Rain Wilds Chronicles (210 page)

Hest jumped and then cowered at the first blast of dragon trumpets. When the racket continued, he straightened slowly. It wasn't an attack. They wouldn't attack their own city. Probably nothing more serious than dogs barking at one another, or howling at the moon. His mouth hurt, his ribs ached, and he decided he had waited long enough. Let Sedric think he had won this round. Give him a tiny triumph so he didn't feel totally beaten. It would make their next encounter even more interesting when Hest brought him back to his knees. He started down the stairs.

He reached the next landing, but Sedric wasn't there. Nor on the next. “Sedric!” He put a sharper note into his voice. He was wearying of this game. The youngster had bruised him; Sedric had cut his mouth and now this foolish chase. Not amusing. None of it.

He reached the main floor and scanned the foyer. No sign of Sedric. The door to the plaza was ajar, and a chorus of dragon noises and people's raised voices washed in. A young man's voice was suddenly raised, the higher pitch cutting through the noise. “It's as I told you! It's not revenge. It's self-preservation. They've given us no choice!”

No. Sedric would not seek out that sort of conflict, not right now. Sedric had no interest in politics. And he would have only one thing on his mind. He would want to be alone when Hest found him. The baths? It hurt his mouth to smile. Of course. What better site for reconciliation and reunion?

He pushed open the huge door to the room. It moved easily for such a large slab. Designed for the dragons who shared it, of course. He found it a rather disgusting concept but had no objection to bathing there when no dragons were about.

But one was. The immense creature, so dark blue as to be almost black, had just emerged from the water. The liquid was sheeting off his gleaming hide, running in rivulets onto the floor. It was obviously trying to leave via the door Hest had just entered. Hest halted where he stood and eyed the wet animal disdainfully. He crabbed a few steps sideways to try and see past him. “Sedric!” he called.

Not here.

The dragon's voice was a low rumble, the force of his thought against Hest's mind almost stunning. Others had claimed to hear the dragons speaking to them, but he had dismissed those claims as the product of susceptible minds. But there was no mistaking this. The dragon had spoken to him and he had understood it. Fascinating. He halted and stared at him, Sedric forgotten for the moment.

The dragon clamor outside grew louder.

Move out of my way.

This close, he suddenly realized how magnificent a creature a dragon might be. Like a prize stud horse. Only much larger. As with a horse, he knew the key was to dominate it. “My name is Hest.” He kept his words simple and spoke clearly. “Do you have a name, dragon? What does your owner call you?”

The animal cocked his immense head like a puzzled dog. Then he yawned, showing some extremely large teeth and the interior of his mouth patterned in scarlet and yellow. He exhaled strongly, a foul blast of meat-scented moisture.
You are standing where I am going to walk. The others call to me.

Hest stood firm. “Dragon, come here.” He extended his hand and pointed to a spot directly in front of him.

When Hest didn't move, the dragon came a step nearer. Good. Obedience seemed to come to it easily. It spoke again.
Davvie serves me
. The dragon's eyes seemed to whirl slowly, thoughtfully.
Davvie does not like you. But I think I might.

Hest stood his ground, his mind spinning with new thoughts, as the creature came closer to him. The dragon obeyed him, and he could understand what it said. The dragon might prefer him to Davvie. Better and better. Let the boy think on that when Hest took his dragon. Yes, and let Carson and Sedric mull it over, too. He imagined himself returning to Bingtown as an Elderling astride his own dragon. If he took the dragon, if he became an Elderling, would not he be able to claim his own place in Kelsingra, regardless of what Alise or Sedric thought of him?

It was perfect. Vengeance, beauty, long life, and wealth were all within his reach. All he had to do was master the dragon and transfer its loyalty from Davvie to himself.

The dragon had come very close now. He was quite a stunning creature, really. Extraordinary. What was it like to own a dragon? Sedric had one, as did his primitive friend. Even the little pink girl with the gold scaling had a dragon. How hard could it be to master one if someone like Sedric had done it?

