Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #4)

Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles #4) Page 150

Truly, all is well, and will soon, we hope, be even better as a cloud of doubt that has hung over the Bird Keepers’ Guild is dispelled.

Have faith in us.

Erek

CHAPTER NINETEEN

IceFyre

Thymara peered at the black dragon, trying to discern what was wrong with him. She took a half-step forward, and Tats seized her upper arm and drew her back. ‘He’s mad with pain.’ Tats said apologetically, ‘He isn’t one of ours, Thym. He might do anything.’

The battered black dragon threw back his head and roared again. The insides of his mouth and throat were bright green with red streaks. When he dropped his head, a red froth dripped from his mouth to sizzle on the paving stones. He stared around at all the gathered folk, his eyes swirling madly. Thymara could not tell if the sounds he was making indicated pain or whether he was threatening anyone who came near. He had not uttered a word that she understood. His half-folded wings were ragged and rent. Some of the tears looked old, but there were recent ones as well. He looked both healthy and yet battered. He lifted his head and roared again. Then he curled his head in and down and swung it from side to side.

‘Can’t we help him?’ Thymara spoke the words but didn’t step forward again. When the dragons sounded the alarm, their keepers had come running from all directions. Thymara had thought Mercor and the other drakes would drive the black intruder away, but they had let him land.

‘IceFyre.’ Sintara had confirmed for her when she had reached toward her queen. ‘Stay clear of him. I think he’s mad.’

All the keepers had gathered to stare at the oldest dragon in the world but they had halted at a sensible distance. Mercor, Sestican and Sintara were on the ground. Even they had not approached within striking distance of the black. The others circled overhead in a whirlwind of colours and wings. The keepers exchanged looks but no one approached him.

And into the midst of the chaos came Heeby and Rapskal, dropping through the circling dragons like a dumpling falling into soup. The red dragon landed ungracefully and her rider slid from her shoulder.

Tats gave a distressed groan.

‘What is he thinking?’ Thymara demanded of no one. Since their night in the well, she’d kept Rapskal at arm’s length. There had been moments, during a meal or a shared task, when he’d seemed to be his old self, and her heart had yearned for them to be friends as they’d once been. But then there were the moments when he seemed completely foreign to her, calling for death by dragon for the prisoners. Or, as now, dropping down into their midst in extravagant and fanciful dress. Rapskal had put a heavy shaft to one of the spear-heads he’d found in the old armoury and he brandished it aloft as he walked in a slow circle around the black dragon. The scale armour he wore over his Elderling tunic and trousers shifted as he walked, and it seemed to Thymara that he deliberately rocked his hips to encourage the movement. It was effective. The sunlight caught and bounced off it, making him gleam black and gold. Heeby wore a matching harness. A water-skin hung from it, and something that was perhaps a horn. Thymara could not identify the rest of the items that dangled from it. The red dragon jingled as she pranced to follow Rapskal, well pleased with herself.

He circled the growling and groaning dragon once before stopping directly in front of it.

‘Now what?’ Tats growled.

‘Rapskal, no!’ Thymara cried, but he did not react to that name and she would not call him Tellator.

Rapskal walked fearlessly up to the roaring black dragon, dropped to one knee before him and bowed his head. At the sight of him, the dragon’s groans suddenly stilled. Rapskal lifted his head and his voice rang out clearly. ‘Kelsingra welcomes you, Glorious One! How may we serve you?’ He swept a wide arm to indicate the outer circle of keepers and ship’s crew. ‘I am Rapskal, Elderling to Heeby, the wondrous scarlet queen. I and all my fellow Elderlings would be honoured to guide you to the Silver well and watch you drink. The baths await you, and attendants who would swoon with joy to groom every one of your glorious scales! As the dragons of Kelsingra have permitted you to come here, the Elderlings of Kelsingra stand ready to serve you. Tell us your need, O eldest of dragons, and we will rush to meet it.’

Silence flowed in to follow his words. The black dragon regarded him intently. Rapskal continued his obeisance, his face lifted fearlessly. At last the creature spoke. ‘IceFyre am I called by humans. At least one here recalls the old courtesies of your kind!’ His gaze swept over them all, dragons and humans. ‘By treachery, I am poisoned. Humans have done this to me, luring me with fat cattle filled with death. If you have Silver, then lead me there. But I did not come here seeking Elderling praises or even Silver, though I welcome both. I came to see if any dragons still live who are worthy of that name, if any would rise to avenge me against the ones who seek to kill dragons for their flesh.’