Rhea stood and watched through the night, trembling and crying, and refused any food or comfort.

In the end, the king sent forth a messenger once again, announcing his presence and leaving it to the Ghi men to decide. They met on a hilltop thick with fuzzy fruit the blighters called “sweetdrops,” and the Peace of the Sweetdrop was announced.

The Copper, though cynical about such arrangements, had to admit that the terms were very advantageous to Bant. NiThonius himself advised the king on the whys and wherefores.

No Ghi man would come south of the Black River without seeking the king’s permission.

The Ghi men would keep their mines and saltworks, but pay over the worth of one burden out of ten extracted from Bant in the form of coin, goods, or thralls. Value of goods or thralls would be determined by the king’s representatives at the mines. New mines and works would be opened only with Bant’s permission.

As a sop to the Ghi men, the Black River would be considered open to commercial traffic to the sea, and trading posts would be kept, along with sufficient garrisons to defend them from bandits.

The Copper wasn’t sure that there could be a permanent peace with hominids—either abject submission into thralldom or the peace of a corpse was the only practical alternative—but even the historian Rethothanna chuckled when he said so on his return to the Lavadome. Though she knew the evidence flanking his arguments better than any, she said, “We must make do with fortune when it favors us.”

The mighty—and now newly victorious, thanks to the events in Bant—Tyr heard the report in the shadowy gardens of the Imperial Resort atop Black Rock, with accompanying songs and stories of the returned Drakwatch, the lone Firemaiden Nilrasha (whom the blighters, even in the Lower World, forever after called Ora), and his mate-brother.

The march back had been one of the most pleasant experiences of the Copper’s life. The blighters sacrificed bullocks to the dragons all along the way, and held bonfires in their honor, where the tribal youths and maidens danced until they dropped in exhaustion. The king’s praise-singers wore out even their iron throats describing the victory, and the Firemaids at the entrance to the lower world bowed at head and tail as their contingent passed.

Even SiDrakkon was in a good mood for once. He let Rhea, easily the most comely of all the thralls in their party, ride on a strapped-down cushion at the high ridge of his back and wave at the garland-throwing crowds.

Though the Copper asked several dragons, none could tell him anything about his strange failure of flame. He could bring up tiny wads from his fire bladder, which when spit would flare after a moment. As an experiment he brought up every drop he could squeeze out. It just splattered and gave off a sulfurous, oily smell.

He finally realized he had one more crippling injury to add to the others. At least this one wasn’t visible. No dragonelle would flutter her eyes in amusement.

Even wise old NeStirrath could only guess that it had something to do with the injury to his fire bladder, from the fight with the demen over the griffaran eggs. NeStirrath had a thrall touch a torch to his spew, and it burned brightly enough, but wouldn’t ignite on its own if he brought it up in any quantity.

To celebrate the victory in Bant, the Tyr commanded a garden-filling banquet, inviting not only the dragons of the Imperial line but the chief dragons of the other hills of the Lavadome.

The Copper made no effort to color his scale; he just had Rhea make it as clean and even as possible. She tried covering his bad eye with a bit of red silk she’d taken off one of the Ghi-men bodies, but the result made him look like he was flaunting an injury, so he told her to keep it.

This banquet was more splendid than the last. The great dragons brought their own thralls to help attend them, and offered up whole bullocks and hogs and bone-crusted river fish as long as a drake and wine aged in artisan glass to the Tyr to add to the gorging and merriment.

The Copper kept to the edges of the banquet this time, in no mood for gorging himself as Simevolant made jokes about the walls of a Ghi-men city being brought down by HeBellereth’s tailventings rather than stones.

Fools! Just because they happen to be safe and well fed now, that does not mean things will always be so comfortable. The bones of four dragons are being nibbled at by those tasty fish of the Black River, and all they can do is laugh over jokes about bodily functions.

He passed the time with Rethothanna. She questioned him closely about conditions in Bant, and especially about the weight and composition of the stones.

“They were reddish, some sparkle to them. I can’t say more,” he answered. “The Ghi men made use of them in building their walls, homes, and the ford, by the look of it. There were cuts in the hillsides to extract it.”

