Dragon Rule

by E. E. Knight

“They’re loyal as dogs, always in hope of the next drop of blood, but you can’t really trust them without evidence. They’ll lie like a rug to get the next feeding. Your brother almost got there before us, feeding some bloodsucking cave-bats, but he just lucked into it and didn’t breed for effect.”

  “Why?” AuRon asked.

  “For the same reason your brother does, to have spies. Clever of him, using vermin that way. You can never have too many eyes looking out for you, but I hope he stops at four with these gargoyles.”

  The more he learned of the Lavadome and its ways, the less he liked it.

  “I hope my brother’s Grand Alliance doesn’t turn into a vast version of the Lavadome. Sounds as though it could end badly.”

  “You’re a droopy drake, to be thinking of endings with a new world just begun.”

  “It’s my nature, I suppose. When the sun is shining I wonder how long until the next rain.”

  Imfamnia gave up on her scale, muttered something about leaving it for the thralls, and went snout-to-snout with him. “What kind of ending do you want, AuRon?”

  Growing up in the Lavadome must also give one different ideas about personal space. AuRon lifted his head away. “For me?”

  “Yes, and for dragons in general.”

  “I’d like to avoid an ending. That’s why I believe that the farther we stay away from humans, the better. I don’t like binding our fate to theirs.”

  “You think humans are the real threat?”

  “My father did, and nothing I’ve experienced has caused me to change my opinion. The deadliest nondragon I ever met was a human. He killed many of our kind.”

  “Are you speaking of the Dragonblade?” Imfamnia asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He was just one man. Any one man only has a brief period of health and vigor, hardly longer than a butterfly’s beautiful season in the air. Men rarely see things through; they make some fine starts but it all goes to pieces in a few generations.”

  “You’re an odd one, Imfamnia. You can prattle on for hours about dipping one’s claw-tips in liquid silver, then shift to questions of existence.”

  Imfamnia looked over his leathery skin, from behind the crest to tailtip. “Mate with me, AuRon.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, fly with me, then, if you must use poetic language. Take me up.”

  “Imfamnia!”

  “You find me attractive. I can tell. Your neck-hearts go pink. Usually you have to look at a dragon at just the right angle to tell, but your skin makes things so much easier.”

  “I’ve no wish to be with anyone but my mate.”

  “Your neck says differently. You’re not a badly formed dragon. You lost your tail at some point, I can tell, and it’s come back—though there’s still that distinctive notch. I bet that just makes you faster in the air. You could catch me in no time.”

  “Let NiVom do the catching. He’s your mate.”

  “Being mated to NiVom was strategy. He’s obsessed with his plots and plans and tests and breeds. I’m asking you for a little excitement. It’s been forever since I’ve been around interesting dragons. Just your bucolic Upper World accent makes me go all goosey. I can hear the whisper of pines and howling of wolves in it. Those dull warriors of the host, suspicious Wyrr messenger dragons, soft Ankelenes—you’ve really lived and achieved, I should very much like to hear your song. You back-to-nature dragons are keen on that whole lifesong tradition, I believe.”

  “What do you know about my song?”

  “Natasatch gave me a few details. Now don’t look like a decapitated horse, she’s very proud of you, even if she thinks your reclusiveness is a bit stifling. I don’t blame her for being fond of you. I see what she means now, with a moon like that above and your snakelike suppleness. I’ll wager that you’re delightfully flexible, and I hate some big male’s scale catching under mine and pulling as we fall.”

  “I’d never dishonor myself or Natasatch in that way.”

  She extended her wings and fluttered them. “Honor takes all the fun out of life. Come, we’re lords of the earth, and leaders among dragons. Don’t let silly old notions tie you down until you’ve died without ever having lived, like livestock waiting for the culling. Life is short.”

  “Dallying with mated dragons is a sure way to shorten it even further. A hot lust for—”

  “You’re still talking to me, I notice.”

  AuRon climbed up one of the trees she’d broken in landing. “Good night, Imfamnia.”

  He returned to their guest-cave. Natasatch was sleeping lightly and opened her eye at his return. “So, what do you think of our neighboring Protectors?”

