Rain Wilds Chronicles (196 page)

He was one of the first ashore. Behind him, all was chaos on the boat and in the
waters between them. Men had jumped haphazardly, some on the river side of the vessels, to be swept
away in the stronger current there. Others were trapped between the ships, half blinded and stunned
by cold water and terror. They yammered and shrieked as the dragons swept back over them. The wind
of their passage rocked the vessels, and the cries of the drowning men were submerged by the
earsplitting roars of the dragons as they passed. Hest was stunned by the sound, staggering and
covering his ears. A full knowledge of the majesty and power of dragons suddenly filled him, and he
fell to his knees, weeping to think that he had dared defy such magnificent creatures. All around
him, men were doing the same, begging for forgiveness and promising lifelong servitude if only they
were spared. They knelt or prostrated themselves in the mud. Hest himself stood, his arms uplifted
to the sky, and suddenly realized he was shouting praise to their beauty. In the distance, the
dragons were beginning a wheeling turn. He knew two things with certainty: this time they returned
to kill, and then, with an even greater clarity, he knew that the thoughts and feelings of the past
few moments were not his own.
It's like a dream,
he told himself.
A dream in which I do and say things I would never do or say in my waking life. This
is not me; this is not of my own will.
Then, as the dragons approached, all rational thought
fled.

E
very human who could flee the ships
had. Sintara was vaguely aware of men wailing in trapped dismay. Some were jumping about, heedless
of how they damaged themselves as they fought chains that secured them to rowing benches. Humans
evidently confined humans. Why, she could not guess and did not find it intriguing enough to puzzle
about. It did not please her when Mercor led them to land in the shallows of the river and then wade
ashore, but she sensed his purpose. The humans were now cut off from their ships. A few, she knew,
fled mindlessly into the forest. They would die there, tonight or tomorrow. Humans were not able to
live without shelter and food.

But others crouched in the grasses or hid behind trees or simply prostrated
themselves, sick with terror. Not one had been killed by tooth or claw or dragon's breath. Those who
had perished had wrought their own deaths, their little minds unable to stand before the terrible
glamour of a dragon's wrath and majesty. As the dragons waded out of the river, some of their
captives wailed in terror. Then Heeby spoiled their grand procession out of the water by skidding to
a halt on the mud bank, sending muck up in a spattering spray over the cowering humans. Sintara
snorted in disdain.

She noticed that Rapskal did not leap down from the scarlet dragon's back until she
had moved to a less marshy site. Then he hopped down, his gay Elderling cloak aflutter about his
shoulders. Those few invaders who were capable of a response other than terror gasped in awe at the
sight of him. Grudgingly, she had to admit that he looked far grander than the squat humans in their
murky clothes. Tall and slender, he was a fitting companion to the dragons. He looked about, a grim
smile on his face, and then flung his cloak back over one shoulder. She felt almost proud of him as
he strode forward and ordered the humans, “Stand up! Come forward! It is time to be judged by those
you have wronged.”

They obeyed. Even as the dragons eased the glamour that held them, the humans
obeyed. Pulverized by terror, they had already been defeated. Wet and shaking with cold, they came
forward to stand in a huddle. They were a motley assortment. Some were in rags, thin and scarred.
Others were attired as bowmen, with leather on their wrists and close-fitting shirts, and there were
those in the finery of noblemen. Of old, dragons had known all these sorts of men and found that,
stripped of their fabrics, they were all soft-skinned shrieking monkeys.

H
est found himself obeying the command
to come forward for judgment. He had found a small corner of his mind to call his own, so even as he
stepped forward to join the others in a kneeling row, he recognized that the awe and terror he felt
were not entirely rational. He dared a quick glance at the faces of his fellow captives. Some looked
as blank as sheep facing slaughter, but in others, he saw the struggle in their eyes. He knew a
moment of consternation that some of the Chalcedean's rowing slaves were more cognizant of their own
minds than the nobles who had commanded them. Then there was no time to think of anything, for a
tall scarlet warrior was striding toward the line. Hest had never seen such bright garments as he
wore. He walked with a fighter's stride, but wore no armor nor carried any weapon. Perhaps he needed
none.

