Dragon Strike

by E. E. Knight

  AuRon saw what he guessed was the amphitheater. The palace itself, set at the back of the under-construction face, didn’t look nearly as impressive as the delvings of the Dwarves of the Diadem. A few little holes, some barred windows, a balcony and walkway here and there. It seemed a cold, lonely place, up there looking down on treetops with only the wind and a few soaring birds to keep you company.

  AuRon spilled wind and drew close to DharSii again.

  “She seems a long way from the city. What was it called again?”

  “Ghihar.”

  “Ghihar.”

  “She doesn’t go among her people much. She’s supposed to be able to strike a man blind with her beauty—or her ugliness. It depends if you talk to a friend or enemy of Ghioz which version of that you’ll hear. One of those roc-riders said an expectant mother can’t so much as look at her shadow without miscarrying.”

  They landed on the greensward. AuRon smelled sheep and his mouth grew wet. Flying always gave him an outsized appetite.

  DharSii stretched, a strange gesture, so different from the way his other dragons did—like a cat from the inn named after Wistala, first the back end, then the front.

  “What now?”

  “Oh, some watchman is sending a report to his captain, who will tell one of the Queen’s servants, who will inform the Queen. She should be here. She has a winter palace near the coast and a summer palace up in old Dairuss, but she hardly uses them when she’s busy.”

  “She’s been so occupied lately?”

  “Ever since we recovered that crystal she wanted.”

  AuRon shuddered, but couldn’t have said why he did so.

  “I think I picked up some scale-nits between my wings,” DharSii said. “Do you mind?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “They’re vicious. Do you suffer much? I’ve never known a gray.”

  “They wash off easily with no scale to hide behind,” AuRon said.

  “Fortunate.”

  “Sometimes.”

  DharSii groomed, and then they settled into silence.

  They only waited less than a dwarf-hour.

  The Red Queen appeared to the sound of trumpets, riding out of her palace behind two white horses pulling a white chariot. A stunted human rode one of the horses, and another the back of her chariot, throwing his weight this way and that in the turns.

  AuRon had plenty of time to watch as she approached. He understood the red part immediately—she wore garments of the richest red with a silvery metal accenting it. Her dressing reminded him a little of the battle flags he’d seen in the east, pinned to the back of horsemen, though these seemed more like streamers, projecting out and up like a peacock displaying his feathering.

  He supposed it made an impression. But no bodyguard, no retainers, not so much as a courtier or a herald?

  “Why doesn’t she send one of her titleors to do her bidding?”

  “She doesn’t trust others to shade her judgments. Besides, she’s fascinated with dragons. I expect she wants to meet you. She’s been full of energy since our battle in the heart of Old Uldam. She’s pleased that we retrieved that crystal. I’m sure it lights up her collection of treasures.”

  “Ah.”

  “Do not stare directly into her face. She wears layers of masks, a silk one with a porcelain one atop that, then there’s the gold one she holds in her hands. On one side the face frowns, on the other it smiles. You’ll do well to see that she keeps the smiling one toward you.”

  Watching her approach, AuRon decided the flight was worth it. He’d like a chance to meet so extraordinary . . .

  Extraordinary what?

  “Is she human?”

  “She’s the correct size for one, though she has some of the willowy grace of the elves. She’s no dwarf or blighter, that’s certain.”

  The chariot ascended the path at a trot. She entered their field and approached them like a serpent, bending first one way and then the other. The horses refused to settle in the presence of the dragon, and the other miniature human assisted his twin in holding them.

  She gave a sweeping move of her hand and loose sleeve-fabric followed as though trying to catch up. She detached herself from the plumed carapace and came off the wheeled platform.

  AuRon noted the decorative spikes at the center of the wheels.

  He would have thought her a slim young man or an elf rather than a woman. She seemed scant for a female. The ones he’d known were full and curved as foxtails. DharSii hadn’t been exaggerating about the masks. Her head was swathed in silk and she wore a mask on her face of the brightest white, shimmering like an unblemished moon.

