Dragon Outcast (Age of Fire #3)

NeStirrath stuck his aging, tangle-horned head out of his cavern. “That’s no visitor; that’s one of the Drakwatch, but so long away he’s become a stranger. How are you, Rug—RuGaard. Wings up and out at last, I see!”

“Out, anyway. I’ve not managed up yet.”

“You have heard the news, I expect.”

“Yes. The Tyr is dead. What do you know of it?”

“It happened in his mate’s chambers. I had only a quick word with NoSohoth; he could tell me no more. He advised me to get back down here and ready the Drakwatch, saying those were SiDrakkon’s orders. So here I sit, awaiting further orders.”

“I’m going up.”

“Squeeze up the thrall passages, if you can. The great winding one is blocked by those waiting for news and spreading rumor.”

The Copper took his advice and made his way up to the Imperial kitchens, at some cost of scrapes to the poor, thin-skinned humans he had to squeeze by. He fought his way out into the gardens, past dragons, drakes, dragonelles, and drakka thronging the garden.

Some of SiDrakkon’s Skotl clan kept them back from the doors, exchanging rather profane insults with the catcalling Wyrr.

“We want NiVom back; he was an honest Wyrr!”

“Anklene, more like,” a Skotl roared back.

“Make a breach, you; I’m in the Imperial line,” the Copper boomed, a little surprised at how loud his voice sounded. “Let me in to see my family.”

“Air Spirit, even Batty’s turned up,” someone said.

“NoSohoth,” the Copper roared at the Tyr’s door. “I know you’re on the other side of that. Let me in.”

“He fought with NiVom at the Black River. Let him pass,” someone in the throng shouted.

“He’s a no-line half-wit.”

“Not even hatched in the Lavadome. What business is it of his?”

The portal opened, but the Copper didn’t catch what was said. In any case, the fat Skotl toughs made room for him.

“RuGaard, what a pleasant surprise on this tragic day,” NoSohoth said. Naturally he was the one dragon who pronounced his new appellation effortlessly, as though it had always passed his lips that way. “Follow me.”

Nervous thralls gathered in the shadows. Even the tiniest brazier was aflame, sending out soothing fragrances. At the larger versions blighters worked the fire with bellows.

“Where’s Tighlia? I wish to speak to her,” the Copper said.

“She’s obviously in a delicate condition, shattered by the loss of her mate. It happened in her sleeping chamber, you know. Tyr SiDrakkon is holding court in the Tyr’s chamber.”

“Why don’t you just call him Tyr? Did the Tyr name a new heir?”

“Careful, now. There’s the traditional one-year period of mourning.”

“Of course. I’m no courtier; I apologize.”

The Copper heard SiDrakkon’s voice as he passed through into the Tyr’s audience chamber. It was smaller than he remembered it, perhaps because of the crowd. Griffaran crowded the upper areas, two to a perch, looking agitated.

“We’ll speak with one voice. United. I’m Tyr and that’s all there is to it,” SiDrakkon said. “They’ll have to accept it. The succession is legal and according to tradition. The worst thing we can do is divide and argue like this. Blood could be spilled at any moment.”

Imfamnia lounged at his side, looking as though she were enjoying the view down on the Imperial line.

“I still say NiVom should have a proper trial,” Ibidio said. She stood just below the shelf. “One Anklene, one Skotl, and one Wyrr judging him.”

“Mother, not that again,” Imfamnia said. “He’s violent. War-worn, I expect.”

“He ran from a challenge. He’s not going to appear for a trial,” SiDrakkon said.

“You seem very sure of that,” SiMevolant put in airily. He’d dusted his golden scales with ash for the occasion; otherwise he would have outshone the whole room.

“Are you implying anything?”

“Imply? Me? I come right out and say things. I’ve no ambition to conceal. I was just wondering if you’d had him killed, is all.”

SiDrakkon turned a deeper shade of purple. “Of course not! Shut your snout if you’ve nothing to offer but blather. Talk! Talk! Talk! Talk! That’s all the whole lot of you is good for. We have to act. Let’s go out there and tell them something before flame begins to fly.”

