Dragon Outcast (Page 56)

Or perhaps her expectations were forcing her appetite.

“A griffaran comes!” the watchdragon aloft outside bellowed. “He makes the signal-wing of bearing important news for the Upholder, from the Tyr himself.”

“A message? But you just got here,” Halaflora said. “Whatever could it mean?”

“I’d better see to that,” the Copper said, rising and taking the exit that would bring him to the stairs.

The griffaran alighted on one of the globes-atop-squares flanking the long staircase down the mountainside.

“Yark! Upholder RuGaard?”

“Yes,” the Copper said. Fourfang trotted up with a torch.

“Written message. Sent yesterday.” The bird detached a tube from some sort of hook in its tail feathers and passed it to him.

“You must have flown straight here without a break. Have you eaten? Fourfang, go down to the pool and see if there are any fish there.”

“Read message first,” the griffaran said. “Then duty done.”

The tube was one of NoSohoth’s message tubes, certainly. He flicked off the sealing wax with a claw-tip and extracted the paper inside.

TYR DEAD. PEACE DECREED. TYR SIMEVOLANT RULES. RETURN AT ONCE.

The Copper blinked, unable to believe his eyes. Each pair of words was harder to believe than the last.

Bwaaaaaaak!

He started. That was a blighter alarm horn!

It blew again, sounding from the dining chamber. His hearts froze for a second; then he spread open his wings and flew up to the balcony on the upper level. He crashed through the tattered, burned remains of the evening curtains and saw Halaflora, stretched out and twitching on the floor.

Blood ran from a corner of her mouth. A white-faced Rhea stood in the corner, gasping for air, the horn hanging loose in her hand. Over his mate Nilrasha stood, the claws of one sii bloody, scratched about her eyes.

“Away from her!” he roared, feeling his fire bladder well. He tripped on his bad sii and sprawled next to his mate, but he didn’t care. He rolled her undersize head toward him, but Halaflora’s eyes were white and sightless.

“She’s dead, my lord,” Nilrasha said, breathing hard. “There’s nothing you can do for her.”

The Copper shook his mate, struck her face, turned her upside down, and shook her until scales fell off and skittered across the spotless feasting floor. Finally he dropped her limp corpse.

“What did you do?” he asked Nilrasha.

“Do?” she choked.

“Shwok’d?”

“Am I not speaking clearly enough, you lisping lizard? Yes, she tore off a big piece of thigh—I think it had a bone in it—and lifted her head and gobbled it right down, smiling and happy as can be. It stuck. I tried to get at it with my sii, but I couldn’t reach it without tearing her head off.”

“How did you get wounded?”

“She panicked. She was flailing this way and that instead of letting me help her, and she scratched me.”

“It’s not like her to take such a big—”

“She’s been delirious these last few days. She thought she was brooding, stupid thing.”

“Get out of here!”

“But, Ru—I’m sorry about the lisping thing. You do it when you get excited. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Just go.”

AuBalagrave and the other dragons arrived, looking for enemies, a fight, anything—but they just found the Upholder, lying against his mate. Nilrasha slipped out.

“Leave me alone!” the Copper said. “I’m staying with her until she cools! All of you, get out. No, not you, Rhea. Clear away this mess.”

The dragons departed, and Rhea bent to pick up the spilled platter of spitted calf.

“Rhea. Please speak to me. For once in your life, don’t be afraid and speak. Did you see this? What happened here?”

The pale girl—no, woman; she had a swelling at her midsection and the feeding sacs had enlarged—looked at him with terrified eyes. Then she fainted.

“If I find that you had a sii in this, I’ll kill you,” the Copper said.

“You’re upset, your honor. I know what you think. Put it out of your mind. She choked. It was a terrible accident.”

“You’re such a careful huntress.”

“Wouldn’t I have killed her long ago? I had opportunities every other day. I could have done it easily when we where hiding together, listening to those cursed dragons smashing the upper level. A quick pounce and—snap! She was so slight, you could practically poke a claw through her. What did the griffaran messenger want?”

The Copper couldn’t decide whether she was being callous or just her usual practical self. She was a born warrior who left the dead behind and kept her regrets, if any, private. But maybe her instincts were such that when she had an enemy, she’d pounce. Grabbing a loin and shoving it down a rival’s throat would be too roundabout a way of doing it. And if she wanted an accidental death, she would have just tossed Halaflora down that endless flight of steep steps as they took in the view, and then claimed she slipped.

“We have a new Tyr. SiMevolant. I’m to return to the Lavadome. I suspect his first edict will be that everyone paint themselves blue or add stripes.”

“Si-SiMevolant? What happened to SiDrakkon?”

“He’s dead. When I saw him last, he looked healthy enough.”

“Is SiMevolant smart enough to execute an assassination?”

Would a killer be so ready to use that word? the Copper thought. His mind was turning quick enough circles, and he tried to put Halaflora out of his mind. “He may have just been pretending to be a fool so no one would suspect him. How did the title of Tyr fall on those golden haunches, I wonder?”

“Who will you leave in command here?”

“According to the message, there’s to be no war. Which sounds like SiMevolant. He’s just stupid enough to believe that it takes two to make a war.”

“Challenge him if you get the chance,” Nilrasha said. “You can defeat him. He’s big and thick-scaled, but he doesn’t know the first thing about fighting.”

“I’ve never had much luck with duels. I always seem to come off the worse,” the Copper said.

“Still angry with me?” she asked.

“Only if you killed my mate.”

“Do you forget what you said? We can’t be mated while she lives. She no longer lives. After a decent mourning period we can have our happiness. She would have died over your eggs. I can give you many.”

The Copper snorted. “This is not the time for that kind of talk.”

“I just…I just want to know that you don’t hate me. What must I do to make you believe I tried to save her? Stuff a horse down my throat and choke myself?”

“You’re too tough to choke on a horse. I must sleep. I’ve got a long flight tomorrow.”

“I wonder what SiMevolant has planned for you?”

“Tyr SiMevolant,” the Copper corrected.

“Not for long, I think. He won’t last his name-year.” She displayed her teeth and rattled her griff.

He left AuBalagrave at the Uphold, with instructions to defend the temple and inform the kern kings that he was in mourning over the death of his mate and would perform no functions, ceremonial or otherwise, until further notice.

Then he took to the sky. Thoughts of Halaflora took all the joy out of flying; now it was just a dull, exhausting routine. He broke his journey at the Tooth Cavern bridge to speak to Rayg and the Firemaidens and Firemaid.

“Supposedly there’ll be no war,” the Copper said. “But I want you watchful here nonetheless. I’m sure these hag-ridden dragons know of the existence of this bridge and this portal into the Lower World. They may use it to reach the Lavadome.”

The dragons nodded their agreement. Then the Copper pulled Rayg aside, to the little bench where he kept his plans and designs.

“I understand you’re to be congratulated,” the Copper said.

“For what? Construction on the bridge has stopped ever since that fight in the cavern.”

“Rhea. You’re mated, I hear.”

Rayg looked across at him, sucking on his fleshy cheeks. “I didn’t know you paid attention to that kind of thing.”

“I do. How would you like Rhea freed with you?”

“Nothing more, your honor. You would do that?”

“I just need you to turn your brain to one final project.”

His shoulders dropped. “What’s that?”

“You worked for the dwarves, I understand?”

“Yes, well, it was sort of an apprenticeship.”

“They understand armor, I’m told. I want you to design some kind of armoring for the underside of a dragon. Enough to keep out one of those poisoned crossbow quarrels. It’s got to be light, though. No layers of chain mail.”