  Her garb still stuck out and up from the shoulders and hung about her as though she were traveling with her own tent in place. The coloring reminded him of a well-boiled lobster. She carried a large mask on a polished ivory stick, holding it in front of her face with the smiling golden face turned out. The face was masculine and reminded him of a beardless dwarf more than anything.

  Odd. But then he’d always been told that powerful humans had strange fancies.

  The horse-holders took the chariot up the path and away from the dragons.

  AuRon couldn’t help but be impressed. Most hominids were terribly timid around dragons, or overcame their instincts and started touching in a stockyard fashion. The Red Queen kept a full neck-length of distance and looked up.

  “DharSii, we knew that talk of never returning was a hothead letting off steam. It pleases us to see you back.”

  DharSii lowered his head. “Great Queen.”

  AuRon thought it best to imitate him.

  The mask spun, flashing a brief frown before the smiling face turned to the dragons again. “Ever measured in your words in our presence. We thank you for relieving us from courtly duties and getting us out in the air. You have brought us another skyking?”

  “A famous dragon out of the north, traveling in search of a comrade. His name is AuRon.”

  “Great Queen. Yes, I do seek another dragon. But we have other matters between us. Years ago a counselor of yours promised me lands in your Dairuss province if I performed a war-service against the Wizard of the Isle of Ice, the Wyrmmaster. This I have done. I come to claim Hischhein’s bounty.”

  DharSii looked a little startled at this speech.

  “Well done, dragon,” the Queen said. “We are pleased. You come right to business.”

  “On which point I will receive satisfaction first.”

  “As to your comrade, you’ve met two-thirds of our Drakine retainers. Imfamnia still sulks in the hot springs on the western slopes, nursing her bruises.”

  She put a curved speaking trumpet to her lips and pointed the bell behind her.

  “Pish, a reign cup, to wash out our mouth of the dust.”

  The servant hurried forward with a clay vessel over his shoulder and a thick carved horn cup in his hand. AuRon smelled hot copper and blood.

  Which was what the reservoir within the clay and padding contained. It steamed in the cold air as he poured it.

  “Hot calf-blood,” she said. “Will you have some, AuRon? An arrival tonguefull is all I could carry, I’m afraid.”

  “I prefer mine still inside the meat,” AuRon said.

  “Ah, well, yes. We suppose a full stomach in back balances all that wing weight to the front.”

  She drank from the fragrant cup. AuRon noticed that it had a little channel in the lip shaped like a bird-neck that allowed her to insert it in the hole in her mask. The blood smelled warm.

  “Ourselves, we hate the feeling of a gorged stomach. It makes us entirely too sleepy. Most of the digestive system is devoted to turning ordinary food into blood. We save ourselves the trouble so that we may think more clearly.”

  “The Great Queen is scientifically minded,” DharSii observed.

  “I’m afraid we have bad news, dragon. The lands Hischhein promised you were put under the supervision of your old friend, whose name has since been stricken f
rom the rolls of Ghioz and become outlaw. They reverted to the Empire. Though as this had nothing to do with you, we will see to it that you are given their value in coin, though timberless grazing-slopes may not bring as much as you would like.”

  “That does not sound like justice to what was promised me.”

  “I’m afraid our counselor who made that promise has fallen into disfavor. I asked him to make an alliance with the Wyrmmaster, and the fool sent a dwarf to negotiate and instead made an enemy. I asked him to keep the peace on my borders and offer succor to ancient Hypatia, which sadly no longer seems able to control her destiny, to the misery of all, and instead we had war and throngs of impoverished refugees, elf, dwarf, and man. Finally he promised lands of Imperial Title in exchange for your services, dragon.”

  “None of this is through fault of mine,” AuRon said.

  “We will satisfy your claim. But first, satisfy our curiosity. What does a gray need with coin?”

