by Robin Hobb
“He’s nearly caught her!” Tats exclaimed admiringly.
Thymara turned her eyes skyward. Sintara seemed to be making a very genuine attempt to escape Mercor. She looped back once, slashed at him with an angry scream, and then tried to resume her climb. It was useless. The tempo of Mercor’s golden wings increased and his speed with it. Suddenly, the golden dragon overshadowed the blue. His head snaked in to seize the back of her neck in his teeth.
“He’s got her.” Tats sounded very satisfied. He rolled his head to grin at Thymara and then continued to watch the mating dragons.
Thymara made a disgusted exclamation and gave him a strong push. He turned to her, still grinning, and before she could draw his hand back, he seized her wrist. He tried to pull her to him, but she jerked free of him, turned and ran. Her heart was beating wildly. “Thymara!” Tats shouted and “No!” she called over her shoulder.
She ran, but the sudden thunder of his footfalls was close behind her. She felt him catch at the trailing edge of her wing. She snatched it from his grip, felt a sudden lift from her spread wings, and closed them on the downbeat. Behind her, Tats gave a wordless startled cry.
“The ravine!” he shouted, and she saw it wide before her. It gaped, a steep-sided crack in the hillside, possibly a scar of the same quake that had leveled parts of Kelsingra. She started to slow, to turn to elude him, but he was too close behind her. “Don’t be stupid!” he shouted, but it wasn’t, she decided; it wasn’t stupid at all.
She snapped her wings open, managed two downbeats that nearly lifted her off her feet, and then she leaped. For a dizzying moment, there was nothing under her feet save the sudden drop-off. In the ravine far below her, she glimpsed a narrow rushing stream cutting its way toward the river. Three more beats of her wings lifted her and then, as she lost focus and altitude in amazement at what she had done, the meadow on the other side seemed to reach up for her. She landed running, caught herself, skidded to a halt on her knees, and then turned. “Tats! I flew! I really flew, it wasn’t just a jump. I flew!”
Tats had halted on the other side of the cleft in the earth. He was staring at her, a very strange expression on his face. Abruptly, he turned away. He walked off and then, putting his head down and pumping his arms, he ran from her.
She watched him go. Her heart that had been beating so wildly with joy and excitement now seemed to pump coldness through her body. Too strange. She was too strange for him. She glanced down at the black claws on her hands that had set her apart since the day she was born. She had always been too strange, too changed by the Rain Wilds. The wings and the flight had been too much even for loyal Tats. Tears stung her eyes as she watched him go.
A shrill keening turned her eyes upward. Yes. Mercor had caught Sintara. Joined, they circled high above her. She shook her head, tried to clear it of the dragon’s heat that she had experienced so clearly. Time to be practical. Her bow. Had she dropped her bow in her wild flight from Tats? Where? On the other side?
She looked back the way she had come and saw Tats coming at her. He had gone up the hill slightly and now was running back down it in silence. His teeth were gritted in determination. “The gully!” She shrieked the warning at him, but it was too late. In two strides he reached it and flung himself forward in a wild leap.
He couldn’t possibly make it.
But he did.
He hit on his feet, tucked his head down, rolled in a wild somersault, and came up on his feet again. His impetus carried him forward and he crashed into her. But as his arms wrapped around her and he carried her to the ground with him, she knew it was no accident. “Caught you,” he said.
The impact had driven the breath from her body. She gasped in air and answered, “Yes. You have. At last.” She saw his eyes widen. Then, as she took a deeper breath, his mouth covered hers. She closed her eyes, feeling his weight on her, smelling him, pulling him closer. The sun was above them, warming the whole world, and the only sound she heard was the joyous trumpeting of dragons.
EPILOGUE
Generation
Tintaglia awoke in midmorning. She lifted her head and looked at the sun. Then she rose and stretched and limbered her wings. The same restlessness that had afflicted her for the last ten days filled her again. It grew stronger as the sun rose higher.
She had chosen to sleep high on a rocky ridge on the cliffs behind Kelsingra after her morning kill. She had felt an urgency when she had first awakened, but dismissed it as only hunger. But now, fed, rested, and awake, heritage memories were stirring in her. She studied the sun’s position in the sky. Yes.
She smelled him in the waft of his wings on the wind. She turned to watch Kalo circling slowly down to alight beside her. The blue-black drake had grown since she had first encountered him and would continue to grow for all the days of his life. He took two steps toward her and extended his neck, snuffing the air around her. Today. He offered the word and waited for her.
Today, she confirmed. It was time.
Icefyre swept past them. He knew better than to attempt to land near her. Kalo had established that with him in several bloody battles. But the old dragon was within his rights and knew it. “Today!” he trumpeted the word as he overshadowed them briefly.
Downhill of them she saw other dragons lift their heads from where they had been dozing on the rocky cliffs. Far below them, in the city, she knew that the keepers would be pausing in their coming and going, stopping their anthill lives to stare up in wonder.
Kalo stared at her, his eyes spinning possessively. Who flies with you? he demanded.
What sort of a drake asks that of a queen? Icefyre mocked him as he swept past again. I am sire of this first generation. To me is what is mine. I travel with her, to the nesting beaches, to watch over the digging of the nest and keep the Others at bay. Have you no memories of this and the proper way of doing things?
