Dragon Rule

“Ah, my Queen-Consort,” the Copper said. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Your resort is coming along splendidly, NoFhyriticus,” Wistala said, trying to find polite words as he showed her around. They could use some of this stone in the north to build watchtowers against the barbarians, or on the proposed wall to cover the Iwensi Gap where the Falngese turned west to flow into the Inland Ocean.

“It serves its purpose,” NoFhyriticus said. His gray skin was painted in elegant Hypatian designs, his claws painted like a Hypatian Directory banner. “The Hypatians always come away impressed. It projects an air of stability and permanence.”

It projects an air of indulgence, Wistala thought. And close-packed humans. How many servants had he picked up over the years?

Thralls, thralls, thralls. Thralls to part curtains, thralls to light and extinguish flames so they traveled on an ever-unrolling carpet of flickering light, and an entire train of thralls each carrying three fat cushions atop their heads, so when they finally sat down and rested they did so with joints, head, and tail protected from contact with harsh flooring by combed sheepskin and thick coconut matting.

“Many mouths to feed,” Wistala remarked.

“What, am I hosting more than my Tyr and Queen-Consort tonight?”

“No, I meant your servants.”

“How do the Hypatians feel about you keeping so many thralls here?” the Copper asked. “You must have the population of a town.”

“Oh, I am bringing in a few gardeners and such to help with the feast, seeing as we have visitors of distinction. Usually I’m only attended by a dozen or so.”

NoFhyriticus discussed matters in Hypat intelligently enough as they dined. He was even aware of trouble in the north from the barbarians and recent Ironrider raids on Wallander, though King Naf of Dairuss and his Protectors had driven them off.

Ripe young human females dressed in the sheerest of fabrics began a vigorous dance to a band of musicians playing in a high alcove. Once hot and puffing, they reached for elegantly shaped vases and began pouring warm streams of oil on each other’s bodies as they moved. The smell of the runoff filled the room.

“The dance is entertaining enough—you can’t fault these humans for their flexibility, but the sweat on their adornments and in the oils makes for a pleasant atmosphere.”

“I’m sure you can afford the best dancers in Hypatia.”

“Only when my Tyr visits. Otherwise I enjoy the simple life.” He let out a long belch.

“Where did you get all this coin?”

“The Ironriders attacked another caravan, and that young dragonelle Protector of yours, oh, in those mountains with the blighters—Ulam, no, Uldam is it?”

“Istach,” the Copper said, growing animated. “I expect great things from Uldam. It’s rich in cattle. It will make a good bulwark against the eastern kingdoms and the principalities on the Sunstruck Sea.”

“Well, for now she did a fine job chasing the Ironriders away. The merchant prince of the Silkway gave me a partial share of the proceeds in thanks. Silks are much in demand with all the wealthier daughters of Hypatia, and the summer festival season is coming up. He had some never-before-seen colors that commanded fantastic prices.”

“That’s humans for you,” the Copper said, taking another tongueful of gold. “Wasting their gold on frippery. They should buy a few more sword-arms to see off the Ironriders, rather than dressing their daughters like market dancers.”

“We can’t just have our Protectors taking what they want,” Wistala said. “It causes resentment.”

“Wistala,” the Copper said, “the more the Hypatians prosper, the more we will. Their achievements of late are largely thanks to the dragon half of the grand alliance.”

“Still, we should be modest in what we consider our due,” Wistala said.

The Copper waved away another platter of food. Wistala thought the bearers looked underfed: What cruelty it must be to carry such a weight of meat with your own belly empty. “We have to give them a generation to get used to us. Maybe two generations. What is that, thirty summers up there, or thirty-five?”

“About that, my Tyr,” NoFhyriticus said. “Yes, Hypatia is growing rich again. The Princedoms of the Sunstruck Sea are sending their sons to Hypatia to learn at its libraries. Its fishing and trading fleets sail the Inland Ocean uncontested—and if that great canal ever gets cut, they’ll reach the wild western sea. Hypatian halls supporting Hypatian couriers and Knights of the Directory could be built even in the far north again, if you’d encourage it. You’ve inaugurated a blessed age.”