  AuRon bowed, trying to remember how the dwarves used to speak to the Ironrider princes on the plains. “Your majesty is a scholar of dragons?”

  “More of an enthusiastic admirer. Are you a good flier?”

  “I’ve won time trials, and the longer the distance, the faster I do.”

  “Great Queen,” DharSii whispered.

  “Great Queen,” AuRon added.

  “No scale to weigh you down.”

  “You are perceptive, Great Queen.”

  “Perhap it’s the lack of scale, but you look starved. We can see your ribs. We shall have food sent to you.”

  “Thank you, Great Queen,” the dragons said, together.

  The Red Queen laughed. “We should like to hear you sing, like two birds. We shall do you justice, AuRon from the north. Ghioz is always ready for a new friend. Let us forget Hischhein and that rebel Naf the Dome-burner.”

  “Perhaps. As long as the debts of Ghioz are not forgotten along with the names.”

  The Queen’s mask at the end of the handle spun and spun again, as though she were deciding whether to show the smiling or frowning face. It ended up smiling.

  “Look for us on the morrow. Perhaps we can fulfill more than our counselors promised. DharSii, are you back for the season?”

  “No, Great Queen. I came only to accompany AuRon.”

  “Then we wish you a good journey again.”

  DharSii thanked her and bowed again.

  The Red Queen, business done, turned and ascended to her chariot.

  Food arrived, though the Queen gave no sign of having called for it. Blighters brought them each a skinned sheep in a barrow.

  “What do you think?” DharSii asked, after they’d eaten.

  “Different,” AuRon said, wondering how much honesty he could afford.

  “Do not cross her, if you know what’s good for you. She doesn’t forget her friends or her enemies.”

  “I am allowed to say no to serving her, I hope.”

  “I did,” DharSii said. He looked to the east and took a deep breath. Then he opened his wings.

  The expected jump-beat didn’t come. DharSii turned back to AuRon.

  “If I have kept things from you, it’s because I heard your name and respect your deeds. I did not want us to be enemies. I hope you understand that once I have given my word, I could no more break it than I could divide myself to fly both north and south.”

  “If you’ve brought me here on false—”

  “Oh, you’ll have your gold. Fairwinds, AuRon. I hope we meet again.”

  With that, he flew away.

  Chapter 9

  The Copper watched the demen move almost as one from point to point beneath the west tumble—a sort of pile of rocks at the base of the Imperial Rock.

  Gigrix, the general of the demen, had “exercised” his troops to keep them from fighting amongst themselves in their idleness. The Copper had taken to watching the exercises with Gigrix when he saw them moving around within their allotted space beneath the loom of the Imperial Rock and took to asking questions—for example, why so many of the evolutions required the soldiers leaping over each other’s backs, the lower helping the upper to vault higher and farther.

  Gigrix, clumsy in his Drakine, explained that in tunnel fighting, possession of a cave-ceiling often meant possession of the tunnel.

  “An uphole was the only way for escape ye dragons,” Gigrix said. “No dragon spit flame straight up.”

  “You’re right there. Nothing burns hotter than your own flame, my old master in the Drakwatch used to say.”

  “Demans—he (sic-eek) natural instinct to flee down, into crevice.”

  “I would like to see those dragon-snares and arresting ropes you’re so famous for using on dragons in action sometime. We’ve lost too many dragons to such devices.”

  “Ye—ye wish to see us—snare dragon? In true—In truth?”

  “I’ve seen warfare on the surface, but have only heard reports of tunnel fighting. An exhibition of your prowess would be fascinating. Of course neither side must be hurt in the exercise.”

  “Of course!”

  “Gigrix, I have a proposition for you. We’re having trouble getting Paskinix to meet so that your release might be negotiated.”

  “If ye intend is . . . , demen have honor, sir, as dragons.”

  “No, nothing of the sort. I was thinking that perhaps you could choose one or two of your soldiers to send looking for him with a message that I wish to meet, Tyr to King, and settle this conflict. Demen and dragons have enemies enough on the surface without fighting each other down here.”

