by Robin Hobb
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?”
“Selden. 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.
She smiled and shook her head at him. “You make no sense. And yet you do. Selden Vestrit fostered by Khuprus, you are the first man I’ve ever talked with. Do you know that?”
With difficulty, he tugged a cushion closer. “That doesn’t seem possible. You had brothers, you told me. Your father. Three husbands. You must have known other men.”
She shook her head. “My status meant that males were kept at a distance from the time I was a child. I sat at dinners; there were polite exchanges. My suitors courted my father, not me. And when I was given over to my husbands, they had no interest in conversing with me. I was not even an object for pleasure; they had much more skilled women at their disposal for that. I was for making a child that would mingle my lineage with theirs. That was all.”
“And they all died.”
She had mentioned some of her history to him, but he had never prodded at what she had told him. She met his gaze. “The first one died accidentally,” she said. She poured wine for both of them and then lifted the lid off a fat bowl. The aroma of a rich beef soup rose from it. She ladled out servings for each of them. “Do you think I am hateful?” she asked him.
“You have not seemed so to me,” he replied. “There were nights when I dreamed of killing my captors. Times when I lunged against my chains and would have done death on any of the gawkers that I could have reached. So what is the difference between us?”
She smiled at him. “That I was more efficient than you were?” she offered. She lifted a fold of cloth to reveal a warm loaf. When she uncovered the little dish next to it, she said, “Look how yellow the butter is! They must have put the cows out onto new pasture.”
Trumpets sounded again, more urgently. They both turned to look out over the city. In the distance, other horns blared a response. Selden turned his head sharply. “What is that?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “A diplomatic visit, most likely. The guards at the city gate will blow an alarm that announces the arrival. Then the horns sound again as the visitors pass each checkpoint in the city.” She sipped her wine. “It is nothing to do with us, my friend.”
The winds had favored them. Sintara knew that Tintaglia had not expected to arrive at the city before noon. They had come from the direction of the dry lands, and as they came to gentler territory, more than one herd had scattered in terror as they overflew them. One shepherd had dared to shout and shake his fist at them. The herdsmen they saw spurred their horses and fled, leaving their cattle to fend for themselves.
We will feast later! Icefyre promised them.
For now, fly steady and strong. We want no warning of our coming to precede us, Mercor reminded them a
ll.
That had all been settled back in Kelsingra. Icefyre had battled humans before and had very definite ideas of how they must proceed. There would be no trumpeting to one another, and the path that they had followed to Chalced had taken them over the deserted lands, away from eyes that might send messengers ahead to the city. Men on horses, dragons had learned long ago, could not outrun a dragon, but they could and would continue to travel by night, with no need to kill and eat and sleep. The old black dragon had been very intent on surprising the Chalcedeans and attacking them with as little warning or challenge as they had given him.
So now the dragons flew, swift and straight, making no kills, regardless of how easy the prey that was offered. The scattered huts and farmhouses grew more common, and soon they were flying over the outskirts of the great city. Ahead of them loomed the city walls, and high above it, on a hill within the fortified city, stood the towers and ramparts of the Duke of Chalced’s stronghold. It was more fortress than palace, and as they approached it, Sintara knew a moment of unsettling doubt. This was a bad place, a very bad place, and her inability to summon up the specific memory that told her that only made it appear more ominous. Icefyre had been insistent that the entire city must be completely annihilated. That was the only point on which Mercor had directly opposed him.
“My memories may not be as extensive as yours, but this I do recall. Stirring an entire city of humans is like lying down to sleep on a hill of dagger ants. They are tiny, but they will attack endlessly, summoning their fellows from other hills if they must. To be rid of them, you have only to kill the queen in the central mound. Tintaglia has spoken of being well treated by the folk that live in the Icy Islands, and along the Black Stone Coast. The Six Duchies, she called it, and said that whenever she visited there, she was offered gifts of fattened cattle and a safe place to sleep. Will destroying Chalced threaten that?”
Icefyre had been angry that the golden dragon directed his question to the blue queen, but Tintaglia had obviously been pleased. “The Six Duchies has long warred with Chalced. They will probably not care at all if we destroy that city. But as one who has fought a city alone, and far more recently than Icefyre, I will say that it was a task that was dangerous and yet became annoying. It takes a lot of venom to destroy ranked soldiers, and while one is smashing ships and towers, one is not hunting, eating, or sleeping.”
Icefyre had drawn himself taller and taller as Tintaglia spoke. Beside the blue queen, Kalo rumbled ominously as the black dragon expressed his dominance. Now the old dragon broke in with, “And while humans are poisoning you or attacking you with nets and spears, are you eating or sleeping? Or dying?”
“Which is better, a quick kill by snapping a neck, or a long battle that inflicts wounds on both combatants?” she had retorted.
They flew over a fortified holding. It astonished her how quickly warning horns were sounded. They glanced back to see the walls bristling with armed men. The gates of the keep were open, and six men on horseback bearing banners raced out.
Messengers, Tintaglia confirmed. But they will be too late.
In response, all the dragons picked up speed. Sintara heard the keepers calling to one another, their thin voices snatched away on the wind. Mercor had been leading them. Now Icefyre suddenly left off his rivalry with Kalo and winged past them all to try to take the lead from Mercor. Was he startled to see that Heeby and Rapskal had beaten him to it? The red queen and her rider arrowed to the front. Rapskal was leaning forward on Heeby’s neck, singing wild encouragement and praise to her. She had flushed a sparkling scarlet, and her wings opened and closed so swiftly she was like a hummingbird flying with crows. She looked almost comical as she sped ahead of the others. As Relpda, overshadowed by evil little Spit, suddenly moved forward past both Icefyre and Mercor, the old black dragon trumpeted angrily.
