Blood of Dragons

And so the long work day had gone, with Alise scribbling and the others sorting and moving broken things. Before long, a round hole, bigger across than a tall man’s height, gaped up at them from the centre of the simple plaza. The remains of a brick wall encircled it. The well was wedged full of more wreckage. ‘Going to have to rig a hoist to clear that,’ Swarge observed dourly. ‘Almost looks like it was stuffed down there apurpose,’ he opined, and Carson had agreed with several colourful profanities added.



It had not just fallen; debris had been deliberately packed into the well until it lodged there. Even after a tripod of salvaged timbers had been erected over the well mouth, the task of removing it included breaking it free before it could be hauled up out of the mouth. As the level of debris receded, Leftrin insisted that any keeper climbing into the hole must wear a harness and have a tender. ‘No telling when that wreckage could all give way and fall in, Sa knows how deep. Don’t want a keeper or crew-hand going down with it.’



And so the hard work of clearing the packed wreckage had begun. From dawn until dark the keepers toiled, and all the while the dragons had watched, pacing eagerly and sometimes crowding so close that keepers were forced to plead, with much flattery, for them to move back and give them all room to work. Even as night stole the colours from the sky, the dragons clustered there. Some merely stood; others prowled as if they expected game to erupt from the well shaft. Spit nosed through the heaped piles of chain, undoing most of a day’s work. Carson heaved a great sigh. ‘Dragon. Leave off that, unless you want it to take us even longer to solve this puzzle.’



Spit stopped his rummaging and lifted his head. His eyes gleamed. ‘Silver is everything. In traces we gain it when we drink from the river or eat prey that has done so. It is threaded through the stones and bones of this place, and moves deep beneath the earth here.’ His words were measured and spoken calmly. ‘All creatures that live here gain some Silver from what they eat and drink, and once dragons had to be content with that. We knew that the prey of this land and the waters of this land were more rejuvenating to us than anywhere else we hunted. We heard each other more clearly when we hunted here, and we could hear humans as well …’ His words trailed off and it felt to Thymara as if the night darkened around them.



‘Spit?’ Carson asked as the extraordinary flow of thought dwindled and ceased. He was not the only one staring at the mean little silver. Spit was standing stock still, staring sightlessly at the crumpled walls of the old well. The silence stretched.



Mercor broke it. ‘I feel that Spit spoke true. I cannot remember all the events he spoke of, but what I can remember fits with what he said.’



‘Give me that!’ Carson commanded suddenly. He advanced on the small dragon and peered at him sternly. After a long pause, Spit’s jaws opened slightly. A length of chain dangled from his mouth, and then spooled out to clank to the stones of the plaza. Carson crouched down to examine it but did not touch it. ‘What just happened?’ he demanded of no one and everyone.



Mercor blew air from his nostrils. ‘There must have been a trace of Silver left on the chain, and Spit found it.’



‘Only a tiny bit,’ Spit admitted blissfully. ‘I smelled it. And I took it while the rest of you were standing and staring like cattle.’ His satisfaction was poisonous.



‘Now there’s the Spit we know,’ Carson muttered, and then he and the other keepers dodged away as the other dragons surged forward to investigate the well wreckage. But their snorting and shuffling of the chains and broken timbers evidently yielded nothing to them. They dispersed slowly, going back to their watch, and Thymara knew that every keeper shared her wonder. If a tiny amount of Silver could work so great a change in Spit, even temporarily, what would a flowing supply of it do for the dragons? And what would they be willing to do for it?



Sintara had visited the work site no less than three times. She had spoken little to Thymara but radiated approval at how hard the girl was working to clear the well. Thymara resented how the dragon’s enthusiasm could warm and energize her, but could not resist it. She knew she worked harder when the blue queen was watching over her. She was not the only one. Even Jerd had come to lend a hand with an enthusiasm she seldom showed for hard labour on a chilly day. Thymara had avoided her, preferring to work alongside Tats and Rapskal. It warmed her in a different way to see how easy they were with one another now. Tats had evidently been sincere about setting his jealousy aside, and Rapskal had never shown signs of feeling any. Could it be that easy, she wondered, and found that she hoped so. She had been able to relax and be more herself. When they paused in late afternoon to eat a simple meal that blessedly included hot tea with sugar and hardtack as well as their perpetual smoked meat, Jerd had strolled by behind them and made a smiling remark that the three of them seemed to have found something to enjoy together.