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And with that he hurried off toward the high rocks of the griffaran.
Yarrick’s perch looked much the same, though the griffaran who flew him up to the high perch grew so exhausted he had to set the Copper down on a ledge and bring the aging grand commander to him.
“You right! Yark! It is that lame copper fellow.”
The bird-reptile cocked its head so Yarrick’s good eye was pointed straight at him. “It good to see you again. We heard about a battle in Bant, let loose victory cries on your behalf.”
The Copper wondered what would happen if Yarrick knew the truth of his “rescue” of the eggs. He felt a twinge as he cleared his throat and spoke the words he’d rehearsed in his mind.
“Long ago, Yarrick, you befriended me and flew me to the Imperial Resort. I ask you to fly again, and beg the Tyr to come to me. All this must be done in secrecy.”
“Too old for courier flying these days. Molting. Fishing is all I do anymore, and even then I need a long rest before returning to the perch. I’ll send a younger set of feathers. The Tyr will come, though he, too, does not care as much for flying as he once did.”
The Copper waited until the shafts of sunlight falling to the river disappeared. Though he sought it, sleep evaded him. He wondered how he looked after a long tunnel journey. Better than he would have without Rhea’s endless cleanings and polishings, he supposed. The girl—no, woman, now—could do wonders with wet ash and a brush.
He saw the Tyr flying, a griffaran to either side, turning slow circles in his climb to the perch on the griffaran’s rocks. He alighted rather heavily, and the griffaran retired.
“It is you, Rugaard. Or, I’m sorry, RuGaard now. Why this strange form of meeting? I know you don’t like court ceremony, but this is a little extreme.”
“I’ve seen NiVom, Tyr.”
The Tyr’s teeth disappeared and his neck straightened. “You have. Come to beg for his pardon, have you?”
“Your honor, it’s all lies. He never attacked your granddaughter.”
The Tyr sighed. “He’s always been a bit of a brawler. You should know. He’s welcome to come back and defend or explain himself anytime; he doesn’t need to send emissaries.”
“NoTannadon and another Skotl were hunting him on the western road. I met them.”
“Hunting him? I said there was to be no pursuit! He’s disgraced, and a coward to run away from a challenge issued and accepted, but no harm’s been done apart from the bites and scratches on Imfamnia. I’d say the only permanent damage to her was to her dignity, but she’s a flit young thing and has little enough to hurt.” The Tyr rested in thought. “NoTannadon and another, you say?”
“I met them myself, Tyr. I doubt they were seeking him to share some meat and a song.”
“He should have stayed and defended himself. The spirits would have seen him safely to his home cave if he’s innocent. These things have a way of working out.”
“Do they? How did they work out for your son, your clutchwinner? And what of this DharSii? I don’t know his story, but NiVom seemed to think he was the victim of treachery. NiVom wouldn’t hurt a female—of your line or any other—unless he had been attacked first. He said he had no idea how the marks got on her.”
“Imfamnia would never make up such a thing. What has she to gain? She was getting a good mate, in all likelihood the future Tyr, there even if his lip was a bit torn up.”
“She would if it meant reigning as queen over the Lavadome.”
“She would have had that anyway. They were to be mated!”
“My guess is she doesn’t want to wait and leave anything to chance. It’s a plot, your honor. It’s a game, with the throne as the stakes. Your life may be in danger.”
“Yes, danger and I are old friends.” The Tyr paused, and his expression went blank. “No! SiDrakkon hardly knows the dragonelle. I’ll swear he’s not spoken to her more than three times, all at banquets.”
“If you become incapacitated, who rules?” the Copper asked, though he knew the answer.
“With NiVom gone, the title of Tyr passes to my mate’s brother, for at the moment I have no heir.”
“Would Tighlia be happy to see her brother in your place?”
“Of course. It’s only natural. I just have never much liked SiDrakkon. He’s too quick to quarrel. You can’t hold dragons together if you’re going to be the first to start a feud. That and his taste for human females. It’s just not done. One can enjoy a discreet sniff now and then, but this habit of his, wallowing in it, it’s revolting. I need a new regent. As it is, if I dismiss SiDrakkon the throne would fall to SiMevolant, now that he’s matured. Physically, at least. He’s still a tailgazer.”
“You must hurry and appoint a new heir, then.”
“Perhaps. No. No! They couldn’t be so deceptive.”
