Rain Wilds Chronicles (217 page)

He heard shouts and dragon roars and then felt the blast of hot air against him as other dragons landed. Riders were hitting the ground, pulling straps free, and then standing back as the unburdened dragons took flight again. He sat up slowly, taking care to retain possession of the deer. If nothing else, he intended to have a decent meal out of Tintaglia's rough treatment of him.

Sylve, her blond hair a mat of permanent tangles after days of windy flight, came to stand over him. “Are you all right?” she asked him timidly. Her fingertips touched her own lips and chin lightly, and she worried, “That's a lot of blood.”

He swiped his arm across his face. “Just a bloody nose,” he assured her. Staggering to his feet, he seized one of the deer's hind legs. “Let's carry this off before the dragons take it away from us,” he suggested.

She seized the other hind leg and they began dragging it over the desiccated earth. The air was hot and dry. The other keepers were already gathering in the dappled shade of one of the taller trees. Most of the other dragons had already left. Tintaglia was still crouched over her kills. He noticed that no dragon had been bold enough to claim any part of it. And that her harness had been removed. “Who unsaddled her?” he asked.

“Rapskal.” Sylve looked back at Tintaglia. The dragon was tearing a deer carcass in half, one foot bracing it on the ground. “Sometimes I think he's fearless. Other times, I think he's just stupid.”

“Sometimes they go together,” Reyn observed. His head suddenly spun, and he had to stand still. He dropped the deer leg and held his hands over his eyes for a moment. “She gave no thought to me at all when she dived on that herd,” he muttered. “No thought at all.”

“They never do,” Sylve agreed with him. “Oh, Mercor is better than most at considering what might happen to me. But even he dismisses my well-being when it comes to ‘dragon business.' Otherwise, I wouldn't be here at all.”

Rapskal, having approached them, overheard the last of their conversation. He stooped, gathered the deer's front and back legs in each hand, slung the carcass over his back, and stood up easily under the burden. Reyn's estimate of his strength abruptly changed.

“We cannot expect dragons to consider us: it is our duty to consider them. I think we will reach Chalced tomorrow and see the capital city soon after. We will be flying into battle immediately; there is no point in letting them prepare to meet us.”

They followed him, and now they reached the other keepers. Rapskal shrugged the deer off his shoulders, and it fell with a thud to the earth. He went down on one knee beside it, drawing his belt knife as he did so. Jerd came to stand at his shoulder and watch him. “We cannot expect them to think of us tomorrow during the battle. It will up to each of us to be sure we are securely fastened to our dragons. While we are mounted, our tasks are to watch for risks that our dragons may not notice. Of old, that would have meant that we had to watch for enemy dragons diving down on us or coming up behind us. That is not the case now, luckily.

“But the city of Chalced has long been fortified against its enemies. Of old, the fortified portion of the city of Chalced was upon a hilltop. I expect that will be the Duke's residence. In any case, it is what we must first destroy. The ballista there will be set to rain missiles down on an army approaching from below. But if some clever commander keeps his head and thinks clearly enough, he may be able to adjust his machinery to fling large stones upward at us. And bowmen with powerful bows on top of towers may be able to speed shafts toward us. Even a small arrow driving deep into tender flesh can do great damage to a dragon, as Tintaglia has shown us. So it is the task of every keeper to watch for dangers to his dragon. That, above all else, must concern you.”

As he spoke, he began gutting the deer. He watched his hands, but spoke loudly and clearly, obviously intending to reach all the keepers. Once he had opened it, Sylve crouched opposite him and began skinning it, pulling the hide toward herself as she slashed it efficiently free of the meat below. Nortel came with a long stick, to spear the heart on a spit. Kase and Boxter were already busy with tinder and broken tree limbs. A thin spiral of pale smoke began climbing skyward.

Rapskal rocked back onto his knees, the liver a dark mass in his hands. His arms were blood-smeared to the elbow. He lectured on. “If your dragon lands, you are at his command. He may tell you to go into a building to drive the enemy out to him. If he is injured and unable to fly, it is your task to defend him to the death if need be. He may choose to leave you on the ground so that he can fight unencumbered. It is his choice.” He flipped the liver to Nortel, who caught it adroitly.

