Page 89 of Dragon Strike (Age of Fire 4)

“Then we wish you a good journey again.”

DharSii thanked her and bowed again.

The Red Queen, business done, turned and ascended to her chariot.

Food arrived, though the Queen gave no sign of having called for it. Blighters brought them each a skinned sheep in a barrow.

“What do you think?” DharSii asked, after they’d eaten.

“Different,” AuRon said, wondering how much honesty he could afford.

“Do not cross her, if you know what’s good for you. She doesn’t forget her friends or her enemies.”

“I am allowed to say no to serving her, I hope.”

“I did,” DharSii said. He looked to the east and took a deep breath. Then he opened his wings.

The expected jump-beat didn’t come. DharSii turned back to AuRon.

“If I have kept things from you, it’s because I heard your name and respect your deeds. I did not want us to be enemies. I hope you understand that once I have given my word, I could no more break it than I could divide myself to fly both north and south.”

“If you’ve brought me here on false—”

“Oh, you’ll have your gold. Fairwinds, AuRon. I hope we meet again.”

With that, he flew away.

Chapter 9

The Copper watched the demen move almost as one from point to point beneath the west tumble—a sort of pile of rocks at the base of the Imperial Rock.

Gigrix, the general of the demen, had “exercised” his troops to keep them from fighting amongst themselves in their idleness. The Copper had taken to watching the exercises with Gigrix when he saw them moving around within their allotted space beneath the loom of the Imperial Rock and took to asking questions—for example, why so many of the evolutions required the soldiers leaping over each other’s backs, the lower helping the upper to vault higher and farther.

Gigrix, clumsy in his Drakine, explained that in tunnel fighting, possession of a cave-ceiling often meant possession of the tunnel.

“An uphole was the only way for escape ye dragons,” Gigrix said. “No dragon spit flame straight up.”

“You’re right there. Nothing burns hotter than your own flame, my old master in the Drakwatch used to say.”

“Demans—he (sic-eek) natural instinct to flee down, into crevice.”

“I would like to see those dragon-snares and arresting ropes you’re so famous for using on dragons in action sometime. We’ve lost too many dragons to such devices.”

“Ye—ye wish to see us—snare dragon? In true—In truth?”

“I’ve seen warfare on the surface, but have only heard reports of tunnel fighting. An exhibition of your prowess would be fascinating. Of course neither side must be hurt in the exercise.”

“Of course!”

“Gigrix, I have a proposition for you. We’re having trouble getting Paskinix to meet so that your release might be negotiated.”

“If ye intend is . . . , demen have honor, sir, as dragons.”

“No, nothing of the sort. I was thinking that perhaps you could choose one or two of your soldiers to send looking for him with a message that I wish to meet, Tyr to King, and settle this conflict. Demen and dragons have enemies enough on the surface without fighting each other down here.”

Gigrix was as difficult to read as a griffaran, between the frog eyes and the sliding headplates and grinding mandibles with probing lips, especially when all chose to work at once. But his spines stiffened at last.

“Done, if ye wish to give the orders. I shall send two.”

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