Page 42 of Dragon Rule (Age of Fire 5)

With that, she trotted away and launched herself into the sky.

They rested in one of the towns near the Ghioz border, in a broken-down old castle overlooking a village nestled along the Ghioz road through the hills.

Naf told him a story about the defense of the castle against the Ghioz, long before he was born. Dairuss had lost, of course, but they resisted gallantly while they could.

He wondered what difference it made in the long run. Sometimes you just had to give up trying to fly if the winds were too strong. He hoped Naf wasn’t nerving himself for another gallant-but-futile resistance to the Hypatians and his brother’s empire.

Naf wandered into town cloaked. He liked to go among his people disguised, it seemed, and returned with two plucked turkeys and some bread and wine. After eating, AuRon curled up in the foundation of a collapsed tower and slept.

The beautiful and slightly silly Imfamnia invaded his dreams.

They were up with the larks the next morning. Naf settled himself rather stiffly into the saddle chair. “Old bones don’t take quickly to new tricks.”

They flew back northward on the Dairuss side of the Red Mountains.

“And at last, the west. Hypatia. We bled plenty for them when they were bowing and scraping to the Wizard Anklemere and we were the only men west of the great desert who wouldn’t submit. We won our freedom then—only to lose it shortly after to the Ghioz. It appears my land is fated to remain free for only brief periods in between conquerers. Now, with the Tyr’s dragons at their backs, they’re haughty and demanding.”

“Are you worried about the dragons?” AuRon asked.

“Oh, they send smooth talkers over, to tell us all the advantages of joining your Tyr’s ‘Grand Alliance.’ Safety”—he spat. “Security”—he spat again. “Order psht! Those words go like chains about the wrist. Only they’re worse; you can’t see the manacles until they’ve bound you hand and foot like a pig to slaughter.”

If Naf went on much longer about his brother’s Dragon Empire his shepherds below might think it raining.

“I know what will happen,” Naf said. “The Hypatians will create some pretext to reclaim us, and we won’t dare resist with dozens of dragons ready to sweep over our poor lands.”

AuRon knew what it was like to be the weakest of a team of rivals. He’d always thought that the more the hominids fought each other, the better off dragons were—fewer two-legged warriors to go after his kind.

Hard to think of a good-hearted fellow like Naf being ground up in a war, though.

“It’s a good land, AuRon. The elven refugees have settled and set up craft houses and theaters and schools and hospitals. We have dwarfs coming to and fro from the Diadem, setting up mines and wells and trading posts. You ever tried dwarf-drink, AuRon? Most refreshing, like beer that doesn’t give you a headache, just the burps. We even have some Ghioz who don’t care for their new Dragon Lords setting up households, and say what you want about the Ghioz, they know how to organize and smooth and build. They’re doing very well as stonemasons and bricklayers. We could be as great a people as we ever were.”

He didn’t like the idea of flinging himself into the rivalries and politics of the Lavadome, but if it would help Naf… He gulped and took the plunge: “I promise you, my friend, if you’ll join the Grand Alliance, with me as your Protector, I’ll do my best to truly protect your lands. My sister, who’s now serving as Queen Consort to the Tyr, she wants the Alliance to benefit both.”

“I’ve met her,” Naf said. “She speaks superbly. But she’s just one voice. For every dragon like her, there’s at least one SoRolatan.”

They traveled over central Dairuss on their way back to the City of the Golden Dome, and Naf had him stop in some marshy country.

“This is a famous holdout of robbers and partisans fighting against our conquerors. Many a king has removed his throne to these swamps.”

AuRon had perfected his swamp-feeding technique in the jungles south of NooMoahk’s old cave. (Ah, if he’d only known about the trouble that crystal could cause—he would never have willed it to the blighters when he quit that old library-cavern.) You simply plunge your jaws into the swamp vegetation, suck up a mouthful of roots, stems, leaves, and petals, then hoist your head high in the air and drain the water down your throat. Any number of fish, frogs, crustaceans, worms, bugs, and leeches would then cascade down your throat. Then you’d simply spit out the greenstuff. Not the most tasty meal—stagnant water always made one’s belches reminiscent of sewage—but it filled one with water that could be quickly processed and the food digested quickly without a jumble of bones and joints clogging the gut.

“A man could get gut-sick on such water,” Naf said.

“I’ve seen hominid innards. It’s a wonder your food makes it through at all. All those bends and turns.”

“The scientists say you need more guts for grains and roots. Thanks to all that we can make it through a hard winter without starving on stored food. They keep for months.”

“So can we. We just get out of the wind, curl up, and sleep and wait for the smell of thaw.”

“No fun in that,” Naf said. “Winter’s a time of beer tapping and storytelling.” He turned sour. “Or it used to be.”

AuRon spat out another mouthful of swamp growth, pretty sure he’d swallowed a couple of turtles this time, something was rattling as it went down his throat. “I thought human kings had the best beer and professional storytellers to keep them entertained.”

“Yes, but I’m always drawn away from my own parties, so the tales and songs are played for others’ benefit. I wish I were just riding with my old Red Guards again, at times. Yes, I was in the Red Queen’s array and war livery, but duty for a soldier is easy and cares can be thrown off at night as you put off your day clothes. Duty as a king—finding it is like reading stars in a fog.”

“Can’t you leave or stop?” AuRon knew what word he was seeking, he’d read it in some dwarfish text or other, but fumbled for the Pari equivalent.

“Abdicate,” Naf said. “It crossed my mind. Hieba and I have discussed it, we considered renouncing the throne to search for Nissa—Lady Desthenae, to use her Ghioz court name. But even if I named my successor, there’s no telling who might be on the throne in a year’s time. We’ve just gained our independence. Dairuss has no traditions to speak of. Whatever I do will become tradition. It’ll be a poor start for my people if their king renounces his throne to go seek a married-off daughter.”

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