Blood of Dragons

The man lifted his fists and advanced on the slave, who stood his ground to meet him.



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.



There was an interruption in the light. And another. A gust of wind rattled the tall rushes all around her. Tintaglia managed to open one eye a slit. She was still dreaming. A female green dragon looked down on her. Too late.



I fear you are right.



She had not seen the golden dragon. He had landed behind her. It was only now, as his head came into view, that she knew he was there. He sniffed her, his black eyes roiling with sorrow. 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.



Other dragons were alighting nearby. A blue queen, a silver drake, a lavender drake. Dragons. Real dragons, dragons that could fly and hunt.



Dragons have avenged you, Tintaglia, the golden one told her, as if 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.



A scarlet Elderling stepped forward. She had not seen him, had not known that Elderlings had returned to the world. She thought of the three she had begun and knew a moment of sorrow. Incomplete, and without her continued presence in their lives, doomed to die. 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.’



His praise warmed her, but only faintly. 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.



Somewhere in the distance, she thought she felt a response from him, the sympathetic thrumming of a far string in tune with her own heart chords. 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. It would have been better if she had been able to lay her eggs, if she had died knowing that one hot day her serpent offspring would wriggle free of their shells and slither down the beaches to begin their sojourn as sea serpents. It would have been better, but this, at least, was as good a death as any dragon might have.



The keepers had awakened to a city bereft of dragons. None strolled out from the baths, gleaming in the spring dawn. None alighted in the square with a rush of wing and wind. In the absence of the dragons, the city became vast and empty and far too large for humans.



Tats had been startled when Thymara tapped on his door to waken him. If she hadn’t come, it was likely he would have slept longer. But he rose, and went down with her to enjoy a hot cup of fragrant tea and a round of ship’s biscuit with jam. Odd, how such simple foods seemed so good after a time without them. Midway through breakfast, Thymara had set down her cup and tilted her head. ‘Do you hear anything from Fente?’



Tats closed his eyes and reached out toward his feisty little queen. He’d opened them again almost immediately. ‘Still flying, I think. I wonder how far they are going. Whatever she’s doing, she’s intent on it and wants no distractions.’ He cocked his head at her. ‘Has Sintara spoken to you?’



‘Not directly. She seldom does when she’s away. But I felt something, a thrill of excitement. I wish I knew what was happening.’



‘I’m almost afraid to know,’ Tats admitted. ‘The way they rushed out of here was frightening. So much anger in the air.’



‘And Rapskal became so strange,’ Thymara added shyly.



Tats gave her a look. ‘He’s my friend, still,’ he said. ‘Don’t think you can’t speak of him to me. I think he has spent more time in the memory-stone than any of us, and it’s beginning to show. When he returns, I think it’s time we sat him down and talked with him about it.’