But they were sensible dragons, fond of feasting, and popular, especially with Ibidio’s little faction. She thought them a blend of AgGriffopse and FeHazathant.

Finally, there was Naf. When the Copper first introduced Naf to speak to his court, it had caused some consternation—a thrall addressing dragons as equals!—but they indulged their Tyr, who could be forgiven a blind spot and a soft heart now and then.

He wanted to discuss the matter of the oliban shortage.

“Drive the gatherers harder,” CoTathanagar advised. “A stout whip hand will get it flowing again.”

“Za! From what, twigs and bare stone?” LaDibar asked. “It’s whipping and greed that got us into this situation to begin with.”

“There’ll be fighting here, if we’re not careful in rationing it,” HeBellereth said, stating the obvious.

“Steaming it rather than burning it makes it last longer. But steaming only works in a small cavern,” LaDibar said. “Or if you stand right over the vat.”

“It must grow naturally somewhere else.”

“The Princedoms of the Sunstruck Sea are said to have it,” LaDibar said, examining the contents of a nostril on tailtip. “There are unexplored islands farther south as well, but the weather is so wild at the equinoxes, colonies or a regular trade would be difficult to maintain.”

“More difficult than us being at each other’s throats light and dark?” NoSohoth asked. Friends of his managed the oliban

trade and the Copper suspected—no, make that knew—he profited from the Imperial concession.

“We have news of the recent battles at Swayport,” HeBellereth said. “Remember that dragon who attacked you over the pirate ship? Four of the Aerial Host tracked him to his refuge. He’s outside now, in chains. The new flier, your brother’s son, was one of the party that captured him.”

What did they expect him to do, order him executed for serving humans in a war?

“Bring him to me.”

The black dragon seemed to fill the Audience Chamber.

“You’re not about to start a fight in here, are you?” the Copper asked.

“No. Whatever they told you, I came with your dragons and their riders willingly. I wished to meet you without fighting.”

“We shall see about that,” the Copper said. “Get those chains off him.”

Thralls brought pry bars and cutters. A few snips and clatters later, he was free. As free as he could be, surrounded by strange dragons and beneath the waiting talons of the Griffaran Guard.

“What is your name?” the Copper asked.

“Shadowcatch.”

“Shadowcatch, my Tyr,” NoSohoth prompted.

“My Tyr,” the prisoner finished.

“Why were you seeking us?” the Copper asked.

“After our fight in Swayport I asked some questions of some sea-elves I know—don’t tell me to reveal their location, I’ll keep the secrets of one who’s been kind to me or I’ll bleed out.”

“Sea-elves? I thought Wrimere killed them all,” LaDibar said.

“Never mind the sea-elves,” the Copper said.

“I’ve been among few enough of my kind,” Shadowcatch said. “Thought I’d join you. Seems like a good bunch of fighting dragons. I’m used to living with my own kind. Having females about, too.”

“You thought you’d find us hospitable after you tried to kill our Tyr?” HeBellereth asked.

“That was just war, and I was hired to fight. Nothing personal, my Tyr.”

“Of course,” the Copper said.

“I say we bleed him out and let the Aerial Host drink to your health, my Tyr. He’s an assassin if I ever smelled one.”

Shadowcatch’s scale bristled but he said nothing.

“You’d like to join us, Shadowcatch? What are your qualifications?”

“I can fight,” he said. “I’ve lived in the Upper World on my own since the Wizard got himself roasted by that NooSho—I mean AuRon. The Gray.”

“Ah, yes, the Gray. Many paths lead back to him,” the Copper said. Any friend of the Gray might be an enemy to him. Though now he had the advantage of his brother; three of his four hatchlings were serving the Lavadome in one manner or another.

“You like good food, I see,” the Copper said.

“The folks who hired me fed me well even if they couldn’t always pay.”

“An easy life?” the Copper asked.

“You’d be surprised what having a dragon hanging around keeps away. Yeah, I call it an easy life.”

