Chapter 12
You don’t need to fly so quickly, Vorik said as Agrevlari carried him across the Sea of Storms. The morning sun shone upon their faces as they navigated toward the coast of Froha and the camp Vorik hadn’t thought he would return to—not after he’d made his choice in the mine.
And yet… here he was, only a few days later, on his way to face the ire of his people.
I am flying at a leisurely pace, Agrevlari said, while contemplating the future. In particular, my future.
Are you thinking about what you’ll do if I’m killed or exiled?
I am wondering if Wreylith will realize that I have many fine merits and wish me to be involved in the raising of our offspring.
Oh. I guess it was self-centered of me to think it was our future that you were pondering.
I have considered what I might do if you are no longer a stormer serving in the Sixteen Talons, as I do enjoy our many battles and adventures, but now that I’ve learned that Wreylith is with eggs, I find that occupying my thoughts.
Understandable. Vorik grimaced as the verdant coastline came into view ahead. If I were to become a father, it would be on my mind a lot too.
It is not a dragon tradition for males to be involved in the raising of offspring, but a female who feels a bond toward a male will sometimes accept assistance.
For example, she might allow him to bring meat to her in the days before the laying of the eggs and also during the hatching and raising.
Sometimes, though it is somewhat rare, the male may even be trusted to sit with the eggs or hatchlings while the female hunts.
More typically, a female relative may take that role, but…
I do not know how many relatives Wreylith has, do you?
She has outlived many of her kin. The orange dragon, Igliana, is a niece of sorts, is she not?
I think so.
Vorik cared about Agrevlari’s musings regarding the future, but he caught himself wiping his palms on his trousers, nervous about how his people would react to his return.
What would he say? Would he be allowed into the camp?
What had Lesva and Jhiton said about him?
Vorik dreaded facing them, but he assumed they would both be there.
From what Agrevlari had reported, a few dragons lingered near Harvest Island, but most had departed with their riders—those riders who’d survived—after the mine disaster.
Igliana is young and likely inexperienced in the ways of motherhood, Agrevlari said. Wreylith might prefer my assistance.
Oh? Are you experienced in the ways of motherhood?
Fatherhood, certainly. Many cycles ago, I sired offspring, but I did not have a long-lasting bond with the female I mated with, so I was not involved in the raising of the hatchlings.
You have children, Agrevlari? You never told me.
We’ve not encountered those that have survived over the years. My mating and their raising was in the Southern Hemisphere, and their mother has passed, but I believe they remain wild dragons with little interaction with humans.
Fascinating. As they sailed closer to the coast, Vorik eyed the bare rocky ledge where he and Jhiton had fought over Syla. He spotted a rider on watch out there, someone gazing toward him without obvious surprise.
Since dragons could sense each other from a distance, Vorik assumed his approach had been reported.
He looked warily up and down the coast for Ozlemar or any other dragons that might appear and impede their landing, but Agrevlari was the only winged being in the sky.
Since the cave camp in the dense trees wasn’t accessible to dragons, that wasn’t too surprising, but Vorik also wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been met with a barricade of fire and fangs.
If Wreylith is wise, she’ll accept your help and realize that you have many fine attributes.
Though hatchlings weren’t his primary concern, in case Vorik didn’t survive the day, he wanted to say something positive to Agrevlari.
His loyal dragon companion had often teased him about his relationship with Syla, but he’d never suggested it was stupid—or that Vorik was stupid. You’re a good friend, Agrevlari.
Yes. Do you believe the hatchlings will have Wreylith’s magnificent red coloring or mine? Or perhaps neither? Colors can be a wondrous surprise when it comes to dragons, but her brilliant, fiery scales would be most appealing in offspring.
I hope I live long enough to find out. Will you put me down where we landed last time? That little beach between the cliffs.
Certainly. I should warn you that Ozlemar and three other dragons are hunting inland over the meadows beyond the coastal forest. They are aware that we’ve arrived.
I understand. I hope they won’t take their vexation out on you. I was solely responsible for… my choices in the mine.
Oh, I’ve told them that repeatedly.
Vorik snorted. Your honesty is always appreciated.
They’ve suggested that your betrayal is a human matter, and they’ll let your people handle you.
