Page 158 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

A dragon, smallish only by comparison to the great Skotl hulks flanking him, moved forward. Gray-skinned, he had a distinctive nub on his snout, his egg-tooth.

AuRon! Had she gone mad? AuRon? Here! She extended sii and saa, dug them as hard as she could into the stony floor.

This must be a dream. Surely she would wake, and vomit up some piece of wormy pork.

But would she dream an AuRon with an oddly foreshortened tail, or a glowing jewel on a chain about his neck?

“Our emissary from Ghioz has arrived at last, I see,” NoSohoth said. “Wise of you to bring him through the griffaran gate. My Tyr, may I present—”

“AuRon, son of AuRel,” the Tyr finished, stepping forward. “Griffaran! Be ready to kill. Who knows what sort of viper the Red Queen has found to thrust into our bosom.”

Chapter 16

AuRon felt . . . disinterested was the only word for it. There should be anger, hatred, but he felt none of that, nothing to make his griff rattle or make him imagine plunging his sii into the Copper’s throat or eyes.

Perhaps it was the fatigue of the long underground trek. The mass of rock and earth above him—could the pressure of it be bothering him? The wonder of the Lavadome with its lava-streaked “sky” and unnatural outside-inside air, the smell of unknown dragons, these “griffaran” and tremendous bats and dragonelles who acted like a pack of wolves he’d once run with, only as disciplined as any of the Wyrmmaster’s riders. Quick meals of dry, tasteless meat, water with strange metallic or chemical tastes, in the endless mosslit tunnels, when there was any moss to be found with dragonelles feeling their way along by markers in the stonework.

Exhaustion and lack of sunlight had numbed him.

He wondered how much the Red Queen had known about him, and his brother, when she selected him for this assignment. What would be the effect of an emissary from Ghioz making an assassination attempt on the ruler of the Lavadome—this mass of restive dragons, hidden beneath a volcano, forgotten or half legend to the world above? How would they react to such an attack? Would they unite and fly as one to Ghioz?

What would meet them there?

Wistala. Had the Red Queen arranged this too? What trick of fate had brought her to this place, at this time, mixing anger with joy, regret with regard? Where and what had she been all these years? Had she somehow found the Copper and come with him deep into the earth? If Wistala hadn’t been there, would he have leaped, sii and saa ready to rend and tear?

The moment overwhelmed him.

Perhaps that’s how it was for the other two. Each waiting for a third to make a move.

Say something.

His thoughts felt strange to him, as though from a voice in his head not his own. Mind-speech from Wistala? But it wasn’t her voice either.

“I hope your subjects know what kind of king they’ve put upon their throne,” he finally said. “A patricide.”

“AuRon, don’t,” Wistala said. She stepped up, putting herself between AuRon and the shelf where the Copper rested. The Copper’s mate took a protective step forward as well.

“Give us this message from Ghioz,” the Copper said, glancing about.

Was the Copper gauging the reaction of the other dragons in the room or looking for somewhere to run?

“Fine one to speak of vipers,” AuRon said. “Do they know your history?”

“If you’ve come here to plant some lie about my mate—” Nilrasha said.

“He can’t hurt us, my love,” the Copper said. He set himself as straight as a dragon with only three sound legs could. AuRon pitied him for a moment. The overdevelopment of muscles on the good side had left him almost twisted. “Say your piece. Then I will say mine.”

AuRon hardly heard even breathing from the assembled dragons. Perhaps they were hoping for a fight.

Well, say it. Challenge him!

“Your Tyr bargained with dwarves for the murder of his parents and family,” AuRon began. “He saw the murder of his parents, hatchlings sold into slavery or death. One treachery resulting in three deaths.

“For the truth of this, ask Wistala. She’s of your own band, it seems.”

“Ah, truth,” the Copper said. “Truth is a messy business, shaded and colored by experience. Now, sister, let’s have your truth.”

Wistala’s tongue went dry. It clung to the roof of her mouth like a dead bat, too frozen to drop.

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