The dragon's eyes spun like whirlpools, gleaming swirls of deepest blue mixed with black. Hest imagined himself dressed in black and silver, astride the creature. A black saddle and bridle, trimmed in silver and blue. They would alight in the center of the main market in Bingtown, midmorning when the trade was thickest. He imagined how people would point and shout as they looked up at him on his circling dragon. They would scatter before him as they swooped down. “All eyes will be on me,” Hest murmured, entranced by his vision. He reached out to touch the dragon's muzzle.

It swung its head aside from his touch. That wouldn't do. “Dragon, stand still when I reach for you.”
Dragon?
That wouldn't do. Evidently Davvie had neglected to give his animal a name to answer to. Hest would correct that right now. “I will give you a name now, a special name to show you are mine.” Easy enough. No harder than naming a horse or dog. “Your name is Blue Glory now. Blue Glory. Do you understand, dragon? You're mine now, not Davvie's, and you have to learn to obey me. So when I call you Blue Glory, you should come to me. And stand still when I reach to touch you.” Hest spoke simply and firmly, dominating the animal with his stance and stare. He radiated confidence and command as he reached out a hand to rest it on the dragon's muzzle.

The animal's eyes were spinning more rapidly. Deep gold sparks seemed to ride the whirlpool of blue and black.

“That's better, Blue Glory. The sooner we understand each other, the easier this will be.”

Just as his fingertips brushed the animal's scaling, the dragon swung his head aside, lifting his head high and looking down on Hest. “I understand you, human. And I think I will give you a special name, too.” The words rode a low rumble of sound from the beast.

Extraordinary. But an excellent sign of how swiftly they were bonding. Hest smiled at his dragon. “Shall I help you, Blue Glory? You could call me Glory's Master. Or Silver Rider.”

The dragon still looked down on him, considering each name carefully. His eyes spun faster and faster. “No. I think not,” he said, and amusement shimmered in the rumbling voice. “I think I will name you ‘Meat.' ”

Then the creature turned his head sideways, his jaws opened wide, and the gleaming teeth and brilliantly colored maw came at Hest, swift as a serpent's strike. Hest jumped back, shouting in anger and fear, but the trumpeting of dragons outside swelled loud. Hest spun and dived for the steaming bath. The dragon snapped after him, and he felt a sharp tug at his leg before he fell free into the water. It had barely missed him.

The water was hot, almost scalding. Hest fought his way to the surface, sputtering and shuddering. He shook water from his eyes, snorted it out of his nose, and looked up to see the dragon standing at the edge of the pool. “I do like you,” the creature said, and there was no mistaking the amusement in its voice. “You're delicious.”

Hest drew a deep breath and prepared to dive beneath the steaming water. In one awful moment he glimpsed the red swirls in the water around him and grasped their significance. The dragon had not missed him. His leg was bleeding badly.

No.

His leg was gone.

He screamed then in the full horror of what had befallen him. Hest with one leg? Hest a pathetic cripple whom others would mock? “NO!” he shouted.

“Yes,” rumbled Blue Glory.

The open jaws closed on him, and his last scream was engulfed in the scarlet and yellow cavern of the dragon's maw.

Day the 16th of the Plough Moon

Year the 7th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

From Erek Dunwarrow and Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug

To Reyall, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

 

Reyall, it may soon be that the Masters of the Birds in Bingtown will request you to bring to them all my breeding records, including my side notes and nicknames for the birds, for an intense inspection and review. Please do not be alarmed. I wish you to be completely forthcoming with them and have complete confidence that I do not have anything I wish to hide.

We wish we could tell you more at this time, but we cannot. This note will be delivered to you by one or more masters of the Guild. Please take no alarm from this.

Truly, all is well, and will soon, we hope, be even better as a cloud of doubt that has hung over the Bird Keepers' Guild is dispelled.