The words your betrayal made Vorik wince, but he couldn’t deny their accuracy.
Apparently, Ozlemar has considered chomping you in half though.
That’s not surprising.
Agrevlari spread his wings and glided over the waves, seagulls and shark-beaked fulmars flying away from their perches in the cliffs as he approached. Nobody waited on the beach or the trail overlooking it.
After the dragon landed, Vorik braced himself and slid off, taking his weapons and the large sack of food that Syla had given him.
With numerous jars inside, as well as the many other items she’d packed, it had a lot of heft.
Maybe it was good that he hadn’t managed to retain any changes of clothing or other personal items during his chaotic night on Bogberry Island.
Wish me luck, Agrevlari.
If you don’t return, I’ll pine for many hours.
Only hours? Not even a day or two?
Since I’ll need to depart to offer my services as a father to Wreylith, there won’t be time for extended mourning. Hatchlings are born, and life goes on.
You’ll be a good father.
If she’ll let me be involved, certainly.
As Vorik climbed the trail leading toward the top of the bluff, his instincts told him that he was being watched, even though he didn’t see or sense anyone.
Nerves wrestled in his belly. The animal path that led along the forested top of the bluff was quiet, save for the distant shrieking of a crying godbird and the nearby chattering of a fanged squirrel.
When he turned off the trail and toward the well-hidden cave, Vorik didn’t see anyone perched atop it—a customary watch station—but he continued to feel that someone was observing him.
That wasn’t surprising, but something hinted of danger.
His instincts knew it, and he had to fight away the urge to draw his sword.
Instead, he kept his free hand out to the side, away from his weapons.
He might be in danger, but he would not approach as an enemy.
I was not permitted to name any of the offspring from the last clutch I sired, Agrevlari said. Perhaps Wreylith will be open to my input on the matter. At least for male hatchlings. Females always think males are inferior, anyway.
We both know that’s not true. Outside the cave, Vorik eyed the branches overhead and gazed at ferns and brambles growing between the densely packed trees. He could hear voices inside, but someone was out here with him. Certain of it, he set the sack of food aside.
Of course, Agrevlari said, but female dragons have high opinions of themselves.
Deservedly so. You’ve a high opinion of Wreylith too.
She is magnificent. I have not contemplated names for some time. I will consider what might be appropriate. Unless you’ve some ideas from the many ballads you’ve memorized.
Can we save this discussion for later? I’m approaching my camp.
In addition to hearing voices, Vorik was close enough to the cave entrance to sense people with power inside.
Riders bonded to their dragons. Chieftess Shi was present as well as a few chiefs and chieftesses that he recognized but hadn’t seen for a while.
Presumably, they’d arrived early for the meeting of the tribes.
At Vorik’s request, Agrevlari fell silent but only for a moment before adding, See if your people have any suggestions for male dragon names.
I’m certain that’s the first topic they’ll want to discuss with me.
Vorik was in the middle of rolling his eyes when his instincts shouted for him to get out of the way. Glimpsing movement above and to the right, he rolled left, somersaulting through the ferns. He drew his dagger instead of his sword and came up, spinning back toward the path.
A young stormer rider sprang toward him with a dagger of his own. Vorik dodged three rapid slashes before he identified his foe.
“Warrim,” he blurted, reluctant to counterattack.
But the twenty-year-old warrior was relentless, leaping over ferns and logs to try to cut Vorik down. “Traitor!”
“Yes. I came to discuss that. Give me a chance.”
Warrim leaped, feinted at Vorik’s face, and stabbed for his heart. But Vorik had recovered from the initial surprise and was fast enough to dodge the attacks. Though talented, his foe wasn’t enhanced by a dragon bond.
“You tried to kill the general!” Warrim swiped again, frustration more than cunning guiding his movements. “And everything was ruined because of you. Dragons died. Riders died. Yivonna died!”
As Vorik dodged a swipe for his throat, he recalled that was a female rider in a tribe Wingborn met with regularly.
Vorik shook his head. “I’m sorry, Warrim, but I’m not the reason everyone died. I want to explain and propose a future in which—”
Another flurry of attacks forced him to break off. This was not the way to have a rational conversation.