The Dragon Keeper trwc-1

by Robin Hobb

  A storm was threatening, one that couldn't make up its mind between icy rain and wet, driven flakes of snow. The wind gusted and died, and then spat sleet again. The thick clouds were making late afternoon into early evening. He didn't care. He'd left the shelter of the large porch of the Concourse, strolled past the line of waiting carriages and well-bundled drivers. He'd gone walking in the deepening twilight on the meticulously groomed grounds that surrounded the Concourse.

  The gardens were desolate and deserted this time of year. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and the unimpeded wind blew sharply. Fallen leaves littered the gravel paths. There was a stand of evergreens at the edge of a herb garden that had gone to seed. He headed instinctively toward the protection of the grove. In the circle of their shelter, the wind could barely find him. He turned his eyes up to the cold winter sky and tried to find a single star through the overcast. He couldn't. He lowered his face and wiped rain from his cheeks.

  'Weeping at a wedding? What a sentimental fool you are.'

  He'd turned in shock. He hadn't imagined anyone else would be out in this weather. It was even more of a shock to realize that the man was Hest, and that he must have followed him. He'd been a part of the group of men by the door. Sedric knew his name and his reputation, but little more than that. The wealthy and popular young Trader moved in a social circle several notches higher than Sedric's orbit. He wondered why he had followed him out into the night. His long deep-blue cloak was nearly black in the dimming light. The collar was turned up high, framing his face.

  'It's just rain. I came outside to clear my head of a little too much wine.'

  Hest listened to him silently, head cocked mockingly. He raised his sculpted brows in a rebuke for his lie.

  'I'm not weeping,' Sedric added defensively.

  'Aren't you?' Hest came toward Sedric through the wet snow. It was definitely snow now. Big flakes of it spangled the tall man's dark hair. 'I saw you watching the happy couple and thought to myself, now there's a spurned lover, watching his dreams stroll off without him.'

  Sedric watched his approach warily. 'I hardly know her,' he said. 'Prittus was my tutor. I'm just here to wish him well.'

  'As we all are,' Hest agreed smoothly. 'Our dear friend Prittus enters a new stage of his life now. He takes on the duties of a husbandman. And his loving friends, though we wish him well, will see far less of him now.' The light was waning from the sky and the shadows of the evergreens made the winter afternoon even darker. The fading light took the colours with it; Hest's face was a study of planes and shadows. He was smiling. He narrow lips were chiselled into a fine smile as he asked him, 'And what did Prittus tutor you in?'

  'Chalcedean. My father says that every Trader needs to speak Chalcedean well, without an accent. Prittus speaks it like a native; he had a Chalcedean tutor.'

  Hest stopped, not even an arm's length away. 'Chalcedean?' His smile grew wider, baring even teeth. 'Yes. I agree with your father. Every Trader should know Chalcedean. Some say they will always be our enemies. I say, that is a good reason to learn as much as we can about them. Not just their language, but their customs. Ancient enemies or not, they will be our partners as we buy and sell goods. They'll cheat the man who is vulnerable to them. But you'll need more than just the language. A man can speak the language of a place, but if he lacks knowledge of the customs, he will always betray himself as a foreigner. And thus not be accepted. Don't you agree?'

  'I suppose. Yes.' The tall Trader was drunk, Sedric decided.

  He had come close enough that Sedric could smell the spirits on his breath.

  His dark eyes roved over Sedric's face in a disconcerting way. He licked his lips and said, 'So. Let me hear your accent. Say something in Chalcedean.'

  'What?'

  'That's not Chalcedean.' Hest grinned. 'Try again.'

  'What would you like me to say?' Sedric felt trapped. Was the man mocking him or trying to make his acquaintance? His conversation walked a knife's edge between taunting and friendliness.

  'That would be good. Yes. Say, "Please, sir, what would you like?"'

  It took him a moment to parse it in his mind. When he spoke, the words came smoothly, but Hest shook his head and made a sad mouth. 'Oh, dear. Not like that. You need to open your mouth more. They're a very voluble people.'

  'What?'

  'Say it again, but open your mouth more. Purse your lips out.'

  It was mockery. Sedric was certain of it now. He made his words brisk. 'I'm cold. I'm going back to the Traders' Concourse now.'

