Page 101 of Dragon Rule (Age of Fire 5)

“Tyr RuGaard. Or Upholder RuGaard, as he was then.

“I’d come back from delivering a message. RuGaard wanted to ask something about the construction of a bridge. I was tired, and went right to the ceiling to find a comfortable spot. This horn-blowing woke me up, and I saw RuGaard’s human girl blowing on the horn, and both the Tyr an’ his Queen standing over the frail dragon, his mate.”

“I don’t suppose we’re going to hear from this girl?” Wistala asked.

“Her name was Rhea. She met with an accident. But this family servant RuGaard gave to Rayg’s family, Fourfang, he heard her at her death, talking about it.”

“Where is he? Another room?” Wistala asked.

“He’s afraid to return to the Lavadome to tell the story. But I heard it myself with two witnesses present.”

“The female’s story, or this Fourfang’s?”

“The human told Fourfang of her death.”

“A human woman is dying, and she uses her last breaths to tell a story about a dragon dying years ago?” Wistala said.

“She was afraid of telling the truth. Nilrasha killed Halaflora. She told RuGaard the truth, and he lied for her, stuck a bone in her throat. Vermin.”

Wistala heard from the other witness, a beardless dwarf of the sort that seemed to wash up in the Lavadome, to do odd jobs until they built up enough of a hoard to move on to wherever they were going. This one must have been in the Lavadome a long time; he moved stiffly and held his toothless mouth shut.

He only told his story with much prodding and prompting from Ibidio.

He didn’t have much information to offer—all he told was a story about working a ferry in the depths of the western tunnel leading to Tyr RuGaard’s old uphold. RuGaard and his mate traveled west, and soon after, Nilrasha followed. She asked questions about whether RuGaard seemed happy with his new mate.

Wistala thought the dwarf the next thing to useless. If Wistala wanted to get an idea of a dragon’s feelings, the last thing she’d ask would be a wandering dwarf.

“So, a terse dwarf and a thirsty, blood-addled bat are going to bring down Tyr RuGaard?” Wistala felt a little sorry for Ibidio. A dead daughter, a fled daughter, and a third sworn to celibacy in the Firemaids.

“No,” Ibidio said. “But I believe I can bring down Nilrasha. She’s his real weakness, not the bad sii or the lazy eye or the wing joint. Tell us the truth, did he have his family killed?”

“That’s a truth not even my brother himself could tell you.”

“Don’t say a word of this to anyone, if you value your position,” Ibidio warned.

“I might say the same to you,” Wistala said. She turned and left Ibidio with her hate and her witnesses.

Chapter 12

Imfamnia called a meeting to discuss relations between Ghioz, Dairuss, and the new Protectorate of Old Uldam. This one came from a veteran Roc-rider who had survived the war between Ghioz and Lavadome and threw in with the new Protectors.

His painted neighbor did keep her messengers busy.

AuRon didn’t know of that many pressing issues. Istach was settling into the ceremonial duties of a dragon-Protector, supervising winter feasts and exhibitions of babies and newly matured male warriors and so on. The only thing his offspring had asked him about in her brief reign was a request by some Hypatian mapmakers to survey the mountains—evidently Old Uldam was nearly unknown to them—and a request from some Hypatian librarians to inspect what little was left of NooMoahk’s old collection of books and scrolls. She’d never mentioned any difficulty with Ghioz.

Imfamnia probably had some bauble or other she wanted to exhibit in front of Natasatch. Natasatch, both out of politeness and interest, marveled at Imfamnia’s collection of glitter that seemed to serve no other purpose than occupying a few moments putting it on and then taking it off again.

Well, AuRon decided, he’d show Imfamnia. He’d leave his mate behind, or send her to the capital in Hypat or the storehouses of the Chartered Company. A silk-train had set up a market in Dairuss and Naf and Hieba had made them a present of some very fine purple bolts, Natasatch’s favorite color. Dragons had little use for silk, though, and their scale were rough on it, so she’d keep a little for a divider curtain and trade the rest for a bauble or two. Perhaps Hieba would like to try a dragon-saddle once more and advise her on getting the best value.

Imfamnia arranged a meeting in the old woods where AuRon had given Hieba over to a human logging encampment—strange fate had led her to meet Naf that way. Naf had told him privately that when word came of a girl who made dragon noises coming out of the woods he’d suspected he knew the identity of both girl and dragon, and made it his business to visit the encampment in his rounds as a commander to check up on her. Eventually, they’d fallen in love.

There were still loggers at work, here in the well-watered valley between Ghioz and Old Uldam. Game was plentiful and Imfamnia had arranged a selection of fresh frogs, smoked deer, wild boar in a sweet mustard, smoked-fish-stuffed raccoon in garloque, groundhog stewed, and an assortment of birds that were difficult to identify with heads, feathers, and feet removed.

“I do so love eating rough,” Imfamnia said. “I feel quite like one of those back-to-nature dragons when I dine like this.” She swung her head around and poked one of her cooks with a wingtip. “Turn that spit more quickly, there’s my man, and don’t skimp on the cherry sauce.” She sniffed another’s bucket and ladle. “Oh stars, you aren’t using nearly enough onion in this.”

“Roving is such an adventure,” she mused.

Istach, who’d flown the whole way with a side of bullock to add to the feast, had had her offering rejected. “Not fit for dogmeat, dearest. Never worry, I’ll teach you how to hang beef properly.”

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