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“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.”
