Dragon Champion (Age of Fire #0)

Dragon Champion (Age of Fire #0) Page 35

“There will have to be a trial. Though your confession will be to your credit,” Djer said. “Jealousy drove you to something this stupid?”

“Never Envy other dragons their wealth, power, or home,” Auron translated, as best he could.

“What’s that?” Djer asked.

“A song that we might do well to translate into Dwarvish.”

Chapter 14

The sight of the markets in the East would have been worth the winter’s trip to Auron, even without his task of guarding the dwarves’ treasure.

There were colorful tents and dun huts, run-down stalls and gold-flaked wagons, warehouses and barges loaded with goods under a late-winter sky. The steppe country ended at the feet of a sickle-curve of mountains from the north, hummock-shaped, snow-dusted slopes harboring only a few patches of desert fir. They were in a land the commodore identified as Wa’ah.

Wa’ah sat in the spine hills between the Vhydic River, which ran south to the Jeweled Princedoms, and the Na, the slow-flowing artery to the East’s fertile coast and myriad islands. Here the twenty thousand paces of the Golden Road joined the navigable lengths of the Vhydic and the Na under the Suerzain of Wa’ah. The suerzain was a monarch with the wisdom to leave a good thing alone by not levying tolls, duties, dock fees, or taxes on the river-road trade. He employed a small army of merchants himself, and the suerzain’s storehouses and food markets, corrals and smithies—located in the best spots, naturally—competed for the custom of traders from near and far.

The towers halted their inchworm journey on the west side of the Vhydic, where the spring’s first wildflowers already bloomed on the banks of the more sheltered backwaters. Rather than hiring boats to shuttle their goods across, the dwarves assembled their own from frames carried by the wraxapods. It was the knocking sound of hammers driving wooden pegs that revealed to Auron that the journey had ended.

“But not your duties, Auron,” Djer said. “We’ll spend the rest of the coin in a month or so buying new beasts and wagons for the return trip. We’ll return to Wallander with three times the goods and one-tenth the money that we set out with. But our first purchase will be at the suerzain’s market for some fresh fruits and vegetables. You may not get tired of salted meat, but I’ve had enough dried mushrooms and peas and apples to last me the rest of my life.”

“It is still the plan for me to return with the Caravan, at least partway,” Auron said.

Djer gave his crest a friendly tap, like a merchant testing the soundness of a copper pot. “Of course. You’ll ride in more comfort this time, in the by, and they say the summer is a better time to see the southern steppe. Having you along mightily impressed the Steppe Kings’ men. I exaggerated a bit and told them you were an important scion of a family of dragons in our mountains, learning something of the world as a student and ambassador to the Chartered Company. It didn’t hurt to have the Ironriders think that any nonsense would be avenged by some very angry dragons.”

After a day of preparation, the dwarves opened their own market, showing off jewelry, weapons, armor, and other finished goods brought out of the countries ringing the Inland Sea. Djer had Auron perch atop the money-wagon, and some visitors made the trip across the Vhydic just to see him, for not even the menageries out of the East could boast of a drake’s presence. His display especially excited the merchants of the Na basin and the eastern coast. Djer was happy to relay to Auron their belief that any endeavour that took place under a dragon’s gaze was considered certain to bring luck and success. Some went so far as to stand beneath his wagon, look solemnly at him, bow, and mutter in their own tongues. Others clapped to get his attention and then tossed a coin or two onto the flat roof of the wagon. Auron made a pretense of eating the money and later presented it to Djer, who would spend it on fat joints of beef and mutton. Djer told him that if he were a golden dragon, instead of a gray one, it would impress them even more. When he hinted that he knew of an elf-artisan who could paint his skin until anyone would think he had come out of the egg that color, Auron snarled in mock fury and chased his friend around the wagon nipping at the dwarf’s fleeing buttocks.

Auron saw that men, elves, dwarves, and blighters came in different colors, just as dragons did, though in muted, Earth-spirit hues. Some wore plain-sewn furs, others rich robes with glittering pieces of stained glass woven into the fabric. Rich or poor, perfumed or smelling of charcoal smoke, they all tried to buy cheap and sell dear to others with the same goal in mind. They spoke a form of pidgin Parl of many words run together to make sure the point was taken. Auron heard traders asked if they would like to see more with the phrase “thou-you want-care look-see else-more-different?”

