City of Dragons

“I’ll talk to her,” Thymara promised him confidently. Despite the difference in their ages, she and Alise were friends. She had felt awkward around the older woman at first, but Alise’s admiration for her hunting and fishing skills had won her over. Thymara was not sure how she would react to the pristine Elderling goods that they were bringing back now. She did not think Alise would agree that sharing them with the keepers would be the best use of them. But she herself wore an Elderling garment from the ruins of Trehaug. Surely she would not be hypocritical enough to forbid the same comfort to the keepers.



“They’re waiting for us!” Rapskal spoke loudly over the wind. “Look!”



She lifted her head and peered down through squinting eyes. Yes, keepers were gathering on the riverbank, and even a few of the dragons were strolling down. Golden Mercor was already there. His head was lifted and he peered up at them. “They must have been worried about us!” she called to Rapskal.



“Silly of them. We can take care of ourselves,” he declared grandly. She felt a rippling of unease to hear him set them apart from the others. He seemed to think that something had changed, something important. Had it? Did he take last night as some sort of declaration from her that she had chosen him? Had she?



No, she answered herself emphatically. She had mated with him, but that was all. It had been an impulsive thing she had done, not a commitment to him. Not a long-term decision.



As they circled the gathered keepers and Heeby trumpeted triumphantly as she began a long glide to the ground, Thymara wondered if he understood that as clearly as she did.



Tats stared up at the circling red dragon. The rain and wind tried to blind him, but he squinted his eyes and decided he had not been deceived. Something had changed about Heeby. Her wings seemed more proportional, her flying more sure. And she glittered and gleamed even in the low light of the overcast day. As they came closer, he could discern the two riders on her back. Relief vied with jealousy. Thymara was safe, but she was with Rapskal. Then a stray ray of sunlight struck them, and the riders glittered as brilliantly as the dragon they bestrode.



“What is that they’re wearing?” he wondered aloud.



“Where is Sintara? Why isn’t she returning with them?” Alise had joined him and the other watchers and answered his query with one of her own.



“Sintara hunts.” This statement came from Mercor. The golden dragon and his keeper, Sylve, looked up at the sky. “She has found her wings and her strength. Now that she can hunt for herself, she will not depend on Thymara so much.”



“Which means Thymara can help feed the rest of us,” blue-black Kalo commented sternly.



“You have a keeper, and your keeper is a hunter. You should have no need for extra attention.” Sestican angled himself into the group. He was not as large as Kalo, but he often seemed intent on provoking the larger male. Tats broke in before Kalo could respond, “We keepers all do the best we can to provide meat for all of you.”



“And yet we are always hungry.” Kalo’s gaze did not leave the scarlet dragon. Heeby was closer now, circling lower before landing. Her landings were always exciting. Tats suspected they were more the product of trial and error than any clear ancestral memory of how a dragon should land. And this time was no exception. She looped low, flying into the wind to slow herself. She had chosen a long strip of open riverbank, and everyone well knew to stay out of her way. She opened her wings wide and leaned back. Her legs had been tucked so neatly against her body and in line with her tail; now she suddenly splayed them out. Her hind feet touched the ground, she ran a few staggering steps and then dropped down on her front feet and slid to a halt, her tail lashing for purchase. Rapskal took it all with aplomb, but Thymara clutched tight to him, her face hidden on his back. The moment that they were still, she began her slide down Heeby’s shoulder.



With all his heart, Tats wanted to dash forward and catch her in his arms. But he did not. He was not sure that she would have welcomed such an action.



“They’re wearing Elderling garb!” The words burst from Alise in wonder mingled with horror. As Rapskal slid down to join Thymara, Tats heard cries of wonder and a scattering of laughter from the other keepers. The bright colors were ludicrous on a man; that was Tats’s first scornful reaction. But then as Rapskal made a showy bow to all of them, they suddenly seemed not only appropriate to his tall and slender form, but elegant as well. They were clothes fit for an Elderling, as colorful as Rapskal himself had become. And had he become more scarlet since last Tats had seen him?