Dragon Rule

“I won’t press you. I knew from the moment I saw you we would be firm allies. Ghioz and Dairuss. With your hardy warriors and our rich lands, we’ll have nothing to fear on our borders! I can’t think of what’s keeping my mate, he must be ill again.”

It wasn’t much of a feeding pit. The early-winter rains made it look even more dismal.

He settled on Great Neck in Dairuss as the location of the celebratory feast, and decided to hold it during the afternoon so the dragons would have light to find places to sleep after.

He’d chosen the location for the feast for a number of reasons. First, he didn’t want dozens of dragons flying over Dairuss’ Golden Dome and unsettling Naf’s people. Too many of them were refugees or children of refugees from dragon attacks during the Wizard’s old race wars, and panicked, stampeding hominids would scurry about starting fires and looting each others homes or spirits knew what else in the chaos.

Great Neck also had the advantage of being easily spotted from the air; it was a distinctively shaped loop of the Falngese river, reminiscent of a swan’s curving neck. It was close to Ghioz and had a good landing, and the ridge of the neck gave a commanding view. For ages there’d been sentries posted there to watch the river and lands eastward. It was also the old tribute dock for southern Dairuss when it was part of the Ghioz Empire, so there was ample riverfront for NiVom and Imfamnia’s barges of fattened cattle. There’d always been enough commerce and activity, never mind travelers hiking up the ridge for the view that a small town offered to plenty of workers who could be hired to assist with the feast.

Better yet, the locals looked like much of Dairuss: poor, simple country folk in patched-together clothing that looked not all that different from the local sheep. Dragons who otherwise wouldn’t listen when AuRon described Naf’s kingdom as rustic hill country would accept the evidence laid before their eyes and noses.

He’d overlooked how dragons expect to dine formally—circled around a low feeding area like all the animals of the savannah drinking from the sole remaining waterhole. Servants would rotate with platters, always beginning with the most favored guest—who would naturally be the Tyr—and moving down the social scale. Wistala told him that once upon a time a duel could be fought over being seated last, so a good host usually placed his mate and himself at the final two positions.

They ended up laying down felled trees for the dragons to rest upon, so they wouldn’t end up squatting in the mud and flying away with caked scales. Naf’s lumbermen worked hard, chaining horses to the big boles and dragging the trunks into line.

Imfamnia and NiVom were kind enough to arrive early, with a few dozen thrall cooks used to prepare dragon cuisine. AuRon thought NiVom looked haggard; perhaps he had been sick of late, though he flew well enough. A big meal would do him some good.

At last the big evening arrived.

His brother did not arrive with as many dragons as AuRon had feared. Wistala arrived with the Copper, a more mismatched pair would be hard to imagine, with Wistala big and broad-winged and her brother thin and limping without scale clean and sparingly polished and hardly a laudi on his wings. There were only a few representatives of his court and their mates, some curious Ankelenes exhausted from flying, and a smattering of the Aerial Host, including their commander HeBellereth.

Istach helped him with the introductions. She had a remarkable memory for names and kept close to prompt him as he greeted and announced his guests.

When Imfamnia and NiVom made their appearance, coming up from their barges on the riverbank, arriving late, once the feast had been well joined, all the assembled dragons hushed.

“What is she doing here,” the Copper said.

“Perhaps some oliban,” Wistala suggested.

“What is oliban?” Natasatch asked.

A few of the assembly tittered.

“It’s a sort of sap from rare trees in the south,” an Ankelene named NoFarouk said. “When burned, it is most soothing.”

AuRon heard whispers. “No welcoming coin… no oliban…”

“Our new Protector isn’t very courtly,” HeBellereth said.

“If being courtly is what’s required of a Protector, perhaps you should get a new one,” AuRon said. “NiVom and Imfamnia are my guests. Dairuss isn’t the Lavadome, and whatever she did in the past she’s been a good friend to myself and my mate now.”

