Dorson’s men did not fire. Andrew swore as imaginatively as any sailor, and the colonel did not reprimand him. Ruzt, to my undying astonishment, made her very best mimicry of the curtsey I had given to the elders when I departed from their council, which I had explained to her was a gesture of politeness. I do not think anyone else realized what her movement was supposed to be.
I said, “This Draconean and her sisters saved my life after the avalanche. It is on their behalf, and that of all the Draconeans in the Sanctuary of Wings, that I signaled for you to land here today. If you are willing, Colonel Dorson, I will take you, Sir Thomas, and a small number of your men to meet with representatives from their council of elders.”
Enough time had passed without violence that I felt safe in tearing my eyes away from Ruzt and the soldiers and looking at Tom. Judging by his expression, it was entirely possible he had not taken a single breath since Ruzt stood up. I could not help smiling: despite the tension, it was a pure joy to share this discovery with the man who had been my friend and colleague for so many years. Once the last of the laudanum had left his body, we would have a tremendous amount to discuss.
Dorson was staring too, but with a good deal more shock than revelatory understanding. In a limp and wandering voice, he said, “How is this possible?”
At least my encounter with Suhail and Thu the previous day had given me some practice in explaining. I delivered the most concise version I could, blessing the fact that military discipline meant no one interrupted me with a single question. The biological origins of the Draconeans I glossed over with a brief reference to developmental lability; Tom would have guessed a fair bit of it on his own by now, and the phrase would mean nothing to Dorson, which meant I could elide anything that might require me to utter the ominous word “blood.” But I told him of the Downfall—a brief rendition of what I could piece together between the Draconean version of that tale and our own—and how, over the millennia, the survivors had taken refuge here. “And now, Colonel, you see why I call them a nation, for they are certainly not Tser-zhag.”
“I should bloody well think not,” Dorson said faintly. Then he shook himself. “You’re able to speak to these… things?”
“I am indebted to my husband’s work in reconstructing elements of the Draconean language,” I said. “Beyond that, a winter with no one else to talk to is a wonderful motivator for acquiring vocabulary. I shall serve as your interpreter, Colonel, if you are ready to meet the elders…?”
This sparked quite a brangle, for Dorson wanted to bring a full complement of armed men, and I wanted nothing of the sort. “Colonel,” I said at last, “you should be aware that my husband and Thu Phim-lat reached the Sanctuary yesterday, not long before you made your first attempt at the col. They are currently the guests of the Draconeans—”
“You mean hostages,” Dorson said, his entire posture hardening. “Say the word, Lady Trent, and we will retrieve them from these beasts.”
“Dear God,” I said impatiently. “How clear must I make it that I wish no bloodshed here at all? All you have to do is speak civilly to the elders—who, may I remind you, are no more beasts than we are—without looking as if you are here to finish what the Downfall started, and all will be very well. That means no more than two men with you, plus Tom.” All would be very well… unless Esdarr or someone of her mind chose to start trouble. But I had to trust the elders to keep order on their end, for I had enough to occupy me on my own.
It was all well and good to insist on only two other men, but who would accompany Dorson? I was astonished to see the changes the army had wrought in my brother; he argued less than I would have expected when Dorson ordered him to remain behind and guard the caeliger. But matters became more than a little tense when the colonel refused to allow any of the Khiam Siu to join him. “If this comes to blows, I don’t want to catch your lot up in it,” he said to their leader, a familiar-looking fellow I thought I must have met at one of those diplomatic suppers in Scirland, what felt like a lifetime ago. That man looked very unconvinced, but ultimately ceded the point.
Tom, in the meanwhile, had approached Ruzt. They could not converse at all, and I could not spare any time to interpret or even to really watch them, but he told me later that he had, through much pointing and other elements of mime, made clear to her his gratitude for my preservation. When I was finally able to rejoin him, he shook his head in disbelief.
“I had a whole winter in Vidwatha to think about this,” he said. His restless gaze roamed the mountainside, never settling on any one thing. “You and I had wondered, after all, whether there might not be living specimens out here. I thought, what if there are? And what if—” His jaw worked silently for a moment before he could voice the rest of it. “What if they somehow saved you?”
I put one hand on his arm. He turned his head aside, so that I could not see his expression, and could barely hear his voice. “I wanted to believe anything that meant you weren’t dead. No matter how impossible.”
He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. When he finally lowered it again, straightening his shoulders, I said lightly, “That goes to show just how astute you are, Tom. Now come: I think you will be fascinated to see what the ruff of a male Draconean looks like.”
To my inexpressible relief, the meeting with the elders went off without violence.
Tom contributed substantially to that, for after a winter in Vidwatha, he knew Dorson far better than I did. The colonel had enough of an ego to enjoy the thought of being remembered as the man who established the first treaty with the Draconeans—and of course he thought of it in those terms, that he would be the one who achieved that triumph. (I, after all, was just the interpreter.) I let Tom exploit that angle for the time being, knowing that it gave Dorson a greater feeling of control, which in turn made violence less likely.
Suhail and Thu were both present, looking passably like guests instead of hostages. My husband’s nod reassured me that they had not been mistreated; Kahhe and Zam were watching over them, much to my relief. But after that I could spare very little attention for them, as my efforts were entirely taken up by the role of interpreter, which I was sadly ill suited to.
I will not attempt to replicate all the points of conversation that day and the following ones. They would make for tedious reading, and would distract from the true turning points that sealed the fate of the Sanctuary and its Draconeans. The first of these involved Andrew, and the second involved Thu.
Dorson had every intention of sending the caeliger back across the mountains as soon as that first meeting concluded. He and the bulk of his men would remain in the Sanctuary, but there were others outside—as I suspected, they had established a temporary base nearby in Tser-nga—and he wished to notify them immediately of what he had discovered. When he returned to the landing meadow, however, Andrew informed him with a doleful expression that the caeliger’s engine was malfunctioning. “I think fighting the headwind yesterday strained it something awful, sir,” he said. “We’re working to repair it, but the ship isn’t going anywhere yet.”
I prudently waited until Dorson was done castigating everyone for their failures, then snatched a brief moment of conversation with Andrew where no one else could hear. “A malfunctioning engine?”
Andrew shrugged. “It was pretty clear you wanted to keep this under wraps for now. But if I get caught and court-martialled, you should know that I expect you to come riding in on a dragon to save me.”