Krthonius turned sideways, as he always did in a brawl, so he could strike with head or tail, off-side up against a cave wall with a line of bronzed skulls just where a mature dragon’s wings usually brushed the walls. The Copper split the distance and jumped up between tooth and tail-tip, pushed off the wall, and fell, rather awkwardly, on Krthonius’s back. He wrapped his neck around Krthonius’s and began to pull scales with his teeth.

“Yeow! Yeoow!” Krthonius shouted, bashing the Copper with his tail.

Aubalagrave joined the brawl, defending his friend’s honor—and scales. The Copper found himself sandwiched between two larger drakes, and much beaten about the head and hindquarters. All he could do was try to make Krthonius or Aubalagrave miss, thus striking each other when they were trying to hit the Copper.

“Keep the claws in, you,” he heard NeStirrath shout.

He didn’t have much success. Aubalagrave gave him a saa swipe across the snout, and he saw brilliant fields of flowers.

“I’ll finish it,” Nivom shouted, forcing his way through the others.

The Copper wanted to flee, but instead he flung himself on Nivom again. They went up on their hind legs, boxing each other with sii and exchanging bites about the snout and griff. Nivom stood tall on his hindquarters and rattled his griff.

“Tail swipe,” one of the thralls shouted. Despite the urging, the Copper’s tail refused to reach. Krthonius yanked on it and he fell, belly-up, under Nivom.

“Cry settled!” Nivom urged.

The Copper got both saa under Nivom and launched him into the bathing pool. He could hardly see out of his good eye, thanks to the blood, but he could make out Krthonius well enough, and charged at him again.

He felt tail strikes and a weight above his saa—Aubalagrave was atop him, hammering him with kicks while he clung with his sii—but he still pushed forward for Krthonius and grappled. Krthonius easily pushed his nose into the bed of rocks lining the floor.

“Cry settled,” Krthonius grunted.

The Copper managed to poke him under the chin with his crippled forelimb. Krthonius backed off, making retching sounds and coughing. Aubalagrave sank his teeth into both sides of his head behind the crest.

“Kah ettehld!” Aubalagrave said.

The Copper rolled, rolled again, at great pain to the tender skin at the back of his head, and managed to plunge both of them into the bathing pool. He got Aubalagrave’s head underwater and pushed for all he was worth. Aubalagrave refused to yield and go limp.

Something hauled both of them out of the water—NeStirrath, trying to keep Aubalagrave from breathing too much water. The Copper gave him a tail strike for his interference and was dropped atop Nivom and Krthonius. Cheering from the thralls—or maybe the pained roaring of a tender-gummed old dragon—sounded in his ears.

They rolled, a three-colored mass of fury letting out battle cries in high-pitched drake voices. The Copper got his teeth into Nivom’s shoulder and forced him down, pushing for all he was worth, keeping Krthonius’s head pinned with his in the crook of his crippled limb.

Aubalagrave and Krthonius boxed him about the head, trying to get him to let go. He grabbed Aubalagrave at what felt like a sii digit, twisted.

“Cry settled! Cry settled! Cry—” the three chorused. But their voices seemed far away and receding. The smooth rocks of the flooring gave way to the soft, mossy pads of the river-lake, only there was no itchy slime or biting water mites this time….

He woke, his face wet. His eye rolled this way and that, but his vision was misty.

“Give him another,” NeStirrath said.

Krthonius spit another cheekful of water on him. Thralls were huddled all around, and Harf was counting knocked-out hatchling teeth from hand to hand.

“Did I cry settled?” the Copper croaked.

“No, we did,” Nivom said. “You’d gone dark and wouldn’t let go of Aubalagrave’s dragonhood.”

“Hope his mate can fall sideways on the wedding flight,” Krthonius said.

Aubalagrave sat with his hindquarters in the coolest part of the pool, his face contorted.

“Good fight, Rugaard,” Aubalagrave said between quick breaths. “Good fight.”

The bats had their fill of blood for once, that night. Even Thernadad finally gave up, crawled a length or two away from the Copper, too swollen to fly, and went to sleep. Harf made to swat him with a waste scoop, but the Copper threw a protective sii over the bat.