  AuRon swished his tail in indecision. If he told her about Imfamnia, there might be trouble, there’d definitely be some pain and doubt, and there was a slim chance she’d demand a duel of some sort. “They’re free with their food and coin and . . . feelings.”

  “This is a fine resort they have. I suppose Ghioz is a rich Protectorate. Naf could never afford to build us something like this. I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to be free with your feelings and quick to make friends.”

  The wind veered, blowing cold right into their cavern and AuRon dragged a twin set of curtains closed over their entrance. He spat into a fire pit in the center of the room. It warmed within almost immediately, and the smell of dragon-flame stimulated him. “Not if it’s genuine. This is all play acting. They might have been elves acting out a mime-battle.”

  “Oh AuRon. Ever the crab, worried about the next turn of the tide. Don’t be foolish in refusing riches. Let go and enjoy yourself a little.”

  AuRon almost let out an embarrased Naf-ish mule’s bray at that.

  “I’ll keep a foolish constancy,” AuRon said.

  “Not the words I’d choose. Our Tyr has built a wonderful thing. Dragons can help humans and humans can help dragons. You and Naf will be long remembered as great among your people. Our offspring will see peaceful days.”

  “Men rarely remember anything once the generation who saw it dies off. They’ve already half-forgotten Tindairuss and NooMoahk. Their deeds might as well be fairy tales, and they had a much more impressive alliance that freed a world. All too soon they were right back to fearing and hating us—not without cause, I suppose. One bad dragon can make thousands of men miserable. I wonder if we’ll ever work it out.”

  “Quit wondering and start working to make it happen. Tyr RuGaard could use us. Imfamnia said she’d teach me all about being a Protector. By learning caution from you and charm from her, I’ll be formidable one day, I daresay.”

  “Ever the practical dragon-dame. I don’t doubt it, once you get your teeth into a scheme you don’t let go. You’re the best part of me.”

  They had a farewell meal the next morning, mostly broths made of animal fats with cold joint jelly so they wouldn’t be weighted down with heavy digestion in the air.

  There was no honor guard, and the musicians were probably still recovering from the strenuous efforts of their arrival.

  “I wish we could convince you to stay another few days,” Imfamnia said. “The moon is so lovely this time of year as the air cools and dries. Sometimes it turns quite blue, and I understand that’s an omen of change for the better. You should remain with us to enjoy it.”

  “My lord insists that we return to Dairuss,” Natasatch said.

  “Pity,” Imfamnia said, looking at AuRon, who was already extending and relaxing his wings.

  “I believe matters on the northeastern frontier of the Empire are in good standing,” NiVom said. He looked exhausted. Was he giving blood to his gargoyles?

  “Don’t you mean the Grand Alliance?” AuRon asked.

  “I like to call things by their real name,” NiVom said. “Make no mistake, this is a new Dragon Empire. I hope our long years in the Lavadome have toughened us to run it properly.”

  AuRon thought his scale looked a little dull. He probably wasn’t eating right, chasing around bat
s and thrashing his slaves.

  “What would you do to improve on the present arrangement?” Natasatch asked.

  “Stronger lines of authority with the humans. Those who properly submit to our will do well, others will be destroyed. Your brother thinks that they’ll act in their own interest, and in the interest of the alliance. Rationality and analysis from hominids? Maybe among educated dwarfs, but from these men of Hypatia? Lazy scut. His belief that humans can act rationally where dragons are concerned could prove our doom.”

  NiVom paused, as if judging whether his words would bring argument. He sent the thralls away with a slap of his tail against the surface of the courtyard.

  One of the workmen far above dropped a hammer in fright at the sound.

  “RuGaard chose badly in his selection of allies. Certainly, we should select one nation of hominids and promote their interests, so that in return they’d be hated by the others and be forced to seek the protection of dragons or lose all, but Hypatians! They’re blood has bled out and run cold centuries ago. Dragons need vigorous conquerors at their side, not dissipated philosophers. He should have built around Ghioz.”

  “Vigorous conquerors might be more likely to revolt, don’t you think?” Natasatch asked.

