Page 144 of Dragon Outcast (Age of Fire 3)

The Tyr flapped a wing. “Quiet now; don’t intimidate this drake. Now, Rugaard, correct me if I’m wrong, but the stones were used only after an attack had failed. An attack that cost the lives of three dragons. Am I wrong in any detail?”

“The last thing I’d wish to do is correct my grandsire,” the Copper said.

The Tyr snorted. “Yes or no, do I have it right?”

“Yes, great Tyr.”

Nivom seemed to swell. SiDrakkon’s tail knocked over two braziers, and thralls rushed forward to right them and pour water on the smoldering coals and incense.

“Is that all, Grandsire?” the Copper asked.

“Tyr, this fool had a thrall run away on him, I believe,” SiDrakkon said. “Escaped into Bant. A man named, er, Harb.”

“Harf,” the Copper corrected, wondering how SiDrakkon knew that.

“Don’t bother me with trivia,” the Tyr said. “I know your games, SiDrakkon. I want to know the truth about events in Bant, not the comings and goings of dropping scrapers.”

“I’m sorry for his escape, Tyr,” the Copper said. “Should I have chased him down?”

“Never mind that. There’s one other question. It seems after my mate’s brother lost two dragons on the first assault on the fortress, he gave orders for a retreat south. Why weren’t those orders followed?”

“We were in a strong position, Tyr, and the Ghi men had lost much of their cavalry.”

Tyr cocked his head. “According to some, everyone was ready to quit the hill until you said you’d stay by the wounded. HeBellereth insists that it was you who wanted to stick and fight.”

“HeBellereth was badly hurt at that point. I helped look after his wounds, so that could be why he remembers me. Nivom was in command, Tyr. The glory and honor of the victory the next day belong to him—and HeBellereth, of course—for breaking the shield wall with his own body.”

“Someone really must make a song about all this,” Tyr said. “NoSohoth, call for silence. I want the banquet to hear something.”

NoSohoth raised his wings, which had little chimes looped into the trailing edge. He flapped them, and at the ringing the company turned their attention to him. “Our glorious Tyr asks for silence.”

The Copper slunk out of the way so he wouldn’t obstruct anyone’s view.

“Answer my thoughts, for a change!” Tighlia hissed into her mate’s ear. “Let us retire and discuss before you make any announcements.”

The Tyr ignored her. “Free dragons of the Lavadome and hope of our united lines. Twice now this honored drake at my right side, Nivom, has done great service to all of us.

“First, let it be known that I’m adopting him into the Imperial line. As a son, mind you, to replace AgGriffopse in position if not in our hearts.”

That set the banquet to talking. NoSohoth had to sound his wing chimes again to give them time to settle down.

“Second, I’m getting older and don’t have the attention to detail I once possessed. Nivom will take a few of the lesser responsibilities from my wings, that I might be able to pay more attention to the greater.

“Finally and most pleasantly, he’ll soon be sprouting his wings, and it will be time for him to be mated. I offer any of the daughters of AgGriffopse, the champion of my only clutch, to him, so that we might be joined by more than duty and respect. He can look forward to some pleasant years choosing among my beauties, for their wings are just beginning to bulge.”

The assembly at the banquet liked the sound of that and thumped their tails. Thralls danced out of the way to avoid being struck.

The Tyr’s young granddaughters fluttered their eyes and griffs, save for the sickly one, who shrank behind her longer, stronger, better-fleshed sisters.

“I hope he’s not expecting a blushing maiden,” Simevolant said, staring at them.

The Copper glanced back at his own spine. Two ridges ran down it, parallel to his vertebrae. His were some years off too, but it made him feel better to know that horns and wings were growing.

SiDrakkon left the banquet almost immediately. The Copper grabbed a dropped mouthful or two but kept away from the throngs. They dragons either asked idiotic questions about whether arrow wounds stung much or joked about his bats.

“You, there,” a cold voice said. “Rugaard. Come and have a word with me.”

It was Tighlia, and her scales were up and out as though she were expecting battle. She led him to a prominence looking out over the south end of the Lavadome, where fewer orange streams lit the crystalline surface.

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