As if that were a signal, all the dragons suddenly roared, announcing their coming as they arrowed toward the fortified city on the hill.
“Weren’t you all going to keep silent and take them by surprise?” Sedric objected.
“Don’t like Heeby in front of me,” Relpda responded sulkily.
Sedric was crouched in the abbreviated dragon saddle that Relpda had insisted they use, holding tight with both hands to a harness ornamented with silver bells. Carson had added a harness of rawhide straps to the saddle and Sedric trusted it, but he could not make himself loosen his grip on the harness. His eyes were squinted nearly shut and still tears streamed from them from the kiss of the wind. “We are in more danger here, my lovely one. Let us fall back and let the larger dragons lead the way.”
Spit trumpeted derisively. “Yes, listen to that skinny little flea on your back. Fall back, and when they spit acid, you will fly through the cloud. Such fun for both of you.”
Sedric clamped his jaws tight shut, wondering if Spit spoke true or was once more delighting in tormenting Relpda. They were flying so fast that the landscape beneath them raced by sickeningly. There went a village, bells ringing and horns sounding warnings, and on a streamer of yellow road, a man leaped from his laden cart and raced off into a grain field, to fling himself flat as if that could hide him from the dragons overhead. The dragons paid no mind to him. Farmsteads and hamlets surrounded Chalced the city. Sedric braced himself for the attack to begin. He did not want to be here, did not want to watch Relpda deal death to unsuspecting and helpless humans.
They would kill me if they could, she reminded him, and shame rose in him. Once he had been of that mind. Forgiven, she reminded him. But I cannot forgive those who would still take my blood and scales.
Below them, people ran about furiously, some taking shelter in houses, others racing out into the streets to see what was happening. Thin screams of terror rose into the cool morning air, and then the blaring of horns. The dragons trumpeted their own mocking response to the horns and then, so abruptly that Sedric gave a shout of surprise, the dragons tipped away from each other, dividing neatly into smaller groups and descending sharply. The screams of terrorized people reached him more clearly. For an instant, he shared that terror. Dragons were coming, to spit fiery acid that would melt the flesh from their bones. Their houses would fall, any man who lifted a hand against them would certainly die, and their orphaned young would whimper and snivel in the deserted and smoking streets. There was nothing, nothing they could do to oppose the dragons, the great and glorious and beautiful dragons that were deserving of their obeisance and obedience. They should flee, flee, leave their houses and run out of the city; it was their only chance . . .
Oh. Not you. Relpda suddenly interrupted the daunting stream of emotion. Sedric felt muffled suddenly, his thoughts closed off from a flood of dragon glamour directed at those they overflew.
They circled the city in an ever-tightening spiral, bombarding the humans below with glamour. Horses, dogs, and even yoked oxen seemed as vulnerable, for Sedric saw them go suddenly mad with terror, bolting down the streets headed out of the city regardless of obstacles, living or otherwise, in their paths. New screams rose, more trumpets, bells rang wildly, and he felt sick with horror to be a part of it. “I just want it to be over,” he muttered to himself.
Soon, Relpda promised. Soon.
The soup was nearly gone. Chassim refilled their wineglasses. “The condemned are eating heartily,” she observed.
In the near distance, a woman shrieked. A chorus of screams rose. “What is it?” Selden endeavored to rise, but she waved him back. She rose a bit unsteadily and went to the balcony wall. “The streets are filling with people. They’re running. They’re pointing up, at us.” She gazed down at them in consternation. Then she turned her head over her shoulder and gazed up. And gasped.
She turned, leaning so far back that Selden reached out and grasped her ankle. “Don’t fall!” he commanded her. “Don’t go without me!”
She lifted her hand and pointed. “Dragons. A sky full of dragons.”
“Help me up,” he begged her. Then, as s
he continued to stare at the sky, he demanded breathlessly, “A blue queen. Do you see a blue queen dragon among them?”
“I see a red dragon. And a silver and two orange ones. A queen?”
“A female. Gloriously blue, with silver and black markings as well. Graceful as a butterfly, powerful as a striking hawk. Shaming the sky with her blueness.”
“I don’t see any blue dragons.”
He pushed himself away from the cushions and onto his hands and knees. Not strong enough to crawl to the edge of the balcony, he slid and lifted his body until he was able to sprawl on the floor and look up at the sky. She was right. His dragon wasn’t there. “Not my dragon,” he said, and hopelessness filled him.
The dragons swung in an arc past the Duke’s grand palace. They were coming lower. A small silver one trumpeted wildly, spraying venom with the sound. “Sweet Sa, no,” Selden prayed. He had seen Tintaglia rain venom down on Bingtown when she had repelled the Chalcedean invaders. He had seen droplets strike men and, an instant later, fall out the other sides of their bodies, followed by blood and guts. Nothing stopped it. He tried to find words to warn Chassim and could not form them.
The silver dragon’s mist fell randomly, the droplets caught on the wind. Selden’s horrified gaze followed the silvery mist as it was wafted down and onto a statue in a garden. He did not hear the hiss, but he imagined it as the newly sprouted plants withered suddenly, turning to sodden brown heaps on the soil. A moment later, the statue collapsed in a gush of powder.
“They’re attacking the palace,” Chassim said breathlessly. “They spit something and whoever it touches crumples. Quickly. Get back inside!”
“No.” He felt numb. “Hiding inside will do us no good. Not unless you want to be under the rubble when it all collapses on us.” His mouth had gone dry, his voice hoarse. “Chassim, we are going to die today. There’s no help for it.”