Page 75 of Dragon Outcast (Age of Fire 3)

“Have you had anything to eat this morning, my love?” Tighlia asked.

“Hot watered fat and a fresh sow’s head.”

“And your kern?”

“Haruuummm…”

Her claws rattled the river-smoothed rocks in the walkway between the door and a garden pool. “I’ll roast your cook. What you need is an elf, not that blighter.”

“But he can braise an ox so that it melts—”

“You’d sleep better if you’d just listen. And there’d be less groaning at your eliminations.”

“Tyr, I must get back to my command,” Yarrick said. “I won’t rest until I see the drake here settled here in the Imperial Resort.”

“What? A half-starved, bedraggled stray here?” Tighlia said. “The bones of my grandsire will crumble.”

The Copper wondered at her hostility. Did she know more of his deeds than she would admit? Why would she not tell the truth, if she knew it, as she was so clearly against him?

“Why, I think that’s a fine idea. We could use some new blood on the Rock.”

“Quite right, Grandsire,” the golden drake said. He crinkled up the corners of his mouth at the Copper, who started, fearing a bite.

“Perhaps we could discuss it later, at feast,” NoSohoth said.

“Delay, delay. You always counsel delay,” the Tyr said. “No, I like the idea. I’ll have him.”

“CuRassathath over by Wind Tunnel and his mate are barren,” Tighlia said. “He could go and live with them. They’ve a lovely hole.”

“There was a time when brave deeds merited a place in the Imperial Resort,” the Tyr said. “I’d like to restore the tradition.”

“You’re always cross and impulsive when you haven’t eaten properly,” Tighlia said.

“I’ve not been cross in years. Cry settled, for I’ve made a decision. NoSohoth, get it inscribed at once. This lad…Oh, dear, what was that name…?”

“I’ve no name, Tyr.” His wound throbbed, but he did his best to stand straight, neck up and head alert.

“I told you. An outcast,” Tighlia said. “And you wanted to settle him in the Black Rock.”

“Now, lad, take heart. You’re not as forlorn as you’d think; it’s happened several times in my lifetime. Why, I could tell you stories—outcasts tend to be lucky, for a start, and I’ll take a lucky dragon over the quickest tongue or the stoutest scale. You rate a name for your deeds this day, and a good one.” He looked around. “What shall we call him?”

“Cripple,” Tighlia said. “Half-wit. Both highly appropriate names. Look at that eye and tell me he wasn’t cursed in the egg.”

“How about MiKalmedes,” the golden drake said. “He was a copper, wasn’t he?”

“Insolence!” Tighlia spit. “You flakescale. My own grandsire and one of the founding—”

The golden drake scratched himself behind his griff. Loose skin and bits of scale-edge wafted toward Tighlia.

“Stop quarreling,” the Tyr said, and the others fell silent in an instant. “He’ll be Rugaard.”

“Tyr, your own grandsire by the female?” NoSohoth objected.

“He was wounded at hatching, and he turned out all right. His jaw never grew quite right, of course. Not much in the way of wits, but a fierce fighter, and he gave the demen what-for. I think it suits him. How do you like that name, hatch—er, drake?”

The Copper’s hearts swelled. Not just a name, but a name from an illustrious line! “Thank you, Tyr.” He wanted nothing more that instant than to devote himself to this great dragon’s will and prove himself worthy of the compliment.

“Grandsire, lad. Grandsire from now on. You’re the Tyr’s ward now. Be worthy of your new heritage.”>He sidestepped from the Copper. The Copper felt the gaze of two slightly cloudy eyes the color of aging gold coin. He stared back defiantly. If this dragon was going to watch his own kind torn to bits for nest raiding without singeing so much as a feather—

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