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The pens and dragon-holes of the Lavadome’s hills felt shrunken in scale now, after the horizon-stretching space and light of the Upper World. They had to rest only once, crossing easily on common paths, and instead of blue infinity overhead, they enjoyed the intricate beauty of the fire-streaked dome. He left Fourfang and Rhea on the lower entrance to the Imperial Resort. He would have liked to see how things were getting on in the training caves—though he’d been gone only two-score and five days it felt like years—but Tyr would need to hear about events in Bant.
He hurried up one of the steep, narrow back step-passages used by the thralls. He was still small enough to fit, and he could avoid some of the transverses leading to the garden level.
Thralls worked the Tyr’s Gardens, diverting trickles from the central pool and splashing water on the ferns and vines. One had a dirty joint shoved in his waistband, probably cast aside during a banquet and found in the underbrush, and guiltily dropped it.
Well, let him enjoy his find. “I’d boil it well if I were you. A joint can go a long way, made into soups,” he said. The thrall just blinked. “Go on; pick it up. You found it; you enjoy it.”
He met NoSohoth in the plaza before the Tyr’s outer entrance, eating a dish made of meat shredded into thin, stringlike strips and swimming in gravy, as a thrall poked around behind his crest, cleaning dirt and dead skin with a rag-wrapped stick. Saliva flooded the Copper’s mouth at the smell of the dragon’s breakfast.
“I’ll say this for you, Rugaard: You’re easy to identify at a distance. Your hop-walk is distinctive.”
“I bring news for the Tyr.”
NoSohoth took another tongueful of gravy. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. SiDrakkon calls for three more dragons, I suppose.”
“My mate is sleeping,” Tighlia said, emerging from the Tyr’s cave. She moved rather stiffly.
Thralls exploded out of the corners of the plaza like a flight of startled birds, converging on the Tyr’s mate.
“Yes, some breakfast, just a little kern,” she said, looking from thrall to thrall. “No, no bath. Just some ointment for my joints. My shoulders again. Leafdrip’s formula and none other, now. Oh, leave off; the scale’s still lined from sleeping. It’ll smooth on its own.”
She shrugged off her attendants and took a long drink from Tyr’s trickle basin.
“Restless night again, glorious Queen?”
“Not a good turn to be had, NoSohoth.” She looked at the Copper. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Our newest courier has returned with news from Bant,” NoSohoth said.
“My mate’s lame little indulgence. Well, out with it.”
“I bring news for the Tyr himself,” the Copper said.
“Be off with all of you,” she said to the thralls. “You too, NoSohoth. See what’s keeping my kern.” She sidestepped toward the trickle spilling into the basin.
The Copper regretted to see the shredded meat in gravy go, but the hard eye of Tighlia made him forget his appetite.
“We can talk here, you. No one will overhear. Come closer; I’ve never bitten a drake in my life and I won’t start this morning. What news?”
“I’m the Tyr’s courier,” the Copper protested. He wondered if he should relay her brother’s exact words.
“Don’t question me; it’s not your place. FeHazathant needs twice the sleep that he gets. I’m eager to hear every detail of my brother, and you have my promise that the Tyr will hear your report.”
“I’m under instructions—”
She interrupted in a quiet voice. “You would be wise to obey me. I’ve given my word: Tyr will hear your message. Will you offer insult to me by disbelief? There is no shortage of champions who will duel to defend my honor.”
“Yes, great Queen. Our journey—”
“Stomp the journey. How go things in Bant?”
“They are hard-pressed by the Ghi men. Two of their river valleys are lost. Their forces have been defeated, scattered, and discouraged.”
“What has my brother done to retrieve the situation, or is the Uphold lost?”
“SiDrakkon won a victory against the Ghi men. He destroyed a fortification before it could be completed, with small loss.”
“Ninny! You should have been shouting that from the moment you passed into the dome. A victory! FeHazathant must hear of this.” She rounded on a kitchen thrall hurrying up with a steaming bowl of milky, yellow kern. “You there! Let’s have a skewer of steaks for the Tyr’s breakfast, and if they’re not still sputtering from the fire you’ll be turning on the next spit.”