He stopped a short distance from them. A red dragon had followed him to his
inspection, but it was the great golden dragon that towered over both of them that held Hest's gaze.
The creature's eyes were large and liquid, black over blackness. They seemed to swirl as he gazed
into them, radiating calm. The largest dragon of all, a blue-black mountain, towered over the
others. Light seemed to sink into him and vanish into his shimmering anger. His silver eyes
reflected nothing. Someone spoke, the red man or the dragon, Hest did not know. “Have you offered
harm to a dragon?”

“No,” he said, for he had not. He had never shot an arrow or jabbed with a spear. He
found himself standing and stepping back. Others were doing the same, slaves and crewmen and even
one of the Chalcedean bowmen. Some remained kneeling, and Hest had an ominous sensation of doom.

“Judgment is done,” the scarlet man proclaimed. “You who have dared to raise hands
against the glory of a dragon will spend the rest of your lives in servitude to them. That is the
mercy of Mercor the Wise. A workman's village awaits you, where you can become useful. If you fail
to serve willingly and well, you will be eaten. One way or another, your lives are forfeit for what
you have done. You others have been part of a most evil expedition. You are not without guilt. But
your families can buy you back, if they are inclined. If not, you can find useful labor among us.
That will be discussed later, after we reach Kelsingra. For now, those who are evil will be
transported in constraints.” He narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then pointed at two slaves and a
crewman. “You three will see to that. Confine them. Then organize a crew. The rest of you will bring
the ships to Kelsingra. Those we claim as rightful booty, for you have invaded our territory without
our permission and forfeit all that you have brought with you.”

He turned away from them and the shocked murmur that was arising. “That is as much
mercy as can be offered to you,” he concluded without regret and walked back to the waiting red
dragon. She lowered her huge head and sniffed him. He stroked her face, his own expression becoming
silly with affection for the beast.

Hest knew a moment of utter disbelief. “But . . .” he began to protest,
and then fell silent as the Chalcedean leaped to his feet. He shook his head like a man who stands
in a swarm of midges and then raised a shout. “No! I will never be a slave. I am Lord Dargen of
Chalced and I will sooner die than bow my head to the yoke!”

His hands were just as fast as Hest remembered them. The little knives were snatched
from hiding and took flight as if they had wills of their own. They did not miss. They rattled like
hailstones off the hulking blue-black dragon's thick scales. One stuck for a moment at the corner of
one of the great creature's silvery eyes. He shook his head and the dagger fell free. An oily drop
of scarlet dragon blood welled from the wound and began a slow slide down the dragon's face.

The Chalcedean gave a shout of triumph. It rang oddly in the absolute silence that
had framed his act. Then a smaller silver dragon gave a shrill trumpet of outrage. But the
blue-black one made no sound as he took one step forward. All around the Chalcedean, his fellows
crouched or cowered as the dragon stretched his head toward the man. He did not hiss or roar as he
opened his jaws. As a man might snap an offending branch from a wayside path, the dragon bit the
Chalcedean in half. In one head-snapping gulp he swallowed his head and torso. A moment later, he
picked up the man's hips and legs and likewise downed them. Then he turned and stalked off. One of
Lord Dargen's hands and part of a forearm had been sheared off in the dragon's first bite. It
remained where it had fallen, palm up on the muddy earth as if offering a final plea. One of the
other Chalcedeans turned aside and vomited noisily.

The scarlet man seemed unsurprised and untroubled. “He has had his wish. He will not
bow his head.” He turned back to his dragon and vaulted lightly onto her shoulder and then settled
himself just forward of her wings. She snapped her wings wide. All around them, the other dragons
were crouching and then leaping skyward. Wave after wave of wind, heavy with the smell of dragon,
washed over Hest, until only the red dragon and her scarlet rider remained. The warrior looked over
them with hard eyes.