“Do any of us actually like deer liver?” Nortel asked rhetorically, earning a scowl from Rapskal.

The red-scaled Elderling's knife moved surely, disjointing the deer's hindquarter. “Venom drift. Have we spoken of this before? Your Elderling garb will protect you if it's only a mist, but as soon as you possibly can, you should change clothing and discard the contaminated clothing. But it will protect only the parts of you that are covered, so if you see mist, cover your face and hands.”

He looked around sternly. He had freed a deer haunch from the carcass and had severed the shank free from it. “If it's more than mist, if it's a spray, then nothing can save you.” A look of knowing, of terrible weariness, came over his face, aging him far beyond his years. “If it's thick and coming your way, blow all your breath out, and breathe deep when it hits. Suck it in and you'll die fast. You won't even have time to scream.”

“Sweet Sa,” Reyn breathed out, horrified. Nortel's eyes were huge. Kase had gone so pale that the orange of his scales stood out on his face like errant flower petals.

“Does that happen?” Sylve asked. Her voice was steady but small.

“Sometimes,” Rapskal replied. “I've seen it.” His gaze was distant. He began to carve slabs of flesh off the haunch. Kase came with an armful of toasting sticks cut from a nearby bush. Without a word he passed them to keepers, who matter-of-factly began to claim shares of the meat. Reyn took his in turn and followed the group to the cook fire.

For a time, the conversation was of ordinary things. Who had salt? Did anyone want to eat the liver? Wondering what the ones who had remained in Kelsingra were doing and thinking. Reyn spoke of missing Malta and hoping that Phron did not grow too much while he was gone. Kase teased Sylve about being away from Harrikin. She blushed but freely admitted missing him. Sedric stared quietly at the fire.

Rapskal looked thoughtful. “Amarinda,” he said at last, and smiled sadly.

Jerd folded her legs, dropping down to sit beside him. She sighed. “You've seen many things in the stone, haven't you, Tellator?”

He looked at her consideringly. “I lived many things,” he replied. “And other things I know from the stone ancestors I chose for myself. If one is to be a warrior, then one chooses the accounts of warriors, to read them from the stone and to use their experience again. And so I am Tellator, but I am also the ones that Tellator incorporated into himself.”

Jerd was nodding slowly. Her eyes were traveling over his face in a way that made Reyn uncomfortable. Sylve spoke sharply. “And Amarinda? Did she also choose a stone ancestry for herself ?”

Rapskal's eyes shifted from Jerd to Sylve. He measured her and her reaction. Something in him went still before he replied diffidently, “She chose other talents for herself. Some things, as you know now, were not stored in the stone. Those she learned from her masters, and in time became a master herself. But some things she chose to learn from stone.

“Body skills are much easier to learn that way. Tumbling and juggling and sculpting, for example, are easier to master if one knows how the body feels as it performs those maneuvers. The flexibility and muscle, of course, must be gained from practice. They are much easier to achieve if one remembers the experience of having done it before. One feels confidence that it can be done. Swordsmanship, for instance.”

“And other physical skills?” Jerd asked him with a knowing smile.

He grinned back at her. “There are some topics that a man can never know too much about. Or a woman.”

Jerd shivered. She glanced at Sylve, and then asked him, “Could any woman be Amarinda? If I went to her memory stones, could not I learn her days with Tellator? And her nights?”

He looked at her consideringly. “You might,” he admitted. He started to say something more, than paused as if he had forgotten it. A line divided his brows, and for a moment he looked tragically young to Reyn. As if he might next crumple forward and weep like a child.

Sylve spoke for him. “You might learn all of Amarinda there is to know, but you still would not be Thymara.”

Jerd faced Sylve squarely, fists on her hips. She was a full head taller than Sylve, and for one horrified instant, Reyn thought she was going to hit her. Her voice was low and venomous. “I wouldn't want to be Thymara! Who would? She doesn't know what she wants. She just likes tormenting people.” She swung her gaze to Rapskal. “She wants to keep both you and Tats for herself, with no regard for your feelings.”

