Page 54 of Dragon Fate (Age of Fire 6)

“Start. That is, if you want a choice selection of my dinner.”

The rats, in their greedy way, brought back memories of the bats he’d traveled with through the Lower World with Fer-nadad and his family. But he’d learned his lesson and didn’t become close to any of the individuals.

Each day he counted the number rushing to his food, and brought his tail down hard to scare away the extras bringing up the rear. The rats were ninnies who couldn’t count—their numbering ascended “one, pair, mob.” Therefore anyone who wasn’t first or second to the food feared being eaten himself, so they all rushed out of the walls like a living carpet when he called them to dinner.

After they stripped the meat, they gnawed bones and told him of the doings in the tower. Much of it was garbled—“wide wings fighting lopside, luck in for fooding”—and he had to repeat questions to put together a sensible answer. But it diverted his mind from nerving himself for the future.

Most of the gossip they brought was useless. The rats paid very close attention to the biological cycles of the dragons of the tower, for solid dragon-waste was almost as good as a filched meal. According to the disgusting stories of the rodents, dragon-droppings made for a fine meal, being a perfect mé-lange of the odds and ends the dragons ate, with hides and cartilage conveniently digested.

Though it was useful knowing which dragon was constipated, and therefore irritable and to be avoided if you didn’t like an angry bash of a territorial tail as you climbed up to take in some sun and air.

He took a short flight with a dragon named Skystreak, a thin-framed male whose usual employment was sending messages from Hypatia to its reclaimed colonies across the Inland Ocean. The Copper thought it strange that there were no dragons of the Empire willing to take that duty. Perhaps NoSohoth didn’t like the idea of another dragon of the Empire handling his mail. NoSohoth always had at least three coinmaking schemes behind his back at any one moment of his life.

Or it was a convenient way for this Skystreak to serve as an agent, reporting on the activities of the Dragon Tower of Juutfod.

Skystreak didn’t seem like the sort of dragon NoSohoth would choose as a spy. He was fidgety and inattentive when not flying and kept up a steady stream of chatter that would do the most gossipy old dragon-dame credit.

“All the barbarian tribes right up against Juutfod are the weaklings, little clans that lost out in some war or other. They know the Northerns—as the men of Juutfod like to call themselves, not Hypatians but not barbarians, either—will take alarm at the approach of a war-bent tribe and fight. The best of them serve in the tower, thinking it’s glamorous. They usually quit within a year when they see that most of the coin goes down dragon gullets and the workers spend most of their time moving food in and dragoncast out. South of here it’s actually less densely populated, even though it’s Hypatian territory, because of barbarian raids. Good country for herding, if you can keep the wolves down and the Red Mountain dwarfs from bagging your lambs. There’s a scattering of Ironriders who have settled in the woods and are doing well; a few of them even found their way to Juutfod and married. Good to get some fresh blood in the man-strains, don’t you think? Juutfod used to be a good trade port, but the local thane—yes, they adopted the Hypatian title—he started leveling dockage or demurrage or some man-word so the merchant houses pulled up stakes. Fishing and lobstering’s good here, Gettel says it’s all the dragoncast dumped in the bay. The fishermen do their smoking and potting out on the barrier islands to keep the thane’s hands out of their pockets. Fishermen think it’s good luck to toss a fish to a dragon and they pull up some big blue-tops with red meat, very tasty. If you like mutton you’re better off getting it straight from the herdsmen . . .”

On and on it went. The Copper simply enjoyed the salty smell of the Inland Ocean and the strong, steady wind that made flying easier with a fixed-open joint. He re-promised himself that he’d settle with Natasatch within smelling distance of the ocean, if he ever saw their reunion come to fruition.

After his first week, the rats finally brought him an interesting tidbit.

“Down-belows extra-extra fooding,” this rat said. The Copper found him harder to understand than Red Ears, mostly because he spoke through a mouthful of boiled potato.

“Who are the down-belows?”

“Cave dragons. No wallspace. Eat rat-folk.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you saying there are dragons in a cave beneath the tower?”

“Maybe so not like you. Swim dragons, crawl dragons.”

The Copper gave up and decided to investigate.

It took him a while to find the correct cave down. He ended up following a set of rails for a wheeled cart, such as the dwarfs used in their mines, adopted by the dragons and other underground races. A food cart made the trip down every other day.

He spoke to the men who drove the cart. It turned out there was no great secret about the other dragons. They just weren’t housed in the tower because they didn’t fly. The men called the underground dragons the “pensioners”—most of them were dragons who, because of wounds and injury, could no longer fly.

It was gloomy in the underground. There were a few attempts to grow cave-moss, but it hardly glowed enough to reveal itself. Maybe salt air wasn’t good for it. He followed the food cart into a larger chamber, bow-shaped so that dripping water pooled at the center. Dragon perches, some natural and some cut, punctuated each side of the chamber like the holes of a human flute.

The cart-men halted their load and rang a bell. Gettel was fond of bells.

As the ringing faded, he heard a familiar sound in the darkness. Grinding teeth, followed by a yawn from the first alcove on the right.

“Shadowcatch, can that be you?” he asked.

Two eyes popped open wide. “My Tyr!” the black dragon said.

He’d met the enormous Shadowcatch in battle on the other side of the Inland Ocean. Eventually the black had become his bodyguard. He was the only dragon to remain overtly loyal to him after he had resigned the title of Tyr.

“That’s all done with, don’t you remember?” the Copper asked, regretting the choke that found its way into his voice.

Shadowcatch emerged. He was as huge as ever, but one wing hung crooked. “For me, sir, it’s the rest that’s done. Truth be told, you’re my Tyr, the Tyr, until my last breath escapes.”

“What brought you here? Surely not the comforts of a home-cave.”

He looked at the dank walls. “Not the best of accommodations, are they? Truth be told, there’s not a dragon down here that doesn’t deserve better, but we’re charity cases these days. We’re the tower guard, and that’s about all we’re good for. Or tunnel-fighting. Our flying days are over, and it’s this or starve in the forest and have the wolves scatter our bones.”

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