“I hope to see some improvement in the future, or I’ll have to make changes. But I hate unpleasant talk at the beginning of the day. Draw some water and take care of these bat droppings, won’t you?”

Fourfang showed admirable energy in getting a bucket and a bristle. The Copper watched the blighter work while Rhea cleaned and filed his claws. Fourfang scrubbed his hands in the bucket after finishing the floor.

“Much better. Now go down and get yourself a dried apple. One for Rhea, too; I think she’s exhausted from all the travel.”

The quick elf messenger came from the Tyr before Fourfang returned from the stores. The Copper followed the messenger up the winding air shaft and through the Gardens, where Simevolant was lounging, eating honeyed beetles.

“Come over here, Rugaard. The shadebells are blooming. You must see them. You don’t posses any beauty, but you have an eye for it. Oh! What did I say. An eye? I beg your pardon.”

The Copper wasn’t in the mood for Simevolant’s jokes. “I’m on my way to the Tyr. He summoned me.”

“Oh, he’s arguing with SiDrakkon; you’ve time to spare. Speaking of which, look at the purples; doesn’t it rather remind you of SiDrakkon when he’s angry?”

“A striking color,” the Copper said.

“I’ve been staring at these flowers all morning. You know, no two are alike? Why do flowers differentiate? The petals are just going to drop in a little while anyway, and unless you get right up under them, it’s hard to tell. I wonder why they bother.”

The elf cleared his throat.

“Don’t make noise, you,” Simevolant said. “You’re wilting my flowers. Look, that one’s gone all sad. I’ll have your hair plucked out by its roots for that.” The golden drake stood up.

“I can’t keep our Tyr waiting,” the Copper said, putting himself between the drake and the elf. “I must be off, cousin.”

The elf led him past the Tyr’s outer chamber, where messengers, many either bearing gifts themselves or with thralls to carry the load, waited. Curtains blocked the far end, and the elf slipped through them.

A few moments later the Copper heard a heavy tread, and before the curtains could even be opened SiDrakkon stormed out, glaring. The Copper shrank against some baskets of metal rings to clear his way, but SiDrakkon was staring at something only he could see.

The elf gestured for the Copper to come in.

He passed through a door of stone and steel that turned on a central pivot, and two blighters rushed in with braziers burning incense to clean away the angry smell within.

The Tyr’s audience chamber was roughly oval, with the door at one end and a shelf at the other. A cascade of gold coins and two waterfalls of silver made it look as though the Tyr reclined upon a mountain of gold. The walls were stacked with glittering, polished samples from the Imperial horde, the metallic art of a thousand or more years, coin, cup, statue, and frieze. Curtains hung thickly about the back of his shelf, and pleasing aromatic fragrances emanated from behind them.

Polished wooden shafts like ribs ran up either side of the chamber, joining at a peak in the top. Captured banners, some tattered and stained, hung here. Above the banners were four members of the griffaran, with polished metal talon extenders on their formidable feet. They sat on perches in the shadows above, vigilant as hawks. They looked strong enough to tear him into quarters of twitching dragon meat.

One of the griffaran let out a friendly click from the side of its mouth, and its fellows looked down at him.

“Ah, Rugaard, don’t let the bodyguards worry you. Come forward, and we’ll talk.”

The Copper smelled NoSohoth somewhere, perhaps behind the heavy curtains surrounding the Tyr’s shelf.

“What service can I do you, your honor?”

“I should be asking you that, drake. Take a mouthful of gold. No, don’t pretend; just enjoy. I’ve more than I could ever eat if I live to be another thousand.”

The Copper swallowed a mouthful of coin. The heavy yet soft metallic taste made him feel pleasantly fierce, ready to take on anything the Tyr asked of him.

Which, he supposed, was the point.

“I wanted a quick chat with you without a dozen ears listening to every word.”

“Yes, Tyr?”

“According to Nivom, you’re one of the better drakes in the Drakwatch, yet you always get overlooked because of your…well, let’s be frank about it, your injuries.”

