Page 92 of Dragon Outcast (Age of Fire 3)

Behind the Tyr the Copper saw a forest of legs. The sleek young golden drake was there, and another, sort of a reddish-purplish color that reminded the Copper of the radishes the thralls chewed to wash the dragon-smell out of their mouths at the end of a long day.

“And I thought it was just thralls making stories up, as usual,” the Tyr said. “There was a fine old fight down here, wasn’t there?”

The golden drake walked the perimeter of the Drakwatch caves, peering into the eyes of the skulls and fighting yawns all the way.

The Tyr shifted so he could make room for the dragon behind. “You should know what’s going on in your own caves, SiDrakkon. I know you’ve got other titles, but as my mate’s brother you’re also in charge of the Drakwatch.”

The radish-colored dragon just glowered.

“Simevolant, stop idling and come have a look at these drakes.”

“Yes, Grandsire.” Simevolant, the golden drake, approached the line of bruised and bashed drakes. “Impressive specimens. A credit to the Drakwatch. But glory does bring out the ugly, doesn’t it?”

The Tyr looked sharply at NoSohoth. “I’d like a little more ferocity on the Rock; a dragon should fight with tooth and claw, not tongue. Too much of that. What’s this, old friend? Is that a lump on your jaw? Don’t tell me you were involved in the fracas.” The old dragon chuckled.

“I was pulling them apart and your young ward there loosened my teeth for my trouble.”

“Is that…er…” the Tyr said, looking at the Copper.

“You decided to call him Rugaard, Grandsire,” the bright young Simevolant reminded the Tyr.

“Rugaard, yes. I’d hardly recognize you. You’re beginning to fill out a little.”

“It’s the swelling, I think,” Simevolant said. “Most hatchlings are ugly, but they get better proportioned as they age. I do believe you’re getting worse, Rugaard. Someone should take some studies of you for posterity.”

The Tyr ignored the byplay and tapped radish-colored SiDrakkon with his tail.

SiDrakkon sniffed all the drakes. “There’s an opening for a messenger in Deep Tunnel. Which drake of these is your fastest?”

“Krthonius, with the big haunches, there,” NeStirrath said.

“Good of the Empire, now, think for the good of the Empire,” the Tyr muttered.

“Why won’t you let me make a decision? It’s my responsibility!” SiDrakkon sputtered.

“Imperial messengers do a lot more than just memorize reports and run,” Tyr said.

“I should know. I was one,” SiDrakkon said.

The Tyr’s jaw tightened; then he relaxed. “And a fine one, too. So you know that sometimes they are asked for an independent opinion of the situation in some distant, tight corner, or even to assume command if there’s been an unexpected death. That requires sound judgment.”

“Nivom’s very bright, Tyr,” NeStirrath said. “Best memory of the bunch. Aubalagrave is strong and clever in a fight.”

“Who’s in charge of the Drakwatch?” SiDrakkon roared.

“Bearers, more oliban there; fire bladders are starting to throb,” Simevolant said.

The thralls with the smoking dragon heads extracted some milky chips from pouches at their waist and dumped a small handful each into the dangling brazier. The rich, aromatic smell filled the cavern, and one of the blighter thralls sniffled.

“Honored friend,” the Tyr said to NeStirrath. “Let’s say we were at Three Tunnels again, with the blighters hip-deep all around and battle horns blowing. Which of the three would you want with us? Good of the Empire, mind.”

“Little Rugaard, there. Kept his teeth dug in, even when he went unconscious. He’s no duelist; he fights as though his neck were on the line.”

“Does that help, SiDrakkon?” the Tyr asked.

“Why do you even drag me along if you’re just going to have your way anyway?” SiDrakkon said.

“The decision is yours.”

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