Page 146 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

From a distance she seemed a fine-looking dragonelle. Wistala was improving in her judgment of the various clans. It seemed she had a bit of Anklene about the eyes—how like Mother!—and strong, thick saa bulging with muscle. Wistala guessed she must be a great leaper. She envied her long, graceful tail and elegantly formed forelimbs. Wistala thought hers oxlike in comparison.

She’d heard a story that the blighters called her “Ora”—her entire band of Firemaidens had died in an attack on a Ghioz city. She was the only survivor, the Ora—the one spared from slaughter at a great feast, by blighter custom.

Closer, her looks were marred somewhat by scars.

“She’s seen her share of battles,” Wistala observed.

“The Tyr has a scarred face as well,” Takea whispered. “The scars look less strange when you see them together.”

Nilrasha accepted her bows and crossed necks with Ayafeeia. Nilrasha asked a few polite niceties about the quality of the pig, sheep, and cow from the Imperial Herd that she’d sent to the banquet and received thanks and compliments in return.

“Maidmother, I understand you have news for me,” Nilrasha said.

“I have an account of the completion of the war against the demen in the area of the Star Tunnel,” Ayafeeia said, her voice flat, as though she were suddenly a stranger to Drakine. “Further, we have one new recruit, a stranger to the Lavadome named Wistala.”

“Which is she, the one next to, errr—Takea?”

“Yes, my Queen.” Ayafeeia touched Wistala with an extended wingtip. Wistala thought it a protective, motherly gesture and warmed.

Nilrasha’s eyes widened for a moment and she swiveled her head on her neck to view Wistala from different angles.

“The shape of her snout. Good teeth and healthy gums, no mash of kern and onions for her. I would almost think—I see she has an injured wing.”

“It is healing and will be sound again, I expect. We almost lost her a second time during Paskinix’s escape. Young Takea here had captured Paskinix as he was about to kill Wistala, but he slipped away during our concern for Wistala as we climbed into the Star Tunnel.”

“Bad luck, Takea,” Nilrasha said. “The Tyr would have liked to see that egg-stealer brought to him in chains. But all know how slippery the old deman is. I shall be sure to mention it to my mate.”

“Thank you, my Queen,” Takea said, bowing—though she kept her eyes open.

Nilrasha stiffened a little. Wistala decided some slight had been offered.

Ayafeeia intervened, bowing with eyes closed. “My Queen, Wistala has just taken her first oath, so we all meet at feast. Will you join us?”

“Thank you for your kindness, sister, but a hard-flying courier bat has just come in.” She pointed to a nick of blood at her shoulder. “He tells me there is an emissary on the way and we are to gather to hear what he has to say. Such talk! It has been years since the Imperial Rock has seen such a rustling. And the visitor! The arrogance, the presumption . . .”

Wistala thought the Queen was struggling with her firebladder. “But social gossip doesn’t concern our brave Firemaids. I came to deliver my mate’s word. Consider it a summoning. The Tyr would like to see this new Firemaiden and hear her account of matters in the Upper World.”

Wistala felt the tingle of the gazes upon her such that it made her scales ripple. “I—I thank you for the opportunity to obey, my Queen,” Wistala said.

“Don’t let me stop you from enjoying your feast. You look as though you could use it. Ayafeeia, see that a body-thrall with sharp snippers and fresh file attends to her. Her scales are running quite wild.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

The Queen drew Ayafeeia away and said a few more words, quietly. They crossed necks again.

“Such an insult,” an old Firemaid said, interrupting Wistala’s concentration. “Send a renegade with a demand. We’ll give her war, if she wants it.”

“I expect she does want it,” Ayafeeia said, leaving Nilrasha.

Behind her, the Queen touched nose-tip with a very young drakka standing sore-footed at the end of the line as she departed. A dragonelle at the opposite end said something quiet about on the climb since she lost her hatchling teeth in milkdrinker’s hill.

Eyes narrowed in thought, Ayafeeia watched the Queen take off. “The losses from the dragon-riders are still within this generation. We’ve just completed a hard war with the demen. She knows we are weak.”

Wistala had heard much talk of battles with the Ghioz. “How does she know? Spies?”

“Quite possibly,” Ayafeeia said. “There are dragons who weigh gold above blood.”

“A curse on such dragons,” Takea said, looking directly at Wistala. “If I learned of one, I’d not rest until I saw her head left dry atop some mountain.”

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