The Tyr stood on his shelf and turned, as though finding a more comfortable spot from which to speak. The Copper marked heavy scarring, as from a burn, on the inside of one saa. He’d never seen the injury before, but then, the Tyr always rested so it was hidden against his underside.

“It is a wickedness that dragons count so much on appearances. That’s the way of the world, and there are some things that just can’t be changed. But you’ve got nice teeth and some impressive horns coming in. Hopefully they’ll draw attention from the rest as you grow into your wings.

“I’ll tell you this, Rugaard: It’s something that impressed me about you from the very first. You get around very well, considering that sii. There are dragons who’d play it up to inspire pity, and tell their tale of woe at every pause in the conversation. But now my hunt’s lost the game trail. Oh, yes. Obviously, you’ve done well as a courier, my eyes and ears and all that, and you’ve shown good judgment, which is worth a whole set of limbs.”

“Thank you, Tyr.”

“Do you know anything about our Uphold in Anaea?”

“We…the kern comes from there, does it not?”

“Do you like kern?”

“Not much. It fills one up, I suppose.”

“That’s how I feel as well. There are two varieties, yellow and orange, as you’ve probably seen when it’s mashed. The orange variety is rarer. But there’s something in kern—it keeps dragons who live long underground healthy. Without kern, scale doesn’t grow right, the teeth loosen, eyesight fades. Why, I’ve even seen an old darkwhittled dragon or two missing claws and teeth. These days it’s often overlooked, because we either eat it directly as mash or get it through livestock, but in my own grandsire’s generation darkwhittle was a very plague.”

“I’ll be sure to pay more attention to my ration,” the Copper said.

“And it’s quite cleansing. I think half SiDrakkon’s problem is that he doesn’t eat his unless it’s in a chicken’s stomach, and he’s always blocked up. So the pressure builds and he explodes out the other end.”

“I know it’s a long road to Anaea. Will I have a guide?”

“Yes, the Drakwatch is in charge of patrolling the road, and there are Firemaidens at a couple of key points as well. We’ll get you a guide.”

“What am I to do there? I hope the supply isn’t threatened.”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. It’s just that old FeLissarath and his mate deserve more help than they get, and I’d like to relieve some of their burdens. They’ve done their bit. Responsibility wears after a while. And they are cut off from society at the end of that long, dark road. They deserve to start taking an honored place in society here if they wish.”

The Copper bowed. “I’ll do my best, Tyr. Nothing shall threaten the supply of kern.”

“Then my mind shall be at ease. Let me tell you one more thing, Rugaard. I just said this to Nivom, by the way, so I apologize if it sounds practiced. The great dragons…well, they’re fine warriors and all that, but it’s the dragon that can handle the problems of peace that keeps an empire going. The greatest warrior fights least and all that. Do you understand?”

“I’m not sure that I do.”

“You will. In time. Now, no hurry about your departure. You have a good rest. Another mouthful of silver and gold before you leave this room, as well. Can’t be too careful where your scale is concerned. If you have any needs for thralls or anything, just see NoSohoth; he’ll attend to it.”

“Thank you, Tyr.”

“Oh, one other question. About the fighting in Bant. How much did you see of it?”

“I was there for the attack on the tower under construction. I missed much of the first attack on the city on the Black River, but I was there for the rest of it.”

“You know, it’s odd. SiDrakkon was in the thick of battle, from his reports—battle that cost the lives of four dragons. Yet there’s not a scar on him. Three engagements with heavy fighting would leave most dragons’ wings in tatters, yet he’s hardly holed. Did he lead his dragons against the Ghi men the whole time?”

The Copper wondered just how he could shade the truth. “He struck fast and hard. His attack on the first tower was brilliant. I saw him personally burn war machines on the first attempt to take the fortress. Even though we were thrown back, the campaign ended successfully. He deserves his share of the glory.”

“I don’t like dragons taking credit for the courage of others, you know. Don’t like it at all. Anything to add? Just between the two of us. If you’re worried about my mate, I don’t tell her everything, you know.” He winked.