Have faith in us.

Erek

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

Icefyre

T
hymara peered at the black dragon, trying to discern what was wrong with him. She took a half step forward, and Tats seized her upper arm and drew her back. “He's mad with pain,” Tats said apologetically. “He isn't one of ours, Thym. He might do anything.”

The battered black dragon threw back his head and roared again. The insides of his mouth and throat were bright green with red streaks. When he dropped his head, a red froth dripped from his mouth to sizzle on the paving stones. He stared around at all the gathered folk, his eyes swirling madly. Thymara could not tell if the sounds he was making indicated pain or whether he was threatening anyone who came near. He had not uttered a word that she understood. His half-folded wings were ragged and rent. Some of the tears looked old, but there were recent ones as well. He looked both healthy and yet battered. He lifted his head and roared again. Then he curled his head in and down and swung his head from side to side.

“Can't we help him?” Thymara spoke the words but didn't step forward again. When the dragons sounded the alarm, their keepers had come running from all directions. Thymara had thought Mercor and the other drakes would drive the black intruder away, but they had let him land.

“Icefyre.” Sintara had confirmed his name for her when she had reached toward her queen. “Stay clear of him. I think he's mad.”

All the keepers had gathered to stare at the oldest dragon in the world, but they had halted at a sensible distance. Mercor, Sestican, and Sintara were on the ground. Even they had not approached within striking distance of the black. The others circled overhead in a whirlwind of colors and wings. The keepers exchanged looks, but no one approached him.

And into the midst of the chaos came Heeby and Rapskal, dropping through the circling dragons like a dumpling falling into soup. The red dragon landed ungracefully, and her rider slid from her shoulder.

Tats gave a distressed groan.

“What is he thinking?” Thymara demanded of no one. Since their night in the well she'd kept Rapskal at arm's length. There had been moments, during a meal or a shared task, when he'd seemed to be his old self, and her heart had yearned for them to be friends as they'd once been. But then there were the moments when he seemed completely foreign to her, calling for death by dragon for the prisoners. Or, as now, dropping down into their midst in extravagant and fanciful dress. Rapskal had put a heavy shaft to one of the spearheads he'd found in the old armory, and he brandished it aloft as he walked in a slow circle around the black dragon. The scale armor he wore over his Elderling tunic and trousers shifted as he walked, and it seemed to Thymara that he deliberately rocked his hips as he walked to encourage the movement. It was effective. The sunlight caught and bounced off it, making him gleam black and gold. Heeby wore a matching harness. A water skin hung from it, and something that was perhaps a horn. Thymara could not identify the rest of the items that dangled from it. The red dragon jingled as she pranced to follow Rapskal, well pleased with herself.

He circled the growling and groaning dragon once before stopping directly in front of it.

“Now what?” Tats demanded.

“Rapskal, no!” Thymara cried, but he did not react to that name and she would not call him Tellator.

Rapskal walked fearlessly up to the roaring black, dropped to one knee before him, and bowed his head. At the sight of him, the black dragon's groans suddenly stilled. Rapskal lifted his head and his voice rang out clearly. “Kelsingra welcomes you, Glorious One! How may we serve you?” He swept a wide arm to indicate the outer circle of keepers and ship's crew. “I am Rapskal, Elderling to Heeby, the wondrous scarlet queen. I and all my fellow Elderlings would be honored to guide you to the Silver well and watch you drink. The baths await you, and attendants who would swoon with joy to groom every one of your glorious scales! As the dragons of Kelsingra have permitted you to come here, the Elderlings of Kelsingra stand ready to serve you. Tell us your need, O Eldest of Dragons, and we will rush to meet it.”

