Alara’s maternal heart, as sure as elf-shot, and as deadly … and she knew she couldn’t leave it here. Not after all this. It was only a baby. She ought to be able to figure out how to care for it. It couldn’t be that different from other cubs and kits.
She immersed the baby in the pool just long enough to clean her, and wrapped her in the remains of Serina’s dress. She didn’t look any better clean – but she stopped crying. Though Alara felt unformed waves of hunger coming from the child, she simply stared into the dragon’s eyes with odd intelligence, as if she was able to focus on things even at this early age.
It’s my imagination.
Fire and Rain, what am I going to do with the child?
Take it home, I suppose.
She reached again for the energy flowing from the pool, and let it ripple through her as she shifted back into her native form. The child lay in the sand, bathed in the golden rays of the sunset, and made no sound at all. Alara was beginning to be a bit unnerved by this silence, as well as by the way the infant seemed to be able to track on her.
The shaman stretched out her wings to their fullest extent, catching the last of the heat of the sun, her shadow falling long and black over the sand and the child. She’d better go now, while she could catch thermals, she decided. Keman had a whole little zoo. Maybe he could put this thing to nurse with one of his pets.
She hooked her foreclaws into the fabric cradling the baby, taking extra care not to scratch it, and launched herself into the cobalt sky with powerful beats of her wings and legs.
You know, she thought to herself, as she took her bearings from the sun and the evening star, and headed back to her Lair, there really ought to be something in the Prophecy about this. Hmm. Maybe I’ll put it there myself.
Now wouldn’t that sound impressive in the mouth of the old, blind holy woman! ‘Child of dragons, the Elvenbane …’
She chased the setting sun across the desert and into the high plains. Beneath her, herds of antelope and grass-deer moved out of the shelter of scrub where they had spent the day, heading for water and open grazing. When the shadow of her wings passed over them, they invariably took fright and ran for cover.
Not tonight, you juicy little creatures. I’m not out hunting right now.
Besides, that would be poaching. One of the other Lairs managed this part of the country; Leanalani’s Lair, if she recalled correctly. It wasn’t polite to swoop down on another Lair’s territory and hunt without permission.
The herds kicked up a lot of dust as they ran. It had been a very dry summer here so far. The clouds of dust glowed in the last rays of the sun, red and gold-red; shadows stretched out in purple fingers from everything, across the gilt-edged grass and scrubland. Before her, the sun died in a blood-red and gold sky; behind her the sky had deepened to indigo. Overhead, a thin crescent moon peered wanly down at her.
From below came the hot breath of the plains; redolent with the aromas of dust and sun-baked vegetation, with a hint of deer-musk and now and then a breath of hidden water.
As she continued to press westward, the setting sun seemed torn in half along its lower edge, a jagged line of black cutting across it before it reached the horizon.
Those were the mountains. Not long now …
Beyond the desert which the elvenkind would not cross, beyond the territories managed only for game, lay the Lairs themselves, nestled into valleys in the mountains. Home had never looked so inviting; and not even the halfblood child swinging from her claw had much importance.
In fact, Alara longed for her own place, her own cave, so much that she completely forgot she had never completed her meditations.
Alara circled over the Lair for a moment, waiting for the sentry on duty to acknowledge her before setting down. Old habits died hard; perhaps it was no longer necessary for dragons to worry about who and what came winging in over their Lairs, but sentries were still assigned, and no dragon would ever land without being acknowledged by the sentry. Weary as she was, Alara was not weary enough to violate that protocol.
:Who flies?: came the ritual question.
:Alamarana,: she replied, just as formally. :Have I landing right?:
:Landing and Kin-right, by Fire and Rain. Welcome home, Elder Sister!:
She didn’t recognize the ‘tone’ of the voice; probably because she was so tired. Must be one of the youngsters, she thought. She hovered for a moment over the cluster of ‘buildings’ set into the sides of the valley, orienting herself. Below her the buildings, of every possible form and style, were hardly more than darker shapes against the pale, weathered rock. There were no lights, which would have sorely puzzled any elf or human who approached, even more than the wildly disparate buildings themselves.
Alara finally realized why she couldn’t see; she’d been so tired she hadn’t bothered to shift her eyes from day-sight to night-sight. Cursing herself for stupidity, she made the tiny adjustment, and suddenly the valley took on a crystalline clarity.
And there was her home; or rather, the building that marked the entrance to her home. Some dragons actually preferred surface dwellings and tended to spend a great deal of time in forms other than draconic. The huge, manorlike constructions were theirs, though they were situated without regard to surface access or water supply. There was, in fact, one enormous castle built right into the side of one of the cliffs, close enough to touch as Alara glided past.
It was new. Alara wondered who had built that monstrosity; it looked like something a newly rich overseer would build.
Other dragons preferred caves, but not the deep caves of Home; they chose shallow caves high on the side of the mountain, where they could sunbathe on ledges all day if they chose. As she winged past one of these, she saw eyes shining at her out of the darkness. Three sets of eyes, all quite close together.
So Ferilanora had managed to coax her brood up the cliff at last. Alara had begun to think she would never get them out of the valley.
And some of the Kin, like Alara, felt most comfortable in extensive underground lairs, the kind of places the Kin used at Home. They felt more comfortable and secure with solid rock overhead, a myriad of hiding places, and multiple exits. This community of the Kin was blessed with a valley suitable for all three preferences.
Those that preferred caves or caverns tended to construct at least a semblance of a building to mark the entrance to their homes and protect it from storms. Alara’s was a copy in stone of V’Sharn Jaems Lord Kelum’s pleasure gazebo in his rock garden. She saw it once during a kind of open-house party, and had found it charming.
She couldn’t say the same for him, however.
The result was a hodgepodge of every type, style and size of building imaginable. Pleasure gazebos perched atop knolls or nestled into the sides of cliffs. Manors and fanciful castles huddled at the bottom of the valley like surly hens, or were balanced on the tips of peaks or on cliff ledges. Temples to gods long gone huddled cheek-by-jowl with human-designed pyramids and brothels.
It looked rather as if some tremendous windstorm had swept through a half dozen cities and deposited the remains here.
She circled the valley slowly, gently losing
