Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #4)

by Robin Hobb

We are most pleased to announce this honour for Erek Dunwarrow, formerly a Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown, and a Master Bird-Handler in good standing with the Guild. With this commendation, we recognize his significant contributions to the bird-breeding programme at Bingtown, specifically the programme for breeding birds for hardiness and swiftness. A prize of sixty silvers is hereby awarded to him, and the further honour that birds of this particular lineage and colouration will now be formally named as Dunwarrows.

‘The streets just suddenly seemed very familiar. As if I’d been here before, and often. For an important reason. But every time I try to remember that part of the memory, it fades out of reach. But in an odd way. The Elderling memories I’ve taken from stone usually stay with me clearly. But this is like fog …’ ‘In a purposeful way.’ Carson finished the thought for him. ‘Yes. As if something were being deliberately concealed.’

They approached the collapsed structure slowly, and Sedric was the first to speak. ‘It’s sticking out of a hole there. See the low wall around it, or what is left of it? It looks like a well, for drawing water, but much wider. But with a river so close by, why would they dig a well here?’ ‘It wasn’t for water,’ Carson said quietly. He listened to his own words as if someone else were speaking them, then fell silent, chasing an elusive idea. At last he spoke a single word. ‘Silver,’ he said aloud, echoing his dragon’s thought, and then shook his head in denial. ‘It makes no sense.’ But Sedric seemed to grow taller, as if he were a puppet and someone had just drawn his head string up. His eyes opened wider. ‘Silver? SILVER!’ He shouted the word. ‘This is it, Carson. From my dreams. The Silver place. Sweet Sa, you’re right. This is the Silver well, the whole reason Kelsingra was first built.

It was strange to look at his face now and recall the smooth-skinned boy he had been. His dragon had incorporated his slave tattoo into his scaling, but the horse on his cheek looked more dragonish now.

‘He said something else, something I’ve been thinking about. He said that from what he’s remembered from the stones, some of the Elderlings had the same sort of problem. And they solved it by not being jealous. By not limiting each woman to one man. Or each man to one woman.’

Jerd had made it plain of late that she would share her favours where she willed, and that none of the male keepers should think she was his simply because she’d shared one night with him. Or a month of nights. Three or four of the keepers had seemed to accept this relationship with her.

‘Thymara, it’s no accident I’m here in Kelsingra. I came here because of you. I told you and your father that I just wanted the adventure, but I was lying. I was following you, even then. Not just because there was no real future for me in Trehaug, but because I knew that there was no future for me anywhere if you weren’t there. It’s not because you just happen to be here, and I just happen to be here. It’s not because you’re a good hunter, nor even because of how beautiful you’ve become. It’s you. I came here for you.’

‘No. I’ve thought it through, Thymara. If I have to wait, then, well, I have the time. We don’t have to rush. We don’t have to rush to have children before we’re twenty because we may not live past forty. The dragons changed that for us. We have time.’ Then maybe I am ready. She almost said the words aloud. Hearing that he would no longer pressure her to decide, hearing that he understood that, with her, it had to be exclusive, had affirmed something about him. Instead, she said, ‘You are the man I thought you would be.’ ‘I hope so,’ he said.

‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked, and saw small sparks of rage light in her eyes at the stupidity of his question. ‘No. He only raped me. Not even in a very imaginative way. Just plain old-fashioned choking, slapping and rape.’ ‘Chassim,’ he said, shocked; almost rebuking her for how callously she dismissed it. ‘What?’ she demanded. Her mouth was swollen but her lip still curled in dismay. ‘Did you think it my first time? It was not. Or will you pretend to be surprised, and claim that this is not the way of your kind?’

‘We made few Elderlings then … only singers, I think. But some settled here, brought by their dragons. They made a little village. They did not go near the seeps or know of Silver.

The first humans who discovered it died from touching it. But the dragons that ate their bodies became powerful of mind. It was a pure, true flow of Silver, much better than any we had ever tasted. All learned to drink long and deep of the pure Silver pulled up from that well. We began to speak with humans and to use the power of the Silver to shape them into forms more suitable to attend us. They became true Elderlings. From dragons, they gained the power of the Silver, and they built this place, a city for dragons and Elderlings to share.

Other, lesser Silver wells in this area eventually went dry. But this one remained, always, and so it became our treasure.’

‘We were not the only dragons then. There were others, but without the pure Silver, they were not clear-minded as we were. Sometimes, they were little better than the lions and bears they hunted in their own lands. When we encountered them, in mating flights or migrations to the warm lands, they could smell the Silver on us. They wanted it. And sometimes they followed us back here, to the source, but we stood them off. They came, sometimes in droves, but always we prevailed against them and sent them back to their own regions.

‘Why do dragons need Silver?’ Sylve spoke her quiet question.

‘It extends our lives, just as we extend the lives of our Elderlings. It is a part of us, in our blood and in our venom and in the cases we weave as serpents for our transformation. That was why Cassarick was so important. The clay banks there have Silver in the sand. It cannot be drunk, but in our thread-spinning, it holds memories for us, in much the same way as the stones held memories for the Elderlings. It helps us to recall our ancestral memories as we pass from serpent to dragon. If the Silver is gone from the world, much of what dragons are will be gone also. We will continue, but I think our wealth of memories may be greatly shortened. Our minds will dim. And our lifespans dwindle.’ He lowered his voice and added, ‘As will our ability to shape Elderlings.’

