Page 183 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

“How do you know?” AuRon asked.

Naf looked thoughtful. “Because I killed her. In her own bedroom. I stole in, said I’d been summoned. The Queen has odd appetites. I fashioned a weapon from a bone hairbrush. I felt her heart flutter its last under my palm, but when I took off the mask. . . . Oh, if men only knew.”

AuRon waited for more, but thought it best not to press him for further details.

“Just as well I didn’t collect my ransom from her, I think.”

Naf returned from his memories. “How’s that?”

“I’d hoped to return to my island bearing coin.”

“Then you won’t stay?”

“I will always call you my friend. But I can’t hurl myself into the flames of war. I have a mate and hatchlings to think of.”

“I think of mine even as I draw my sword,” Naf said.

AuRon could not find a reply.

“Well, I’d be a poor friend if I sent you back empty—errr, handed. I have a few coins. A very few. You’re welcome to them.”

He made a birdlike whistle.

An adolescent girl approached, tall and a little awkward in her movements. She had rich red hair braided out of the way of her duties.

“This is my camp helper and tentmate. She’s the daughter of a man who rode with me, a son of Dairuss now dead. Get the dragon-box.”

The girl scuttled off. She had slight swelling at her hips. AuRon’s limited understanding of hominids allowed that the configuration meant she was ready to mate. “Hieba might wonder, keeping someone like that in your camp.”

“Oh, it’s not that kind of arrangement. I’m getting a little old for such antics, my friend.”

Naf sighed, as if regretting either his age or hers. “We spoke of beauty earlier. Beauty for a Dairuss is a reason for lament. The Ghioz take what they like.”

The girl returned with a wooden box. She carried it easily enough, as it wasn’t much bigger than a loaf of risen bread. Dragon forms, rather more snakelike than the real thing, at least to AuRon’s taste, decorated the lid, inlaid in dark wood.

“It’s an artistic style. Dragons are mostly wing, and if artists were to draw them as they lived, there’d be less room for teeth and fire.”

“Perhaps I will take up cave-painting and draw a few humans with tiny, flattened heads.”

Naf laughed, that easygoing boom AuRon found to be his most appealing feature. “Let’s forget the box and remember the contents. Behold! The mighty treasury of a onetime governor. Do not stare in wonder too long, AuRon, for I believe dragons can become bewitched by the sight of such riches.”

He opened the lid on the box. It was almost empty. Perhaps threescore coins lay within, a mixture of gold and sliver.

Naf scooped out half of them.

“Here, my friend. I have a bag. Offer these to your hatchlings. A present from an old family friend.”

“Naf, you must need this coin,” AuRon said.

“It has its uses, but my men serve for vengeance, not for gold.”

“Still—”

“There’s more where it came from. I robbed for these, I can rob for more. AuRon, if you delay much longer I’ll ram the whole thing down your throat, and your noisy digestion can make of it whatever fireworks it will.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“Well?” Naf said, selecting a leather pouch.

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