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“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.”
“I might be able to get the men away for a few hours,” the Copper said. “When the time comes.”
“The sooner the time comes, the better,” Rethothanna said. “A man and a drake crier came through the milkdrinker’s hill today, looking for dragons to volunteer to be ridden, promising gold, food, a cave in the Imperial Resort, everything. With food stocks falling the way they are and dragons going without meat, soon half the dragons here will have nothing to look forward to but the saddle and a trough at the end of the day.”
Chapter 28
Rethothanna got her wish. Less than a score of days later, the Imperial line and the leaders of the hill selected the hour for the battle. Of course, not everything could be readied on time. The bats were still gathering, and every day the Copper was making a trip to the river to explain to them what to do. But each day’s delay increased their risk, for more and more dragons found themselves watched, and the Immortal Memory group could no longer meet except in twos or threes for a few brief words.
The Copper had spies of his own. The bats, out of hunger or curiosity, went so far as to do practice runs, trickling into Black Rock in search of nourishment.
There was a last-moment change in the Immortal Memory’s calculations. A half-score more dragons had arrived, carrying several people each on them and more possessions. Some of the mates and babes of the Andam had arrived.
So the Copper stood, flanked by Rethothanna and NeStirrath, listening to SiMevolant speak. He was explaining to the high-ranking dragons that soon each of them would have a human “assistant” to help allocate food and cave space, ore rations, and exercise flights. Even grooming standards would be discussed, if there were health-threatening habits that needed to be broken.
The Dragonblade lounged on a golden chair, brought up and fixed on the Tyr’s shelf. A rich fur lay before it, and another hung off the back. He also wore a fur cloak closed with dragonscale.
Imfamnia was not in the audience. She was inspecting a case of luxuries brought in on dragonback.
“I do not say you must follow the advice of the human assistant,” SiMevolant said. “But they are wise, and I feel matters will go easier if we heed them.”
“I say enough,” a Skotl called.
“I say too much!” a Wyrr added.
The Copper braced himself and took a breath. This was worse than spreading his wings to jump, trusting to a bit of wood and leather and steel pin. “I say we have no Tyr. Just a dog too well trained to need a collar.”
“That’s a poor sort of insult, RuGaard.” SiMevolant yawned. “I hope you didn’t labor hard over it. You wasted your time.”
“I challenge you to a duel, with the charge of treason against the Imperial line,” the Copper said.
“You can’t challenge a Tyr,” SiMevolant said. “The rank is too exalted.”
“I may. There are some who believe I am the rightful Tyr. Tyr FeHazathant named me as his successor after NiVom fled and before he died.”
“I witnessed it!” Ibidio called.
“I was told in secret as well,” said NeStirrath. Which was a lie, but a lie he gladly offered to tell.
“He told me the same,” Rethothanna said. “There is even a secret testament in the archives.” Another lie, but one she had made true with a bit of parchment and a forged scale-seal.
“That’s three,” NoSohoth said quietly.
“So, yes, I do challenge you,” RuGaard said. “If you refuse, all will know you to be a coward.”
“Yes, yes, yes, heroes taste death but once and all that. But the coward gets a long time to enjoy all those deaths, bitter as the cup may be, and heroes die young. Still, you annoy me, RuGaard. I think I should like to kill you. I accept your challenge and name the Dragonblade as my duelist.”
That startled the man out of bored daydreaming. He reached for his sword hilt.
“You get to kill a three-legged dragon,” SiMevolant said.
“When I came down here, I was told I’d be acting as an adviser,” the Dragonblade said. “I’ve had enough fights in my life. I’m old, my bones are easily chilled, and a hairy-rumped well digger would find this blasted rock uncomfortably cool.”
“The alternative is fighting between the Andam and the dragons again,” SiMevolant hissed.
“So be it. I’ll kill the beast for you. What’s one more to my tally? Ach, you’re making me regret my chickens and coops.”
“The deepest hour of the night, then,” the Copper said. “When the new day rings.”