“It’s important that the Hypatians thrive,” the Copper said. “They need to know their position in the world depends on dragons. Thanks to dragons Hypatian messages travel faster than their enemies, their armies can reach farther, their wrath felt even in the great east, if it should come to that. They will grow dependent on us, and eventually we’ll have a vast nation of thralls to do our bidding.”

Wistala would have dropped a scale in shock.

“But what about all this talk of the Grand Alliance. Allies should be equals,” Wistala said.

NoFhyriticus chuckled. “You told me your sister was fond of the hominids, but I had no idea. Wistala, smell the facts: No two allies were ever equal. Sun and moon, horse and rider, frog and lily pad—each may benefit from the association, but there’s no equality to it. Hominids must remain below dragons, or we’ll just begin to dwindle again. We can’t outbreed them, and outwitting them by hiding only works for so long. We must groom a few of them to exist only at our sufferance, like the Tyr’s legion or his bats.”

The Copper sipped a little wine. “We’ll start small, of course. Ceremonial tributes are already common. Soon we’ll start asking for regular fees from the great merchant houses. The ones who pay will enjoy our protection and see their non-Hypatian rivals pillaged. The ones who don’t pay—well, ships may be lost to mysterious circumstances, or caravans will find their dragon-protection suddenly called away in the middle of the Ironriders Sweep. Capricious fate will teach them the caution of buying our close assistance.

“Before long only those who pay the Dragon’s Levy will see success. Once we have them used to paying levies, we can then see some of that wealth diverted to the Lavadome and the Protector’s resorts.”

“It seems more than enough has already gone into this resort. Greed kills, NoFhyriticus. Well, if this is the future you have in mind, I want no part of it,” Wistala said, bristling.

“Wistala, settle down,” NoFhyriticus said. “After dinner we’re to see some new trade goods brought over from the western side of the Inland Ocean. The humans there have discovered rich new quantities of gold and gemstones.”

The announcement thralls began voicing a new arrival. Yefkoa of the Firemaids came in, following the tail of the Protector’s assistant.

It appeared after-dinner plans would have to wait.

“My Tyr,” she panted—Wistala thought that Yefkoa always flew as hard as she could to maintain her reputation. “Ay-afeeia bids me tell you that NiVom’s come into the Lavadome. AuRon is with him. He’s been meeting with the leaders of the seven hills and been to Imperial Rock. She fears something is amiss.”

Chapter 17

The Copper, flying hard across the Lavadome with Shadowcatch and Wistala behind, had no idea which way he’d jump until he landed.

They arrived late, with the Lavadome asleep and the oval at the peak of the dome dark. Perhaps it was his overactive imagination, but the Lavadome seemed hushed, holding its breath. Usually a young dragon or two was up flying.

On the one sii, if Ayafeeia and Yefkoa were telling the truth, he’d just put his mate’s life in jeopardy. But NiVom wondered if his brother could be playing some sort of deep game, trying to sow division between the Tyr and his Protectors. Or make him look like a paranoid fool.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to fighting. First, he’d assemble the Aerial Host. Then he’d replace a few of his Protectors with loyal members of the Host.

He found himself hoping his brother was as nefarious as he thought him. He wouldn’t mind settling things once and for all with the Gray Rat.

“Come with me, you two,” he said. “By the spirits, I hope you’re wrong.”

Wistala and Shadowcatch followed behind as he wobbled his way toward the Tyr’s hall. He descended into Imperial Rock.

The Griffaran Guard, who should have been waiting above the Tyr’s door, was absent.

“NoSohoth!” he called as he went inside. “Where is everyone?” Even CoTathanagar, who was always lurking about looking for a new commission for a friend or relative, had vanished.

He found NoSohoth in the throne room. NiVom, his scales shining white, stood under four griffaran with several of the court dragons, including LaDibar of the Ankelenes, BaMelphistran of the Aerial Host, and a couple of the Skotl and Wyrr patriarchs. His brother stood a ways apart, warily eyeing the griffaran. A few of NiVom’s dreadful gargoyles occupied a Griffaran Guard perch as well, clinging to each other with claws and wing hooks in an ugly ball.