Auron found it all amusing. Even better, he could enjoy the feeling of being amused.

The waning moon told them they had been on the banks of the Vhydic for over a month. Auron and Djer treated themselves to a private dinner just below the doors of the wagon. The nights were now warm enough for them to stand outside without huddling close to the fire and shivering.

“Your beard is looking well,” Auron told Djer one evening as the dwarf sprinkled his beard with the faintly sweet-smelling water that fed the glowing mold nestled within. Shining flakes picked up the light. “And is that a little gold dust?”

“Ach, I splurged,” Djer said, winking at Auron with one of his great eyes. “This will be a profitable trip, from push-pull dwarf on up.”

“When do dwarves mate?”

“I’ll take a wife once I have my own line open,” Djer said. “There was a maid, once, in the mines. A kind maid, even to a nobody of a coaler. I should like to return to her stove-corner and take her up to a home . . .”

The dwarf glanced over at Auron. “Funny the chance that makes a dream come true. Almost makes you believe in that elvish rot about fate and such.”

“Almost,” Auron said.

“Yes, you’ve got enough of an ear for Dwarvish to know a curse when you hear it. I don’t care for almosts. The word is a cheat.”

“There’s no almost about this trip. Meeting you is the best thing to happen to me since . . .”

Djer laughed to end the silence. “And you, my friend, you’ve grown on dwarf hospitality. I see some bumps on your crest, too. Would those be horns coming in?”

“Are they even?” Auron asked. He remembered his sisters and their discussion over just where on a dragon’s crest horns were considered attractive, and was vain enough to have it worry him.

“One’s right on top, and the other is just in front of your ear,” Djer said, and laughed as Auron’s sii flew to his crest. The buds were there, midway up each side of his crest, what his sisters might consider ideal. At least he was normal in that respect.

“We’re both growing,” Djer said, slapping his vest-covered belly, now full with a feast bought by Auron’s collection of coin. “Another year or two, and you wouldn’t even fit in that wagon.”

“And you are about to burst that vest like a hatchling’s egg.”

“What was it like, being in an egg?” Djer asked. “Dwarves come like mammals; we don’t have memories of it.”

“Safe. Wonderful. Like you feel on a cold day in winter when you’re sleeping somewhere warm, not quite awake but not really asleep, either. Your senses flicker on and off.”

“You’re an education, Auron. I’m now a dwarf of position and experience. I owe it all to you.” He pulled out a long-stemmed pipe and lit leathery leaf within. Djer had been experimenting with different pipe-fillings available at the market, and had found a rich-smelling, almost beery kind that revolted the drake.

Djer expelled a contented sigh along with the fragrant pipesmoke.

Auron flicked out his tongue and touched the dwarf’s callused hand. “You worked double shifts in that mine to buy into the Chartered Company. You worked hard and drove your cart even when it wasn’t bringing you much in return. Then you did a favor for a strange beast that in another time or place might have killed you. Your success is entirely your own.”

With the money-wagon emptied like a larder at the end of winter, Auron toured the markets and stalls with Djer. They explored the offerings of the Vhydic and lands beyond. Auron thrived on the experience. The color and energy of the place was infectious, if a bit overwhelming to a young drake. The markets attracted such a mixture of peoples, sights, and sounds that he felt like just another visitor in a land where every face is a strange one and every sight an oddity. Dogs slunk behind their master’s legs at his coming, and horses danced in fear, but his presence inspired nothing but interested looks and excited comment, a welcome change from the angry call of hunting horns or the scrape of swords being drawn.

Auron paused at the vendors offering hanging maps and delicate scrolls, the work of men who could not communicate through thought-pictures. But they had some advantages over the mental way of the dragons. A man or dwarf did not have to rely on the accumulated memories of his blood-line: he could learn from the writings of those in another time and place, if he just understood the symbols. An old story did not die with its owner, but lived on whenever someone picked out the words. The inventiveness of the hominids made up for their physical weakness.