Page 223 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

“I don’t bother with gold.”

“That’s right. He is a gray,” the elf put in.

“You’ll have to fight for it, or be very clever thieves. You might even get the help of those dragon-riders in the tower. The Ironriders are on the rampage south of here. I’ve some experiences with the princes of the Steppelands, and I can tell you they’re carrying off every item of value they can get their hands on and strap across their saddles. I suspect they’ll raid into your lands as well, and if the Varvar bands have anything to say about it they’ll ride back a good deal faster than they came in. The way they’re getting back is across the Ba-drink and through the pass of the Wheel of Fire. If you hunt around the paths and trails leading to that, I expect you’ll find more gold and valuables than you can carry being ridden out of the northern half of Hypatia.”

“Sounds as though you need some gallant fools to do your fighting for you,” Halfmoon said.

“Gallant remains to be seen. Fools who can sneak on and off an island with dozens of dragons hunting the hills and shores are fools I would rather have think favorably of me and mine.”

Later, Wistala decided it would have been much more dramatic if they’d arrived in the middle of a battle.

But the war in the pass, which once burned as bright as dragonflame, had sputtered out.

Three dragonelles and ten drakka remained.

The Ironriders had opened a precarious path around the avalanche blocking their pass, a piece of needlework threading through boulders and across ridges like braiding. In good weather with plenty of daylight they could be across it in half a day.

The Firemaids were moving only under cover of weather, watching for Ironriders taking the new path.

What she was, in fact, doing when the riders appeared in the sky to the east was speaking to a Firemaid about having the Firemaids fly off carrying the drakka. She and the four drakka who couldn’t be carried would leave.

The dwarves had finally come out of their holes and were hunting them. The only way they could escape the dwarves was to climb, for the dwarves could not follow without much effort with ropes and anchors.

There seemed no point to staying. The Ironriders could bring only a trickle over the pass, and what little traffic there was traveled back to the steppes. The dragonelles who’d flown over the eastern slopes of the mountains reported that the great camp had vanished, with many trails leading south.

It was time to return to Mossbell and Hypatia.

The dragonelles—and a few dragons—of the Isle of Ice arrived, not in such a way that would make a fine song, or an exciting story, but only to offer the news that a few dragons, men, and dragon-riders were scouring the northern thanedoms, chasing down the Ironriders still on the west side of the mountains.

Her brother was not among them. They said he’d flown south with his mate and a strange assortment of elves, men, and dwarves.

Back at Mossbell, the dragons ate their fill of smoked horseflesh. The Ironriders had lost or wounded many mounts as they first advanced, then retreated, across the northern thanedoms.

“A call for an all-muster has gone out,” Ragwrist said. “Every thanedom in Hypatia is to gather what forces it has and march them to either the Founding Arch on the north bank of the river or the King’s Marker on the southern coast of the Inland Ocean.”

“The Firemaids were in that very spot,” Wistala said, “a month and a score of days ago.”

“Perhaps it’s a portent of victory,” Ragwrist said.

“It is a well-chosen site,” Roff said. “The bay is calm, and there’s a long, easy beach where boats may be landed and drawn up. The marshes make it difficult for the soldiers to reach the city. Sometimes a civilization must be preserved from its defenders. That is where you’ll find the last muster of Hypatia, if anywhere. That is where I’m bound, as thane.”

“That is where I’m much overdue,” Ragwrist said. “I sent Dsossa ahead with our light riders. Mossbell and the twin hills will be represented at the muster.”

“I fear we’ll be one of few,” Roff said. “The thanes in the north are dealing with the Ironrider raiders. Thanks to Wistala’s stand in the pass, they are not tens of thousands riding hard for Thallia or Hypat, but raiding villages to steal chickens.”

Chapter 22

The Copper spent a score of days having his bats scout the Nor’flow, working matters out with the griffaran, and planning.

The Lavadome was in an uproar. The eastern Upholds, source of food and thralls, were falling to the Ghioz like so many dominoes. There were daily delegations and deputations by dragons ranking from the rich and distinguished SoRolotan to the thrall-trader Sreeksrack demanding that he do something.

His only relief was in talking to Rayg. Rayg didn’t bring complaints; instead, they talked solutions.

Rayg had investigated the Queen’s crystal, which had been torn from his brother. Though it had been cracked and scuffed by the scene in the throne room, Rayg had set it in a brass frame with a chain lanyard so that he might work with it without touching it, and he’d made a remarkable discovery.

When one gazed through the crystal, images sharpened. One found oneself reading more quickly, with better comprehension. Details previously unnoticed leaped out.

Daring the Red Queen to try to overthrow his mind, the Copper tried it himself.

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