Dragon Outcast

“Grandsire,” the Copper said. The golden drake was turning up the corners of his mouth at him again.



“See that he’s given a lair,” the Tyr said. “Not in the nursery, now—a battle-scarred dragon deserves a real chamber of his own. I know—have him join the Drakwatch. Give him a chance to prove himself to you doubters. Attend to it, won’t you, NoSohoth?”



The female checked a loosened scale on the Tyr’s haunch and shot a look at NoSohoth as he bowed to the Tyr.



“A fine addition to the family,” the golden drake said, rolling so he came up with flower petals caught in his scales. “We won’t want for entertainment as long as he’s around. I can’t wait to see him limp his way through a court dance.”



Chapter 12



NoSohoth led the Copper through what seemed a maze of tunnels, beautifully sculpted, with dragonscale patterns on the rises and drops to help the claws find purchase. The rock inside was shiny and black, with veins of white where it had been left natural, but in many places, like projections and corners, it had been coated with metals or ceramics in intricate designs. The floor wasn’t quite smooth, the better to give dragonclaws places to grip, but it was polished. Splashes of water from drinking trickles looked like blood.



Turns, drops, and climbs were marked by burning fat-lamps.



“Don’t you use moss?” the Copper asked.



“What is this, a mining camp? You’re in the Imperial Resort. Besides, there are other advantages to lamps. Smell.”



Some kind of substance had been thrown into the mix to give a pleasing, relaxing aroma.



“What’s that burning, sir?” the Copper asked.



“You’re a polite hatch—young drake. I haven’t heard ‘sir’ from the Imperial lines in three sets of scale. You’ve never been in the Upper World?”



“No. I’ve seen shafts of sunlight; that’s all.”



“The smell’s hardy pine. It has an oil that’s useful in a variety of ways, a solvent for a start. We put it in the fat-lamps. Some mint and rosemary are added to the oil. Eucalyptus is even better, but hard to come by these days. Otherwise the dragon-smell can get thick in here. Drakes get aggressive, and the drakka play up too much, and dragons who should know better get to dueling. We dragons are thralls to none but our noses.”



The Copper had no idea what “eucalyptus” was, but had more important questions on his mind. “I like the smell of dragons all around. I keep fearing I’ll wake up and be alone again.”



“I wouldn’t mind a year or two alone, myself. Now, let’s see, plenty of empty space on this level, as it doesn’t have much in the way of egress. Everyone in the Black Rock thinks they’re born deserving a gallery with its own trickle.”



The Copper gave up counting passages and turns by the time they descended a third time.



“You’ll learn your way around soon enough,” NoSohoth said. “If you get lost, just remember always to go from smaller to larger. That’ll get you to the Central Spiral.”



“That big downshaft with the columns?”



“Yes, where we first descended. Just ask a thrall; they all speak Drakine. More or less. They’ll put you right. If they don’t, you’re free to eat them.”



The passage rose and then fell away to a wider, lower tunnel. There wasn’t so much frill and decor along the passages now. Hominid skulls lined the wall here, grouped in threes and sixes and nines, grinning at him from beneath a coating of bronze or pewter.



“This is the old Drakwatch level. When I was your age, we had an elvish sorcerer who could make these skulls talk. The stories they told! Plenty of room here; there’s just old NeStirrath and some orphans from the provinces adopted into the Rock. Here, this one’s got its own passage, which is nice. Can’t stand sleeping with air on more than two sides, myself. And room for growth.”



“How might I learn more about this RuGaard, sir?”



NoSohoth stopped for a moment, raised his head up, and spit into a wrought cup connected to a larger pot. The flame lit the passage. The skull of a creature with four horns projecting from the temples and two shorter ones out of the jaw decorated the entrance.



“A young drake should look to his duties.”



“Isn’t my first duty to learn about the heritage I’m charged with defending?” He was rather proud of that little speech.



“Hmmm. That eye is deceiving. You have some wit about you.”



The Copper thought it better not to reply beyond a “Thank you, sir.”



