Dragon Keeper

by Robin Hobb

  Sintara opened her eyes again. There was no recapturing the dream, and the memory was a thin and tattered substitute. She could hear the river muttering past the muddy banks, but she also heard the stentorian breathing of a dozen other dragons sleeping close by. There was no comparison between the dream and her reality.

  Mercor had set his plan into motion with meticulous precision. He had never voiced his rumor directly to a human. Always, he had arranged for the dragons to be speaking casually of the wonders of Kelsingra when humans chanced to be nearby. Once, it had been as workers were carrying a beautiful mirror frame out of the buried city. She recognized the material it was made from, a peculiar metal that when stroked, emitted light. Mercor had glanced at it and turned aside to remark to Sestican, “Do you recall the mirrored chamber of the Queen’s Palace in Kelsingra? Over seven thousand gems were set in the ceiling mirrors alone. How they flared with light and perfume when she entered!”

  Another time, it had been when the hunters had brought them the gamy remains of a stag to eat. As Mercor accepted his pitifully small share, he observed, “There was a statue of an elk in the King’s Hall at Kelsingra, was there not? Of ivory overlaid with gold, and his eyes were two immense black jewels. Remember how they shone when they activated him, and how he would paw the earth and toss his head when anyone entered the king’s chambers?”

  Lies, all lies. If any such treasures had ever existed anywhere, Sintara did not recall them. But each time the humans paused and watched him as he spoke, even if he did not glance in their direction. And before the moon had changed, humans came to them in the darkness, without torches, to whisper questions about Kelsingra. How far away had it been? Was it built on high ground or low? How large a city? Of what were the buildings constructed? And Mercor had lied to them as it suited him, telling them that it was not all that far, that it had been built on high ground, and that all the buildings were built of marble and jade. But more than that, he would not tell them, not landmarks that had been nor how many days’ travel it had once been from Cassarick. Nor would he consent to help a human make a map of where it once had been.

  “Impossible to tell,” he explained affably. “In those days, the river was fed by a hundred tributaries. There was a great lake before one came to Kelsingra. That I recall. But more than that, well, I could not say. I could go there and find it again, I am sure, if I had a mind to do so and a way to feed myself. But, no, it is not a thing I can put into words.”

  The next evening, there had been other men, asking the same questions, and two nights later, still more. All received the same teasing answers. Finally there had come by daylight half a dozen members of the Cassarick Traders’ Council to offer a proposal to the dragons. And with them, incensed and fearful, came Malta the Elderling, dressed all in cloth of gold with a turban of white and scarlet on her head.

  Only at Malta’s request had all the dragons gathered to hear what the Council proposed. The Council had seemed to think that if they spoke to the largest dragon and gained his assent, they would have a binding agreement. Malta had laughed aloud at that and insisted that all be summoned. Then the head of the Council, a thin man with so little meat to his bones that he wouldn’t have been worth the trouble of eating, spoke for a long time. Many unctuous words and promises he uttered, saying that the Council was troubled by the poor conditions the dragons were enduring, and that they hoped to help them return to their former homeland.

  Mercor had assured them that they knew the humans were doing their best, and that dragons had no “homeland” but were in their rightful forms Lords of the Three Realms of earth, sea, and sky. He had blandly pretended not to understand the broad hints the Council leader dropped, until finally Malta cut through his foolishness to say bluntly, “They think you can lead them to Kelsingra and that they will find vast treasure there. They seek to persuade you to leave here and go in search of that fabled city. But I, who love all of you, fear that they are merely sending you off to your deaths. You must tell them no.”

  But Mercor had not heeded her advice. Instead he had said sadly, “Such a journey would be an impossible undertaking. We would starve long before we led you to Kelsingra. Every one of us is willing to undertake such a journey. But there are among us some who are small and weak. We would need hunters to feed them, and attendants to groom us and tend us as the Elderlings used to do. No. I fear it would be impossible. I need not say no because yes would be meaningless.”

