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The passage rose and then fell away to a wider, lower tunnel. There wasn’t so much frill and decor along the passages now. Hominid skulls lined the wall here, grouped in threes and sixes and nines, grinning at him from beneath a coating of bronze or pewter.
“This is the old Drakwatch level. When I was your age, we had an elvish sorcerer who could make these skulls talk. The stories they told! Plenty of room here; there’s just old NeStirrath and some orphans from the provinces adopted into the Rock. Here, this one’s got its own passage, which is nice. Can’t stand sleeping with air on more than two sides, myself. And room for growth.”
“How might I learn more about this RuGaard, sir?”
NoSohoth stopped for a moment, raised his head up, and spit into a wrought cup connected to a larger pot. The flame lit the passage. The skull of a creature with four horns projecting from the temples and two shorter ones out of the jaw decorated the entrance.
“A young drake should look to his duties.”
“Isn’t my first duty to learn about the heritage I’m charged with defending?” He was rather proud of that little speech.
“Hmmm. That eye is deceiving. You have some wit about you.”
The Copper thought it better not to reply beyond a “Thank you, sir.”
“Listen to the storytellers, then. If you’ve a taste for the exotic, you could read some of those old scrolls and things the archivists keep. The Anklenes keep their traditions, as undragonish as they are. They live in the Marble Slope, just on the other side of the Gardens.”
He led the Copper to a climbing wall. “There’s a shelf on top. How do you like it? I hope that’s not too difficult a climb.”
The rock reflected just enough light for him to see the interior. Though the entrance was cramped, the cave opened up nicely. No air moved, and the dragons’ thickening odor made him nervous. He felt very small among the echoes of their shifting scale.
“It’s quiet. Is there a trickle?”
“There’re downspouts with water in the common pool. Let me show you.”
NoSohoth backed out into the passage, turned, and led him down another length or two to a graveled chamber. Four burning lamps illuminated a pool fed by a spiral of sculpture that reminded him of…of trees, yes, that was what they were.
His guide loosed a strange, whistling cry. “He must have the drakes out on a circuit.” What the Copper guessed to be a a blighter and a human with one hand were cleaning the gravel with strange implements and a tub of water. They scrubbed harder.
“Ka! You there. Man!” NoSohoth said.
The man, a rather hairy and stooped-over specimen, looked at the blighter and came forward. Trembling, he held out his tool, a stick with what looked like straw bundled on it. The straw smelled rotten.
“Please? Need fix,” the man said, in rather wretched Drakine. He shut his eyes as he spoke.
“Never mind that,” NoSohoth said. “Thrall, you’ve just been promoted. You’re this dragon’s servant now.”
The man opened his eyes and bobbed.
“Do you know the duties of a servant?” NoSohoth asked.
“Get food. Get water. Get ingot. Clean scale. Clean teeth. Very good, I clean the all,” the man said. At least the gibberish seemed that way to the Copper.
“What’s your name?” NoSohoth asked.
“Harf,” the man said.
“He belongs to you now,” NoSohoth told the Copper. He took a chain out of his ear and hung it around Harf’s neck. A piece of dragonscale edged in bronze hung from it. The man examined it, openmouthed. “And, Harf, do something about those bats, will you? They keep getting in here.”
Harf let the piece of scale go. “Clean bats. Yes.”
“Vermin.” NoSohoth snorted. “Good man. Young Rugaard, just obey NeStirrath and no harm will come to you. Understand? My apologies, of course you do. If you need anything, just ask your thrall.”
“Thank you for Harf, sir.”
“You’ll get on together, I hope. Try to be forgiving with humans; they’re intelligent enough, but terribly lazy.”
“Why did you choose him instead of the…the blighter, sir?”
