Dragon Rule

Wistala wondered if they even would have made it, traveling in the north in that bleak and bitter spring, without AuRon flying at their head. He cut the air for them, and they rode with the advantage of the draft he’d created.

Miki suffered terribly from the cold. They took turns lighting dragon-fire so that he could warm his thin body. The only thing that kept the old griffaran going was a promise of bony fishes taken from the deep lake of the Sadda-Vale.

At one of their warmth-and-water breaks, RuGaard offered to take over the lead position to give AuRon a chance to rest.

“I’m not dragging scale,” AuRon said. “I don’t mind anything except that the rest of you are a little slow.”

They all chuckled at that. Perhaps the family had learned to laugh after all.

They flew high over the mountains surrounding the Sadda-Vale at the cost of exhaustion, but with the journey almost at an end.

Wistala thought Vesshall in the Sadda-Vale hadn’t changed in the intervening years any more than as if she’d just left the previous night. The stone latticework over the entrance, the great dome carved out of living rock, the steaming pools of the lake beneath giving wisps of heat up into the sky.

Perhaps the Sadda-Vale was a sister location to the Lava-dome. Unchanging year in and year out.

Not such a bad place to live in exile. Hot and cold natural pools for swimming, the vast, deep lake, architecture unlike anything she’d seen in the wide world, and plenty of game. A troll hunt with three or more full-grown dragons would be an interesting challenge rather than a risky hunt. She’d have to remind her brothers about the trolls.

Though today it was mist-shrouded. Nevertheless a few blighters were employed sweeping leaves from the vast courtyard before the entrance.

They dropped their brooms and fled at the sight of the new arrivals.

DharSii was the first to amble out of the entrance with its ancient writing. He startled when he recognized them.

“We seek refuge,” AuRon said.

“And fish. And warms,” Miki said in his bad Drakine.

DharSii cleared his throat. “Ha-hem. Welcome, Wistala. It’s good to see you again. Greetings, AuRon. Tyr RuGaard, you fly with a small escort. Has there been trouble?”

Scabia the White shuffled out, dragging her tail, but the aged dragon still had bright and alert eyes. “We’ve met before, Wistala of the line of AuNor.”

“Yes, briefly.”

“A young dragon seeking help in her battles in the wide world,” Scabia sniffed.

DharSii looked uncomfortable.

“So, how did your contest in the world of hominids turn out? A smashing success, no doubt?”

“I am no judge of my own success.”

“Now you’ve returned.” As you see.

“I can’t imagine what your party seeks that is in my power to grant.”

“We seek refuge with you from a hostile world. We are all exiles from the Grand Alliance.”

“DharSii, is this the confounded arrangement you were speaking of?”

“Yes, Scabia. The Lavadome dragons and the Hypatians are now allies.”

“It’ll end badly. Such arrangements always do. Well, I expect you’re hungry. I can see the ribs on that poor scaleless dragon with the regrown tail.”

“We’d be grateful for your hospitality,” Wistala said.

“You never struck me as the grateful type. But perhaps your experiences have taught you better manners than to go running off from your hosts in the dead of night. Well, it’s a cold day, and I don’t care for the Upper World.”

She led them all down into the great hall Wistala remembered, with its many lofts projecting from the side and pools of rainwater on the floor. It still smelled musty, like secrets hardly worth keeping.

As the others ate, Scabia settled down beside Wistala.

“It’s good to have another dragonelle around,” the aged white said.

“We may stay some time, if you’ll let us. We all could use a rest.”

“The Sadda-Vale can support many more dragons than it does. It has in the past, in any case. You can win a place for yourself and your companions permanently, as uzhin.”

“You still need eggs for your daughter?” Wistala asked. Scabia’s charity always came with a price, and she’d asked, years ago, that Wistala mate with NaStirath so that her barren daughter Aethleethia would have hatchlings to care for.