  Then despite Malta’s interruptions and pleadings and even her angry shouts, they struck a bargain. The Council would find for them hunters and attendants who would accompany them and hunt for them and tend them in every way. And in return, all the dragons had to do was lead them to Kelsingra or where it once had been.

  “To this, we can agree,” Mercor had told them gravely.

  “They are tricking you!” Malta had objected. “They wish only to be rid of you, so that they can dig up Cassarick more easily and be done with feeding you. Dragons, listen to me, please.”

  But the deal had been struck. Kalo had pressed his muddy, inky foot to a piece of parchment held up to him, as if such a ridiculous ceremony could bind one dragon, let alone all them. Malta had gritted her teeth and knotted her fists as the Council proclaimed this was, indeed, the best plan. And Sintara had felt a shred of pity for the young Elderling who stood in such firm opposition to what the dragons themselves had manipulated the humans into offering them. She had hoped Mercor would find a way to have a quiet word with her. But either he did not care to do so or he thought it might endanger his plan. When the Council members left, she went with them, still pink cheeked with fury.

  “This is not final!” she had warned them. “You need the signatures of every Council member to make this legal! Don’t think I’ll stand idly by while you do this!”

  The glimpse of Malta had made her sad, and no doubt was responsible for her dreams. She was a young Elderling, a human newly changed into that form. She had years of growing and changing ahead of her, if she were to become all that the Elderlings of old had been.

  But she would not. Some of the humans looked at her with wonder, but as many regarded her with disdain. She wondered what would become of Malta and Selden and Reyn now that Tintaglia had abandoned the new Elderlings, just as she had abandoned the other dragons. She did not fault Tintaglia for being gone. It was the dragon way to see first to one’s own needs. She had found a mate and better hunting grounds, and eventually she would lay eggs and they would hatch into serpents. The dragon cycle, the true dragon cycle, would begin again as those serpents entered the sea.

  But in the years until then, Sintara and the other dragons were all that existed in the Rain Wilds. All of them were creatures from another time, reborn into a world that no longer remembered them. And unfortunately they had returned in dwindled forms that were unfit for this world.

  Lords of the Three Realms, they had once called themselves. Sea, land, and sky had all belonged to dragons and their kin. No one had been capable of denying anything to them. They had been masters of all.

  And now they were masters of nothing, doomed to mud and carrion and, Sintara did not doubt, a slow death by slog up the river. She closed her eyes again. When the time came, she would go. Not because she was bound by Kalo’s word, but because there was no future in staying here. If she must die as a crippled, broken thing, she would at least take a small measure of life first.

  IT WAS NOT quite dawn when Alise awoke. She doubted that she had been asleep more than a few hours. She opened her eyes at the slight creak of her cabin door being unfastened and held her breath, and only then realized that a soft tap at her door had been what wakened her. “Are you awake?” Captain Leftrin asked quietly.

  “I am now,” she said and drew the bedcovers up to her chin. Her heart was hammering in her breast. What did the man want, coming to her cabin in the darkness before dawn?

  He answered her unspoken question. “Sorry to intrude, but I need to get a clean shirt. T
he local council wants to talk to me, right away. Apparently they’ve been watching and waiting for me to dock. A runner came to the ship late last night with a message. Says they need to finalize the contracts for moving the dragons as soon as possible.” He shook his head, more to himself than to her. “Something’s up. The whole thing smacks of someone trying to beat someone else to a prize. This isn’t like the Council at all. They always like to pretend there’s all the time in the world and keep me tied up bargaining until I have to take their terms or run out of ready cash.”

  “Move the dragons as soon as possible?” At those words, her mind had frozen. She sat up in his bunk but kept the blankets clutched to her. “Where are they moving them so quickly? Why?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am. I expect that when I meet with them, I’ll find out. The word they sent was that they wanted to see me as early as possible. So I have to be on my way.”

  “I’m going with you.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how forward they sounded. Nothing he had said had even hinted he might welcome her company. And she hadn’t asked if she might accompany him, she’d announced it. Was her newfound ability to make decisions for herself suddenly going to get her into trouble?

