Page 157 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

Wistala thought the praise a little overdone. Perhaps the Queen had sent him to lie to the Lavadome? She eyed Nilrasha, who stared at DharSii hungrily, as though he were a bullock turning on a spit.

DharSii bowed to the Tyr. “What you choose to do with my observation is up to this fine assembly. I’ve done my duty to the cave of my birth and will leave you now. Unless the Tyr would hinder me?”

“Only long enough to thank you. Have another mouthful of gold. You ate but one before. Or have some roast pork. There will be a banquet after this meeting.”

“I didn’t come here for gold. But others may,” DharSii said.

With that he bowed and turned. He glared at the dragons close around, and they parted for him, giving him a path to the door.

He stalked toward the entrance, eyes traveling over the assembly. Most dragons looked away as his gaze fell on them. But one did not.

DharSii froze in front of Wistala.

“You! You live,” he said.

“I was rescued by the Firemaids,” Wistala said. “They brought me here.”

“I . . . I am relieved.”

Takea slid off her back with a thud, righted herself, shaking her head.

“I have oathed myself to the Firemaids,” Wistala said. “To repay my debt.”

“Add impressed to relieved, then,” DharSii said. “I tried to tell you, once, years ago. Not that it would have aided your purpose. The dragons here aren’t much interested in the surface, except as a source of food and slaves.”

“Who does he speak to, there?” Nilrasha asked.

Ayafeeia, who had a longer neck than most, raised her head. “That’s Wistala, here for her presentation.”

“What was that name?” the Tyr asked.

DharSii gave a brief bow and stalked toward the door, as stiff as though someone had plunged a spear into him, Wistala thought. His tail just brushed her across the base of her neck as he passed.

She watched every step, every swing of the neck as he left, but he did not look back.

“What did you say was—” the Tyr asked, but the growl of conversation smothered the rest of his words.

“My name is Wistala,” Wistala said. “Daugter of AuRel and Irelia, granddaughter of AuRye the Red and EmLar the Gray.”

Another babble broke out. “EmLar? Didn’t explore . . .”

She pushed forward in earnest, felt a slight thump as Takea landed on her back again.

“AuRye,” someone murmured. “Weren’t he and his mate in that back-to-nature cult?”

“No. They fled the civil war when Sofol hill was burned out . . .”

“Anklene, wasn’t his mate?”

She stared at her brother. “My Tyr,” she said.

“Welcome to the Lavadome, Firemaid,” her brother replied.

Nilrasha glanced from one to the other, as did Ayafeeia. Wistala couldn’t say whether she enjoyed the moment or loathed it. Her emotions were buffeted as though by a fierce spring thunderstorm.

“Why, look at their snouts and teeth. They might be—” Nilrasha said aloud, but the words ceased as though snapped off like a brittle twig. Wistala felt the mind-speech more than she heard it.

“Wistala, you live!” a voice shouted from a dark alcove.

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