Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  Some of the sailors were very concerned when they realised they were not immediately leaving, but Floran explained that they were going to get two more very powerful druids and that would be very helpful for whatever perils awaited them when they set off into the open ocean.

  It was a fine day, the skies were clear and the fog and smoke that shrouded the city was being blown inland by a strong wind. The caravel creaked and groaned as they sped up and Arrin climbed up the main mast to reef in the topmost sails, shouting and pointing at the sailors that joined him. None of the local sailors had been on a ship with such tall masts before and they were nervous of the height.

  The wind blew them swiftly towards Stovologard. Meggelaine was at the prow of the ship and for a while she shut her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the clean air on her face.

  The ship penetrated the fog barrier and made its way to the harbour.

  ‘Oh my Etruna! Look at that!’ cried Meggelaine and pointed up at the central tower. Floran and Tankle turned to look.

  The top of the central tower, rising out of the smoke, and still at least a mile away, was lit up with distant flames and the unmistakable fireworks display of destructive magic. A black cloud of smoke rose from the carnage. The black dots of distant dragons could be seen wheeling above and around the cloud.

  ‘That’s not good,’ remarked Floran.

  Chapter 22

  The Top of the Tower

  Dragons were like elves in one regard, reflected Roztov, in that their official affairs happened very slowly. On top of the Tower of Stovologard Roztov and Ghene stood and waited with a group of human retainers there to serve the diplomat Lorkuvan. Since the dragons produced a moderate amount of smoke themselves, Roztov, lurking at the back, was largely unnoticed as he had a sly pipe.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he grumbled along with his stomach. ‘I should have had a bigger breakfast. Do you have anything?’

  The magic of Floran still lay on them and they spoke Draconic.

  ‘No,’ Ghene shook his head.

  They were both dressed in purple robes, the colours of Lorkuvan’s family. The others of her retinue were dressed in similar outfits, some with gold sashes to designate a senior rank, or leaning on long metal staves. Both of them wore leather armour under the robes and had hidden daggers.

  ‘Hey, Eru,’ said Roztov, addressing one of them. ‘Do we get fed again? It’s well past lunch now.’

  The young man smiled, he had a broad and open face, bowed and shrugged. ‘I have nothing, but go over to Fevan, he usually has a bag of mandu.’

  Lorkuvan was waiting patiently for the arrival of the dragon nobility, standing silently with others of her kin. There were a dozen or so lower ranking dragons already present, with their human retainers standing a respectful distance behind them.

  Roztov nodded at Ghene and they wandered over to another part of the tower top. Even dressed in unfamiliar robes the druids were adept at moving around silently and unnoticed.

  There was a strong wind this high up, but crenulated stone walls along the parapet broke up most of it. The walls spoiled the view, but kept them sheltered. The top of the tower was round and nearly two hundred yards wide, roughly the same size as the games arena in Timu, Roztov estimated, with enough room on it for several pavilions large enough to house dozens of dragons if it started raining. The central pavilion was the largest and most ornate, presumably for the king to sit in when he finally arrived. The floor of the tower was paved with wide slate slabs, swept clean by thralls the evening before.

  The dragons currently assembled waited in groups around the outer circle of the tower top. The sky was clear of clouds, so the dragons were content to remain out in the open. Their human retainers were nearest to the wall, on the outer edge of the circle of the tower top and some moved about, running errands or passing messages for their masters. Roztov and Ghene walked along the foot of the outer wall until they reached the man that had been pointed out to them.

  ‘Hey, Fevan is it?’ said Roztov holding up his hand as he approached the servant dressed in yellow livery. He stood with several others dressed in the same fashion. ‘I hear you’ve got food.’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t just give it to strangers though.’

  ‘Come on, be a pal. Just one. I want something in my stomach for when it all kicks off.’

  ‘Kicks off?’ asked Fevan, suddenly alarmed. ‘What have you heard?’

  Roztov held out his hand. After pulling a face, Fevan took a bag from his belt, opened it up and offered it to him. Roztov took a mandu from the bag and took a bite out of it. When the bag was offered to him, Ghene waved it away.