“Yes, I think that would be for the best,” a raspy voice said.

The company hushed, and Tighlia emerged from behind the curtains. Both griff were down, and her wings dragged in mourning. She cleared her throat, but could produce only a rather loud whisper: “I won’t have all that my mate worked for destroyed. If we go out and present a united line, they’ll accept SiDrakkon. Well?”

SiDrakkon glowered down at everyone, and Imfamnia looked warily at her future sister.

“If no one’s dragon enough to venture out first, I shall,” Tighlia said, moving toward the door down one of the silver waterfalls.

“No, Granddam,” the Copper said. “I’ll go out first. No faction can do much worse to me than life’s already done.”

“What a way to begin your reign, Tyr SiDrakkon,” SiMevolant said. “A lame half-wit announcing your ascendance.”

“And a garrulous bit of rabbit fluff bringing up the rear, no doubt,” Tighlia croaked. “Go on, RuGaard; show us what you’re made of.”

“I’ll lead, blast it,” SiDrakkon said. “Are you coming, Imfamnia?”

“You must be joking,” she said, staying on her shelf. “I had dung thrown at me on the way in. They’re like humans.”

They began to file out, and the Copper felt a pressure on his saa. It came from Ibidio, who maneuvered him into an alcove between half-melted war trophies as the others walked past.

“Ummmm, RuGaard, is it now?” She glanced around to make sure none were listening, not even thralls. Outside, the crowed roared as the doors opened.

“Yes,” the Copper said.

“You had the Uphold at the end of the western road. Did NiVom come your way?”

“If he had, I certainly wouldn’t give him away. He was a good friend.”

“I believe he’s being hunted.”

The Copper heard SiDrakkon roaring out a few emphatic words. A good deal of noise came back from the crowd.

“The Tyr came to me last night. He said he’d selected a new heir. He told me if anything happened to him, to ask you.”

“Ask me what?”

“Did you see him or didn’t you?”

“I did. I told him NiVom was innocent, and to ask you for the truth about your daughter. And your mate, and DharSii, whoever that was.”

“He was our best air commander. Once.”

“Dead?”

“No one knows. It’s not important; we have only a moment here. Who is the heir the Tyr mentioned?”

“NiVom, I expect.”

“What happened to the Tyr?”

“I was one of the first at my mate-father’s side,” Ibidio said. “We heard a roar from Tighlia’s chamber. I tore down the curtains and rushed in. The Tyr was flat on his side, and there was a terrible smell in there. It made my head swim and brought my meal up. I found Tighlia on the balcony.”

“What could have happened?”

The crowd outside was quieting.

“I don’t know. She’s half deman, that one. But I’ll tell you this: Look behind her griff. There are claw marks. Deep ones. Someone tried to tear her head off.”

“I have to go.”

He hurried toward the door, but SiDrakkon was already storming back in, his face spattered. “They’ll just have to get used to the idea,” he said. “I’ll be spending the rest of the day at the bath.”

“In all fairness,” SiMevolant said, “I don’t believe they were throwing their own dung at you. It was some animal’s. I think that makes a difference.”

SiDrakkon ignored him. “The rest of you, go through the Resort, and then to all the hills. Talk to your friends and let them know I’ll be Tyr, and there’s to be no fighting, no changes in control of the hills. No decisions of the Tyr will be voided, no policies changed, and all are welcome to petition me after a six-day mourning period.”

The line dispersed, with SiMevolant sighing. “I was hoping for a banquet….”

Save for Tighlia. She walked, a little stiffly, up to the Copper.

“I see your wings have come in,” she rasped. “What’s wrong with the odd one?”

“An old injury, Granddam,” he replied.

“You call me that just to annoy me, I expect. Well, I’m sorry for you. Come to my outer chambers tomorrow. I have an interesting piece of news for you. Oh, come now. I don’t bite, and after all these years I’m not about to start with you.”

The Copper spent the night in anxiety in the strangely empty Imperial Gardens, trying to make out figures on the milkdrinker’s hill. He wanted to go to Nilrasha, but she couldn’t be linked to him so publicly until he learned what Tighlia had in mind.