Silence flowed in to follow his words. The black dragon regarded him intently. Rapskal continued his obeisance, his face lifted fearlessly. At last the creature spoke. “Icefyre am I called by humans. At least one here recalls the old courtesies of your kind!” His gaze swept over them all, dragons and humans. “By treachery, I am poisoned. Humans have done this to me, luring me with fat cattle filled with death. If you have Silver, then lead me there. But I did not come here seeking Elderling praises or even Silver, though I welcome both. I came to see if any dragons still lived who are worthy of that name, if any would rise to avenge me against the ones who seek to kill dragons for their flesh.”

Rapskal stood and lifted his spear high. “If no other rises to serve in that glorious cause, I will go. Fearless Heeby and I will take to the skies and slay any who have dared to lift a hand against dragons.”

Mercor spoke. “I will lead you to the Silver and you may drink your fill. Then we
dragons
will speak of vengeance, when you are rested and all are gathered.” The golden drake's gaze swept over the gathered Elderlings and came to rest on Rapskal. “Do not speak for dragons, Rapskal. Not even Heeby.” His tone was severe. “Dragons alone can judge the gravity of the offense, and dragons alone will determine if it is an uprising against dragonkind, or foolish herdsmen seeking to claim grazing beasts as theirs alone.”

Instead of calming the black dragon, Mercor's words seemed to focus his anger. He lifted his head high, eyes whirling as he stared at the golden dragon. “Humans knew where I hunted and deliberately put out poisoned cattle. When I ate, I slept, and awoke sickened and weak. Then they came out with nets to snare me, and spears to let my blood flow and basins to catch it. They did not seek to kill me because I had eaten cattle. They put out cattle in the hopes that a dragon might become prey for them! But I was not as weakened as they thought. Many I killed! And many more will I kill!”

“Only if you live,” Mercor pointed out calmly. “First, we must give you strength against the poison. This way to the Silver.”

Mercor wheeled and walked away. Icefyre let his gaze wander balefully over the gathered humans, Elderlings, and dragons. Then he turned to follow Mercor. The other dragons fell in behind them, and the keepers parted to let the procession through. Heeby looked at Rapskal and then trailed after the others. Rapskal remained standing where he was. He looked mildly stunned.

The vortex of circling dragons shifted, and Thymara suspected they would land near the Silver reservoir and hold their council there. The keepers were left standing, looking at one another uneasily. Into the silence and stillness, Tintaglia descended. The blue queen had recovered most of her strength, but she still lacked flesh. As she landed, Malta hurried to meet her. Like her dragon, the Elderling queen was still recovering, but Thymara had to smile at her impeccable grooming. She wore not a tunic and trousers as most of the keepers did but a flowing gown with draped sleeves. Her face was still thin, but her hair had been dressed in meticulous curls heaped high on her head and framing her scarlet crest. Her face shone with welcome for the dragon who had saved her child.

Tintaglia accepted the welcome as her due. She looked after Icefyre's vanishing procession. “He made no cry for vengeance when I was the one who was dying,” she observed sourly to her Elderling. “Yet let them succeed in giving him a bellyache, and he will melt all their cities with venom.” She snorted in disgust, and added, “Vain as he is, he is right. And so I will tell the rest of them. The time has come. The city of Chalced must be destroyed.” She looked at her Elderling and added, “You should stay here. Dragons alone will decide what we will do next.” Malta halted, startled, and Tintaglia strode away from her.

“We have to take action!” Rapskal was undeterred in his effort to rally them. “We must begin to ready ourselves to ride to war now!”

Thymara sighed, and Tats took her hand. Harrikin lifted his voice. “We know nothing of war. Is this our vengeance to take?”

Rapskal shook his head as he turned to confront him. “It's as I told you! It's not revenge. It's self-preservation. They've given us no choice!”

