The Copper hoped he’d live to see the day when Wyrr and Skotl wouldn’t divide in this manner—they were all dragons, after all, and had enemies enough without dividing.
He’d heard rumors about the supposed witnesses, everyone had. Even his bats hadn’t been able to learn anything about their location or who was hiding them. He suspected they were among the thralls somewhere, but as Tyr and Nilrasha’s mate he had to remain above the controversy.
NoSohoth did an impressive job once Ibidio brought in her witnesses. The first was a down-at-beard dwarf who claimed Nilrasha stalked Halaflora as the just-mated couple traveled west to Anaea.
First NoSohoth quizzed the dwarf about how he came to be a ferryman deep beneath the surface. An Ankelene translated for those who didn’t understand the dwarfs rough Pari.
“We were a labor team brought down to build a bridge for the Hypatians. A digger friend bought a map to a secret gold mine in what you-all call the Lower World. So we bucked off cutting stone for bridges and sought fortune. We tried to find it—got lost. Starving, we were, had to earn a living somehow.”
The actual story required a good deal of prompting from NoSohoth—dwarfs were notoriously recalcitrant about their histories. Many in the audience grew bored and one or two slipped out for air.
Then NoSohoth asked: “How did you know the dragonelle in question was Nilrasha?”
“She said so, your dragonship.”
With that, NoSohoth nodded to a thrall and three Fire-maids entered.
“Could you please show us which one labeled herself as Nilrasha.”
Ibidio spat a torf into the sand of the pit and the Copper heard griff rattle.
“Err… the one in the middle, I think. The light wasn’t good.”
“The light wasn’t good,” NoSohoth repeated.
The next witness was an aged bat the Copper didn’t recognise, beyond his size and toothiness, thanks to being fed dragon blood.
NoSohoth’s questioning was brief. He spoke to the bat in a loud, stern voice and the bat crumbled.
“What would you be likin’ me to say, sir?” the bat cried.
“I think we’ve heard enough from him. Take the poor old sot away, he’s confused.”
Some of Ibidio’s allies hissed and clattered their griff at that.
“What does the Lavadome believe?” NoSohoth asked the assembled dragons. “Who will call Nilrasha a murderer?”
“Murderer!” Ibidio roared. A few other voices joined in, some loudly, some with half a voice. The number of voices grew.
NoSohoth looked at the Copper, alarmed.
Wistala muttered something about this process being subject to manipulation. The Copper thought it an immense improvement over the Tyr just passing judgement based on whether he liked the look on the accused’s face and the lay of his scale or no, but Nilrasha’s honorable name, and possibly his Tyrship, lay in the balance…
“Innocent!” shouted Wistala, which wasn’t according to tradition of trial by questioning.
“Innocent!” she roared again, also not according to tradition—if practice of such recent vintage could be called tradition—but the Firemaids joined in.
“Innocent! Innocent!”
Some of the poorer dragons from Nilrasha’s home hill took up the call. NoSohoth joined in. Soon, the shouts of “Murderer!” dwindled and fell off.
“Thank you, Wistala,” the Copper said.
“She blames herself, you know,” Wistala replied.
“For Halaflora’s death?”
“She told me she tried, but she was too late. I believe her.”
The Copper had long wondered about exactly what had happened that night. Sometimes he’d doubted Nilrasha’s version—privately, that is.
He couldn’t find words. Someday soon he’d have to ask Nilrasha to forgive his doubting her.
“Poor Halaflora,” the Copper finally said. “Well, my Queen-Consort, if you must chase the ghosts of the past, I give you leave. I hope DharSii finds what he’s looking for.”
Chapter 14
Wistala had forgotten how close the cave of their birth was to the gap in the Red Mountains that admitted the Falngese River. No wonder Father had had trouble with men and dwarfs. While the mountains themselves weren’t settled, trade routes at both the north-south and east-west routes passed nearby.
DharSii had heard the story of the attack on the egg cave and the murder of her parents with cool distaste. He’d undoubtedly heard other such stories about dragons hunted right to the egg shelf, but she’d hoped for a stronger reaction. Of course, he’d been withdrawn since the suggestion of mating in the twinkling depths of the Lavadome.