“One thing about you impressed me. The other dragons they’d hired. They flew away as soon as they saw the strength arrayed against them.”

Shadowcatch ground his teeth, creating a low clatter like woodpeckers all working the same tree. “Trash, those. Halfwit vagabonds from the Wizard’s Isle.”

“AuRon’s Isle, you mean.”

“Some call it that.”

“When we attacked, they flew away, but you stayed. Outnumbered forty to one or more, if you count the hominids, you stayed.”

“Yes,” Shadowcatch said.

“Why?”

“They paid me. I gave my word to them. I’d keep it.”

“Your word’s that important to you, that you’d die for it?” LaDibar asked, as if he was having trouble with the concept.

“Certainty nothing. I have a way of surviving.”

There was more to this black dragon than met the eye. He might be a little fat, and stupid-looking as the thickest Skotl, but there were depths to him, the Copper decided.

“Ever since then I’ve been thinking I need a bodyguard,” the Copper said. “Someone a little more intimidating than griffaran. Hominids don’t fear anything with feathers as they ought.”

“But—my Tyr,” NoSohoth protested. “He’s an outsider. He tried to kill you.”

“As he says, that was just business. And as for being an outsider, it’s the same one that led to me being acceptable to Skotl, Wyrr, and Ankelene as Tyr: no clan can trust that he won’t move against one of his own. If you took my coin and my food, you wouldn’t try to kill me, would you, Shadowcatch?”

“Of course not, my Tyr. Oathbreakers, well, may their bones get ground into wizard dust, that’s all I have to say.”

“You must tell me more of the Upper World. There’s so much to know.”

“As long as it’s not where the sea elves are hiding, or one or two other oaths I have to keep,” Shadowcatch said.

“Very well. Honorable Dragons of the Empire, meet my new bodyguard, Shadowcatch the Black.”

The Copper read their expressions like a short scroll. Yes, Shadowcatch was already proving his worth. It was good to have the biggest dragon in the room at one’s back.

BOOK TWO

Hopes

“If you live to see all your plans fulfilled,

you sold your years too cheap.”

—Partnership Articles of the Chartered

Company (Notes & Additions)

Chapter 7

There had been many changes since AuRon last flew over the city of the Ghioz and the Red Queen’s former mountainside palace.

The old monument which had worn three different faces at one time or another, he’d been told, was now being reshaped under a bright new bronze mask. Workers had scaffolding up, creating a metallic snout over a steel frame projecting out of the mountainside. The stone that had once depicted hair had been smoothed and shaped into a dragon-crest.

AuRon found himself staring into the likeness of his Copper brother, multiplied in size many times.

Fluttering red flags showed him his landing spot. He suspected there was ample red and black material for such symbols, left over from the Red Queen’s preferred wardrobe and curtaining. He wondered why he found the colors so unsettling. The Red Queen’s power had long passed from this age, hadn’t it?

As he and Natasatch alighted in a whirlwind of dust from the construction, carrying some of Dairuss’ finest sewn-together sheep’s hides—they made comfortable and long-lasting rugs—trumpets blared a noisy welcome from the battlements designed to look like decor.

Imfamnia and NiVom stepped out into the sun to welcome them. Ghioz soldiers in their red scabbards and loinskirts marched and countermarched, banners were unfurled, and musicians banged and sawed and blew about their instruments as if they were trying to bring the mountainside down with their noise.

Thralls hurried forward to throw flowers on the visitors. The petals caught in Natasatch’s scale but slid off of AuRon, save for one long white bloom that stuck between the growing horns of his crest.

NiVom and AuRon bowed to each other, Imfamnia and Natasatch rubbed their folded griff.

“Welcome, fellow Protector,” NiVom said. AuRon thought him an intelligent dragon, especially in comparison to his garrulous, flashy mate.

“Oh, Natasatch, how lovely you look. I wish I had your digits, they’re so long and graceful. Mine are stunted, awful things, and even if I grow out my claws they still don’t look well.”