Rapskal dragged in a breath. His voice was a bit ragged. “Well. One thing Thymara does know is what she doesn't want. Or who.”

Jerd leaned closer. Nortel, her bed partner of the night before, narrowed his eyes as she said quietly to Rapskal, “She isn't the only woman in the world. Choose another.”

Sylve appeared to be choking as she tried to think of an appropriate insult for Jerd.

Rapskal stared at her, and for a moment his eyes were wide. He struggled with something. Then the instant passed, and a grim smile claimed his mouth. “I shall.” He looked at Jerd and dismissed her. He did not have to add the cutting words, “Like Thymara, I know well who I do not want.” He stood and stretched, his broad shoulders straining the Elderling fabric of his tunic. The captain grinned around at his men gathered around the campfire. “We should all get some sleep. Tomorrow we will reach Chalced. A city that is full of women, many of whom will doubtless be grateful to see the Duke fall. And willing to thank the victors.”

“Oh, Rapskal!” Sylve cried in a low, stricken voice.

Reyn thought that perhaps only he heard her. He thought of his own father, drowned in memories in Trehaug, of a man who was never himself again, never recognized his children or wife again.

But Kase's loud exclamation overrode all else as he said, “A city full of women!” He grinned at Boxter and added, “Tellator, what can you tell us of grateful women?”

“S
elden. Selden. It's time to be awake. You need to eat and drink.”

He opened his eyes. Full daylight was streaming into the room. The potted roses on the balcony had leafed out, and the wind that wandered into the room was mild. As if in answer to spring, Chassim had discarded her pale shroud. He had never realized her hair was so long. She had left it loose, and it cascaded past her shoulders. The simple robe she wore was a pale pink, sashed with white. There were little rosebud slippers on her small feet. She was crouched by his couch, patting his hand to awaken him. A laden tray waited on the low table beside him.

“You look like Spring herself,” he said sleepily, and she blushed as pink as her gown.

“You need to wake up and eat.”

He lifted his head and the room spun. He set it down again. “Is it today? Already?”

“I'm afraid so. I want you to eat and then rest again before they come for you.”

He lifted his arm and looked at it. Both his arms were swathed from wrist to elbow in neat white wrappings. But he knew what they looked like underneath. Black and blue bruising covered them. “One of the healers spoke of making a cut at my neck. The others argued, saying they might not be able to stem the flow of blood afterward.”

She rose abruptly and went to the balcony to stare out of the window. “You should eat,” she said hopelessly. In the distance, trumpets blared.

“Chassim. I fear I won't come back to you this time. Or that if I do, I may never awake again.”

“I fear the same,” she answered in a thick voice. “And as you see, I have prepared myself.” She gestured at her garments and then at the open window. “I've made my little plan. After they take you, I will wait on the balcony. If they are angry when they come to my door, I will jump then, before they can seize me. If they bring you back to me, but I fear you cannot wake again—”

“Take me with you,” he said quietly. “The worst fate I can imagine is to wake in this room and find you gone.”

She nodded slowly. “As you wish,” she said in a very small voice. She pulled herself up straighter and said, “But for now, you should eat.”

“I don't want to feel that depraved old man's mouth on my throat.”

She had started across the room toward him. At his words she shut her eyes tightly and turned her face from him, sickened. She drew a deep shuddering breath. “Just eat something,” she suggested.

“There's no point. If I'm going to take my own life, I'd sooner do it before they cut my throat and he sucks my blood again.”

“Selden—”

“Unless you'd like to dine with me. Shall we have a final meal together, Chassim?”

She came to his bedside, lifted the tray, and took it to a low table on the balcony. “Do you mind sitting on the floor?” she asked him. Her voice had become very calm. “If we are interrupted, if they chance to come early—”

“We can still escape. An excellent idea.”

He lifted his head, and this time the world did not spin. She came back to help him stand, letting him take his time. They crossed the room slowly, his legs wobbling with every step. His arms and wrists ached abominably. He was grateful to sink down on the floor beside the food. Chassim hastened to bring him cushions to lean against, and a coverlet to wrap about him. Spring was in the air, but he still shivered. “It feels good to be alive,” he told her.