“Yes. I’d still like you to produce them. The superiority of your characteristics, your size and strength, suggest that you would lay fit, healthy hatchlings. Why, you might have eight or more eggs in a single clutch. You could be the foundation of a new age in the Sadda-Vale.”

Scabia’s eyes gleamed. Was she looking forward to a new age, or back at past glories?

“The price is mating with NaStirath.”

“He’s not so bad, Wistala.”

“But—mate with him?”

“Take it from one who has mated many times. It is over before you know it.”

She wondered how far she could dare tax Scabia’s charity and desire for another generation in the Sadda-Vale. “I’d much rather mate with DharSii,” Wistala finally said.

“DharSii? Surely you joke.”

“He’s a closer relative of yours, isn’t he?”

“Yes. But he’s a striped dragon. They’re always difficult, often sterile. I don’t believe mating with him would be productive. Striped dragons never fit in, no offense intended against either my uzhin or your scaleless brother.”

“My brother has stripes, and has managed to produce offspring. One clutch of four eggs.”

“Probably striped as well. If that’s all he’s managed to have, he’ll be the last of his line. DharSii is out of the question. You must lay the next eggs in my hall, with NaStirath.”

She stared at the empty floor.

“Besides,” Scabia continued, “there are attributes of DharSii that I wouldn’t wish to see passed on. He has forever humbled himself by working in harness for hominids. I would not have any line of mine sullied by a slave.”

“He worked for hominids to bring you coin.”

“A real dragon finds coin, takes it, demands it of his inferiors. He doesn’t run errands like a dwarfen shopkeeper.”

“You think NaStirath his superior?”

“I wouldn’t trust NaStirath to burn down a barn full of oil-soaked cotton. But he is of an impressive length, his bone structure is exceedingly fine, he displays a better than average wingspan. I’ve never known him to be sick a day in his life.”

“The way he idles, I wonder how you could tell if he was sick.”

“What will it be, Wistala? You wish to live in my vale, you will accept my rule. Produce eggs for my daughter to raise as her own, or find another cave for your poor exiles. If you can.”

Wistala knew what her choice would be. It was there, half-formed and painful, like a toothache just setting in. She was but one dragonelle, thrown out by her society, but she held in her tender jaws the lives of two brothers, their families, and a handful of loyalists to an exiled regime.

“I will do as you demand.”

“You and your friends will find us generous hosts. There is nothing to fear from the Lavadome, relations between our two societies are of long-standing.”

“I hope that proves true,” Wistala said.

“The rule of Scabia is not to be trifled with.”

* * *

There was nothing to do but get it over with. If it had to be done, it might as well be done quickly. Her Copper brother was making himself miserable, and AuRon lay in his loft and slept like a jungle snake with a deer in it.

But they roused themselves to attend her “mating.”

Scabia even managed to climb a little spit of land that looked out on the unusually misty lake. Blue clouds high above looked like a stormy sea.

“Wistala,” NaStirath said. “Don’t look so down-at-hearts. Think of it as a silly game, to please your relatives. You may not admit it, but you’re a sprig of the great tree Scabia tends, in her way.”

She took one long, last look at DharSii. If ever a dragon looked miserable enough to drop scale, it was he.

“I don’t suppose I get a song,” Wistala said.

Scabia snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not his mate, my offspring is.”

“Well, off with it, you two,” Scabia said. “I’ve waited long enough for some eggs in this cavern.”

DharSii, evidently unable to watch the rest of the ceremony, moved off in the direction of the lake.

“Don’t stand there twitching like a thunderstruck rabbit,” Scabia said. “Into the air. I’ll be watching, remember.”

“Oh please, must you?”

The Copper spoke at last. “Scabia, if my sister has agreed to… to create some eggs with NaStirath, she’ll do it. Save her the embarrassment of knowing she’s being watched from the ground.”

“Oh-h-h, once upon a time all the hominids of the world read their augurs whenever dragons mated.”

“Let them have their privacy,” the Copper said. “I’ve been on the receiving end of such curious stares. I didn’t care for it.”