Page 198 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

“I am not sure elves know death as you and I, but I do agree he is no longer the master of Mossbell.”

“How many dragons do you offer?”

“A sc—fourteen have accompanied me, and twice that number of drakka—wingless females.”

The thane lost some of his composure for the first time since they’d met.

“Fifteen! With you. That is a force to be counted as great. I know what that number of dragons can do, I saw it in the late war. We may be able to turn back the Ironriders after all.”

“I’ll settle for chasing them out of Hypatia.”

“I should think you would be glad of its passing. The Hypatians killed dragons who stole from their flocks.”

“There are more recent wrongs I am attempting to forget.”

“You know the ruins of Hesturr—Tumbledown, some call it, I take it.”

“I do.”

“Bring your dragons there, but take care to fill their bellies with turtles or whatever you may find in the marshes before they arrive. My entire thanedom will have difficulty feeding so many dragons. Even on the easy path of the old north road, I fear you may arrive before us. A descent of dragons upon my lands would be met violently.”

“We will make do somehow. We came to fight, not to eat. Your lands and flocks will remain undisturbed. If there is fighting, we will find sustenance.”

Roff laughed. “A dragon-army at war. To think I lived to see such things.”

“I will ride as quickly as I can to see to the muster. We meet again at Hesturr!”

She brought her dragons north into familiar lands in easy stages, flying at dawn and dusk. Under Ayafeeia’s direction they flew north in four groups, with the lead turning south every few horizons and flying south until they were the back group. By such crossing patterns, watchers on the ground might be confused.

They landed in the ancient Hypatian ruins of Hesturr, piles of overgrown rubble that some would call picturesque. To Wistala they brought back mostly bad memories—the trip that ended in the loss of her father and Rainfall’s wounding that night of the brush with the old thane, Vog.

Now the ruins of a great city held only sheep. The shepherds ran as the dragons landed and began to explore.

“Thick forests around here,” Ayafeeia said. “Bad ground for fighting, especially against horsemen. They can use the trees as cover. We can’t go after them without breaking wings.”

Wistala suspected that the shepherds of Hesturr would be missing a few sheep when next they counted. Drakka kept flitting off to hunt and returning with bits of wool stuck in their snouts.

The lack of discipline rankled. “We came here to make friends, not impoverish the locals. The thane will give us sheep enough once he catches up to us.”

Ayafeeia sent out dawn and dusk patrols to make sure the Ironriders weren’t already on their way. They reported nothing of interest except game and livestock. Wistala warned them away from the livestock again.

Her maidmother granted her permission to visit the inn near Mossbell.

Either the village had shrunk, despite the new buildings, or she’d grown.

She could only pay a brief visit to the Green Dragon Inn, sticking her head in through the half-door in the back as in the old days, after receiving many embraces upon her landing.

The cats seemed most disturbed by her presence. Old Yari-Tab had long since died, but one of her kittens was now an aged, scrawny black cat named Aroo.

“Does the rainy season end soon, you think?” he asked Wistala.

“Wistala! Your brother has been here,” Hazeleye said.

In response to that, she had to tell the story. And then tell it again, with fewer digressions into what the Lavadome was, who the Firemaids were, and why demen would bind and starve a dragon.

Widow Lessup still lived, though she had difficulty getting about.

They were still talking when Ragwrist and his mate, or rather, wife, Dsossa, rode in on lathered mounts.

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