The next day he could hardly see. He looked at himself in the polished black rock just beneath the lamp and a frightful, swollen face looked back out of the reflection-world, every scale out of place. He was excused all duties, given an extra ration of meat and ore, and as the other three had bites and bruises enough for a whole sissa of Drakwatch, NeStirrath called for a lesson day.

To NeStirrath’s considerable vexation, the Tyr decided to pay a visit.

A pair of broad-shouldered blighter thralls led the way, with dragon-headed incense burners letting out of trails of rich-smelling smoke, equal parts spice and oil. The Copper smelled it a long way off and felt better disposed to the world and his aching body. He managed to climb off his shelf and join the others in the common room by the drinking and bathing pools.

NoSohoth led the way, and immediately went to NeStirrath’s side and led him in a bow to the Tyr. The Imperial retinue flowed into the common room, and attendant thralls shrank into the corners.

NeStirrath pointed his charges into a line behind him.

“Always good to smell drakes again,” the Tyr said. “There’s too much drakka scent about the upper levels. I grow tired of the eternal bloom of females. Drakes and blood…well, what’s this?”

Behind the Tyr the Copper saw a forest of legs. The sleek young golden drake was there, and another, sort of a reddish-purplish color that reminded the Copper of the radishes the thralls chewed to wash the dragon-smell out of their mouths at the end of a long day.

“And I thought it was just thralls making stories up, as usual,” the Tyr said. “There was a fine old fight down here, wasn’t there?”

The golden drake walked the perimeter of the Drakwatch caves, peering into the eyes of the skulls and fighting yawns all the way.

The Tyr shifted so he could make room for the dragon behind. “You should know what’s going on in your own caves, SiDrakkon. I know you’ve got other titles, but as my mate’s brother you’re also in charge of the Drakwatch.”

The radish-colored dragon just glowered.

“Simevolant, stop idling and come have a look at these drakes.”

“Yes, Grandsire.” Simevolant, the golden drake, approached the line of bruised and bashed drakes. “Impressive specimens. A credit to the Drakwatch. But glory does bring out the ugly, doesn’t it?”

The Tyr looked sharply at NoSohoth. “I’d like a little more ferocity on the Rock; a dragon should fight with tooth and claw, not tongue. Too much of that. What’s this, old friend? Is that a lump on your jaw? Don’t tell me you were involved in the fracas.” The old dragon chuckled.

“I was pulling them apart and your young ward there loosened my teeth for my trouble.”

“Is that…er…” the Tyr said, looking at the Copper.

“You decided to call him Rugaard, Grandsire,” the bright young Simevolant reminded the Tyr.

“Rugaard, yes. I’d hardly recognize you. You’re beginning to fill out a little.”

“It’s the swelling, I think,” Simevolant said. “Most hatchlings are ugly, but they get better proportioned as they age. I do believe you’re getting worse, Rugaard. Someone should take some studies of you for posterity.”

The Tyr ignored the byplay and tapped radish-colored SiDrakkon with his tail.

SiDrakkon sniffed all the drakes. “There’s an opening for a messenger in Deep Tunnel. Which drake of these is your fastest?”

“Krthonius, with the big haunches, there,” NeStirrath said.

“Good of the Empire, now, think for the good of the Empire,” the Tyr muttered.

“Why won’t you let me make a decision? It’s my responsibility!” SiDrakkon sputtered.

“Imperial messengers do a lot more than just memorize reports and run,” Tyr said.

“I should know. I was one,” SiDrakkon said.

The Tyr’s jaw tightened; then he relaxed. “And a fine one, too. So you know that sometimes they are asked for an independent opinion of the situation in some distant, tight corner, or even to assume command if there’s been an unexpected death. That requires sound judgment.”

“Nivom’s very bright, Tyr,” NeStirrath said. “Best memory of the bunch. Aubalagrave is strong and clever in a fight.”

“Who’s in charge of the Drakwatch?” SiDrakkon roared.

“Bearers, more oliban there; fire bladders are starting to throb,” Simevolant said.

The thralls with the smoking dragon heads extracted some milky chips from pouches at their waist and dumped a small handful each into the dangling brazier. The rich, aromatic smell filled the cavern, and one of the blighter thralls sniffled.