“Iron balls would be better. I’ve heard of the dwarves using them in warfare against dragons. They attach them to harpoons and then bring the dragons down with their weight.”

NoSohoth approached and gave the briefest of bows to Rethothanna. “Famed historian, beloved of the Tyr for her wisdom. May I tear Rugaard from you for a moment? A small question has come up regarding events in Bant.”

Rethothanna bowed deeply, not so much to NoSohoth but to the command of the Tyr. “Off you go then, Rugaard. Though personally I’d rather be dropped into a dueling pit.”

The Copper approached the great dragons, perched on benches above the banquet pit, braziers all around burning oliban. The Tyr and his mate, with SiDrakkon on one side and Nivom on his other, clustered about with the three granddaughters of the Tyr. The Copper limped up and made a greeting bow.

The Tyr looked from one wingside to the other. “Ahh, er, Rugaard, we’ve run into something of a question that I was hoping you’d help us with.”

“Of course, Tyr.”

“I won’t have lies spread about my brother, whatever the source,” Tighlia said. “This half-wit can’t tell vermin from griffaran.”

The Copper felt a quick flush. How good it would be to attend a banquet like this with Zara. Her eyes would burn like the sun, as Tighlia’s did, when others made jokes. He didn’t care what Tighlia thought of him; he rather admired her for her defense of her brother.

The silence, threatening from SiDrakkon, cautious from Nivom, put Rugaard on edge.

“Please be quiet, my love,” Tyr said. “Rugaard. It seems negotiations were made possible only by a good deal of damage to the walls of that stone city on the Black River. Can you enlighten us as to how that came about?”

The Copper wondered if he could be challenged to a duel over his answer. “I believe so. HeBellereth knocked them down by dropping stones.”

“Bravely done, yes,” the Tyr said. “But how did all that come about?”

“The idea was Nivom’s. He and HeBellereth worked on it for days, practicing, and he put the blighters to work finding the right kinds of boulders and gathering them. The night of the battle SiDrakkon ordered the actual attack, and of course he was in command at the time.”

“Ha! See, the victory is mine,” SiDrakkon thundered.

The Tyr flapped a wing. “Quiet now; don’t intimidate this drake. Now, Rugaard, correct me if I’m wrong, but the stones were used only after an attack had failed. An attack that cost the lives of three dragons. Am I wrong in any detail?”

“The last thing I’d wish to do is correct my grandsire,” the Copper said.

The Tyr snorted. “Yes or no, do I have it right?”

“Yes, great Tyr.”

Nivom seemed to swell. SiDrakkon’s tail knocked over two braziers, and thralls rushed forward to right them and pour water on the smoldering coals and incense.

“Is that all, Grandsire?” the Copper asked.

“Tyr, this fool had a thrall run away on him, I believe,” SiDrakkon said. “Escaped into Bant. A man named, er, Harb.”

“Harf,” the Copper corrected, wondering how SiDrakkon knew that.

“Don’t bother me with trivia,” the Tyr said. “I know your games, SiDrakkon. I want to know the truth about events in Bant, not the comings and goings of dropping scrapers.”

“I’m sorry for his escape, Tyr,” the Copper said. “Should I have chased him down?”

“Never mind that. There’s one other question. It seems after my mate’s brother lost two dragons on the first assault on the fortress, he gave orders for a retreat south. Why weren’t those orders followed?”

“We were in a strong position, Tyr, and the Ghi men had lost much of their cavalry.”

Tyr cocked his head. “According to some, everyone was ready to quit the hill until you said you’d stay by the wounded. HeBellereth insists that it was you who wanted to stick and fight.”

“HeBellereth was badly hurt at that point. I helped look after his wounds, so that could be why he remembers me. Nivom was in command, Tyr. The glory and honor of the victory the next day belong to him—and HeBellereth, of course—for breaking the shield wall with his own body.”

“Someone really must make a song about all this,” Tyr said. “NoSohoth, call for silence. I want the banquet to hear something.”