  ‘Well?’ asked Fevan.

  ‘Well? King Primus is going to meet King Blavius isn’t he? Something bad is going to happen, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘This is a Diet. There is a sacred trust between all dragons when one is called that there will be no violence.’

  ‘Too many other unknown factors mate,’ said Roztov eating the last of his mandu. ‘Garumuda is in the game now.’

  The colour went from Fevan’s face. ‘How do you know that name?’

  ‘From where I’m from,’ said Roztov, who felt he had no reason to hide things any longer in regards to his origin. ‘From my lands east of Tanud, where he makes a really pain in the arse of himself.’

  Some of the other retainers were turning to listen to their conversation now that it was straying into dangerous topics.

  ‘Take it,’ said Fevan handing the whole bag to Roztov, ‘and leave me alone!’

  Roztov and Ghene sauntered back to where Lorkuvan stood. Roztov ate three more mandu then gave the bag to Eru. ‘Hand them round.’

  Eru smiled gratefully, took a sweet mandu dumpling from the bag then passed it on.

  There were four large staircases on the tower top, one in each quarter, each big enough for a dragon to walk up, and many other smaller ones for their human servants tucked away at the edge of the wall. A dragon arrived from below, using one of the large staircases, followed by its retinue and everyone turned to see who it was.

  ‘Drednak, one of the generals,’ said Ghene who had learned a lot about the Stovologard dragons from his scouting missions over the last few weeks. Drednak took up his place close to the central pavilion while all his retainers except one moved to the back wall.

  Ten minutes later two more came up the stairs, followed by their own entourages.

  ‘Undeen and Krew, two other war-dragons,’ reported Ghene. ‘Undeen recently promoted after the death of Neith. If they are here then that means that according to protocol the grand procession will be next up the stairs.’

  Roztov resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wondering if his friend was enjoying showing off his knowledge of what was going on. ‘I’m going to have one last smoke then.’

  He brushed the mandu crumbs from his beard then clumsily pulled his pipe out from under his robes and packed it full of tobacco.

  ‘It’s funny to see all these people here,’ remarked Roztov idly as he packed, lit, and then puffed on his pipe. ‘None of them are armed, have you noticed that? Usually at these sorts of shows, in human countries I mean, there would be loads of blokes with pikes and spears and shiny breastplates.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Ghene. ‘It seems that in Stovologard men are only armed when they are hunting or policing other men.’

  Out at the mines, it was a different story, Roztov supposed, but the dragons tied to the capstans were not from Stovologard, all prisoners taken during the wars with the Chasm. He wondered if the humans that held the whips might become inspired into rebellion by the act of beating a dragon or if the Stovologard dragons had even considered it. This was a truly strange and unique city in so many ways and the relationship between the humans and dragons was not as simple as master and servant, he was coming to realise. The humans thought of the dragons the same way the underclass thought of the aristocratic classes back on Nillamandor. It was just the way of things; there was some dissent
, but either by accident or design it was focused on the gendarmes, other men, and not the dragons. In Styke, Roztov’s homeland, the princes, counts and dukes were generally neither liked nor despised; they were just part of the fabric of the country. Some were kind and some were not, and they bickered and fought amongst themselves which brought suffering down on the common folk when farms and thorpes were raided and burned. Styke was a mess, but it more or less worked. There had never been a peasant’s revolt, or nothing like it, but that was probably more to do with the constant struggle between men and goblins which tended to focus everyone’s attention. Stovologard, if judged by the standards of any other human kingdom, was better run, better managed, the people better fed and in most ways more content than in Styke. Styke set a very low bar admittedly. This thought brought a sad smile to Roztov’s lips.

  He looked up at the clear blue sky and listened to the wind ripping the air above their heads.

  ‘These diets, they are under truce, but it’s interesting that they are held here,’ he said as this new thought occurred to him. ‘Provides a quick getaway for dragons if it all goes pear-shaped.’