  “The Alliance seems to be functioning well enough,” AuRon said.

  “Must we spoil a delightful visit with politics?” Imfamnia asked. “Our guests don’t need to leave with their ears ringing. This is a farewell and goodwind toast, not an Ankelene conferral.”

  NiVom ignored his mate. “To tell you the truth, AuRon, it’s Ghioz that’s mostly holding it up. Hypatia will take many years to rebuild after centuries of neglect. Tyr RuGaard is a little too impressed, I think, with old monuments and columns to achievements far out of living memory. Our Empire should support us, not the reverse.”

  “Doesn’t it? Naf feeds us well, even if it’s just mutton.” AuRon said. “Ghioz is famous for its cattle and horses; you should eat more of them. Especially the liver.”

  “I wanted to warn you, AuRon, war may be coming with the blighters of Old Uldam. No raid this time, but actual conquest. We may need your assistance.”

  “Why will the Alliance do that?”

  “I’ve an interest in that city. The sun-shard lived there for many years.”

  “Lived?” AuRon asked. “It’s a rock that glows.”

  “What do you know about the old statue?”

  “It gave off enough light to read by,” AuRon said.

  “You never felt any strange effects? Lapses of time, missing gaps where you found you’d done something and forgotten it?”

  “No. NooMoahk used to sleep curled around it. He’d become addled, and challenge anyone in the chamber, thinking they were trying to harm him.”

  “Or it. Perhaps it was protecting itself.”

  “A piece of quartz was trying to preserve itself?”

  “It’s no ordinary piece of quartz, or glass. It may be alive, though not as we know it. Many have died to gain or protect it.

  “Again with the sun-shard,” Imfamnia said. “It’s safe in the Lavadome, though I’d rather use it to impress the blighters. What do we care?”

  “What is it for, then?” AuRon asked.

  “It has something to do with the Wizard Anklemere, and the Lavadome, we believe,” NiVom said.

  “Anklemere. I’ve heard of him again and again. If he was so powerful, I wonder how he was ever beaten,” Natasatch said.

  “Like many would-be world conquerers, he was so focused on the horizons, he tripped over his own feet,” AuRon said. “That’s how King Naf tells it, anyway.”

  “Tell us one thing,” NiVom said. “Your sister, Wistala, if it came between her brother and peace in the Lavadome, which would she choose?”

  “Wistala and I have been long apart. She clings to her own ideals about dragons and hominids working together as equals. I know she believes in the Grand Alliance, and is doing her best to further it, but a Queen-Consort or whatever they’re calling her has many duties. I haven’t spoken to her since I became Protector.”

  “Perhaps you could sound her out on the matter for us. No need to mention our names, though,” NiVom said.

  Imfamnia glared at her mate, and AuRon was sure he heard griff being tightened to keep from rattling.

  “She’ll certainly oppose Tyr RuGaard if she believes he’s not playing fair by the hominids she cares for,” AuRon said.

  “The Tyr’s reign won’t last forever. I hope your sister is sensible about it, when the end does come.”

  “I won’t regret it,” AuRon said.

  Imfamnia relaxed a little. “Please, enough idle chatter about our good Tyr. There are all these rumors passing around about him giving up his position to be with his mate and selecting a successor. That sort of rumor gets tongues wagging. Remember, AuRon, and remember for him, Natasatch, this was just idle talk between neighbors. You, NiVom, were up too late working again. I suggest you rest your mouth and your body.”

  As if some understanding had passed between them, Imfamnia called out thralls who tied bags of farewell presents around their necks. She opened the bags to highlight a few. Some were delicacies in pots, others trinkets of copper and brass, for wearing or for eating.

  “I very much enjoyed this visit,” Natasatch said. “You know you are free to come and spend a few days with us any time.”

  “Didn’t I say we would be great friends?” Imfamnia asked. “Perhaps we will come. I want to know what you eat to keep your claws so strong. Mine get worn down just handling fabric, I oath.”

  The four dragons exchanged bows and the Protectors of Dairuss took wing. The thralls let out a loud cheer as they rose into the air. AuRon guessed they’d been ordered to, under pain of punishment.

