Page 165 of Dragon Rule (Age of Fire 5)

“It’ll end badly. Such arrangements always do. Well, I expect you’re hungry. I can see the ribs on that poor scaleless dragon with the regrown tail.”

“We’d be grateful for your hospitality,” Wistala said.

“You never struck me as the grateful type. But perhaps your experiences have taught you better manners than to go running off from your hosts in the dead of night. Well, it’s a cold day, and I don’t care for the Upper World.”

She led them all down into the great hall Wistala remembered, with its many lofts projecting from the side and pools of rainwater on the floor. It still smelled musty, like secrets hardly worth keeping.

As the others ate, Scabia settled down beside Wistala.

“It’s good to have another dragonelle around,” the aged white said.

“We may stay some time, if you’ll let us. We all could use a rest.”

“The Sadda-Vale can support many more dragons than it does. It has in the past, in any case. You can win a place for yourself and your companions permanently, as uzhin.”

“You still need eggs for your daughter?” Wistala asked. Scabia’s charity always came with a price, and she’d asked, years ago, that Wistala mate with NaStirath so that her barren daughter Aethleethia would have hatchlings to care for.

“Yes. I’d still like you to produce them. The superiority of your characteristics, your size and strength, suggest that you would lay fit, healthy hatchlings. Why, you might have eight or more eggs in a single clutch. You could be the foundation of a new age in the Sadda-Vale.”

Scabia’s eyes gleamed. Was she looking forward to a new age, or back at past glories?

“The price is mating with NaStirath.”

“He’s not so bad, Wistala.”

“But—mate with him?”

“Take it from one who has mated many times. It is over before you know it.”

She wondered how far she could dare tax Scabia’s charity and desire for another generation in the Sadda-Vale. “I’d much rather mate with DharSii,” Wistala finally said.

“DharSii? Surely you joke.”

“He’s a closer relative of yours, isn’t he?”

“Yes. But he’s a striped dragon. They’re always difficult, often sterile. I don’t believe mating with him would be productive. Striped dragons never fit in, no offense intended against either my uzhin or your scaleless brother.”

“My brother has stripes, and has managed to produce offspring. One clutch of four eggs.”

“Probably striped as well. If that’s all he’s managed to have, he’ll be the last of his line. DharSii is out of the question. You must lay the next eggs in my hall, with NaStirath.”

She stared at the empty floor.

“Besides,” Scabia continued, “there are attributes of DharSii that I wouldn’t wish to see passed on. He has forever humbled himself by working in harness for hominids. I would not have any line of mine sullied by a slave.”

“He worked for hominids to bring you coin.”

“A real dragon finds coin, takes it, demands it of his inferiors. He doesn’t run errands like a dwarfen shopkeeper.”

“You think NaStirath his superior?”

“I wouldn’t trust NaStirath to burn down a barn full of oil-soaked cotton. But he is of an impressive length, his bone structure is exceedingly fine, he displays a better than average wingspan. I’ve never known him to be sick a day in his life.”

“The way he idles, I wonder how you could tell if he was sick.”

“What will it be, Wistala? You wish to live in my vale, you will accept my rule. Produce eggs for my daughter to raise as her own, or find another cave for your poor exiles. If you can.”

Wistala knew what her choice would be. It was there, half-formed and painful, like a toothache just setting in. She was but one dragonelle, thrown out by her society, but she held in her tender jaws the lives of two brothers, their families, and a handful of loyalists to an exiled regime.

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