Page 99 of Dragon Outcast (Age of Fire 3)

His scale had a depth and polish and glitter. She’d shaped the displaced scale at the gouged side of his face so as to minimize the scarring, and added a pewter-colored powder to the crevices in his crest that emphasized the strong, smooth ridges.

So it was a proud young drake who followed Rethothanna over to the Black Rock and up to the Tyr’s Gardens.

The Copper had never seen such a gathering, or imagined there could be anything so splendid. It must have been dark outside, for the peak of the dome was a plate of midnight. This, however, made the fiery streams of lava running along the exterior of the dome all the brighter and more colorful.

Female dragons with fringes painted and smooth ribbons wound about their necks in fascinating knotwork, males with vivid red or blue lines painted on their wings—Rethothanna said it was a form of display of laudi, recognized by the Tyr himself and worn for all to see—drakes and drakka playing and singing and mirroring.

At the middle of the Gardens an open oval free of plants served as the center of the party. A little lower than much of the terraced garden, it was paved with shields and helmets and breastplates, trophies taken in battle and presented to the Tyr. At the center of the open area was a long masonry trench shaped like a drawn bow. At the notch of the bow lay the Tyr and his mate, on a low rise of wood and cushioning that gave them a commanding view. Where bow would give way to string, stairways led down to the kitchens. The most splendid of the dragons reclined at the bow. The string was reserved for the younger drakes and drakka.

For a moment the Copper’s eyes were tricked, and he thought platters of food slid by magic from dragon to dragon. He spotted thralls bearing vast platters on their heads. They rose heavy-laden from the stairs and circulated, always in the same direction to avoid collisions in the narrow trench. The roast chunks of meat went around the circuit, and emptied as the dragons reached down with jaws and plucked the tidbits. Sometimes instead of platters they bore a long pole in a sort of harness-and-cup, and from cross-braces at the top of the pole dangled whole roasted joints from hooks. These seldom even made it to the drakes and drakka.

At the very center of the dining plaza was a sandy pit. According to Rethothanna, new hatchlings of the Imperial line would be exhibited there so all could see them, but there were none at the moment.

“Any guests the Tyr wishes to particularly honor get seated to his left, so they have first choice of the dishes,” Rethothanna explained.

Rethothanna didn’t mix—she wasn’t of the Imperial line—but instead waited to be called by NoSohoth, in his usual role of organizer. His gleaming silver shone especially bright tonight.

A scream and a clatter. The Copper’s attention went to the far end of the bow, near where the thralls entered and exited the kitchen.

“Drop him, Simevolant,” the Tyr said across the sandpit.

The golden drake ceased dragging a thrall up out of the trench. “But his platter was empty and I’m hungry.”

“An empty platter’s not his fault. A thrall’s a thrall, but you can’t eat them for no reason at all. Let him go, now.”

Simevolant released the man. The thrall was so frightened he scuttled for the exit without picking up his platter. The other food bearers continued circling. He noticed they quickened their step at Simevolant’s end, sometimes bumping into one another.

“That’s done it, worm,” Tighlia said, looking pointedly at Simevolant. “Their tiny brains can’t hold more than one thought, and now they’re more concerned with being eaten than keeping step.”

“Let’s have some drumming,” the Tyr said. “Where are those clever blighters with the kettledrums?”

NoSohoth extended a black-tipped wing toward a grove, and a trio of blighters came forward, two bearing pairs of vast, leather-topped drums and a third with a hollow polished log. They went to work on their instruments, filling the gardens with rhythmic pounding. The Copper liked the sound so much he couldn’t help swaying and stamping his feet.

“Mind the step, now, fellows; no one’s been eaten,” the Tyr said to the thralls passing under his nose. “That’s more like it. Steady on and I’ll order a barrel of sweet ferments up for you after the meal.”

SiDrakkon, sitting to his sister’s right, hardly ate at all, and worked at the edge of an embedded shield with his claws, prying up the rim.

“SiDrakkon looks unhappy,” the Copper said to Rethothanna.

“He’s always in a temper. Pay him no mind. Stuck between the ambitions of his sister and the directions of her mate. He’s the Tyr’s eyes and voice in the Lavadome, and he’s not an energetic dragon. Doesn’t like parties, either. Speaking of which, how is your first Imperial banquet?”

The Copper looked around. “It’s the most splendid thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It occurs to me that I’ll have to hear your lifesong at some point. You’re the first outsider to seek the Lavadome in…oh, a generation’s time. Of course, we don’t advertise our presence. Even with such allies as we have on the surface, we have to keep our home secret.”

The Copper would have liked to hear more from her, for he was curious about the Upper World and its dangers, but the drummers had exhausted themselves, and NoSohoth waved her over.

“My turn. May the Air Spirit carry my voice well,” she said. She stepped forward, and all eyes turned in their direction as NoSohoth announced: “Cry hear and hear, for we’ll have poetry now. A new work on the late feuds of the founders of the Lavadome by Imperial memoriam. Hear Rethothanna.”

Simevolant scanned the crowd, found the Copper. “I say, cousin, what are you doing there, lurking in the blade-bushes? Come and find your place at the banquet.”

The Copper stepped forward, and Simevolant made room for him, nudging a drakka aside.

“Hear me, Spirits; hear me, Ages; hear me, dragons great and small, for I tell a tale of the founding of a new Silverhigh….”

Simevolant ignored her preamble and snatched a plump sausage linked into the shape of a curly-tailed dog off a platter. “Now, how are things in the lower levels? I so seldom get down your way. Is the strength of the Drakwatch still keeping the Imperial Resort from falling?”

The drakka around Simevolant fluttered their eyelids and griff at his joke.

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