Well, he already knew the Dragon’s empire was in serious trouble.
Tyrez swallowed, and banked to follow them. There could only be one reason for their presence here. Exiled or not, he wasn’t letting them do it without him being there.
Razir was instantly aware of him, and the human figure riding upon his back glanced up as well. Tyrez stifled his anger. For both Taran and the Emperor to leave the palace’s safety—if he’d needed proof that the leadership teetered on the brink of collapse, this would be it. One strike by Rindek, here and now, and the Dragon’s empire would fall into chaos.
His father must be losing his scaly mind.
By the time they banked to land by the main entrance, Tyrez struggled to contain his rage. As a Gryphon sentinel vanished into the tunnels, the Dragons began to shift to human.
Tyrez thumped down behind them, and demanded, “The guards stays as Dragons. We’lls needs them to bes prepared.”
The two older Legion soldiers and Razir were already human. His younger brother stood beside Taran and the Emperor, who emerged from the shift as a man stooped, his hair pure white. It shocked Tyrez—his father looked to have aged a hundred years nearly overnight.
While the two older Legion trainers stood with stoic faces, the youngsters stared from them to Tyrez with wide Dragon eyes.
“You have no right to order them,” his father hissed.
Tyrez embraced his human form in seconds, his words partly slurred as his face shifted. “Ands yous shouldn’t be here. One strike, and Rindek has accomplished his goal.”
His father glowered. Taran, standing hunched beside him, avoided Tyrez’s gaze. He wore a cape draped over the missing arm, and his face was gaunt. Tyrez worried that he might collapse, an assessment confirmed by the fact Razir hovered close.
His father began to speak, but Razir interrupted him. “He’s right.” His brother gestured to the young guards. “Stay in Dragon form. You three—in the air. Circle the mountain range. You two—watch the gate. The rest—station yourselves at this entrance. Anyone see anything—you holler.”
The youngsters hustled to obey. The three stationed at the entrance backed against the rock, trying to pretend they couldn’t hear every word that was said.
His father’s eyes narrowed at Tyrez. “Considering the Dragons have jurisdiction over this region, this falls under the rules of your exile. You should not be here.”
“I respect the exile boundaries. But until Ash has recovered, I am here as an invited guest of the Gryphons.” Tyrez crossed his arms. “I assume you came to see Ash?”
Razir answered. “We need to know if the Oracle has seen the future. So that we can be prepared.”
“I should have you arrested and dragged back in chains,” the Emperor hissed.
The savagery of his father’s rage hit Tyrez hard. He’d broken the rules, yes. His father had obviously felt betrayed by his son’s choice to save Dani. But there was more, there. Was the unreasonable rage another sign of his father’s failing mind?
Taran finally stirred. “We have bigger concerns, Father.” His deep voice was rough with pain and fatigue, and the eyes that rose to Tyrez’s reflected both. “We must see the Oracle.”
Tyrez appreciated his brother’s attempt to focus the old Dragon. The Emperor ruled until he agreed to step down or someone challenged him. And Taran’s place in the hierarchy was now in question.
The challenge law had not been put into effect for generations. If someone were to step up now, his father had the option to select a warrior to fight for him. Most often, it was his chosen successor. Over the Dragons’ very long history, this rule had ensured that age, and the wisdom it engendered, prevailed within the power structure.
It would have eventually led to Taran becoming Emperor. He had been the strongest of the Legion Dragons, and his father’s logical choice for both champion and heir to the throne.
Even if Taran regained his strength, with his injuries he would be unlikely to prevail against another Dragon. If the Emperor were to drop dead at this very moment, a succession that had once been set in stone would be on very wobbly ground indeed. If the challenge came now, the Emperor would be forced to select another champion. That would mean someone other than Taran, who couldn’t hope to defeat a winged Dragon without both his own. It would be considered a declaration of a successor other than his eldest son.
The Matriarch had hinted, more than once, that Tyrez was the next logical choice. Razir was the youngest son, just coming into adulthood. Not yet a candidate, although he was only one cycle younger than Tyrez.
In one very personal respect, this exile was a good thing. Tyrez had zero desire to be Emperor. Taran could think strategic circles around him, most of the time. It was his arrogance that had led to this mess, not a lack of brainpower.
And Razir—Razir might have to grow up fast.
Taran had taken his father’s arm and was speaking softly to him. Tyrez moved closer to Razir. “You are looking good, brother.”
It was an exaggeration, but compared to how he’d looked in the meadow, the purple-hued Dragon appeared much better.
Razir grimaced. “I’m weak as a bloody kitten. Could barely carry Taran, if I’m honest. But he insisted.”
Taran and the Emperor broke apart as a Gryphon emerged from down the tunnel. It was Aphostra’s mate. When he saw them, his neck feathers bristled and then flattened close to his skin.
