“May I see him?”

“Best if you don’t. He was hurt in the last battle. He needs quiet.”

“To heal?”

“To die, the physikers say.”

AuRon’s claws closed on the wet earth, tearing soil and worms. “Take me to him. If you love your master, if you remember me in the fight by the river, you’ll do as I ask.”

Altran dragged grimy fingernails across what was left of his beard. “I will. My charter means nothing to me anymore, with the great Caravan gone. They’ve laid him out with the others beyond hope. Come, the burial cave is not far.” Altran sent the herder ahead and led AuRon into the forest.

“What happened to the Caravan?”

“Last year we were on the steppe. The same story as everywhere: six dragons came with the horsemen this time, bearing that cursed banner of the figure in the golden circle again. They burned the towers. The survivors went west with Djer. The Ironriders began to gather. He wouldn’t stop. He drove us, wouldn’t give a full night’s rest even, but we made Wallander before the snow flew. Thinner, but alive.”

“How are matters at the Delvings?”

“The Partners built it sound. The dragons have burned out the upper galleries, and not a dowel still remains on the balconies, but no dragon has made it past the first inner door. We’ve got all the water we need, and food for a year or more if it comes to that.”

“Has it been just dragons, or have men attacked with them?”

“No men, no blighters—yet. The Underroad is held by our best dwarves; if they do come in force, we have a hundred ton of rock to close Deep Passage. I’m for moving to the mountains or across. The Delvings are strong, but to me it just means we die a year from now, like rats in a watched hole.”

“I’m sorry. It grieves me to see the Delvings as they are now.”

“That was a good year, when Djer landed at Wallander with you. You brought us luck before, maybe you will again.”

“But too late for Djer, it seems.”

This last came as AuRon spied the burial cave, set well away from the rest of the Delvings. Thankfully only two lanterns lit the place, hiding most of the agony in shadow. Moaning dwarves lay under blankets stretched above, to shield them from the sun. Flies buzzed everywhere, thick enough on the dead to give the bodies a blue-green carpet. Two hollow-eyed dwarves wandered among the dying, giving water in response to weak pleas but deaf to all other requests. The charnel house smell of burning flesh filled AuRon’s nostrils from a fire pit where wisps of blue-black smoke despoiled the clear glint of the stars above.

The buzzing of the flies made AuRon narrow his eyes and fold his ears.

“Skin of the Golden Tree, it’s worse than ever,” Altran said. “They must have brought up the batch from the last attack. They had Djer in the cave when I last saw him.”

Altran picked among the bodies, dead and near-dead.

“Have we surrendered?” one of the attendants said in a tone that marked him as one who didn’t care either way.

“No, this is a friend. An old friend. Where’s Djer?”

“Djer who?”

“The Partner. Djer Highboots. Come, dwarf, pull your helm on straight.”

AuRon stepped carefully over the prostrate dwarves, and put his head into the shadow of the cave. He found Djer, not by smell, not by sight, but by the cloak hung to separate him from the other dying dwarves. A blazoning of a dragon, akin to the one on the ring, marked the cloak and what was left of the vest on the wheezing body.

Altran removed his hat and bent next to the dwarf. AuRon forced himself to look at what remained of his old friend. Djer’s skin was blackened and flaked like that of a spit-roasted pig. His eyes were withered, lifeless things in horribly empty sockets streaming pus down his nose and cheeks, and his lips burned back to reveal teeth belonging to a corpse.

Yet he still breathed.

“Djer, the dragon AuRon is here. He would speak with you.”

“Why is he not . . . bandaged?” AuRon growled, having trouble finding his words. “By . . . by . . . by the Sun and Stars, I’ll have someone’s skin for this.”

The attendant shrank away in fear, but Altran held up a hand.

“Ach . . .’andages . . . no . . . hurts . . . worse . . . AuRon,” Djer wheezed. “Just cool air.”

“Djer, do you know me?”

“AuRon... AuRon. I ’ish I could see. Ears only ’ing working . . . ha’ you co’ wi t’ dragons?”

“Against them. I’ve come against them, my friend.”