  But as he strode past him, Hest's hand had shot out suddenly and gripped Sedric's left shoulder. He'd tugged him sharply, spinning the smaller man so that Sedric almost collided with him. 'Say it again,' he urged him pleasantly. 'In any language you like. Say, "Please, sir, what would you like?"'

  His fingers were biting into Sedric's shoulder right through the formal Trader's robe he'd donned for the occasion. He tried to squirm away. 'Let go! What do you want?' Sedric demanded, but Hest had responded by seizing his other shoulder. He gave a sudden jerk that nearly pulled Sedric off his feet. He was suddenly chest to chest with Hest staring down into his face.

  'What do I want? Hmm. Not quite the same, as asking me what I would like, but it will do. You should be asking what you want for yourself, Sedric. I wonder if you've ever dared to ask that question, let alone answer it. Because the answer is very plain to me. You want this.' One of his hands suddenly grabbed a fistful of Sedric's robe right below his throat. The other shifted to a grip on the hair of the top of his head. Hest bent his head, and his mouth was hard on Sedric's, his lips moving as if he would devour him, his hard hands pulling him closer. Sedric had been too astonished to struggle, even as Hest shifted his grip and pulled his body tight against his own. A sudden heat rushed through him, a lust he could not conceal or deny. Hest's mouth tasted of liquor and his cheek, though shaven, rasped against Sedric's when Sedric tried to pull away from him. Sedric gasped for breath, smothered between the kiss and the truth of how badly he wanted this. He put his hands against Hest's chest and pushed but could put no strength into the rejection. Hest held him easily and his deep quiet chuckle at Sedric's feeble struggle vibrated through them, chest to chest. Hest finally broke the kiss but continued to press himself tightly against Sedric. He spoke by his ear. 'Don't worry. Struggle as much as you think you should, or need to. I won't let you win. It's going to happen to you. Just as you always dreamed it would. Someone just needs to take a firm hand with you.'

  'Let me go, man! Are you mad or drunk?' Sedric's voice wavered uncertainly. The wind blew harder but he scarcely felt it.

  Hest effortlessly pinned his arms to his side. He was taller and stronger and he lifted Sedric, not quite off his feet but in a way that let him know he could. He pressed his body against him and spoke through clenched teeth. 'Neither mad nor drunk, Sedric. Just more honest than you are. I don't have to ask "What do you want, please, sir?" It was written all over your face as you stared at the happy couple. It wasn't the bride you were lusting after. It was Prittus. Well, who wouldn't? Such a handsome fellow. But you'll never have him now and neither will I. So perhaps we should settle for what we can have.'

  'I didn't,' Sedric started to lie. 'I don't know…' Then Hest's mouth descended again, kissing him deeply and roughly, bruising his lips until Sedric gave in and opened them to him. He'd made a small, involuntary noise and Hest had laughed into his open mouth. Then suddenly, he'd broken the embrace and stepped back from Sedric. He'd nearly fallen then. He'd stumbled back from Hest, and the night grove of trees had seemed to swing around him in a wide circle dance. Sedric had lifted the back of his hand to his mouth, tasted the salt of blood from his stinging lips. 'I don't understand,' he said faintly.

  'Don't you?' Hest had smiled again. 'I think you do. All of this will be easier when you admit you do.' He stepped closer to him and Sedric hadn't retreated. He reached for Sedric again and he hadn't fled. Hest's hands had been hard and strong and
knowing as he seized him and pulled him close.

  Sedric had shut his eyes tight then, and again as he recalled it. Every moment of that wild night under the cold and stormy sky was clear in his memory. It was etched into him, defining him. Hest had been right. It had been easier when he'd admitted what he wanted.

  Hest had been merciless. He'd teased him, and hurt him, then soothed and smoothed him. He'd been rough and then gentle, harshly demanding and then sweetly urging. The storm swept around them, making the trees bow and dance, but the cold couldn't reach them. The deep bed of needles in the darkness beneath the low-swooping evergreen branches had smelled sweet when they were crushed beneath their weight. Hest's cloak had covered them both. Time and family and the expectations of the rest of the world were blown away by the storm's breath.