  They flew home over the course of a day’s journey of easy, brief flights, laden as they were by presents and trinkets. They opened one of the pots on a mountainside and enjoyed honey-roasted organ meats stuffed with smoked fish.

  They passed the trinkets back and forth. Natasatch agreed that it was junk, but they might as well keep it against a rainy day when metal ran short.

  Their little cave, looking out on the Golden Dome and Naf ’s thriving, smoky city, in the early winter chill, was a welcome relief after the pomp of Ghioz.

  They alighted. “Good to be back,” AuRon said. He wondered how soon he could get away to speak to Naf. There was much he wished to discuss.

  “I smell Istach,” Natasatch said. “She must have come from the Lavadome with a message.”

  In returning to the cave, they woke their offspring. Istach jumped to her feet.

  “A dragon, a dragon has come, Father. He wishes to speak to you. He’s back in the deep room.”

  AuRon recognized the odor of a healthy male dragon as he descended. The blazing, almost red-orange scales and the black stripes stood out even in the dim reflected light of the deep cave.

  “Greetings, AuRon,” DharSii said. “Is this your mate and the mother of your quiet daughter? Honored to meet you, madam. I’m afraid there’s a war in the offing, and we may be on opposite sides of it.”

  Chapter 8

  Fount Brass was much as Wistala remembered it. Tucked between two converging mountains like the last pea in a pod, the tin roofs gleamed from far off. Its famous wind chimes and musical water cascades—the water flowed through tubes that created notes through the flow—that gave the city its name could be heard from a hundred of dragonlengths away if the wind was favorable.

  Inhabited by men, many of whom were wider than they were tall and bowed in leg and arm, who cultivated and knotted their beards with the same care dwarfs took in dusting and watering the lichen within, it was a city of ringing smithies and white-hot foundries venting sulfurous fumes.

  They were notoriously independent. They were a province of Hypatia, but didn’t accept Hypatian law or temples, and had fought wars to keep their freedoms in Rainfall’s day.

  She’d last passed throug
h as a reluctant fortune-teller with a traveling circus. She’d have an easy time telling the fortunes of the men now: If they didn’t accept a dragon into Fount Brass, her brother had every intention of cutting off all trade with the obstinate men.

  “The slow pillage of a dragon-lord. No thank you,” their king, a hulk of a man named Arbus Glorycry said, bouncing his daughter on his knee. The curly-furred little girl was fascinated by Wistala and watched her every move, wide-eyed.

  Wistala wondered if he’d brought his spawn forward as a shield against dragon-wrath or to show courageous nonchalance against yet another of the Tyr’s emissaries.

  Perhaps a little of both.

  “Every other Hypatian province of the old order has accepted the help of a dragon. Why not yours?”

  “Where were you when the Ghioz were battering down our towers? Where were the dragons when my daughter’s room was burned?”

  “Myself, I was fighting in the snow of the Ba-Drink Pass,” Wistala said. “Others fought and died in the streets of Hypat, or over Ghioz. Have you not been at peace for ten years? Are there still bandits riding your mountains? Do Ghioz soldiers still walk your streets?”

  “They never conquered us,” King Arbus said. “As to the old Hypatian order, it fell apart in my grandfather’s time, when he knew only the title of Lord Protector. My father took the title of King and passed it to me. Am I to relinquish it to a dragon?”

  “We do not interfere with your traditions. Your dragon would act as an intermediary between you and the other lands of the Grand Alliance.”

  “What good would that do us?”

  “Trade. The Hypatians are rebuilding their armies and shipping fleets. They’ll need swords and shields and helms. Would you rather have the orders, or shall they go to the dwarfs of the Diadem, or new smithies in the north?”

  “Dwarf make! Ha! Twice the price for the same quality, just to say some grubby, coal-oil-reeking dwarf labored over the edge.”

  Wistala listened to the music of wind and water all around, no two refrains ever the same, no melody repeated, infinitely complex yet soothing in its smooth sameness. “You might find markets for your delightful chimes at the edge of the world to the south, or in the far north.”