Dragon Outcast

Rhea arrived bearing a platter of meats and kern. NiVom stuffed food into his mouth like a dragon starved.



“Please say there’s more, Rugaard,” he said.



“Rhea, get Fourfang up and have him help you in the larder. A whole side of beef—raw is fine; it’s hung.” The girl fled.



“Thank you, Rugaard.”



“You were saying something about Tighlia….”



“She accused me of always being a blighted egg. Said I lied about her brother. So…oh, what did I do? I challenged her, and anyone else who said I didn’t give a correct account of matters at the Black River. So she appointed that old duelist ventlick of SiDrakkon’s to defend her word, NoTannadon.



“Oh, I said some very fine words to that. Quite a speech, all about my innocence seeing me to victory. The Spirits themselves would fight on my side—ha!” He spit out a chuck-bone. “But that night all I could think about was my poor, lame father—he had a limp a little like yours; did I ever tell you that?—in the dueling pit. How I jumped down atop his body.”



NiVom looked away. “I was terrified. I flew, flew across the Lavadome like baying dragonhounds were after me. Rugaard, I’m a coward.”



The Copper looked at the blazing, mud-smeared victory insignia painted on his former cavemate’s wing-leather. “You’re nothing of the kind. Nivo—NiVom, I’m honored that you came to me this night.”



The onetime future Tyr gulped. “Honored?”



“That you trusted me. And you can trust me. What can I do to assist you?”



“You’ve done enough. Keep quiet; there will be hunters after me, I expect.”



“News of this is bound to reach the ears of the Upholder and his mate. You must leave before they rise.”



“Of course.”



“I’ll put off the pursuit and confuse the word, if I can. You can’t hide in the plateau; the kern kings will wonder at it and report to the Upholder. The condors see much of what happens on the outer slopes. The mountains trail off farther south; you could try there. When Nilrasha gets her wings I’ll send her looking.”



“What about your own—Oh, of course. Well, so be it. Don’t worry, Rugaard; I’ll speak to none but you or Nilrasha.”



“I think the Tyr means for me to take over this Uphold when I mature. When I do, and they’ve left, I’ll have the roof marbled white. Look for it. That means it’s safe to visit.”



“Roof marbled white. Very well.”



“It shouldn’t be long. My wings are almost in. Failing that, visit late at night. The balcony is big enough for you to slip through.”



Rhea and Fourfang arrived with the side of beef, bearing it on a pole between them. NiVom tore great gaps in it, belched, and then crept out onto the balcony and spread his wings. He fell into open air and soared off.



Thanks to the clear moonlight the Copper could watch him for a long time as he flew south. He called Nilrasha to him and told her a somewhat expurgated version of events.



“So what now?” she asked.



He almost swore at her in his frustration and grief at NiVom’s news. “We’re taking that trip back to the Lavadome. I’m going to do what I can to confuse the pursuit. Then I need to see the Tyr.”



“Darling, your wings are weeping. I think they’ll be in any day now. Must be all the excitement.”



He went over to one of the square stone blocks bordering the balcony and tore his back across it. Nilrasha gasped. The pain, and with it hot, sweet-stinking relief, helped his ugly fighting mood. He raised his left wing. Beautiful blue-veined membranes blotted out the moon and the receding dot of NiVom.



He turned. Now for the real test. He opened the right, and pushed out the wing.



He was thankful the pain blotted out some of the disappointment when it wouldn’t extend. The main joint at his forespur kept slipping each time he tried to unfold it.



Nilrasha stifled a sob. “I’m sorry, Ru. But it doesn’t matter. Your wings are uncased.” She began to lick his wounds.



By hooking the wing tip in a crack on the balcony and pulling his bad wing open he was able to let the membrane dry.



“You’re a dragon now, my love,” she said.



“Good. Because I’ve got a dragon’s work to do.”



BOOK THREE



Dragon



“YOUR TRUE STRENGTH IS NOT DISCOVERED EASILY, OR WITHOUT GRIEF. LIKE A DESERT SEED IT LIES DORMANT, WAITING FOR THE HARD RAIN.”