  Shortly before dawn, Hest had left him at the end of the carriageway to his family home. He'd limped home in muddied and torn garments, his hair wild, his mouth bruised. He'd slept as late as his father would allow him. Later that day, standing before his father in his study, he told a long lie about drunkenness and a tumble down a creek bank in the dark and a long walk home. He'd ached in every muscle and his lips had been puffy and swollen. For three agonizing days, he'd moved quietly about his father's house. Mostly he kept to his room, seething with shame whenever he wasn't staring into the darkness and reliving every moment. Regret and lust warred in him.

  On the morning of the fourth day, Hest's written invitation to a riding party had arrived. The large dove-grey envelope with his name written on it in a bold hand contained a note in Hest's hand on a lighter piece of grey paper. His father had been astonished and pleased that he'd made such a socially uplifting connection. His mother had been sent scampering to be sure his jacket and breeches were presentable. His father had loaned him his horse, the only respectable mount the family had. Just before Sedric had left, his father had warned him not to be the first to depart from the gathering, and urged him to linger if Hest seemed congenial to the idea.

  Hest had, indeed, been congenial to the idea of him lingering. Sedric had been the only other member of the 'riding party' and they'd gone only as far as a small, deserted farmstead owned by Hest's family. All the rooms in the rickety little house had been dusty and unkempt, save for a lushly-appointed bedchamber and a sidebar well stocked with spirits.

  In the weeks that followed, he'd quickly learned that all Hest's 'riding parties' had little to do with horses. For a time, Hest became his entire world. Light, colours and sound all seemed more brilliant in his presence. Hest plunged him into a world of temptation and satiation, stripped him of fears and inhibitions, and taught him new hungers to replace the half-formed longings he'd never dared to confront. Sedric found himself smiling fondly as he recalled those days. There had been dinners together, and then evenings out with Hest's friends. Hest's friends — now there had been an education for him! Wealthy Traders, some young, some older, some single, some married, but all of them committed to a life that included the greatest pleasures that money could buy for them. He'd been astonished at their self-indulgence and scandalized at their headlong pursuit of all manner of pleasures. When he'd expressed his reservations about them to Hest, the other man had laughed. 'We're Traders, Sedric, born and bred. We make our livings by discovering what other men want most and getting the best prices for it. So of course we discover what is most desirable, and want it for ourselves. And with the money we make, we acquire it. That's the whole point of all that we do: to make money, and then use it. What is wrong with that? Why do we work so hard if not to enjoy ourselves with what we earn?'

  He'd had no answer to that.

  Hest had re-made Sedric, telling him how to comb his hair, what colours to wear and what cut of jacket and where to buy his boots. When Sedric's modest budget could not keep pace with Hest's tastes, Hest had first gifted him with the required clothing, and then, when Sedric's father had looked askance at such largesse, Hest had eventually invented employment for him that required Sedric to live with him. Hest had transformed Sedric's life; no, he had transformed Sedric himself. He had not only learned the pleasures of fine wine and a well-prepared joint of meat, but had come to expect such things at table. A badly-cut jacket was not to be tolerated. And now what would become of him? If upon his return, he discovered that Hest had replaced him, what then? Sedric closed his eyes tight and tried to imagine life without Hest. Life without Hest's fortune and life style, yes, that he could imagine. But life without Hest's touch?

  The barge wallowed unevenly in the current. Sedric let himself become aware of the boat. The crew were at their sweeps. Possibly they had put up the sail if the wind was favourable. The barge and how it moved was a mystery to him; it seemed impossible that such a large object could be rowed up a river, and yet they were moving steadily along.

  As Sedric must.

  He would not give up. He'd take Alise's stubbornness for an example and build on it. She intended to be remorseless about seizing this opportunity for herself. Well, so could he. Let Hest wonder where they were and why they did not return as scheduled. It would do the man good to have some doubt and discomfort in his life. And Sedric didn't doubt that Hest's life would be much less comfortable without a wife and a secretary to manage any unpleasant detail he wished to avoid.

  As for his own ambitions, well, those could be better fulfilled, too. If he was forced to keep company with the dragon keepers and their charges, he would find opportunities to collect more merchandise. He sat up slowly and then moved to the floor. At the base of his wardrobe trunk, there was a concealed drawer. Hest had had the trunk made especially, so that exceptionally valuable merchandise and their cash would travel safely. He never would have imagined the use to which Sedric now put it.