  Gigrix was as difficult to read as a griffaran, between the frog eyes and the sliding headplates and grinding mandibles with probing lips, especially when all chose to work at once. But his spines stiffened at last.

  “Done, if ye wish to give the orders. I shall send two.”

  Two would be better, the Copper thought. They’ll spend their time talking to each other.

  “There’s one other arrangement I’d be happy to offer for the comfort of your warriors,” the Copper said.

  “What would that be?”

  “Dragons, I know, hate being long away from mates and hatchlings. I suspect it is the same with demen.”

  “What is propose?”

  “That such of your people”—the Copper was careful to observe Gigrix’s reaction to the phrase your people—“as wish to visit and cheer your warriors may come and live at some intermediate distance where they might make the trip in a day. I’m afraid I can’t allow any of your warriors to leave their area to go visit them, but I will allow free traffic by whatever mates and spawn wish to visit. They could settle at the river ring, as long as they take care not to try to steal any griffaran eggs. What say you to that?”

  “I—I give that think.”

  “You do that. Evidently there is no hurry. At least Paskinix is of that opinion. Perhaps I’m not offering the right guarantees of his safety. Would you advise me on that?”

  “Yes. Yes,” Gigrix said.

  “He knows that we meet as equals, he King of the Demen, myself Tyr of the Dragon Empire. No humiliation, no victor and vanquished.”

  “The Tyr is generous. I, as general, admit that we beaten, beaten very. He cannot object.”

  “He may choose the location of the meeting. All I ask is the companionship of my guard and his word that we meet in fair parley, no tricks or ambushes. Is that an immoderate demand?”

  “No. The Tyr shows courage. That last parley with fighting—it was quaking trick. I take no part in that.”

  “Of course. You are a warrior, with a warrior’s honor. Your followers surrendered, and I’ll die before I see them ill-treated or have the terms of the surrender broken. That is my promise to you, Gigrix.”

  “Your word is prove by better treatment than I ever expect, Tyr.”

  “I just hope it is soon. So you see no fault in my offer?”

  “No—none!”

  “Hmmm. Well, perhaps something is be
ing lost in the messaging. This has dragged on far too long. I’ve nothing but admiration for the discipline and spirits of your warriors, but I hate to see them confined to a few dragonlengths of shabby holes.”

  “Shabby! Tyr, the Lavadome is a wonder. Holes are clean with sound water than accustomary, purify in from steam. See the living hot rock flow against the . . . the—

  “Crystal,” the Copper supplied.

  “Ah, crystal! Great magic. Very dangers. Yes, it is like a magma pilgrimage that never ends behind crystal.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, as I was saying, such fine warriors, kept waiting, though I commend you for keeping their minds occupied with exercise and training. How did we ever beat you? We could have used such skill in the skirmish with the dwarves at the hotflow.”

  “A sharp fight, eh?” Gigrix asked, his spines rising and falling.

  “Yes, the dwarves had taken refuge on a rising slope up from the steaming river. They’d banked stone against flame, so our own fire ran down on the Firemaids, and they had a stout shield wall behind.”

  “Ha! The Tyr is wise, but I know how to fight dwarves in such a situations. You had water near. A good triple pump.”

  “Triple pump?”

  “Easy to build, just copper tubing of different sizes, and some stout backs to work the handles. It throw stream of water farther than any dragonflame. I see a triple pump knock down a wall, dwarves behind shields? Spill ’em and send ’em rolling like toadstools. Oh, a sight, that to see.” Gigrix seemed lost in his imagination.

  “Well, if the occasion calls for it, when a peace of friendship instead of enmity is made, perhaps I’ll ask for your assistance in a future fight. Reward the victory with herds of cattle and drink a toast of dragonblood over a pile of dwarf-heads.”

  “Dragonblood, my Tyr?”

  “You’ve never had it?”

  “Well, yes, in war . . . well, bodies and such.”