Tintaglia considered. She eyed the ragged black dragon as he swept past once more. Kalo had stretched himself tall and partly opened his wings. I have memories, he replied sullenly. I have memories of a time when there would have been a dozen queens on the island, and drakes doing battle for the best nesting sites. Those days are gone. We begin a new time. Perhaps we begin with new ways.
And Kalo will accompany us, she decided. He is young and strong. I will have him fly with me as well.
That is NOT how it is done! Icefyre was outraged. You have no memories at all! Only the sire goes with the queen to the nesting beach to guard her. Other drakes are not to be trusted. He will destroy the nest and trample the eggs.
Kalo stretched his neck and opened his wings wide. He was still not as large as Icefyre, but his wings were unrent, his muscles full and limber. The deep midnight blue of his scaling was now spangled with tiny silver stars. He snapped his wings once, and toxins welled to each clawed tip. Do you challenge me for this, old dragon? He swung his gaze to Tintaglia. I will not destroy the nest. There are too few dragons in the world. What do I care if the first clutch you lay are his get? The clutches to follow will be mine, and my offspring will need mates.
You think like humans! Icefyre issued his proclamation in disgust. Were the clutch not mine, I would not care. But I warn you now, youngster. Disturb the nest, and the fight will be to the death.
Tintaglia snorted disdainfully. Any male that disturbs my nest will die! No queen needs a drake to make that so.
“Today, then!” Icefyre trumpeted it loudly to all, dragons and Elderlings alike. I leave now. You had best follow soon, for otherwise I doubt you will recall the way.
I know the way, she responded angrily.
Go then. Kalo dismissed Icefyre. You should probably fly swiftly, for soon we both will overtake you.
Icefyre roared a wordless insult at Kalo, then banked his wings and swept away. She watched him go, saw him diminish in the distance. He was a dragon from another time, she decided. It was good that her first generation of young would inherit his memories. It would be even better if they we
re wise enough to adapt to a world in which there were less than twenty mature dragons. She wondered how many eggs she would lay, how many would hatch, how many would survive their time in the sea as serpents, and if those serpents would have to be guided home to the cocooning grounds as Maulkin’s tangle had. Then she snorted the thought away. In one way, at least, Icefyre was right. She had acquired many human ways of thinking. Why worry about a tangle that was not even hatched yet, let alone serpents that must grow for years before returning to the Rain Wild River?
She looked down on Kelsingra. “Today!” She trumpeted the announcement loudly. And then she waited. Icefyre might be correct that she did not have all her memories, but she had some. Some traditions must be observed. What was the delay?
In the city below her, a slender form emerged onto the tower parapet. He was robed in silver and deepest blue, and Selden lifted his voice to the sky, in praise of the day. The ancient words shivered in her blood, standing up her crest and the ruff on her neck.
“Today, today, the queen goes forth today. Her belly is rich with eggs, she carries inside her the generation to come. Today, today, the queen leaves us today! Sing, sing all, sing her praise, and wish her good fortune on her flight!”
He paused. She listened. Voices were lifted, humans, and then dragons joining in and drowning them out. “Today! Today! Tomorrow begins today!”
She and Kalo basked in the roar of sound. She lifted her wings wide to them, wove her head on her long neck to accept her adulation. The cacophony died away. It was over. Now she would fly.
But suddenly Selden’s voice rose again, in praise of her alone. She set her eyes on him, listening in pleasure. “The queen rises, the blue empress, Tintaglia, she of the wide wings touched with silver, she who led the serpents to Cassarick, she who fed the first of the new generation! Eldest of our queens and wisest, bravest, always cleverest! Wide-winged Tintaglia goes to the nesting ground!”
As she watched, other Elderlings emerged onto the tower top. Reyn. Malta. She held aloft the child Tintaglia had saved and joined their voices to Selden’s. “Today! Today! Today!” Malta lifted Ephron high on each word, and the baby’s newly found laughter rose to her.
“Today!” she trumpeted out a blast in response, and she felt the good wishes of her Elderlings rise to her as she opened her wings and leaped into flight.
Credits
Cover design by Richard L. Aquan
Cover illustration © by Jackie Morris
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BLOOD OF DRAGONS. Copyright © 2013 by Robin Hobb. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Harper Voyager and design is a trademark of HCP LLC.
ISBN 978-0-06-211685-7
EPub Edition April 2013 ISBN 9780062116871
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About the Author
ROBIN HOBB was born in California but grew up in Alaska. It was there that she learned to love the forest and the wilderness. She has lived most of her life in the Pacific Northwest and currently resides in Tacoma, Washington. She is the author of five critically acclaimed fantasy series: The Rain Wilds Chronicles (Dragon Keeper, Dragon Haven, City of Dragons, Blood of Dragons), The Soldier Son Trilogy, The Tawny Man Trilogy, The Liveship Traders Trilogy, and The Farseer Trilogy. She also writes as Megan Lindholm, and under that name is the author of The Wizard of the Pigeons, Windsingers, and Cloven Hooves. The Inheritance, a collection of stories, was written under both names. Her short fiction has won the Asimov’s Readers’ Award and she has been a finalist for both the Nebula and Hugo awards.
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