‘That is what Elderlings do. But I will warn you that it is at peril of your life that you touch Silver. Dragons may drink of it, but any touch of it on human skin is a precursor to a slow death. Only some of the Elderlings mastered it. At a cost.’

‘Elderlings found a way, but I do not recall the details of it. They could touch it and wear it on their hands to work their magic. It gave intent to stone, and spoke to wood and pottery and metal, bidding it be a certain shape or react in a given way. And those things did as the Elderlings bade them. They made doorways from it, entries of stone that they used to travel to their other cities. They created buildings that stayed warm in the winter. They made roads that always remembered they were roads and did not allow plants to break them. The most powerful of them sometimes used Silver to transform themselves at death, going into the statues they made to preserve a strange sort of life for themselves.

‘Sometimes they used Silver to heal, to recall for the body how it should be and help it to make itself right. Their own skill with the uses of Silver contributed to their long lifespans. If an Elderling still existed with such a great level of skill with the Silver, he might even be able to heal your child. Magical creatures, those ancient beings were. But perhaps their time is past, not to come again. And perhaps so it is with dragons.’

They kill me! The men of Chalced have stabbed and bludgeoned me. I die! Dragonkind, if any of you yet live, avenge me! IceFyre, if you can hear me, know that our young die unhatched! Avenge them!

‘Tintaglia, Tintaglia!’ Malta’s anguished shriek was a higher note among the dragons’ trumpeting. ‘If you and your offspring die, so do mine! Blue queen, wonder of the skies, do not die! Do not allow yourself to be taken!’

‘Elderlings, rise! Go to her aid, I beg you! For the sake of my child, yes, but for the sake of all our dragons! For if you let this happen to sapphire Tintaglia, what safety is there for any of you?’

‘Rapskal, I don’t want you to be Tellator. I don’t want to be Amarinda. I want us to be us, and whatever we do, I want it to be our own decision, not some continuation of someone else’s life.’ He gave a small sigh and shifted his gaze to Tats. ‘Watch over her, my friend. And if I do not return, think well of me.’ His eyes met Thymara’s again. ‘Some day, you will understand. And sooner, I think, would be better than later. For the sake of my honour and my word. Heeby! Heeby, to me!’

For the first time, Hest realized that the man was mad. Insane with fear for his family, believing that somehow he could get the magical items that would bring them safely to him when he returned home. Hest suddenly knew with terrible certainty that they were no longer alive, that they had died terribly, probably months ago, possibly screaming the Chalcedean’s name as they perished. This quest was all the man had left. It was only a fantasy. Even if he filled the ship with chunks of bloody meat and kegs of blood, there was no grand life for him to reclaim. To fulfil his mad goal would be as disastrous for him as to fail. But this was his life now and he was trapped in it as surely as he had imprisoned Hest in his madman’s mission.

He stood on the deck and tried to count the oncoming dragons. He stopped at ten. Ten times dead was very dead indeed.

They had flown as if they had but one mind, reverting to the animals that perhaps dragons once had been. Mercor led their formation and Sintara had been proud to fly to his right. Blue-black Kalo had taken his left, and then Sestican and Baliper. Those three, she knew somehow, had been a long time with the golden dragon, perhaps swimming with him as serpents once.

All differences among them were gone. Even their thirst for Silver had been suppressed. Fifteen strong, they had risen to Tintaglia’s cry for vengeance.

Humans evidently confined humans.

‘You who have dared to raise hands against the glory of a dragon will spend the rest of your lives in servitude to them. That is the mercy of Mercor the Wise. A workman’s village awaits you, where you can become useful. If you fail to serve willingly and well, you will be eaten.

But the blue-black one made no sound as he took one step forward. All around the Chalcedean, his fellows crouched or cowered as the dragon stretched his head toward the man. He did not hiss or roar as he opened his jaws. As a man might snap an offending branch from a wayside path, the dragon bit the Chalcedean in half. In one head-snapping gulp he swallowed his head and torso. A moment later, he picked up the man’s hips and legs and likewise downed them. Then he turned and stalked off. One of Lord Dargen’s hands and part of a forearm had been sheared off in the dragon’s first bite. It remained where it had fallen, palm up on the muddy earth as if offering a final plea.

Someone screamed. A silver dragon swept in low over them, and the slave stood alone. Hest had a glimpse of a body dangling from the dragon’s jaws before it flew over the trees and out of sight. He turned and ran for the ships. He was not the first to get there.

The infections are too far advanced. She will not fly again. He lifted his head. A shameful way for us to lose her. Killed by humans. No dragon should die so.

he could sense her next thought. The humans have been judged and punished. Never again will any of them lift a hand against dragons. The golden dragon glanced skyward. You were long coming back to us. Perhaps you had given up on us, just as we had given up on you. But we will not abandon you here. Your flesh will not rot, nor be food for rats and ants. Kalo will gather your memories, blue queen. And all of us here will bear our recollections ever forward through time. Your name and deeds will not be forgotten among dragonkind.