  ‘Not so handy for their servants though.’

  ‘I suppose not, a few blasts of dragon fire would wipe them all out. Uch, how much longer Ghene?’ sighed Roztov.

  ‘I cannot say,’ replied his friend.

  Eru turned to them. He was a young man of the Jetta people, had olive skin and was short of stature like those of his kind. His face was round and friendly.

  ‘It may not even happen at all,’ he said with an exaggerated whisper. ‘It can easily be called off. I have seen it before. We could stand here all night. If King Primus arrives though, it’s happening. He won’t enter the royal pavilion until he is certain Blavius will show up.’

  ‘Bloody bastard bones,’ muttered Roztov.

  Roztov had introduced Ghene to Lorkuvan two days before. Perhaps because she was a diplomat she was interested to meet her first elf.

  ‘You speak Draconic now in your normal form?’ she asked Roztov.

  ‘A friend has cast a spell on us to aid understanding.’

  ‘Ah, the mighty wizard from the east. The same one that can summon enough bees to chase off a rune-keeper?’

  ‘That would be him,’ admitted Roztov.

  ‘Well, it will prove useful I suppose,’ said Lorkuvan. She then moved on to talk to Ghene, questioning him about his race and their habits. Ghene replied politely and generally was open with his answers.

  ‘You live longer than humans?’

  ‘Considerably longer, yes,’ he admitted. ‘Almost as long as dragons in some cases.’

  ‘And yet with all these gifts your people have, you do not rule over the kingdoms of men?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘We are descended from the Dynar though, a race of elves that once had an empire that spanned most of the continent.’

  ‘And what happened to them?’

  ‘That...’ Ghene paused and directed a glance at Roztov. ‘That is a matter of some debate.’

  Although she was talking to Ghene as an equal, she still had her dragon arrogance.

  ‘It would be better for you all, if the elves ruled the kingdoms of men,’ she said haughtily. ‘They are an unruly and savage lot and need the guiding hand or claw of a longer lived race.’

  Roztov, who was smoking his pipe by the window, coughed out a cloud of smoke. ‘Steady on old girl,’ he spluttered.

  Eventually the conversation moved on to their plans for the peace talks.

  ‘You can wear my colours, and pass yourselves off as my servants,’ she said. ‘I will have ten others with me. It is strange to me, that you show no deference, you show no fear and you show no knowledge of how to address a dragon properly. You have the smell of trouble about you, both of you, but even so it is probably best that you are at the Diet. Don’t talk to any other dragons; they will be suspicious of you. Don’t draw attention to yourselves. Listen to all that's said. We'll talk of it later. Only come and talk to me if it’s urgent. If I need your advice on something I'll ask you.’

  Roztov and Ghene agreed and were sent to meet the other retainers that would be at the talks and get fitted out with robes. The men and women that served Lorkuvan were friendly and very curious about the two druids, but were shy with their questions. Roztov saw that they loved Lorkuvan greatly, holding her in awe the same way that the commoners back in Nillamandor venerated a favourite duchess or princess. She was considered kind by dragon standards.

  On the tower top, Roztov finished his last pipe and put it in his pocket. Lorkuvan turned her head back and looked at him with a withering eye. He smiled at her and patted his pocket where he had just put his finished pipe. She snorted out a cloud of smoke and looked away. No doubt she is remember her advice to us to keep out head’s down, he mused. She was certainly not aware then of the reputation that druids all over Nillamandor had for interfering in other people’s business.

  ‘I wonder if not having Floran with us is a mistake,’ murmured Roztov.

  ‘Too late now,’ observed Ghene.

  The stood in silence for a while, at the back of the group of retainers, waiting for something else to happen. A lady dressed in a fine black robe approached them from along the side of the wall.

  ‘Here comes Fiewa,’ said Roztov nodding at her as she approached. He saw that her robes, while thick for cold weather fitted her figure well and were finely decorated in barely visible embroidery. She had her hands in a fur muff for warmth.