“Do not be slow. If you need guidance, look to the sky. There will always be a
dragon over you, making sure that you do not pause until you reach Kelsingra.”

Then, to Hest's astonishment, the red dragon made a trundling run down the muddy
strip of riverbank before leaping into the air. She flapped her wings frantically and ungracefully
until she was airborne. In another time and place, he might have laughed at her ridiculous launch.
Today, he knew only a moment of great relief that the dragons were gone.

A ringing in his ears that he had not noticed faded. He blinked. The day seemed
dimmer, the smells of the swampy riverbank less intense. Around him, other men were shifting,
looking at one another, shaking their heads and rubbing their eyes.

“They made us accuse ourselves!” one of the Chalcedeans shouted in fury.

A slave next to Hest stared at the man, and then a sneer crossed his face. “Is that
what it takes to make a Chalcedean tell the truth? A dragon standing over you?”

The man lifted his fists and advanced on the slave, who stood his ground to meet
him.

Someone screamed. A silver dragon swept in low over them, and the slave stood alone.
Hest had a glimpse of a body dangling from the dragon's jaws before it flew over the trees and out
of sight. He turned and ran for the ships. He was not the first to get there.

T
here was an interruption in the light.
And another. A gust of wind rattled the tall rushes all around her. Tintaglia managed to open one
eye a slit. She was still dreaming. A female green dragon looked down on her.
Too late.

I fear you are right
.

She had not seen the golden dragon. He had landed behind her. It was only now as his
head came into view that she knew he was there. He sniffed her, his black eyes roiling with sorrow.
The infections are too far advanced. She will not fly again.
He lifted
his head.
A shameful way for us to lose her. Killed by humans. No dragon should
die so.

Other dragons were alighting nearby. A blue queen, a silver drake, a lavender drake.
Dragons. Real dragons, dragons that could fly and hunt.

Dragons have avenged you, Tintaglia,
the golden one told
her, as if he could sense her next thought.
The humans have been judged and
punished. Never again will any of them lift a hand against dragons.
The golden dragon glanced
skyward.
You were long coming back to us. Perhaps you had given up on us just
as we had given up on you. But we will not abandon you here. Your flesh will not rot, nor be food
for rats and ants. Kalo will gather your memories, blue queen. And all of us here will bear our
recollections ever forward through time. Your name and deeds will not be forgotten among
dragonkind.

A scarlet Elderling stepped forward. She had not seen him, had not known that
Elderlings had returned to the world. She thought of the three she had begun and knew a moment of
sorrow. Incomplete, and without her continued presence in their lives, doomed to die. The scarlet
Elderling was speaking. “ . . . and a statue to your glory shall be raised in the
center of the new Kelsingra. Savior of dragonkind, first queen of the new generation,
Serpent-Helper, you will never be forgotten so long as Elderlings and dragons still breathe in this
world.”

His praise warmed her, but only faintly. He was not a singer such as Selden had
been. She thought of her little dragon singer, only a boy when she had claimed him, and knew a
moment of nostalgia for him. Dying, she sent a thought winging to him.
Sing for
me, Selden. For whatever time remains to you before my death ends you, sing of your dragon and your
love for her.

Somewhere in the distance, she thought she felt a response from him, the sympathetic
thrumming of a far string in tune with her own heart chords. She closed her eyes. It was good to
know that a drake would circle over her and watch her death, good to know that no small animals
would chew at her as she lay dying, that her memories would not be feed for maggots and ants. All
she had learned in this life, all she had known would go on in some form. It would have been better
if she had been able to lay her eggs, if she had died knowing that one hot day her serpent offspring
would wriggle free of their shells and slither down the beaches to begin their sojourn as sea
serpents. It would have been better, but this, at least, was as good a death as any dragon might
have.

T
he keepers had awakened to a city
bereft of dragons. None strolled out from the baths, gleaming in the spring dawn. None alighted in
the square with a rush of wing and wind. In the absence of the dragons, the city became vast and
empty and far too large for humans.