The cave smelled as though some bears had taken up residence in the upper chamber, but at this time of year they were out getting fat on berries, honeycombs, and fish. Which was just as well; she didn’t care to fight bears, as they contented themselves with their own needs and left even the smallest hatch-lings alone. Only bats bothered to venture deeper. The smell of their excretions felt like a welcome.
The cave moss still glowed green, and the bats were, if anything, more numerous. She’d forgotten how small natural bats were. The oversized dragon-blood-sucking monstrosities of the Lavadome needed a different name.
Luckily, scavengers—both hominid and on four legs—had long since cleared away the last scrap of bone and scale.
“What are we looking for?” Wistala asked.
“I’m not sure, exactly. A piece of the puzzle. I know it’s small enough for a hominid to carry easily. Aklemere called it his ‘perspicacitor’.”
“I’ve never heard that word before. Is it a name?”
“You might interpret it as device that extends sight or brings understanding. It worked with the larger piece, the sun-shard, as the blighters called it.”
Wistala remembered the cave being so much larger. Why, the egg shelf wasn’t even a tail-length off the floor, yet she remembered it as a clifflike precipice.
“It would help more to know what it looks like than what it’s called.”
“Round or oval, and clear as glass when not in use. It may have been hollow, I don’t know—he wrote of images forming within. If it were hollow, it could be much larger.”
“With facets, you mean?”
“I believe so, since he states it was of the same material as the sun-shard. The only reference I’ve read describes it as round or oval and clear.”
Wistala couldn’t remember anything like that in the egg cave. Father had given her and Jizara very small gemstones to play with.
“I only had a quick glimpse of Father’s hoard. I’m sure whatever was in here, the dwarfs took.”
“Show me, please”
She pointed out the once-secret shaft. The boulder concealing it had been long since removed. He searched the little cave off it, then dropped a torf of flame to see how far down the shaft went.
“It’s not too deep. I’ll check it out.”
Wistala waited, her memories keeping her company, while DharSii plunged and sputtered and made noises that sounded as though he were rolling in mud. He came back up covered in black goo and stinking, glowing faintly from patches of cave moss….
“That was unpleasant. Nothing at the bottom but some bits of what I think was a saddle and some bones, well covered in muck and cave moss.”
“DharSii, if you do find what you believe to be the final piece in your puzzle, what do you intend to do with it?”
“It depends on what the secret turns out to be. Perhaps it’s a weapon of some kind, but I doubt it. Anklemere wrote that, having tamed the dragons, there were no more enemies to fear. He often wrote that he had all this power, but was trapped in a cage no mind, no matter how acute, could open. The sun-shard and the Lavadome and his perspicacitor were his ‘key to the cage.’ I’m learning to despise metaphor.”
Wistala had a hard lump in her gut telling her she’d forgotten something important. She called up every memory of her time as a hatchling in the cave, even mind pictures passed down from her parents. Nothing.
“Were there any other secret spots, perhaps something very inaccessible?”
“The pool? That’s where RuGaard used to come in and out. No! The tunnel, I remember the tunnel where Mother had us escape.”
She felt her throat close up as she remembered Mother’s last, desperate call—Climb, hatchlings, climb!
Wistala climbed onto the egg shelf and sure enough, the recess that hid the tunnel was still there, marked only by some water flow. Father would never have been able to get his horned head inside, but he might have been able to feel his way around with snout and tongue. She could use her eyes.
She searched the little chimney.
“Here is a sign, on this loose rock. I think if I put a little light in here you may just be able to make it out.” She spat a torf of fire on the opposite wall, where it burned, throwing an orange light on the scrapings.
DharSii maneuvered his head as she pointed with her tail. “Yes! The Star of Silverhigh.”
It was a simple design, a little unevenly done. Five sii marks, evenly spaced out, coming together at the center. It reminded Wistala of the Wrimere’s old “Circle of Man” emblem, save that it wasn’t enclosed in a circle, and there was just the slightest curve to the claw slashes, a little like the Wheel of Fire’s standard. Perhaps both the Wheel of Fire emblem and Wrimere’s had been modeled on the Silverhigh Star.
