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“Really? That’s terrible,” the Tyr said.
Yarrick fluffed his wings. “This drake—still with egg-wet behind the griff, if I’m still fit to judge dragons—almost lost his gizzard to the demen while rescuing our eggs. But there were guts to spare in that one.”
Rescue?
It took the Copper a moment to get over the shock. He felt doubly fortunate that the fight with the demen turned out the way it did, even at the price of a stab in the firebladder. What if the griffaran had found him eating from a broken egg?
“What is he, some young relative of yours eager to prove himself, my Tyr? He shows the old FeHazathant spirit.”
“NoSohoth,” Tyr said, “is this some relative of mine? Why hasn’t he been presented to me? Such old scars on a young drake, too. He’s taken honors from three bitter fights, and I’m just looking at the front end of him.”
The silver dragon with the black griff tips lowered his head and looked at the Copper closely. “He’s no hatchling from the Imperial Resort, Tyr.”
Tyr glowered. “Hmmmm. Yes. Why does that not surprise me?”
“Let us sing of glories proudly won,” a golden drake said from one of the flower beds. The Copper saw a couple of bats flit under an overhanging rock behind him.
“Let’s keep our fool’s mouth shut for a change,” NoSohoth muttered.
“Let the drake sing, old fellow,” Tyr said. “At least he’s got an appreciation for the old virtues and deeds.”
“Sir, I’ve no time for songs,” Yarrick said. “I’m here to see that justice gets done to this brave little fellow. He saved six eggs.”
“Did he? Did I doze off and miss part of the story? Well, if you say so. What’s your name, lad?”
The Copper opened his mouth, but couldn’t find words.
“Perhaps he’s in awe to be in the Imperial presence,” NoSohoth said. “You’ve nothing to fear, drake. Glorious Tyr is grandsire to all of us, a part of our lifesong whatever our parentage. Just answer honestly and no harm will befall you.”
“Nice to see daring young drakes plunging in among enemies instead of crying for help. Not enough about. Not enough,” the Tyr said. He settled down over his sii and saa, perhaps to be less threatening.
“I…I’ve no name, sir. I’m…my sire and dam…dead.”
“What? Who?” Tyr said. “NoSohoth, what’s this? Are you keeping ill news from me again?”
“No, Tyr,” NoSohoth said. He turned to the Copper. “There’ve been no attacks in the Lavadome in two generations. Are you from one of the Upper Provinces?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps. I came down the river. I’ve been traveling for ages…ages, it seems.” The Copper wished his voice hadn’t sounded so squeaky. He wondered if he could even be heard over the surr-whooosh of the Tyr’s breathing.
“Yarrick, where did you find him?”
The avian straightened up. “The lake circle.”
“The lake circle, Tyr,” NoSohoth corrected.
“Oh, never mind that,” Tyr said. “We’re old friends, and this is a friendly visit.”
“Of course, Tyr,” Yarrick said. “On the far bank, to the north. Downstream from the thrall crossing.”
“Who were your parents?”
The Copper wondered if the truth would be a mistake. Something about the friendly stare of Tyr made him tell the truth. “AuRel and Irelia, sir.”
The dragons looked at each other. “Irelia? That’s no staion-name. AuRel…hmmm, what line?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“I don’t know, Tyr,” NoSohoth corrected again.
