Rain Wilds Chronicles

by Robin Hobb

  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

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Icefyre

  Thymara 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 wil
l 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.

  Sintara 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.

  Icefyre lifted his head at last. His muzzle dripped silver in languid drops. He stepped away from the well, stretched, and then sprawled out on the paving stones. He curled his head and his tail toward the center of his body and was abruptly asleep. Mercor advanced a step toward him and sniffed the air around him. “He was sickened but he will recover, and quickly,” the golden dragon announced.

  He looked around at the others. Sintara tried to remember the last time they had all gathered in a group. Even when they had been on the other side of the river, they had seldom convened. Cassarick, she thought. Back in the days before we were true dragons. When we were caught at the edge of the river, living in mud, fed on carrion. Then Mercor had rallied them, and together they had concocted the plan that would persuade the humans to help them find Kelsingra. They had thought they were lying when they hinted of a storehouse of Elderling wealth in Kelsingra. Little had they realized that, to humans, the whole city was a vast treasure.

  She thought of the days and distance they had traveled, the changes they had undergone. They had made their keepers into Elderlings and learned to feed themselves, to fly and to hunt. They had become dragons. And tomorrow?

  “We go to battle against humans,” Mercor said gravely. “Truly, there is no choice.” He looked at Tintaglia. “You have done this before?”

  She gazed at him oddly. “I have, and in my own life. But dragons have all done this before and more than once. You have no memories of this?”

  Sintara kept silent. She possessed no such memories. Mercor was thoughtful for a time, his eyes whirling as if he spun his way back through years and lives. “A few,” he conceded. “But our memories are incomplete. We were too short a time in our cases, and you were but one dragon spread among many serpents when you helped us to spin them. You did what you could, but we are not dragons as you and Icefyre are. And our Elderlings are not as you recall them. They are newly made, and still discovering the memories of those who went before them. They will not know how to fight, or how to aid us in fighting.” He looked at her gravely and asked, “How dangerous is it to make war on humans? To ourselves and to our keepers?”

  The large blue queen looked astonished that he would ask such a question. “We cannot worry about that!” she snapped. “Humans have risen against us. You saw my wounds! I nearly died of them. Icefyre was poisoned, but even before that, humans had attacked him, with nets and spears. They do not fear us as they should, and while they do not fear, they do not respect us. I have traveled far and had much to do with humans. Some cannot understand us at all when we try to speak to them; they think us dumb beasts, no different from a lion or a wolf. Or a cow, awaiting slaughter. Others are so overwhelmed at the sight of us that they are idiotic in their worship. You have been fortunate in the ones they chose to send with you when you left Cassarick. The changes they had already undergone seem to have readied them to be fit companions to you.
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  “But of the humans you will encounter where we must go? They are nothing like the humans you have known. They will try to kill you. They will not greet you or speak to you first. They will feel no wonder, but only the awe that is based on terror. Fear will motivate them, and killing you is all they will think of. And you can be killed by them. Do not think of them as puny or stupid. They are sly and treacherous, and they will kill you if they can.” Her gaze raked over the assembled dragons as if they opposed her. Her own words were inflaming her anger.

  “You can stay here and hide from them. But the longer you wait before you make them recall their proper place in the world, the more resistance they will give you when you find you must defend yourselves. They will discover the places that we must use, the nesting beach, and the clay banks that we must use to spin our cases to change from serpent to dragon. They will find them, and they will fortify them against us. Do you want to wait until you have to fight for them? Wait until they come in and devastate our nests and the unhatched young?” Her colors had brightened, and Sintara could see her poison glands working.

  Mercor spoke his question calmly. “Our keepers. Our Elderlings. If we take them into battle with us, the other humans will try to kill them, also?”

  Tintaglia looked amazed at the stupidity of Mercor’s question. “Of course they will! And they will most likely shoot first at them. Your Elderlings will be more vulnerable to their weapons, too, as well as to our own venom. Our attack must be coordinated. One dragon attacking a city can do as it pleases. But when we fly to war together, then we must consider the wind, and what targets we wish to destroy, and how to keep venom from drifting onto another dragon or his Elderling. So. If you bear your keepers into battle, you must have a care for them, if you wish them to survive.” She paused as if thinking. “But they are useful to have in a battle. If you are caught on the ground, they will fight alongside us. When your eyes are fixed on one enemy, they can spy another one behind you and give warning. They can slay only one at a time, but they are useful.” She paused and then added, “Sometimes it is kinder to take them with you than to leave them alone. If you do not return, they will mourn and then die anyway.” She walked forward to the Silver well. As she bent her head to drink, she added, “It is a decision every dragon must make for herself.”