
She’d grown up on a gentle elf’s lands. The elf Rainfall had been like a father to her after she’d lost her own to war with the Wheel of Fire dwarfs.
“Odd that they have no relatives. Think of all the varieties of fish in the sea—they’re broadly similar in form. Reptiles, cats big and little. The insects that live in and above the earth, the variety of four-legged herbivores, rodents, two-legged hominids—all come in a range of forms. Where are the smaller troll cousins, the heavier ones, the ones adapted to living in the surf, as seals and sea lions have?”
Wistala found the question interesting but the need for discussing it curious. DharSii was a dragon of strange obsessions. Perhaps this was the reason he’d never quite fit in anywhere—the Lavadome, here in the Sadda-Vale, or while serving hominids as a mercenary warrior. She found it charming. In all her travels among the beasts, hominids, and dragons of the earth, she’d never found anyone quite like him. Powerful but open and friendly, intelligent but not pompous—well, rarely pompous—well traveled and experienced but still full of a young drake’s wonder.
“Odd, too, that they don’t appear to communicate, socialize. I’m not even sure how they mate, or if they do.”
“They plant a young in a corpse, something big and meaty. I saw a young one once, in a piece of a whale,” Wistala said. She’d cleaned out the troll’s cave after disposing of the troll. Bad business, killing young, but she’d regretted the necessity, not the result. Without the troll, the lands around Mossbell were prospering.
“What’s in its hands?” DharSii sniffed. “My jewel, you didn’t tell me you were wounded.”
“I wasn’t. A bruise or—”
“This is dragon-scale in its claws. Look, there’s another at that mouth-vent orifice. Green.”
“Green? The only other female here is Aethleethia. You don’t suppose—”
“Aethleethia hunt trolls? Not even if our hatchlings were starving. Oh, I’m sorry—”
They had an agreement not to speak of the hatchlings as theirs. Too much pain in that. Better to pretend, like the rest of the Sadda-Vale, that Aethleethia had laid the eggs.
Not that there weren’t still issues with their upbringing.
DharSii and AuRon had almost come to blows about having the hatchlings fight. Male hatchlings instinctively turned on one another as soon as they came out of the egg in a struggle for dominance of the clutch. AuRon and RuGaard had killed their red sibling together before turning on each other. AuRon won that contest. RuGaard survived despite crippling injuries. The rivalry echoed to this day. DharSii believed the tradition, being based on instinct, was part of a dragon’s natural heritage and should be respected.
Finally her brother RuGaard, crippled in his front sii since the hatchling duel with AuRon, pleaded with Aethleethia and her mate, NaStirath. NaStirath was a silly dragon who treated everything as a joke and had no opinion, though Wistala would always be grateful to Aethleethia, who’d been taking counsel from DharSii all her life, for defying him on this issue.
“The more hatchlings, the better for us,” she’d said.
Giving up her eggs to Aethleethia rankled. Wistala would have liked nothing better than to care for her own hatchlings, but her position, and her brothers’as refugees from the Dragon Empire in the Sadda-Vale, demanded that she accept the bitter bargain.
Scabia, with some eggs around her in the great round emptiness at Vesshall at last, could not care less how Wistala spent her time once the eggs came. She could spend all the time she liked with DharSii, even though publicly she was NaStirath’s mate.
She even suspected that she and DharSii could appear openly as mates, but the suspicion wasn’t strong enough for her to engage in what a human might call “rocking the boat.” Too much depended on Scabia’s goodwill toward her and her brothers.
“So if it didn’t come from you, who does this scale belong to?”
