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“Now, lad, take heart. You’re not as forlorn as you’d think; it’s happened several times in my lifetime. Why, I could tell you stories—outcasts tend to be lucky, for a start, and I’ll take a lucky dragon over the quickest tongue or the stoutest scale. You rate a name for your deeds this day, and a good one.” He looked around. “What shall we call him?”
“Cripple,” Tighlia said. “Half-wit. Both highly appropriate names. Look at that eye and tell me he wasn’t cursed in the egg.”
“How about MiKalmedes,” the golden drake said. “He was a copper, wasn’t he?”
“Insolence!” Tighlia spit. “You flakescale. My own grandsire and one of the founding—”
The golden drake scratched himself behind his griff. Loose skin and bits of scale-edge wafted toward Tighlia.
“Stop quarreling,” the Tyr said, and the others fell silent in an instant. “He’ll be Rugaard.”
“Tyr, your own grandsire by the female?” NoSohoth objected.
“He was wounded at hatching, and he turned out all right. His jaw never grew quite right, of course. Not much in the way of wits, but a fierce fighter, and he gave the demen what-for. I think it suits him. How do you like that name, hatch—er, drake?”
The Copper’s hearts swelled. Not just a name, but a name from an illustrious line! “Thank you, Tyr.” He wanted nothing more that instant than to devote himself to this great dragon’s will and prove himself worthy of the compliment.
“Grandsire, lad. Grandsire from now on. You’re the Tyr’s ward now. Be worthy of your new heritage.”
“Grandsire,” the Copper said. The golden drake was turning up the corners of his mouth at him again.
“See that he’s given a lair,” the Tyr said. “Not in the nursery, now—a battle-scarred dragon deserves a real chamber of his own. I know—have him join the Drakwatch. Give him a chance to prove himself to you doubters. Attend to it, won’t you, NoSohoth?”
The female checked a loosened scale on the Tyr’s haunch and shot a look at NoSohoth as he bowed to the Tyr.
“A fine addition to the family,” the golden drake said, rolling so he came up with flower petals caught in his scales. “We won’t want for entertainment as long as he’s around. I can’t wait to see him limp his way through a court dance.”
Chapter 12
NoSohoth led the Copper through what seemed a maze of tunnels, beautifully sculpted, with dragonscale patterns on the rises and drops to help the claws find purchase. The rock inside was shiny and black, with veins of white where it had been left natural, but in many places, like projections and corners, it had been coated with metals or ceramics in intricate designs. The floor wasn’t quite smooth, the better to give dragonclaws places to grip, but it was polished. Splashes of water from drinking trickles looked like blood.
Turns, drops, and climbs were marked by burning fat-lamps.
“Don’t you use moss?” the Copper asked.
“What is this, a mining camp? You’re in the Imperial Resort. Besides, there are other advantages to lamps. Smell.”
Some kind of substance had been thrown into the mix to give a pleasing, relaxing aroma.
“What’s that burning, sir?” the Copper asked.
“You’re a polite hatch—young drake. I haven’t heard ‘sir’ from the Imperial lines in three sets of scale. You’ve never been in the Upper World?”
“No. I’ve seen shafts of sunlight; that’s all.”
“The smell’s hardy pine. It has an oil that’s useful in a variety of ways, a solvent for a start. We put it in the fat-lamps. Some mint and rosemary are added to the oil. Eucalyptus is even better, but hard to come by these days. Otherwise the dragon-smell can get thick in here. Drakes get aggressive, and the drakka play up too much, and dragons who should know better get to dueling. We dragons are thralls to none but our noses.”
The Copper had no idea what “eucalyptus” was, but had more important questions on his mind. “I like the smell of dragons all around. I keep fearing I’ll wake up and be alone again.”
“I wouldn’t mind a year or two alone, myself. Now, let’s see, plenty of empty space on this level, as it doesn’t have much in the way of egress. Everyone in the Black Rock thinks they’re born deserving a gallery with its own trickle.”
The Copper gave up counting passages and turns by the time they descended a third time.
“You’ll learn your way around soon enough,” NoSohoth said. “If you get lost, just remember always to go from smaller to larger. That’ll get you to the Central Spiral.”
“That big downshaft with the columns?”
“Yes, where we first descended. Just ask a thrall; they all speak Drakine. More or less. They’ll put you right. If they don’t, you’re free to eat them.”