The scarlet Elderling was speaking. ‘… and a statue to your glory shall be raised in the centre of the new Kelsingra. Saviour of dragonkind, first queen of the new generation, Serpent-Helper, you will never be forgotten so long as Elderlings and dragons still breathe in this world.’

He was not a singer such as Selden had been. She thought of her little dragon-singer, only a boy when she had claimed him, and knew a moment of nostalgia for him. Dying, she sent a thought winging to him. Sing for me, Selden. For whatever time remains to you before my death ends you, sing of your dragon and your love for her.

She closed her eyes. It was good to know that a drake would circle over her and watch her death, good to know that no small animals would chew at her as she lay dying, that her memories would not be feed for maggots and ants. All she had learned in this life, all she had known, would go on in some form.

Her Elderling robes gleamed in the sun, and a golden scarf swathed her head. Spring sunlight glittered on the fine scaling of her perfect features. ‘Dignity,’ he thought as he looked at her. Dignity, no matter what. Reyn stood beside her, tall and grave, and the three together were like a sculpture of royalty. Or misery, when one looked at their faces.

much as I can say for certain, but I’ll do it.’ ‘It’s the missing piece,’ she said into his chest. ‘Of that I am certain. Silver is what is needed. You will be restoring full magic to the Elderlings.’

But he remembered now how the dragon’s blood had swirled and drifted in the glass bottle, scarlet on silvery red, always moving before his eyes. Yes. There was Silver in dragon’s blood, for he watched it now as it stirred and moved like a live thing seeking an escape.

There it remained in stillness, and yet silver in every variant of that colour moved and swirled through it. ‘It’s beautiful,’ Thymara breathed. She stretched out a hand and Tats caught her by the wrist.

Sylve looked shocked as she said, ‘What else would we do with it? All of us want the young prince to live!’ Leftrin concealed his surprise. Prince. So they thought of the sickly child, and so they had risked all for him.

He dropped the pig right in front of her. Eat that. Her incredulous response had no words. Eat that. If you eat, you might live. If you live, I might find a mate worthy of my size. Kalo wheeled away from her. I will make a kill for myself. I will be back. She felt the sodden earth under her shudder as he leapt into flight. Stupid male. She was too far gone for this. It was of no use. She opened her jaws slightly and the fresh blood ran over her tongue. She shuddered.

Blood and life flowed back into her. Pain came with vitality.

She staggered from the water and found a less trampled place among the tall rushes and fern fronds and lay down to sleep. Not to die. To sleep. That’s good to know. His thought touched her before she felt the wind of his wings sweep past her. He landed heavily, and the gelid earth quaked beneath him. She smelled fresh blood on him; so he had made another kill and fed himself. Tomorrow morning, I will hunt meat for you again. He stretched out his body casually beside hers and she knew a moment’s unease. This was not the way of dragons. No dragon brought down prey for another, nor did they sleep in proximity to one another. But his eyes were closed and the stentorian breath of his sleep was regular. It was very strange to have him so close to her. Strange, but comforting, she thought to herself, and closed her eyes.

Imagine my surprise to recognize a bird I had myself raised in Bingtown, one that was subsequently sent as an unmated male to the coops in Cassarick. Although he was unbanded, I assure you that I recognize this bird. In my care, he was known as Two-toes, and was unusual for hatching with a missing toe. Even more shocking was when I confirmed what I recalled from the red lice plague.

Someone grasped his arm firmly and twisted his wrist toward the Duke. He felt the cracked lips brush his wrist in an obscene caress. The Duke’s tongue was warm and wet as it probed for his wound, leaving chill slime as its track on his arm. Selden gave a low moan of disgust as the old man’s mouth latched onto his wrist and suckled at his blood. After a short time, he felt the Duke’s claw-like hands fasten their own grip on his arm. The sucking grew stronger and an ache extended from his wrist to the inside of his elbow and then up his arm. When it reached his armpit he thought he would faint with the pain. The world was spinning and the distant cries of amazement and joy that reached his ears mocked his death.

Horror blossomed in him. Thin he still was, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks now. His eyes were half-opened as if in pleasure, and they were brighter than Ellik had seen them in months.

‘No, my duke, he is not dead, but he flutters close to it.’ The healer spoke in a gentle voice full of deference. ‘Would you finish him now, or send him back to be fed up again for a later treatment?’ Greed and caution warred in the Duke’s face. Abruptly, he pushed the thin wrist away from his mouth. ‘Take him away. Bid my daughter feed my fine blue cow fat again.

To him she must come for any little favour she sought. She must depend on him for every single thing, even a glass of water or a husk of bread. For he knew his life now depended on her.

He took a breath. Tired. Time to return to his bed, to sleep. Tired, yes, but not sickened with weariness. Only tired as any man would be after having to deal with a witch.

‘You see. They respect your abilities as I do.’ As they lifted his chair, he leaned back on his cushions. Let her ponder what he meant by that.