from its mind, she would have thought it asleep or dead.
Those thoughts – or rather, thought-forms; they were in nowise clear enough to be considered thoughts – were quite strong. Stronger, in fact, than a newborn of the Kin.
If this was any indication of how strong it was likely to be when it got older, she was not surprised the halfbreeds gave the elves such trouble.
Below her, she saw the rest of her Kin emerging from their lairs. From above, they looked very odd indeed, especially by night-sight, which lacked all color. Without the color patterns to tell her who they were, and shrouded in their dark wings, they made a very odd effect against the stone.
One, however, she recognized at once. Her son Kemanorel bounced in place, unable to restrain his excitement.
:Be careful when I land, dearest,: she said to him, as soon as she was low enough that she knew she was within his limited range. :I have a – a kind of new pet, I think. A baby one. I am going to need your help with it; it’s lost its mother.:
Keman’s reply was clouded by bursts of glee; if she’d been on the ground, she knew she’d have heard him squealing. Beside him was another dragon she recognized by the sheer size and the silver glitter of his scales in the moonlight: Father Dragon. She watched him drape a taloned claw over Keman’s back, as the youngster threatened to leap into the air with anticipation.
The little one looked up at Father Dragon, and even at this distance Alara felt waves of calm coming from the chief shaman.
Most especially she was glad to be back with Keman. Even if he did drive her to distraction occasionally, she thought indulgently; and then she was on the long, difficult approach to landing. Difficult, because she was carrying something, because she was heavy and unwieldy with her own child-to-be, and because this was not the open land of the desert. Her long glide was interrupted by quick wing-beats to give her little lifts over projections, and twists and turns of wings and body to avoid rock formations.
With weary pride, she fanned her wings as she approached the waiting group of curious Kin, and dropped down gracefully into a three-clawed landing.
She placed her burden carefully on the ground, and for the first time since the child had been born, it uttered a cry, a pitiful little mew.
‘Fire and Rain!’ exclaimed one of the others. ‘What in blazes is that?’
Within the time it had taken Alara to land, what had been a peaceful homecoming had turned into a spreading altercation.
Never mind that she had just spent the better part of a moon away from home. Never mind that she was the shaman of this Lair, and presumably entitled to a modicum of respect. None of that mattered once the Kin caught sight of the halfblood baby. The other dragons surrounded her, their presence, though nowhere near as threatening to a flighted creature as one held to the ground, was intimidating enough. In the thin moon- and starlight their colors were muted, even to her night-sight, but she identified them easily enough. She had never felt her youth so acutely before, surrounded as she was by those who were technically her Elders, and she drew herself up to her full height, determined not to show herself intimidated.
‘Whatever possessed you to bring that home?’ one complained loudly, his tail twitching and stirring up the dust behind him. ‘It’s bad enough that it’s uglier than an unfledged bird, but it’s not only ugly, it’s dirty and noisy. It’ll need constant cleaning, and it doesn’t have the decency to keep quiet, ever.’ His tail twitched harder. ‘Your lair is right next to mine. I don’t want that thing wailing because it’s got a problem in the middle of the night, and waking me up!’
‘Not to mention the fact that you won’t be able to get anything sensible or useful out of it for years,’ said another, raising her head contemptuously. ‘It will need special food, special care, and be a waste of time you could spend better attending to your studies and duties. We’ve done without our shaman long enough.’
‘And don’t expect any of us to help, either.’ That was a voice Alara recognized; Yshanerenal was as sour in nature as an unripe medlar, and carried grudges for decades. ‘You brought the thing home, you can take care of it. And if it makes a nuisance of itself, we’ll expect you to deal with it or put the thing down.’ He hunched his head down between his shoulders and raised his wings belligerently.
‘It’s not a thing,’ Alara protested, facing the opposition and giving no clue that she felt challenged. She raised her own wings, and her spinal crest. ‘It’s a child, and not a great deal different from our children.’
‘Maybe not from yours, dear,’ young Loriealane purred sweetly, looking down her long, elegant snout at the shorter shaman. ‘But the rest of us come from better stock than that.’
One of Lori’s older sibs smacked the side of Lori’s head with his wing before Alara could react to that insult. ‘Watch your tongue, you flightless lizard,’ Haemaena growled, as Lori mantled and hissed at him in anger. He batted her a second time to make her cool down. ‘Or are you trying to prove you don’t deserve Kin-right? If the shaman wants a pet, even a weird pet, that’s no reason to insult her lines.’ The tone of his voice conveyed as much that he felt a superior cynicism as a wish to conciliate the shaman. In a way that was just as cutting as Lori’s outright insult. Alara bristled a little more, but his spinal crest lay flat, and his ears were angled forward; he wasn’t trying to insult her, he simply didn’t think she and the child were worth getting into an argument over. His next words proved that, sounding positively patronizing. ‘After all, she’s breeding, and breeding females should be granted their little whims.’
Alara restrained herself from smacking him – with great difficulty. After all, he was on her side. Sort of.
Immediately behind Lori stood Keman; behind him, a protective claw on the youngster’s shoulder, was Father Dragon. Keman was the only child in the gathering, and looked from one adult to another as the taunts and acidic comments flew, puzzlement written in every tense little muscle. Alara spared a moment of pity for him, and repressed the urge to send him back to the lair until this was all over.
The child had to learn someday that the Kin were by no means of a uniform opinion on many subjects. And he had to learn just how cynical and coldly callous most of the older dragons were, and how indifferent to the troubles of any creature outside the Kin.
They were just like elven lords in that, she thought angrily, turning more and more stubborn with every negative comment, every aggrieved complaint. They didn’t care about anything or anyone else, and any other race was somehow inferior to them. Even though the Kin had been driven out of Home, they had no feeling for creatures who suffered the slavery they had escaped. The universe revolved around the Kin, and they wouldn’t see it any other way.
There was a larger issue here than simply the adoption of a strange pet, and every one of the dragons knew it, though none of them voiced it. Alara had breached the walls of secrecy, to bring in a member of another race to a Lair of the Kin. A child, a baby, helpless and wildly unlikely to be a danger to them – but still, there it was. She had bent the unwritten Law, if not broken it. Shamans were permitted that license, but she might have gone beyond the bounds of what even a shaman might do. Were they to uphold the letter of the Law, or the spirit? Most of the Kin would say, ‘the spirit,’ but most of the Kin were not faced with a halfblood child in their very midst.
That was what lay behind every taunt: the uneasy feeling that Alara had gone too far, and that no matter what her motive was, she had to be made to realize that she was in the wrong. That self-centered blindness
