Page 208 of Dragon Champion (Age of Fire 1)

AuRon sighed. “I thought if I could just get at this wizard, I could kill him and fly back. But it seems all the men here are a part of his vision for the destiny of man. If he died, they’d still be able to breed and train dragons. There’s no magic to it—it’s a matter of skill and experience. It won’t stop with the death of one man.”

“They’ve had some trouble with us. There’s a reason there are so many empty ledges, gray. Some of us have taken to smashing our eggs, and this morning, Nereeza had a clutch.”

“Natasatch, give me a few days to think. We’ll get out of this somehow. You’ll see the sun and feel the sky, and fly—”

“Fly? I’ve never flown, AuRon. I’ve had this collar about my neck since they took me off that ship, and I’ve been in this cavern since my wings came out.”

AuRon blinked, astonished. So many seasons, so much time had passed since the day he had first flown. He tried to imagine Natasatch’s years in the damp. Somehow depriving her of flight seemed as much of a crime as what they were doing with the eggs.

“You’ll fly. As I’m true to the song of my ancestors, you’ll fly. We’ll go above the mountains, above the clouds, together.”

“Together? Like a mating flight?” Natasatch asked, tilting her head and resettling her wings.

“Well, I mean—”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make jokes, but jokes are all that keep me going.”

“I’ll see you again soon,” AuRon said, jumping off her ledge. “Don’t lose heart.”

“I’ll be waiting. It’s all I do, after all.”

AuRon woke from his nap when the cart went by. It was not one of the two-wheeled ones, laden with food and pulled by a pony, but a lower, four-wheeled construct, high sided and thickly padded with mats of straw. One woman—it was rare to see human women among the dragons—pushed it, and the other pulled it from a leather strap about her waist. Four members of the Dragonguard walked before, carrying two-pointed spears AuRon remembered from his capture. He shuddered, and lifted his head when Eliam followed with four more of the Dragonguard. A pair of the Wyrmmaster’s green-clad assistants brought up the rear.

“All this effort to shovel out the sluice?” AuRon asked.

“It’s time to collect eggs, gray. We think one of them has laid. Sometimes they can be troublesome.”

“The eggs?”

Eliam stepped out of line and rounded on him. “You know what I mean. Come along, you might learn something about your place in the world.”

Which was just what AuRon was looking for. He trailed the procession past both gates.

The dragonelles hissed and spat from within their caged snouts when the cart appeared; the forward men brought down their wyrmcatchers and held them at the ready. The men stepped slowly, their dragon-scale armor clinking as they moved. AuRon wondered what would happen to the women at the cart if one of the dragonelles managed to loose her fire properly. The green-clad assistants looked on each ledge—they were just below head height—and searched the dragonelle’s perches for eggs.

The wyrmcatchers peeped their whistles behind the face masks when they came to a shelf midway down the cavern.

“Four . . . very good, Nereeza, now move out of your alcove,” one of the assistants said.

“My eggs, my duty,” Nereeza said. “I beg: let me see them hatch.”

“You know we’ll take good care of them.”

“My eggs, my duty,” Nereeza insisted.

Eliam lowered his visor and whistled sharply. Two of the wyrmcatchers stepped forward, and went to either side of the dragonelle. Eliam drew his sword and hopped up onto the egg cart to see better. She backed away from one, curling her tail around the eggs, and the other took the opportunity to catch her neck in the crotch of his spear. AuRon noticed that the spear had handles sticking out, perpendicular to the shaft, and another wide pad at the rear for the man to brace against his shoulder.

The woman who pulled the cart unharnessed herself and stepped away, making soothing sounds.

Another birdlike peep sounded from Eliam, then a louder one, and the rest of the wyrmcatchers pinioned Nereeza. One used his wyrmcatcher to hold her snout aloft. The Wyrmmaster’s assistants climbed onto the egg shelf. Liquid fire bubbled out of Nereeza’s mouth, bringing a sizzling sound as it splashed against her lips and nostrils.

AuRon tightened his jaw, imagining the pain on his own snout.

“My . . . eggs . . . my . . . duty,” Nereeza managed to gasp through her flaming lips. She lifted a leg. Eliam sounded three shrieking trills as he made an astonishing jump from cart to ledge. His sword swept up as Nereeza’s leg came down, not fast enough. As his sword opened her neck in a splatter of blood and fire, her foot came down on the eggs in a wet crunch. Another spearman plunged his weapon into her leg, pushing it away from the mess of shell and slime. Nereeza’s windpipe burbled as it took in blood. Eliam put the sword up over his shoulder, then swung again, and AuRon heard the blade bite into Nereeza’s vertebrae and pass through. AuRon had heard bitter legends of dragon-killing swords; now he’d seen one used. On a female. With her neck immobilized so that the soft underside was exposed.

One egg remained, and the Wyrmmaster’s assistant took it up as he would pick up a baby, getting it out of the way of the still-twitching corpse, and transferred it to the padded cart. The procession continued to the other end of the cave, and back again. No further eggs were found.

“A bad casting. Perhaps the breeding stock’s not up to the job,” one of the egg keepers said as they followed the cart out.

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