Page 244 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

Had he been thinking rationally, given time to plan, he would have glided high above the roc-riders, then dove on them from straight up. He could strike at one and drop flame on the other without much loss of speed, and fall on the dragon jarring the tower with strikes of her tail.

But like a fool, all he could think of was Naf, and possibly his men, on the inside of that tower as its walls were battered and opened by the war-machines.

He dropped fire on them. The rocs dove, talons out, rending and tearing out chunks of wing. He crashed to the ground, rolling and scattering soldiers and their horses and oxen.

He dragon-dashed for the ruins of the door. Arrows struck him along the sides but did not slow him. He snapped off feathers as he squeezed through the door.

It was a vast, square room with four fat columns running from floor to ceiling, stairs running up each side and what seemed to be old horse stalls filled with crates and chests and bundles.

Naf’s men, dressed in a mixture of their own armory and Ghioz breastplates and chain, were lighting flaming arrows to fire at the war-machines as other bowmen covered them.

At the center of the four columns was an old throne. A simple thing, wooden with brass feet and arm caps, almost unadorned.

Naf lay sprawled upon it, an arrow in his shoulder and stomach. Hieba held him in her arms. She’d aged greatly since he’d last seen her. Two long ropes of gray contrasted with the black in her hair.

“Well, AuRon,” Hieba said, “you’ve made it in time for the last act of our heroic tragedy.”

“Your daughter?” AuRon asked.

“The Queen sent her off to the southern provinces,” Hieba said.

Naf chuckled, a stream of saliva and blood trickling out of his mouth. “I am glad, though I wish Desthenae could see my final repose. Would you believe, today I sit on the ancient throne of Dairuss? The first kings of Ghioz dragged it all the way here and forgot about it in this old tower. Do me a courtesy. Once I’ve breathed my last, burn me in it.”

Chapter 25

Wistala, heading south with the muster of the north to the aid of Thallia and Hypat, was met on the road by Dsossa and a twin column of riders escorting what looked like a group of thanes and their families.

The thanes went far off the road to avoid Wistala, but Dsossa trotted ahead.

“Hypatia’s surrendered,” Dsossa said.

“When?” Wistala asked.

Dsossa shook her head. “Does it matter? What can be done? The Ironriders swept through the Iwensi like a storm, over a dozen passes and down the Iron Road. The Ghioz had barges laden with grain for their horses—trade that was supposed to be coming to Hypatia.”

“Fount Brass has mustered a herd of mounted thugs and war-carts. There are even four dozen Knights of the Directory with trained warhorses and remounts—not that they would stand a chance against the thousands of bowmen of the Ironriders. Shryesta sent spearmen and horsemen. Had they only made it to the city in time!”

“With such a force, perhaps something could be attempted.”

“The Directory have surrendered.”

“We haven’t.”

“We’re Hypatian.”

“So we obey the Directory. If they have surrendered, we have as well.”

These Hypatians and their legal niceties!

“I’m also a dragon of the Lavadome. The Lavadome hasn’t surrendered to Ghioz.”

“If the dragons of the Lavadome attack, can we count on your support?”

“What will be left? The docks and the iron-quarter are burning.”

“I wonder if the Ironriders have ever had Hypatian wines and brandies?”

“If they haven’t, they will wish they’d lost their heads in battle.”

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