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He found himself hoping his brother was as nefarious as he thought him. He wouldn’t mind settling things once and for all with the Gray Rat.
“Come with me, you two,” he said. “By the spirits, I hope you’re wrong.”
Wistala and Shadowcatch followed behind as he wobbled his way toward the Tyr’s hall. He descended into Imperial Rock.
The Griffaran Guard, who should have been waiting above the Tyr’s door, was absent.
“NoSohoth!” he called as he went inside. “Where is everyone?” Even CoTathanagar, who was always lurking about looking for a new commission for a friend or relative, had vanished.
He found NoSohoth in the throne room. NiVom, his scales shining white, stood under four griffaran with several of the court dragons, including LaDibar of the Ankelenes, BaMelphistran of the Aerial Host, and a couple of the Skotl and Wyrr patriarchs. His brother stood a ways apart, warily eyeing the griffaran. A few of NiVom’s dreadful gargoyles occupied a Griffaran Guard perch as well, clinging to each other with claws and wing hooks in an ugly ball.
“I represent an alliance of my own,” NiVom said. “There are some dozen of us, Protectors all, who believe your rule has grown rather—erratic of late. There’s a rumor going around that you mean to groom AuRon’s daughter Istach to take your place. We won’t have it. Many of the dragons left in the Lavadome agree.”
“We’ll see. Call the Aerial Host,” the Copper ordered.
BaMelphistran stood still.
“You just lost your leadership and your good name, NoSohoth! Send for AuSurath.”
No messenger moved. The Griffaran Guard stood still, without an actual attack on the Tyr’s life requiring action, they had no reason to become a part of the conflict.
The Copper felt a brief dizziness, as though the polished stone beneath his feet had suddenly fallen away and he was suspended in space. He lashed his tail to keep from fainting.
“It’s already too late,” NiVom said.
“Meaning?” the Copper asked.
“We’ve just recognized a new Tyr.”
Behind him, the Copper heard Shadowcatch’s teeth grinding louder than ever.
“You, I suppose,” Wistala said.
“No, I’ve no ambition to sit atop Imperial Rock. The twins, SiHazathant and Regalia. They’re handsome, popular, and performed heroically during the Wheel of Fire attack. Best of all, they’re of Tyr FeHazathant’s blood. They’re consulting with Ibidio now on which Protectors are backing them. Most of them are.”
“Even Istach of Old Uldam?” the Copper asked.
“Yes.”
Well, it’s the smart move, the Copper thought. Istach would do the smart thing.
“What about you, brother?” the Copper asked AuRon.
His brother looked from the NiVom’s group of dragons to the Copper’s.
“To tell the truth,” AuRon said, “I’m indifferent to who sits on top of this dank rock. But I don’t care for how this is being done—threats of bloodshed, meetings in the dead of night, everyone waking to find a new Tyr in place. Even my barbarian tribal neighbors in the north would call it rotten. Suppose we gathered all the dragons of the Alliance and put it to them?”
“That sort of thing was tried before, in the age of Silver-high,” LaDibar said. “The dragons just selected whichever demagogue promised them the most coin for their gold-gizzards.”
“Most of the dragons in the Lavadome can’t be trusted with their own waste,” NoSohoth said. “It’s up to the leaders to decide, dragons with responsibility and foresight.”
“You, too, NoSohoth?” the Copper asked.
“I am not following one faction or the other, RuGaard. I’ve always served whomever is named Tyr, to the best of my ability.”
AuRon snorted, then ambled over to stand beside his sister, behind the Copper.
“I’m with you, my Tyr,” he said.