  He pulled it open and peered at the two glass containers he had filled today. In the dim light he could not tell much about them. In the drawer awaited other glass and pottery containers, some empty, some with preservative fluids and salts already in them. He had planned this meticulously from the first moment that he had realized he could turn Hest's punishment of him to his own advantage.

  There was even a neatly lettered checklist of the various specimens he hoped to acquire and estimates of their worth. Blood. Teeth. Nails. Scales. Liver. Spleen. Heart. He thought of how queasy he'd felt watching the girl cut the tissue from the dragon's wound. He'd have to get over that. If one of the animals was injured or died, he'd have to find a way to be close to it quickly. His banishment might prove the foundation of his fortune.

  He stored his specimens carefully away and shut the drawer. No regrets, he told himself again. No regrets and no hesitation.

  Sintara had followed the other dragons down to the banks of the river, and waded right in behind them. Mercor led them. She was surprised that all of the dragons seemed to accept his leadership, but especially Kalo. Hadn't he been claiming the role by virtue of his size only hours ago? The excitement that had infected them seemed strong enough to inspire them all to action. For now.

  They walked all morning in the shallows at the edge of the river. Here the current was gentler and the water offered less resistance. She would have preferred to stay on the shore, but the thick vegetation of the Rain Wild Forest came right to the river's edge and sometimes ventured into the water in the form of straggling roots or fallen trees. For the most part, the dragons were large enough and strong enough to push past such impediments, but in mid-afternoon, they had to wade out into deeper water to go around one immense snag that projected into the river.

  The trunk of the tree was immense, so large that she couldn't even see over it. The acid waters of the river were already devouring the fallen giant, but going around it still meant wading out so deep that the water tried to lift her off her feet. That was a disconcerting feeling. The first time it happened, she paddled and floundered, splashing wildly. One of the smaller green dragons, Fente, shrilly trumpeted her distress. The current caught her and for a moment she flailed wildly befo
re successfully passing the fallen tree. She hastened for the shallows in a panicky gallop. When she resumed her steady plodding up the river, her breath still came in loud snorts. Sintara was glad she was taller and stronger than Fente. The river had not lifted her. Dragons could swim, but only by necessity.

  She thought about swimming, and sluggish memories stirred. One was of a terrifying accident; a cliff's edge had given way and a dragon had fallen into a deep cold fjord. She had had to swim, and the steep cliffs that surrounded the fjord had defied her attempts to clamber out. By the time she had found a place wide enough to emerge from the water, she had been so chilled that she had barely been able to open her wings and flap them dry before flying away.

  There were other memories of being underwater, and with a mental hitch and jerk, she connected them with Kelsingra. She pondered that for a moment, trying to put the pieces together. There had been the city on the bank, a beautiful city that sparkled in the sun, and before it, the wide deep river. The current's press against her chest seemed to help her remember. Yes. One flew over the city and circled it, once, twice, thrice. It was not just for show, though swooping low or turning a slow roll in flight might win shouts of admiration from the Elderlings who peopled the city. It was to notify everyone, dragon and Elderling, of one's intent to arrive. It gave the small fishing boats notice to get out of the way. For the best way to land at Kelsingra was to come in low over the water and then clap one's wings tight, extend the neck and plunge beneath the surface of the water. The river cushioned the landing. Once in the water, the dragons did not swim, but waded to the bank, up and out, scaled hides glistening and gleaming. Once out of the water, pleasure awaited. There were always Elderlings waiting to greet the dragons, people whose duty it was to—

  She stumbled as a large rock in the riverbed turned under her foot, and the fragile thread of memory snapped. She groped desperately after it. It had been such a sweet thing, something wonderful to recall, and now it was gone. All around her, the other dragons waded on, huffing and grunting with the effort of moving against the current. Closer to the bank, the water was shallower and slower, but the mud at the bottom made it hard going. She decided the sticky footing was less annoying than the deeper water. She waded past several of the others and then deliberately increased her speed until she had passed every dragon except Mercor and Ranculos.