The Copper’s one good eye looked AuRon’s way. “This is my brother’s Protectorate. He sets his own social conventions. He may invite who he will. I think, however, it would be best if I depart. Please, good dragons, do not consider this an insult to our host or our new allies. But I must choose my society.”

The Tyr moved off to contemplate the river.

Just like my brother. Skulking off, AuRon thought to Natasatch.

We mustn’t make an enemy of the Tyr, she thought back. Then aloud: “I’ll see to it that some food is brought to him.” Natasatch quit the feeding pit and did her best to order some servants to follow with platters.

With that, HeBellereth rose, and the members of the Aerial Host followed his example.

Wistala came to her feet, said, “I shall return,” and trotted off after him.

The feast had turned into a disaster.

“I’m sorry we caused such a rift in your celebratory feast,” NiVom said.

Imfamnia laughed. “Well, I never. What, he thought I might attack him? Our Tyr, who has smashed our enemies aboveground and below, retreats at the sight of one ragged exile? And a female at that?”

Ragged? Natasatch thought to AuRon. She’s dye-washed her scales to add contrast. Her servants have labored many hours with brushes to get that pattern.

The rest of the dragons shifted about nervously.

“Protector AuRon,” NiVom announced. “I’ve brought a specialty of my kitchens. In these waxed baskets—a dessert fit for the Tyr, even if he’ll have none. Brains in sweet brandy!”

She extended her wings and rotated them down, a sort of a bow crossed with a flourish, to AuRon’s mind, beautifully executed.

Part of him couldn’t help comparing Natasatch to the former Queen of the Lavadome. Everything NiVom’s mate did, she did gracefully.

Wistala settled down next to her Copper brother.

“I suppose I’ve let you down. Nilrasha would have smoothed all that over much better, or warned AuRon about Imfamnia in the first place. I’m not very good at these squabbles.”

“Neither am I,” the Copper said. “It’s the way many of the dragons in the Lavadome were raised. There’s nothing important for them to do, so they pick at each other. Reminds me of the baboons I saw in Bant. They’re either hurling dung at each other or picking nits.”

“Baboons,” she laughed. “Well, AuRon’s put together a good feast. You’ll have a fine cold breakfast in the morning.”

“I suppose I should have a conference with him. Just to see how he’s getting on. I’d like to know more about that daughter of his, Istach.”

“Why her?”

“Doesn’t she remind—well, never mind. She seems a bright young dragonelle and it’s a waste to haver just trailing after her parents like a hatchling. Did she come off badly in a fight as a drakka?”

Wistala wondered at this sudden interest. She hoped he hadn’t set his heart on winning all of AuRon’s offspring—three of the four were already serving the Grand Alliance. “I don’t know. I believe she grew up on that island of theirs.”

“There’s something about this I don’t like” the Copper said. “Imfamnia’s not a threat. She does incidental damage with her vanity and greed, it’s never intended. She just loves being the center of attention and having things her own way. In a way, she enjoys being an outcast. It gets others talking about her.”

“I don’t know her at all. She was gone long before I arrived at the Lavadome. She’s a terrible fighter in the air, I can attest to that.”

The Copper lowered his voice. “What was AuRon playing at, inviting her? The little rat tail. He’s up to something, I feel it. By stepping away from his feeding pit, it makes me the loser. I should have held my tongue and just pretended she wasn’t there.”

“AuRon’s new to all these customs too. He mentioned something about her helping them gather enough bullocks to feast the dragons. He and his mate didn’t want to be embarrassed in his first official meeting with his Tyr.”

Her brother looked at her with such astonishment. Wistala suddenly realized that she’d overheard his thoughts. Dragons could only read each other’s minds after long acquaintance, though family members could usually pick up on much of what their shared blood was thinking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break in on your thoughts,” Wistala said. She felt his mind dissipate and retreat from hers like water steaming off hot iron.

“I’ll have to be more careful around you,” the Copper said.

“I sometimes think the only reason I survived my youth in the Lavadome was because no one knew my mind well enough to sense what I was thinking.”