Blood of Dragons

‘Not every Khuprus is gone.’ The woman who shouted the words was old. Her facial scaling proclaimed her a Rain Wilder. The hair swept up and pinned to her head was greying, but she strode swiftly down the wide path from the city toward the dragon. The other humans parted to let her through. She walked fearlessly, though with one hand she motioned for her daughter, trotting uncertainly behind her, to stay well back.

Tintaglia lifted her head to look down on the old woman. She could not quite close her wing over her injury, so she let both her wings hang loose as if she did it intentionally. She waited until the woman was quite close; then she said, ‘I remember you. You are Jani Khuprus, mother of Reyn Khuprus.’

‘I am.’

‘Where is he? I wish for him and Malta to attend me at once.’ She would not tell this woman she was injured. Beneath the humans’ fog of fear she sensed a simmering anger. And she was still hearing shouts and curses from the area of the flimsy dock she had landed on. She hoped they’d repair it sufficiently for her to safely launch from it.

‘Reyn and Malta are gone. I have not seen or heard from them in days.’

Tintaglia stared at the woman. There was something … ‘You are lying to me.’

She felt a moment of assent but the words that came from the woman’s lips denied it. ‘I have not seen them. I am not sure where they are.’

But you suspect you know. Tintaglia spun the silver of her eyes slowly while she fixed her thought on the upright old woman. She reached for strength and then exuded glamour at Jani. The woman cocked her head and a half-smile formed on her face. Then she drew herself up very straight and fixed her own stern gaze on the dragon. Without speaking, she conveyed to Tintaglia that attempting to charm her had made her more wary and less cooperative.

Tintaglia abruptly wearied of the game. ‘I have no time for this. I need my Elderlings. Where did they go, old woman? I can tell that you know.’

Jani Khuprus just stared at her. Plainly she did not like to be exposed as a liar. The other humans behind her shifted and murmured to one another.

‘Half my damn boat’s smashed!’ A man’s voice.

Tintaglia turned her head slowly; she knew how sudden movements could wake pain. The man striding toward her was big, as humans went, and he carried a long, hooked pole. It was some sort of boatman’s tool but he carried it as if it might be a weapon. ‘Dragon!’ He roared the word at her. ‘What are you going to do to make it good?’

He brandished the object in a way that made it clear he intended to threaten her. Ordinarily, it would not have concerned her; she doubted it would penetrate her thickest scaling. It would only do damage if he found a tender spot. Such as her wound. She moved deliberately to face him, hoping he would not realize that her slowness was due to weakness rather than disdain for him.

‘Make it good?’ she asked snidely. ‘If you had “made it good” in the first place, it would not have shattered so easily. There is nothing I can do to “make it good” for you. I can, however, make it much worse for you.’ She opened her jaws wide, showing him her venom sacs, but he obviously thought that she threatened to eat him. He stumbled back from her, his pike all but forgotten in his hand. When he thought he was a safe distance, he shouted, ‘This is your fault, Jani Khuprus! You and your kin, those “Elderlings” are the ones who brought the dragons here! Much good they did us!’

Tintaglia could almost see the fury rise in the old woman. She advanced on the man, heedless that it brought her within range of the dragon. ‘Much good? Yes, much good, if you count keeping the Chalcedeans out of our river! I’m sorry your boat was damaged, Yulden, but don’t throw the blame on me, or mock my children.’

‘It’s the dragon’s fault, not Jani’s!’ A woman’s voice from back in the crowd. ‘Drive the dragon away! Send her off to join the others!’

‘Yes!’

‘You’ll get no meat from us, dragon! Get out of here!’

‘We’ve had enough of your kind here. Be off!’

Tintaglia stared at them incredulously. Had they forgotten all they’d ever known of dragons? That she could, with one acid-laden breath, melt the flesh from their bones?

Then, from back in the crowd, the pole came flying. It was the trunk of a sapling, or a branch stripped of twigs, but it had been thrown at her as if it were a spear. It struck her, a feeble blow, and bounced off her hide. Ordinarily, it would not even have hurt, but any jarring movement hurt now. She snapped her head on her long neck to face her attacker, and that hurt even more. For an instant, she began to rise on her hind legs and spread her wings, to terrify these vermin with her size before spitting a mist of venom that would engulf them all. She resisted that reflex just in time: she must not bare the tender flesh beneath her wings and above all she must not let her attackers see her injury. Instead, she drew her head back and felt the glands in her throat swell in readiness.

‘TINTAGLIA!’