Page 116 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

“Your original home, I expect.”

“Whaaat?”

“It must have occurred to you that our dragonspeech is very similar.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve not spoken with many dragons.”

“I’ve talked with some of the dragons who formerly were under the thrall of riders. They’re a slow and stupid bunch, and their speech is most odd. Half the time I must ask them to repeat what they say. I have no trouble understanding you. In fact, you’re easier on my ears than some of the Anklenes, and I’ve been among them my whole life. I can’t help but think we’re related.”

“How can that be?”

“How much do you know of your parents, your grandsires?”

“Very little. AuRon knows more, as he talked with Father about his song now and then, and Mother supplied a few details. I know my mother’s mother was named Irelia.”

“An Anklene name if I ever heard one. Was your mother clever?”

“Yes. I would call her clever. Father was always praising her ability with tongues.”

“I suspect, Wistala, that you’re from a line of one of those renegades. Some hated living much of their lives underground. Others objected to keeping thralls—they even compared it to Anklamere’s enslavement of dragons, if you would believe such sophistry—and they left. There were those happy to see them go—more food for the rest of us and the voracious griffaran. But what I’m getting at, Wistala, is that you’ve come home. What are you going to do about it?”

Wistala felt as disoriented as after her crash down the well. “I—I need time to think. I’ve lived among hominids, so I’m used to new ideas, but this requires getting used to a new . . . a new me.”

Ayafeeia crossed necks with her, and they stood so, feeling each other’s blood pulse.

“Take your time,” Ayafeeia said quietly.

Once past that break in the tunnel the Firemaids relaxed considerably. The party met with a magnificent blue with red stripes on his wings whom Ayafeeia called one of the “Aerial Host.”

He bore a rider, but it was easy to see who was in charge. While Ayafeeia spoke to the dragon, the man fetched water and food for the dragon. The rider had no reins, but he did have a thick strap tethering him to the saddle. Ayafeeia later told her it was so he could turn around in the saddle to shoot his crossbow behind in flight. The riders did communicate with their dragons, through either words or leg taps, to let them know what they were doing, so a sudden turn or dive didn’t “spill” their burden.

Wistala noted that the rider wore a sort of armor under his fur-trimmed cloak of blue dragonscale, the same shade as his dragon.

He flew off down the passage, evidently with a message. Imagine, flying underground! This Star Tunnel was a wonder of the world.

“What sort of men ride with the Aerial Host?” Wistala asked.

“Free thralls,” Ayafeeia said. “There’s talk of establishing an Uphold just for the Aerial Host so the men can raise their families among proper gardens in the sun. Though if I were the Tyr I might fear such a move.”

“Why is that?” Wistala asked.

“I suspect the Uphold would prosper, and a rival might rise.”

It seemed all the dragons in this empire lived in fear of another civil war. The previous one had lasted for generations, off and on, and ended only with the establishment of the First Tyr, FeHazathant. There were two short-lived ones after him, a brief domination by dragon-riders, and now Tyr RuGaard, who had inaugurated what he called the “Age of Fire.”

“Our Tyr would not have us hiding in the dark. He promises a return to the surface,” one of the drakka said. “When we are strong enough.”

Wistala wondered. The world was an awfully big place, and it sounded as though even this empire had few dragons.

They marched on through the Star Tunnel, drakka out scouting ahead and behind. They came to another break, but this time the floor had fallen away, spanned by a single bridge.

“It’s heavy enough to bear a dragon,” Ayafeeia said, trotting across with wings out for balance.

The others followed in line.

“Maidmother, demen!” shouted one of the drakka who stood on watch, sniffing down into the chasm.

“Quick, across, on wing,” Ayafeeia called. “Drakka who haven’t crossed yet, ride! Wistala, hurry.”

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