“I'm afraid he's right.” Thymara was shocked to hear calm, sensible Alise taking that stand. The Bingtown woman's face was grave rather than fired with enthusiasm for war as she added, “You heard what he said. This wasn't about a dragon preying on herds and cattle owners becoming angry. This is humans hunting dragons for meat, scales, and blood. We have all heard Malta's tale. We have seen Tintaglia's suffering. The Chalcedeans we hold have admitted it is why they came, and now that they have failed, others will be sent. It cannot be ignored any longer.” She was not speaking in a loud voice, but her words were clear, and the keepers had begun to gather in a circle around her. Thymara thought that Leftrin looked as surprised as she herself felt, but he did not interrupt or contradict her. “I cannot speak for the dragons and what they will do, but at the least, humans should speak out against it.”

“They will not respond to people speaking. When has Chalced ever listened to us asking them to respect our boundaries and to stop preying on our ships?” Hennesey stood with his arms crossed on his chest.

“So it's war! Who goes with me?” Rapskal asked. He looked around at them all. Did anyone breathe? Thymara knew she did not.

He pulled something from his pouch, shook it out, and dragged it on over his head. A head covering. A helmet that shaped to his head, making him appear far less human as it capped his skull with overlapping scales. He gave his head a shake and a crest like a parrot's stood up on the helm. Thymara was torn between a desire to laugh or to gasp in horror as he became even more foreign to her. “All you who desire to be warriors must follow me to the armory, to see what weapons we can repair and what armor will fit you all. Some of your dragons will accept harnesses and be willing to bear you.”

“And others won't,” Tats predicted sourly. He stepped forward. “Rapskal, we are not warriors. I am good at hunting, and if a man lifts a hand to me, then I will stand up to him. But you are speaking of attacking a city, days and days away from here. A city full of people who have never even thought of coming here to prey on dragons. It's a completely insane idea. And the dragons have not yet said that they wish to go to battle. They told us, clearly, that it was their decision.”

Rapskal cocked his head. He appeared to listen for a time, then took a breath and looked around with confidence. “Icefyre has finished drinking. He believes he will soon be fully recovered. And the others have decided to take Tintaglia's advice. Strike at their main city, where their duke rules. Remind them that dragons are not riverpigs to be slaughtered as they wish, but the lords of the Three Realms, Earth, Sea and Sky.” He looked at Tats and said in a voice that was more Rapskal's than Tellator's, “Tats, will you ride beside me?”

Tats hesitated, looked at Thymara, and clasped her hand tightly for a moment before he let go of it. “I can't let you go alone, my friend. I'll go with you.”

The dragon doors to the baths swung open, and Kalo sauntered out. He looked fresh from the baths, but a strand of gut still dangled from the side of his mouth. Thymara reflected that for all their superior claims, not one of the dragons could groom well without a keeper's aid.

“Davvie!” the immense blue-black dragon bellowed. “Davvie, fetch a harness for me. We fly tomorrow at dawn.”

Davvie stepped forward, eluding Carson's reaching hand. His eyes were wide, but he did not seem altogether unwilling as he objected, “Kalo, we cannot be ready that fast. There are weapons to repair, and so much to learn.”

The dragon snorted disdainfully. “Begin now, and you will be ready when I summon you. Those who come with us will learn on the way. Icefyre has drunk from the Silver. He is recovering swiftly. Once he has hunted and eaten, we will take vengeance to the Duke of Chalced. I fly with Icefyre. Ready yourself or do not, as you please. This is dragons' business. We fly at dawn.”

Davvie stared at him. “I thought you were going hunting after you bathed . . .” he objected weakly.

“I am fed well enough for now. To the armory and quickly. I wish to be first to make a choice of the colors there.” With a fine disregard for his keeper, Kalo strode away.

S
intara watched the others as Icefyre drank from the Silver well. Tintaglia eyed the black dragon speculatively, as if measuring him against the other males. He was definitely larger than the others, but she knew that was not the best criteria in selecting a mate. She lifted her eyes and looked back toward the baths; watching for Kalo? Sintara copied the older female and compared him to Sestican and then looked at Mercor. High summer was the time for mating, but it was never too soon to assess one's choices.