At this the dwarves, even the attendants, lifted their chins and looked at AuRon.

“How did this happen?” AuRon finally said. He’d take Djer’s dwarsaw and wrap it around this Wyrmmaster’s neck. Then pull . . . slowly.

Djer tried to talk, but began to cough, in weak, pained gasps.

Altran spoke up. “He was at the front doors. The second attack. We hadn’t rigged the ballistas at the balconies yet. We had to lure the dragons in close, so we’d have a chance with the crossbows. Djer, myself, and six dwarves, may they rest undisturbed, sheltered under some rocks near the door. The dragons had to land to get at us. We got one. Another landed, and Djer tried to get everyone inside the doors. Muftor fell, and Djer went back for him. They both got caught in the open by another’s fire. Djer got Muftor in all right, but he was a corpse by the time the doors were shut. We claimed our vengeance. The dragon that burned Muftor and Djer, the crossbow dwarves got him, too, when he took off again.”

“AuRon,” Djer said, his coughing dying away.

“Yes?”

“I tuk ’lame inta lungs. It ’urts. E’ryt’ing ’urts.”

“Can they do anything for him?” AuRon said, turning on the dwarves.

“What medicine we have goes to those that will live,” Altran said.

“End it . . . AuRon... as my ’riend,” Djer said.

AuRon didn’t look around for agreement or assent. He stabbed down with his neck. His snout smashed into Djer’s head, crushing his skull as quickly as if Altran had brought a sledgehammer upon it. The wet crash echoed off the walls, and even the dying startled.

It was not hard to do. The burnt, suppurating thing at the mouth of the cave was not Djer, but a corpse still tormenting the remains of consciousness within for a few more days. Djer had died at the door of the Delvings as he had lived, risking himself to help a friend.

Something cold, like a block of swallowed ice, rested in AuRon’s stomach. It hurt.

He smelled a familiar scent from Djer’s body and marked a tobacco pouch at his waist. He bit it away from Djer’s belt.

The attendants wouldn’t come near the body until AuRon took his blood-and-brain-smeared snout out of their sight. AuRon turned away and sat up so he could wash himself. It felt good to breathe the clean air away from the dying.

Altran approached, wet eyes glistening in the moonlight, and cleared his throat. AuRon saw the dwarves dragging Djer’s body to the fire pit.

“Wait!” AuRon growled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“No time to bury the dead,” one of the attendants said.

“What do you do with your dead at other times?”

“As a Partner, Djer would rest in the Hallowhall,” Altran said. “Others have cairns in the mountainside. It’s too dangerous for many to be out piling stones.”

“Why should those who give their lives defending the Delvings be accorded less honor than those who die in their beds? Even blighters have more ceremony for their fallen than this.”

The dwarves looked at each other unhappily. AuRon thrashed his tail. “There’s not a dwarf here but deserves to be laid out in the Hallowhall. Does this cave connect to the Delvings?”

“Yes, by a narrow passage. No dragon your size would get through,” one of the attendants said.

“I don’t want to get through. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll carry these dwarves, living and dead, into the Hallowhall and arrange them as you would a Partner.”

“After all this, we’re to take orders from a dragon?” the other attendant said, taking up his water pail again. “Bah!”

“None of that, you! He has the dead Partner’s signet-ring,” Altran said, his voice loud and harsh. “He’s served the Chartered Company. I’m no lawdrafter, by the Golden Tree’s roots, but I’d say he has authority to give orders to bed attendants. Unless another Partner says otherwise. So do it, with my help and what’s left of Djer’s staff, or I’ll have you expelled. You wouldn’t want that. The wilds are not a good place for a dwarf these days with all these murderous men about.”

The dwarf’s fury faded as quickly as it came on. He turned to AuRon. “Dwarves are quick to quarrel when events turn against them.”

“Not just dwarves,” AuRon said. “I can do nothing more for Djer. Will you see that he takes his rightful place among your dead?”

“I’ll attend to it. I expect it won’t be too long before I see him again in the spirit-world. Even the Delvings can’t be held forever against dragons. We hear of hosts of men coming out of the north.”