Thrall - Christie Golden [64]
Arygos shook himself and lifted his head, peering down imperiously at the smaller half-elven form.
“You would give every member of the lesser races a soft bed and plenty of food if you could,” he said, sneering.
Kalec smiled, gently. “And I fail to see the harm in that manner of thinking. He is but one orc. I can’t believe that you are afraid of him.”
That got to Arygos. He slammed his tail down, and the others who tended to think as he did looked offended as well. “Afraid? I? Not of a puny orc I could crush with one talon!”
“Well, then,” Kalec said, continuing to smile, “there should be no problem with his staying, should there?”
Arygos suddenly froze. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he stared at Kalecgos for a long time.
“I fear nothing from this lesser being. But what we do here is of deep meaning to the blue dragonflight. I do not know that it is appropriate for a lesser being to witness these events, let alone be part of them.”
Kalec folded his arms and gazed for a long, searching moment at the orc. Something inside him was saying that Thrall needed to be here. Something more than the simple respect all dragons should have for the opinion of an Aspect. If the world was indeed facing the sort of danger that Nozdormu implied, the blues could not afford to ignore any wise thought, regardless of the source. Moreover, they could not afford to isolate themselves under a false sense of superiority born of ignorance and arrogance. He turned his piercing eyes to Tick, lifting an eyebrow in a question. The bronze met Kalec’s gaze evenly. In those eyes, Kalec read an unshakable certainty that echoed his own.
He made his decision. It was a calculated gamble, but one he knew, bone deep, that he had to take.
“Thrall stays,” Kalecgos said quietly, “or I go.”
An unhappy murmur arose. Arygos said nothing, but his tail twitched.
“I honored and respected your father, Malygos—for himself, and for the Aspect he embodied. But his choices were the wrong ones—not just for others, but for us. It may be that we, too, end up stumbling down the wrong path. But as long as I have breath and life in my body, I will not go down that path knowingly. Thrall should be here; he has done nearly as much for the dragonflights as most dragons themselves have done. I repeat: if he goes, I go. And others with me.”
It was not an idle threat. If Arygos was going to force a schism, then let it happen here and now. Kalecgos would not depart the Nexus alone. And Arygos could not afford for that to happen. Too much was uncertain as it was.
Arygos was silent for several heartbeats. Then, moving swiftly, he went to Thrall and dropped his head down until it was within inches of the orc’s.
“You are here as a guest,” Arygos rumbled, repeating his earlier words. “You will deport yourself with respect and courtesy and obey our wishes.”
“I am an ambassador,” Thrall said. “I understand that. I have dealt with many ambassadors in my time, Arygos. I understand respect and courtesy.”
There was almost, but not quite, an overemphasis on the word “I.” Arygos’s nostrils flared, and then he turned to the bronze dragon visitor. “Tick, you are no longer needed here. Thrall is now our responsibility.”
Tick bridled, ever so slightly, then gave a bow that was so low as to border on impudence.
“I will return to my flight, then. Take good care of this one, Arygos.”
Arygos watched her depart, then turned back to the assembled blues. “It is my understanding that there might be new information as to how this … ritual … will work,” the dragon said. “Let us hear from the magi newly returned.”
As it turned out, very little was revealed by the newcomers. Like many of those deeply focused on the minutiae of the arcane, they were excited about uncovering a few details that shed enlightenment on the possible process of determining a new Aspect,