  ‘I thought I recognised you,’ she said. ‘What have you been doing all this while?’

  She ignored the other servants and talked only to Roztov, not realising that he and Ghene were together.

  ‘Arranging things so we could be here for this, mainly.’

  ‘And here you are, so well done.’

  ‘What’s your opinion on all this?’ he asked.

  Fiewa thought for a moment before replying. ‘At face value, it is good news. Blavius would not be here if he didn’t mean business. Whatever that business may be. Under normal circumstances this would all be positive. And yet... There is the matter of your former shipmate.’

  ‘Have you heard anything from your friends in the south?’

  ‘I have. They play their own games. I’ve a feeling that all of them, city, Chasm and Spire – they are all so busy trying to outsmart each other that they are about to do something incredibly stupid.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ agreed Roztov. ‘Is your dragon not wondering where you are? Lord Pabajan wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll not miss me, the old fellow can sleep on his feet. He’ll only wake up if the King calls for him, which he probably won’t...’

  She stopped talking when a dragon’s head rose from the steps to their left, with the rest of the dragon following behind it. With no fanfare or announcement, the dragon walked towards its allotted pavilion at the centre of the square, followed by twenty human retainers.

  ‘And so the grand procession begins,’ observed Fiewa. ‘They arrive in order of lowest to highest rank.’

  As the dragons arrived, one by one, and took their places, Lady Fiewa named them. ‘Tuntelal, Mistress of the sky, Setanta the Lord of the Darkwings, Sterris the Unwise – Dragon of Blood Scales and keeper of the southern shrines, Lorguluthe, Lord of Death, Juhy the Mother – High Clutch Matron, Hannorut the Master of the Hunt, Anglus the Jackal - known as Cursedblood – Lord of the Outcasts, Amok – Lord of the Firekin, Master of the Eternal Flame...’

  And on and on, until all the high-ranking dragons of Stovologard were present. To Roztov they all looked much the same, except that as each one arrived it was slightly bigger and darker in colour than the previous.

  It was well into the afternoon when King Primus arrived. This was the first time Roztov and Ghene had seen the king and they were impressed by his size and bearing. Like the others of his kind his scales were black, but the hide of the king was so dark it seemed to absorb light. He was
so black that he appeared almost as a shadow, only his yellow eyes and long white teeth breaking up the silhouette. He was also easily the biggest dragon there, twice the size of Lorkuvan, and dwarfing even the war-dragons that stood on either side of his pavilion like an honour guard.

  ‘That is the biggest bastard I’ve ever seen,’ whispered Roztov to his friend.

  ‘Monstrous,’ agreed Ghene whispering back. ‘And ancient beyond measure. The affairs of men and elves must be like the affairs of insects to one such as he.’

  Primus walked over to the central pavilion where a golden sun shade was raised to keep the light from the southern sun off him. Unlike all the others of his kind who were waited on by humans, he was served by other dragons. These were young dragons, much the same size as the manhunters, with dark green scales.

  After about fifteen minutes, King Blavius and his contingent from the Chasm flew in from the south.

  The many and variant shapes and sizes of dragon landed in quick succession, blowing much of the lingering smoke away with their wing beats. They were almost like a carnival or circus as they arrived, so bright and varied were their colours when compared to the blacks and dark greens of the city dragons. Indeed, the only dragons of Blavius’s entourage were his honour guard, four large black dragons, an unsubtle insult to the dragons of the north.

  Roztov recognised some of the others and pointed them out to Ghene.

  ‘The big red one is Rah-Ur of course. There are Shumakkak and Barkback. Oh, and Tefnut the Lioness. They are the sensible ones apparently. There are Gugaloris and... Oh, I’ve forgotten his name...’

  ‘The one with the big teeth?’ asked Ghene. ‘That’s Ukadak.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Roztov slightly abashed. ‘I can see you know them all anyway.’

  King Blavius was last to arrive, clearly not used to flying, landed clumsily and was stopped from falling flat on his face by the timely intervention of his chief advisors Gugaloris and Ukadak.