Dragon Outcast

“It’s dangerous meeting so soon after yesterday,” a Skotl dame said. “I’m sure I’m being watched.”



“I will be quick. I have important news. Before she died yesterday, Tighlia and I exchanged our first mind-speech in…well, since my mate died. Yes, we used to argue or joke with our minds frequently, for our mates were kin and closer than usual for a dragon and his clutchwinner grown, but after AgGriffopse died—”



“Immortal be his memory,” the others said in unison, save for the Copper, who just mumbled to join in, not knowing the group’s habits.



Now I’m in league with the memory of a dragon I’ve never even met.



“But to go on,” Ibidio continued. “RuGaard, this will be a shock to you. Tighlia mind-spoke and told me that just before he died, the Tyr—Tyr FeHazathant, my mate’s father—said that he was appointing you heir and future Tyr. If you wanted the rank. That’s what his words meant, the day he died. ‘Ask RuGaard to be Tyr.’ I’m so used to looking for plots and hidden signs in everyday talk I couldn’t puzzle out its simple meaning. What do you say to that?”



All the dragons were looking at him.



“What does it matter?” he asked.



“What does it matter?” Ibidio laughed. “If we ever gain back the Lavadome, I think you’ll find it matters very much.”



“If we are to do it, we must strike quickly,” NeStirrath said. “Strike before they get organized, and before all here become used to submission to men the way these accursed foreign dragons are.”



“I have a small force on the Western Road,” the Copper said.



Others listed a few dragons who could be relied on. NeStirrath could bring together his best Drakwatch. But as they counted in their heads they knew it would not be enough. Not against the training and weapons that had been displayed last night.



“The men alone, we might be able to handle,” Rethothanna said. “They’re not much without their dragons.”



“The dragons aren’t much better without men,” the Copper said. “I’ve seen them. They’re not like us. They can’t think for themselves very quickly; they either do what they’re trained to do—”



“Perhaps we could convince them to revolt,” Ibidio said.



“Fat dragons stuffing themselves with Anaean gold?” a dragon from the Wyrr hill asked. “You might as well ask a horse to fight its rider. I’m not sure they could even grasp the concept.”



“Let us meet again tomorrow,” Ibidio said. “Early, around the morning meal. I’ll try to get in and get a feel for the hag-riddens. What’s the matter, RuGaard, not feeling kingly?”



“I’m being hunted by an old nightmare.”



The others nodded understanding, but the last thing he wanted was for them to understand.



The Copper walked back to the Imperial Resort—it didn’t seem like a resort anymore, just a rather dark and forbidding rock—with NeStirrath. They talked of unimportant matters, old memories of training with the Drakwatch.



He even returned to his old cave. There hadn’t been a member of the Imperial line since him serving in the Drakwatch, and he even caught the faint smell of bats—wait.



A bat still lived, up in a shadowy corner. Something about the ears reminded him of an old acquaintance.



“You wouldn’t be related to old Uthaned, would you?”



“I am Uthaned,” the bat said. It stretched. “You’ve grown considerably, m’lord.”



“It can’t be. Mamedi and Thernadad’s nephew? Bats don’t live—”



“They do when they’ve been fed dragonblood. I even talk to Big Ear, Spike Hair, and Wide Nose, as you called them, now and again when they visit.”



The Copper was relieved to be so pleasantly distracted. “But why are you still here, Uthaned?”



“The eating is good. These young drakes, they sleep hard after their days’ hiking, and they dream better, down a little blood. They make it up quick enough. And that old one with all the horns and the stumps where his wings should be…well, he sometimes has a draft of wine to help him sleep, and with a bit of a nip he sleeps sounder still. I like to think I’m doing a service—Ah, soft. None have returned yet tonight. I don’t suppose m’lord might spare…?”



The Copper was thinking back to his own days with the bats. Sometimes they’d left him so listless, and in the mornings if he lifted his head high, he went dizzy….



He froze. It was like the idea had a glowing aura around it, like the moon’s halo in a mist. He didn’t know exactly what the idea would look like once it took shape, but he knew its rough outlines.



