Blood of Dragons

Emotions flickered over Rapskal’s face. The set of his mouth wavered and for a moment, a startled boy looked out at Leftrin. ‘But it has always been so, has it not? Death the punishment for attacking a dragon?’ he asked in honest confusion, all the eloquent elocution gone from his voice.

‘Rapskal! Stay, stay with us, don’t go!’ Thymara leapt forward suddenly and seized him in her arms. ‘Don’t go. Look at me, speak to me. You are Rapskal! Remember yourself!’

Tats joined her, putting a hand on Rapskal’s shoulder. Sylve stepped forward and tall Harrikin, each putting a hand on him. In another breath, Rapskal was surrounded by all the keepers, all straining to touch him.

Leftrin watched in confusion. ‘Don’t go?’ he muttered to himself.

‘You were right to warn him, my dear, all those weeks ago.’ He turned, startled, to find Alise beside him. Her gaze met his, her grey eyes true. ‘Elderling or not, he has spent too much time in the memory-stone. It is not that he has drowned, but that the memories of someone else’s lifetime have overshadowed his own. I know the man who lives again in Rapskal. Tellator. He was a leader among the Elderlings during a time of war with their neighbours. He was passionate in all things, and bloody-minded in his hatred of those who fought against them.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘We would like to believe the Elderlings were always wise and kind, but their roots were human. They had their failings.’

‘I have to protect the dragons,’ Rapskal was saying now. He looked around at the worried faces of his fellows and added, ‘What else are we to do with such villains? Let them live among us? Let them go, to plot further against us? I – I don’t like to kill, Thymara. You know I am not even a good hunter. But in this, what else are we to do?’

The bunched prisoners sensed the division in those they faced. Some howled for mercy, others shouted that they were Traders and only the Council could judge them. Three men made a break for freedom, only to have Heeby trumpet a warning at them that stopped them in their tracks. The red dragon half-opened her wings and advanced on the men, her jaws wide. They retreated into the huddle of prisoners. The Chalcedeans had formed up, back to back. Weaponless, they would still fight. Leftrin shook his head. ‘What are we to do?’ he asked no one quietly.

The world had gone mad.

Hest stood in the centre of the captives, his head bowed, the hood of his cloak up. On the final leg of the journey up the river he had asserted his rights to his stateroom and his possessions, such as they remained. Most of the Chalcedeans had gone onto the other ship, and no one else had the will to challenge him. It had been a relief to don different clothing and throw his worn-out rags over the side. The foods and wine Redding had brought aboard for them had largely been consumed by their Chalcedean captors, but the bed and bedding had seemed an exotic luxury after his days of sleeping in the hold. He had still had to help work the deck and labour in the galley, but he had managed not to have to take an oar. Between what remained of his own clothing and Redding’s, he was warmly and almost stylishly attired again, and he had found time enough to shave and to trim his own hair. He had not known what to expect when they docked in Kelsingra but had fallen back on one of his father’s old axioms: a man who bears himself with authority will often have authority ceded to him. And so he had locked himself in his room and readied himself for the city and all it might hold, emerging only when he knew docking was under way and thus avoiding most of the work. And when the order had come to disembark, he had taken care to blend with the others until he knew what sort of welcome awaited them.

Yet he had not been prepared for the reality he confronted. He had expected a muddy excavation, or vine-draped ruins. When they had come around the final bend in the river and seen Kelsingra spilled out across the hillsides, he had been just as shocked as the rest. To see a vast city flung wide across low-rolling hills had been astonishing. How could such a place have ever existed, let alone withstood the ravages of time, weather and nature?

And how much treasure did it hold?