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“I’ve been saving a fat calf the kern king offered just for you. Would you care for the liver, Nilrasha?”
The Firemaid yawned. “Very kind of you, lady. Yes, I could do with some dinner.”
“Fourfang,” the Copper said, “see about feeding the dragons who came with me. Where’s Rhea? I’m caked with grit.”
“Wonderful news, my lord. She and that clever man of yours are mated! She’s going to issue, or whatever they call it!”
“Whelp?” Nilrasha asked.
“I think it’s give birth,” the Copper said. “All the more reason for a dinner. We should send her some stewed brains and the tongue. I’ve heard that’s good for brooding.”
“Oh, I’m saving those for me, my love.”
“You don’t think—”
“We may have hatchlings. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“That could be dangerous for you. Your mother told me—”
“Oh, forget my mother. She’s always looking at the dark side of things. I’ll wager she’s back in the Lavadome now, foretelling a loss in the war against these riders and lamenting the weaknesses of dragons these days. Our cause is just, so we are sure to triumph, are we not, my lord?”
Perhaps that is why Tighlia mated us, the Copper thought. We both have what she called the simpleton’s faith.
Dinner passed in a more jovial mood than the Copper would have expected with destruction all around. Thanks to the guard overhead and outside, they ventured to the upper level and ate upon the feasting floor. Nilrasha made jokes, and Halaflora ate with unusual enthusiasm.>SiDrakkon glared at him. “Everything around me is tainted and corrupt!”
The Copper didn’t know whether it would be more dangerous to agree or disagree. One of the griffaran fluffed up his feathers and shifted his stance, leaning forward a little.
“Why am I being disturbed, RuGaard?”
“Bad news from Anaea. We’ve been attacked. Dragons, hag-ridden by men. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. They control them somehow.”
Blighters extracted big river stones from his bath and disappeared as three more emerged and dropped the oven-hot stones in. “You can stop that now,” SiDrakkon said to the blighters. “I’m climbing out.”
He lowered his head so the females could dry his ears and griff. “I’ve heard these odd fables before, RuGaard. Men riding dragons come and take away young male dragons and insert logs into their—”
“No, they came with flame. They dueled and killed the FeLissaraths.”
“My Upholder? Murdered?”
“They fell in battle. The riders use poisoned quarrels fired from crossbows.”
“War, eh?” He climbed out of the steaming pool, and water cascaded off his scales into the tiles. It ran in channels down toward the lower Gardens. “War may shake the Lavadome out of the madness that seems to have crept in. I’ll call for dragons and appoint a grand commander for the Drakwatch. Revive the title of aerial host commander. Perhaps I’ll assume the responsibilities myself.”
Whatever his faults, SiDrakkon could at least act decisively when it came to war.
“Will you come yourself, Tyr?” the Copper asked.
“No. Anaea may be a feint. The griffaran have reported strange dragons above the Lavadome, but they always flee north at sunrise. If I wanted to attack the Lavadome, I’d strike the most distant Uphold too, and draw our forces as far from the main blow as possible.”
He shifted a little to let the women dry his underside, but he did it mechanically, grinding his teeth as he thought.
“You’ll be host commander, RuGaard. You’ve seen me at war and know what to do. Strike fast and strike hard, and keep striking until the war is over.”
“I’ve left my mate back in Anaea. I must return at once.”
“Of course. You can take my personal flying guard with you; the Skotl bodyguard can remain. AuBalagrave is in charge of the flying guard. You remember him from the Drakwatch. I believe you served together. That’ll give you an immediate force.”
“Thank you, Tyr.”