“Listen to the storytellers, then. If you’ve a taste for the exotic, you could read some of those old scrolls and things the archivists keep. The Anklenes keep their traditions, as undragonish as they are. They live in the Marble Slope, just on the other side of the Gardens.”



He led the Copper to a climbing wall. “There’s a shelf on top. How do you like it? I hope that’s not too difficult a climb.”



The rock reflected just enough light for him to see the interior. Though the entrance was cramped, the cave opened up nicely. No air moved, and the dragons’ thickening odor made him nervous. He felt very small among the echoes of their shifting scale.



“It’s quiet. Is there a trickle?”



“There’re downspouts with water in the common pool. Let me show you.”



NoSohoth backed out into the passage, turned, and led him down another length or two to a graveled chamber. Four burning lamps illuminated a pool fed by a spiral of sculpture that reminded him of…of trees, yes, that was what they were.



His guide loosed a strange, whistling cry. “He must have the drakes out on a circuit.” What the Copper guessed to be a a blighter and a human with one hand were cleaning the gravel with strange implements and a tub of water. They scrubbed harder.



“Ka! You there. Man!” NoSohoth said.



The man, a rather hairy and stooped-over specimen, looked at the blighter and came forward. Trembling, he held out his tool, a stick with what looked like straw bundled on it. The straw smelled rotten.



“Please? Need fix,” the man said, in rather wretched Drakine. He shut his eyes as he spoke.



“Never mind that,” NoSohoth said. “Thrall, you’ve just been promoted. You’re this dragon’s servant now.”



The man opened his eyes and bobbed.



“Do you know the duties of a servant?” NoSohoth asked.



“Get food. Get water. Get ingot. Clean scale. Clean teeth. Very good, I clean the all,” the man said. At least the gibberish seemed that way to the Copper.



“What’s your name?” NoSohoth asked.



“Harf,” the man said.



“He belongs to you now,” NoSohoth told the Copper. He took a chain out of his ear and hung it around Harf’s neck. A piece of dragonscale edged in bronze hung from it. The man examined it, openmouthed. “And, Harf, do something about those bats, will you? They keep getting in here.”



Harf let the piece of scale go. “Clean bats. Yes.”



“Vermin.” NoSohoth snorted. “Good man. Young Rugaard, just obey NeStirrath and no harm will come to you. Understand? My apologies, of course you do. If you need anything, just ask your thrall.”



“Thank you for Harf, sir.”



“You’ll get on together, I hope. Try to be forgiving with humans; they’re intelligent enough, but terribly lazy.”



“Why did you choose him instead of the…the blighter, sir?”



“You’ve both got a bad limb. Honor and glory, young Rugaard.”



“Thank you, sir.”



NoSohoth turned and stalked out, sniffing the air around a crevice concealing the bats. The blighter looked at Harf and made a chopping motion at his neck. Harf showed a mouthful of brown teeth and patted his belly.



“My prince want food?” Harf asked, holding up his neck marker so the Copper could see it.



“Yes. And be quick.”



Harf disappeared in the lurching, two-legged run of his kind. The Copper wondered how he didn’t fall over. Humans struck him as half-finished—and the completed half wasn’t much to look at. Badly balanced, thin-skinned, just the odd patch of hair on their heads that seemed to do nothing but get in the way of their eyes, nostrils, ears, and mouths, and they smelled like wet bats. The Air Spirit must have had his mind on other things as he created them.



After a refreshing sleep he explored his new home caves. The wound over his firebladder wept a little clear fluid, and felt tender but not painful. A projection of rock, like a long limb, reached out from the wall and almost to the pool. It smelled strongly of male dragon.



A bat flitted past his eye. “The others be frightened, m’lord,” said Uthaned, the active young bat. “They want to know where to go.”



Harf made a move to swing at the bat with his scrubbing stick, but the Copper gave him a sharp, “No!” He sniffed at Uthaned; the bat smelled exhausted. “That cave with the big horned skull will do for now.”



“Mamedi is ready to drop, and the three young aren’t used to so much flying. Might we have a taste of generosity?”