“Are there any other bats still about?”



“Another of my cousins still lives near the kitchens, where it’s warm. Then there’s a son of mine, and his family. Oh, and of course—”



“I need more, many more. Can you go to your relatives and then send them out on the western road? Someone must know where that is.”



“Yes, bats go to and fro all the time. That message system.”



“Forget it. At least for now. I need every bat you can scrape up, big and small. But they’ve got to be smart, stealthy, sneaky.”



“That’s a good deal of flying on my part, m’lord.” Uthaned smoothed down his hair and straightened his ears. “A bat setting off on such a flight needs a full belly, and at my age the wing joints pain me.”



“Of course,” the Copper said. “You can practice on me. I’ll show you what to do.”



The Copper walked in the Gardens, thinking. Some of the dragon riders, new to the rock, explored it as well, curious about the underground garden with its strange, spiked, low-light plants, or admiring the view of the lava streams against the dome.



He saw a glimmer of gold, and turned.



“Oh, RuGaard. No, don’t sulk away. Your Tyr calls.”



The Copper turned and approached SiMevolant. He bowed.



“What does my Tyr require of his Upholder?” the Copper asked.



“Just a chat. You looked so queer when the governer-general walked out, I thought you were going to keel over like SiDrakkon. Your face looked just like his. Shocked.”



“I thought you arrived only after he died.”



“I meant to say after he was dead, of course. Anyway, speaking of deaths, superb job on my sister. The more I think about it, the more brilliant it is.”



“What do you mean?”



“The choking. I’ve heard all about it. I have my own sources and messengers, don’t forget.”



“It was an accident.”



“Of course it was. And if it wasn’t, you’ve got your jade set up to take the blame. You’ve got witnesses from two different species and three lines of dragons that can attest that you were nowhere near.”



“She was my mate. She was your sister. How can you speak like that about her?”



“Because she was my sister. Sickly from the moment she came out of the egg and I sat on her while I dined on my late brother.”



“I’m tired. I must beg your—”



SiMevolant flicked around the Copper and blocked his path. “Hold. Since you’ve shown such an aptitude for this, I’ve got a list. A tiny list, the briefest of lists; it’ll take you no time at all to work your way down. The first is your old teacher, NeStirrath.”



“I’ve got a list for you. Traitor. Cretin. Disgrace to—”



“Oh, please. Look, I’ve got a very clever weapon that will help you.” He reached behind his griff and passed the Copper a silver tube, very much like the ones SiDrakkon had kept his oils in. “It’s a dwarvish thing with a blade and a spring and a small vial of toxin drawn from—”



The Copper snatched it out of his hand before the tiny point projecting out of the end could be pointed in his direction.



He looked at the device. A little lever, a—what was the word?—trigger, was set into the side.



He pointed it at SiMevolant.



“Ah-ah-ah-ah,” the new Tyr warned. “Am I stupid enough to hand you an envenomed weapon, or am I so clever I’ve given you a harmless point to test your loyalty, hmmmmm? Or, as a sort of a joke, have I given you one that in fact fires backward out of the thin metal on the bottom? And why am I even putting such doubts in your head? It’s rather like looking at your image in a wavy pool, so many different possibilities in motion. Which do you think I am? Brilliant or an imbecile?”



“I think you’re mad.” He sent the tube spinning off the top of the Rock.



“You had your chance,” SiMevolant said.



“We both did,” the Copper said. “Let’s see how we compare in surviving the consequences.”



The next day the Immortal Memory group met, though it took twice as long for them to gather, and the Copper outlined his plan. NeStirrath improved on it, and a dragon from the Skotl hill promised to go up the western road and try to hurry things along.



“I’ve been to the stable caves,” Ibidio said. “Off of the old spirit-caller’s holes. Yes, I said stables. I can’t think of what else to call them, dragons packed so close. They’re well guarded, yes, and the men stay near. But there are vast galleries so several can take off at once, if need be.”