  But he only said, “I thought you might want to. Let me get some things and clear out of the cabin so you can have your privacy. I’ll fry a couple of extra pieces of bread and set out a coffee mug for you.” He moved about the cabin as he spoke, taking a shirt from a hook and scooping up the box that held his shaving razor and soap. She could not help but notice that what Sedric had said was true. The shirt was one he’d worn several days ago, and she’d never seen it washed or dried. She found she didn’t care.

  As soon as the door closed quietly behind him, she sprang from the bed. Suspecting that her day might involve climbing a lot of steps if not ladders, she dressed in a split skirt and boots as if she were going riding. The blouse she put on was a sensible one of thick cotton. She added a nut-brown jacket of sturdy duck and belted it securely around her waist. There. She might cut a rather mannish figure, but she’d be ready for anything the day handed her. The captain’s small mirror showed her that her days on the river had multiplied and darkened her freckles. And her hair was baked to orange and near as dry as straw despite the sun hats she had been wearing. For a moment, the sheer homeliness of her image daunted her. Then she squared her shoulders and straightened her mouth. She hadn’t come here to be admired, but to study the dragons. Her fortune was not and never had been in her face. It was her mind that counted. She narrowed her eyes at the mirror, thrust her chin forward, snatched up a plain hat of woven straw, and jammed it on her head.

  She found Captain Leftrin alone at the galley table. Two steaming mugs of coffee waited there. His back was to her as she entered, and he was frying thick slices of yellow bread on the galley stove. A sticky pot of treacle and two heavy earthenware plates awaited the bread. As Leftrin turned to slide a slice of bread onto each plate, he smiled at her. “Well, that was quick! It always took my sister half a day to get dressed to do anything. But here you are, all ready to go and pretty as a picture to boot!”

  She was shocked to feel a blush rose her cheeks. “You are too kind,” she managed to say, and disliked how formal a response that seemed. She wished that Sedric had not put it in her head that it was inappropriate for her to encourage the captain’s rustic flirting. It is just his manner, she told herself firmly. It’s nothing to do with me, and she took her place at the table.

  It seemed they were the only two people astir on the boat. She took a sip of the coffee. It was thick and black and had probably been kept on the ship’s stove all night. There was no cream to tame it with so she followed the sailors’ previous example and generously ladled treacle into it. It tasted like sweet tar then instead of just tar. She trickled threads of syrup over her fried bread and ate it while it was hot. They breakfasted with more efficiency than manners. Leftrin cleared the table, clattering the plates and mugs into a dish pan. “Shall we go, then?” he invited her, and she responded with a nod.

  They left the galley together, and he offered her his hand to disembark from the ship. As they had put out no gangplank, this required a small jump from the scow to the dock. Once she had landed safely, it seemed only natural to accept the arm that he offered her. As they strolled down the docks in the early-morning light, he gestured to the boats they passed, telling her their names and a bit about each one. Tarman was the largest vessel by far. “And the oldest,” he told her proudly. “When they built him, they didn’t spare the wizardwood. The river has eaten thousands of boats since he was launched, but Tarman takes the river, rocks, and acid flows and snags, and just keeps on splitting the water.”

  When they left the floating docks, it was to step from them onto a wide path of beaten earth. The ground gave strangely under her feet. “It’s a leather road,” he told her. “It’s an old technique. Layers of tanned hides over logs, and cedar branches and bark in the thick layer over that, then more hides and finally ash, and then a layer of earth over all. The rot process is slowed, and the wood-and-leather layers have some buoyancy. It doesn’t last forever, but if they didn’t do something, this road would be trodden to mud in a few weeks, and soon after that water would seep up and fill it in. May not look like much, but it cost Cassarick a pretty penny to make it. And here we are at the lift station. Or would you prefer the stairs?”

  There at the base of an immense tree was a spiral staircase that wound up and around the tree’s trunk. She craned her head back and saw the lowest level of Cassarick above her. Beside the staircase as an alternative was a flimsy-looking platform with a woven railing around it. A long woven cord with a handle dangled next to it. “You pull the bellpull, and if the operator is at work, he sends down the counterweight to lift you up. It costs a penny or two, but it’s faster and easier than the staircase.”

