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A similarly wide young man, probably one of her family, moved forward with a bundle wrapped in a blanket. He unrolled it before his Tyr.
There was rope, a mallet on a lanyard, spikes, food, waterskins, hooks, spiked shoes with soft fronts for gripping.
“I know a runaway being planned when I sees it,” the old woman said.
“This was in . . . Rayg’s quarters?”
“Aye, sir. All between two boards in his bed under the matting. Clever, but she heard it sliding around when she moved the bed. No one can say my girls don’t do a thorough job cleaning.”
The Copper thanked her and told her to help herself to whatever she might find hanging in the Tyr’s larder.
He didn’t finish the meal with the same appetite as he’d started it.
Later, the Copper invited Rayg out into the gardens, so they might have a private talk under the red light of the flow. Other dragons and drakes and drakka enjoying the gardens and the fading light at the crystal circle in the top made room for him.
The Copper brought Rayg to the banquet pit and showed him the assortment of gear.
“Rayg, these were found in your quarters. Tell me what they mean.”
“It’s not obvious?” Rayg said in his good Drakine.
“False claws, lines—this is climbing gear.”
“You’ve noted how old some of it is,” Rayg said.
“Well.”
Rayg lifted one of the spike-studded shoes. “See the rust. Years old.”
“You were planning an escape.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Numerate them for me. Have I been ungenerous?”
Rayg wasn’t behaving like a thief caught by his owner dragon. They might have been discussing the bulbs in the gardens. “Oh, I’ll take you over the barbarians, of course. You are fair. You’ve been very generous to my family. They’re prosperous and happy. The time I spend with them is wonderful. If another dragon became Tyr, however . . . Must I say it?”
“I intend to be Tyr for a good many years yet.” It didn’t do to mention the relative life spans of humans and dragons.
“It seems a Tyr doesn’t always have a choice. You’re the third Tyr since I’ve been here, I believe.”
“Rayg, you’re a great help to me. Indeed, invaluable. If you were to run away and be killed in the Wind Tunnel, as I’ll hazard this gear is meant to ascend—”
“Oh, no. I won’t run away on you, RuGaard.”
For a thrall to use a dragon’s name, let alone the Tyr—The Copper glanced around, but if anyone was trying to listen to the conversation they were as stealthy as his bats. The banquet area was empty.
“Hmmm. I’ll give orders that you’re allowed to have whatever sort of equipment you need for climbing. I’ll say it’s for your experiments. No sense having your life depend on this rusting old junk.”
“Thank you, my Tyr.”
“Will you tell me something, though? Why do you stay?”
“I like dragons.”
The Copper thought that over. Strange thing for a slave, even a pampered and privileged slave, to say.
“You don’t mind the smell, being underground?”
