Dragon Rule - E. E. Knight [66]
“Your wrath shouldn’t win . . .” Wistala said, quoting the first song her mother had sung to her hatchlings.
“Exactly,” DharSii said. “I’m surprised you know it. That’s an old song of—well, I believe it dates back to before Silverhigh. A very old song indeed.”
“There’s some truth in it. That’s probably why it’s lingered on all these years.”
“It could be phrased more felicitously. I suspect we’ve lost a few words over the years and substituted worse ones. I didn’t know anyone remembered it outside the Sadda-Vale.”
“My mother did.”
“Ahh. Well, yes, AgGriffopse’s wrath won. But he also lost, in a way. He stood there, bellowing and stamping out his rage over the insult to his sister—an insult I knew I was innocent of, at least as innocent as a young dragon could be with my intentions of making her my mate. AgGriffopse was a fine dragon, but he did let himself run on a bit. He was yelling to the roof about how he’d tear out my liver and feed it to the fish in the river ring when I took my chance. I lashed out with a sii and caught him across the throat.
“The wound wasn’t fatal. I know some accused me of poisoning my claws with a venomer’s spit, but I’d never resort to such tactics. Besides, if I had, he’d have died within minutes, and it’s my understanding that he was recovering and died from an infection or some such—that is, if Tighlia didn’t do him in. But don’t listen to rumors. The duel was fairly started, he just decided to waste his breath snarling at me rather than fighting.
“He lost blood and consciousness with it, thought his neck hearts were still bleeding. As it was a death duel, one of us had to die, and I decided that it would be better him than me.”
“But I’d heard he lingered—you didn’t finish him?” Wistala asked.
“I didn’t have the heart. He had been my friend. Even when we were rivals for the Tyr’s admiration, we were still friends. I can’t believe that whichever one of us FeHazathant chose to succeed him would have become a bitter enemy of the other. I’d like to think either of us would have rejoiced. But who’s to say—dragons don’t care to lose. At least dragons worth the content of their gold-gizzard.”
“So, what, it was suspended until he recovered and you’d fight again? That seems—”
“No, nothing like that. One of us had to die. I just decided it would be me.”
“You mean?”
“Yes, I died, after a fashion. It was all perfectly in keeping with Lavadome tradition. I renounced my name, all my laudi, and my position. I went into exile from the Lavadome. The dragon who’d led the Aerial Host was no more, his name was never spoken—I became DharSii, quick-claw, a criminal’s nickname. AgGriffopse had won the duel, and avenged the insult to his sister.”
“What happened to Enesea?”
“Again, that depends on which rumor you believe. I was long gone from the Lavadome by the time it happened, but some say she went mad and threw herself into the Wind Tunnel after AgGriffopse’s death. Others say she was wined into a stupor and told to fly up it. Still others say her body was simply dumped into it after her death. Whatever the cause, she was found at the bottom with a broken neck.”
“The poor Tyr. First his son, then his daughter.”
“I think he was blind to the evil close to him. Though I hear Tighlia gave a good account of herself at the end. She was the only dragon who resisted the Dragonblade and his puppet Tyr, at the end.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I returned to the Sadda-Vale. I angered Scabia by refusing to recognize any name but DharSii, and found NaStirath mated to Aethleethia. They were kind enough to me, but I still felt like an exile among them. But they keened that they needed coin—it’s the one mineral the Sadda-Vale lacks. We resort to chipping ores out of the slate there, but they don’t care for the work or the taste. I’ve hired myself out for wars to bring them coin. But never enough, they gobble it down and then it’s back to slate chipping.”
“You were doing that when we met.”
“You think I’d forgotten? You were the