—Lessons of NeStirrath



Chapter 21



The Copper paid his respects to the FeLissaraths at the morning meal the next day, showing his wings.



“I’ve thought about it, and I would like to go back to the Lavadome. Just for a season or so. Nilrasha said she’d welcome the change of scene.”



“You deserve to have a party where your dragon-name is cheered, RuGaard,” FeLissarath said. His mate nodded. “Too bad about the wing. But there’s many a grounded dragon living a long and happy life. That fellow who trains the Drakwatch, for example…er…”



“NeStirrath,” the Copper supplied.



“I had the oddest dream last night,” his mate said. “I could have sworn I smelled a strange dragon in the palace. It was almost alarming.”



“You talk to the condors too much,” her mate said. “They think every far-glimpsed griffaran is a dragon.”



“I hear there was a herd of elk spotted on a frozen lake on the northern slopes,” the Copper said, turning the talk to hunting.



“Yes, we should go,” FeLissarath said. “Shouldn’t we, dear? The larder’s looking rather empty.”



“Fattening up for my trip,” the Copper said.



“You’re a wise young dragon, RuGaard,” FeLissarath said.



Though he was almost dancing with anxiety to leave, the Copper delayed another day or two, for a train of kern was assembling, the last of the fall harvest. It would be irresponsible of a future Upholder not to see it through.



Fourfang groaned about having to take care of mules, and Rhea looked glum. She liked the sun and air of FeLissarath’s palace, though she still never said a word about any matter, great or small; she just nodded and followed orders and sometimes cried in her sleep.



Putting up a second set of bed curtains cut down on the noise.



On their first day into the cave they came across the pursuit, the noisome NoTannadon and another Skotl dragon searching westward, sniffing at every strange tunnel. Their reek set the mules to bawling, and the blighter mule tenders cursed and shoved them aside, clearing a way in the tunnel.



And the Copper moved up to block it.



“Cry meetings,” NoTannadon said.



“Cry meetings, NoTannadon. Haven’t seen you since the Black River fight.”



“You’re…you’re RuGaard, now, as it looks,” NoTannadon said. “Have you seen anything of NiVom? He’s visiting the western Upholds and the Tyr has need of him.”



“I’d be glad of the visit. But no dragons have passed through the cave mouth, have they, Nilrasha?”



“A dragon? No. We’d have welcomed a new face. Ha! No dragons, I’m afraid.”



“I told you the trail went cold at the Tooth Cavern,” the other Skotl dragon said. “He flew out there. We should turn around, catch up with the others.”



“This drake—er, dragon…” NoTannadon said, then fell silent.



“Yes. Both my ears work, duelist. What were you going to say?”



“…Is in the Imperial line. I expect he’d notice if a dragon emerged in the middle of his palace. We should turn around.”



“I’ll send word back that the Upholder should tell him the Tyr needs him, should he show up for a surprise visit, shall I?” the Copper asked.



“Yes. Yes. That’s a fair wind of an idea,” NoTannadon said.



The dragons turned around in the rather cramped tunnel and hurried in the other direction.



Their arrival at the Lavadome merited no special reception, as it was simply another load of kern coming in. The trading house saw to its distribution to various wareholes and livestock corrals.



“Where will you go?” the Copper asked Nilrasha.



“Wherever you like, my lord.”



“We’re not mated yet, dear. Things may go ill for me on the Rock. Perhaps you should go to the Firemaiden quarters on your home hill. Your association with me could be hazardous.”



“It’s my blood. It flows for you. If you die, it might as well be spilled too.”



“Where can I find you?”



“I grew up on Dufu hill. Yes, the milkdrinker’s hill, among the thralls. Not much of a home, but the tunnels are clean enough. At least there’s little chance of society from the Black Rock visiting.”



“I’ll come to you in a day or two. Take care of my thralls until then. If anything happens, treat them well; they’ve earned it. And as for you—if they come for you, just do what they say and feign ignorance.”



“The way you feign your lack of ambition. Certainly.”