  “I think I prefer the stairs,” Alise decided. But she wasn’t even halfway up before she regretted her decision. The climb was steeper than it had looked. The captain gamely accompanied her, grunting softly with each step. When she reached the first landing and looked around her, she suddenly forgot her aching legs.

  A wide platform circled the tree’s huge trunk. The vendor stalls that backed up to the trunk were just opening their canvas curtains. From the central platform around the trunk, a spiderweb of suspended boardwalks spread out in various directions toward other trees and the platforms that circled their trunks. Although the boardwalks had railings woven of vines, they sagged in the middle, and there were visible gaps in the planking. “This way to their Traders’ Hall,” Leftrin told her, and putting her hand on his arm, he guided her out onto one of the walks.

  Four steps out, she felt giddy. The planks thunked musically under their feet. Leftrin didn’t bother with the flimsy rails and seemed unaware of the gentle swaying of the bridge. She glanced down, gasped at a glimpse of the earth far below her, then looked to the side and felt suddenly ill. The bridge sagged under their weight, and she was stepping down the planking and certain that she was going to fall at any moment. Leftrin put his hand over hers on his arm. “Look ahead to the next platform,” he told her in a low, reassuring voice. “Get the rhythm of it, and it’s just like climbing stairs. Don’t look down and don’t worry about what isn’t there. Rain Wilders have been building these for over a hundred years now. They’re our streets. You can trust them.”

  He spoke in a matter-of-fact way that wasn’t condescending. He didn’t think less of her for being afraid; he accepted that she would naturally be apprehensive. Somehow that made it easier to take his advice. She firmed her grip on his arm and matched her stride to his, so that soon they were clomping along in rhythm. Suddenly, it was almost like a dance they were partnered in. They reached the lowest point of the bridge and then they were climbing up the gentle rise, the planks becoming a sloping ladder until they abruptly reached the next platform. She halted there to breathe, and Captain Leftri
n paused with her.

  “Only three more to go,” he told her, and although she felt a bit frightened, she didn’t feel daunted by the prospect. Challenged, she thought. Challenged, but not afraid to take up that challenge.

  “Well, let’s go then,” she said.

  She nearly lost her courage on the second bridge when they encountered a group of workmen heading in the opposite direction. She and Leftrin had to move closer to the edge to allow them passage, and the rhythm of their strides made the whole structure waggle like a friendly dog being petted. But by the third crossing, she had recovered her sensation of dancing with Leftrin. They reached their final platform with her slightly out of breath but feeling triumphant.

  Cassarick had ambition. That was evident from the size of the Traders’ Hall they had built all around the trunk of the largest tree she had visited yet. The platform that supported and surrounded it served as an esplanade. It circled both hall and tree, and four staircases wound up from it to platforms in adjacent trees. Early as it was and dim as the light was this far below the treetops, sputtering torches still lit the walkways. Their journey had led them away from the riverbank, and less light from that open area penetrated the settlement. Alise felt that she had journeyed into a twilight city of fantastic people.

  She had grown up in Bingtown among the descendants of the original Trader families who had settled there. She had always known of their Rain Wild kin and respected the bonds between the Rain Wilds and Bingtown. Only here in the Rain Wilds were the magical treasures of the ancient Elderlings to be unearthed. But living in the Rain Wilds and working in the buried Elderling cities exacted a toll on the folk who settled there. Almost all Rain Wilders had some disfigurement at birth, and it increased with each year of their lives. Sometimes it was a bit of scaling on the scalp or lips, or a fringe of wattled growths along the jawline. With age might come a change in eye color and a thickening of nails; those were typical of the sorts of things one might see on a Rain Wilder who visited Bingtown. Even Captain Leftrin had his share of marks. The skin on the backs of his hands and on the knobs of his wrist was bluish and lightly scaled. Behind his brushy eyebrows and on the back of his neck, she thought she had glimpsed more scaling. It had been easy to ignore.