The Dragon Keeper

There was even a neatly lettered checklist of the various specimens he hoped to acquire and estimates of their worth. Blood. Teeth. Nail. Scales. Liver. Spleen. Heart. He thought of how queasy he’d felt watching the girl cut the tissue from the dragon’s wound. He’d have to get over that. If one of the animals was injured or died, he’d have to find a way to be close to it quickly. His banishment might prove the foundation of his fortune.



He stored his specimens carefully away and shut the drawer. No regrets, he told himself again. No regrets and no hesitation.



SINTARA HAD FOLLOWED the other dragons down to the banks of the river, and waded right in behind them. Mercor led them. She was surprised that all of the dragons seemed to accept his leadership, but especially Kalo. Hadn’t he been claiming the role by virtue of his size only hours ago? The excitement that had infected them seemed strong enough to inspire them all to action. For now.



They walked all morning in the shallows at the edge of the river. Here the current was gentler and the water offered less resistance. She would have preferred to stay on the shore, but the thick vegetation of the Rain Wild Forest came right to the river’s edge and sometimes ventured into the water in the form of straggling roots or fallen trees. For the most part, the dragons were large enough and strong enough to push past such impediments, but in midafternoon, they had to wade out into deeper water to go around one immense snag that projected into the river.



The trunk of the tree was immense, so large that she couldn’t even see over it. The acid waters of the river were already devouring the fallen giant, but going around it still meant wading out so deep that the water tried to lift her off her feet. That was a disconcerting feeling. The first time it happened, she paddled and floundered, splashing wildly. One of the smaller green dragons, Fente, shrilly trumpeted her distress. The current caught Fente and for a moment she flailed wildly before successfully passing the fallen tree. She hastened for the shallows in a panicky gallop. When she resumed her steady plodding up the river, her breath still came in loud snorts. Sintara was glad she was taller and stronger than Fente. The river had not lifted her. Dragons could swim, but only by necessity.



She thought about swimming, and sluggish memories stirred. One was of a terrifying accident; a cliff ’s edge had given way and a dragon had fallen into a deep, cold fjord. She had had to swim, and the steep cliffs that surrounded the fjord had defied her attempts to clamber out. By the time she had found a place wide enough to emerge from the water, she had been so chilled that she had barely been able to open her wings and flap them dry before flying away.



There were other memories of being underwater, and with a mental hitch and jerk, she connected them with Kelsingra. She pondered that for a moment, trying to put the pieces together. There had been the city on the bank, a beautiful city that sparkled in the sun, and before it, the wide, deep river. The current’s press against her chest seemed to help her remember. Yes. One flew over the city and circled it, once, twice, thrice. It was not just for show, though swooping low or turning a slow roll in flight might win shouts of admiration from the Elderlings who peopled the city. It was to notify everyone, dragon and Elderling, of one’s intent to arrive. It gave the small fishing boats notice to get out of the way. For the best way to land at Kelsingra was to come in low over the water and then clap one’s wings tight, extend the neck, and plunge beneath the surface of the water. The river cushioned the landing. Once in the water, the dragons did not swim, but waded to the bank, up and out, scaled hides glistening and gleaming. Once out of the water, pleasure awaited. There were always Elderlings waiting to greet the dragons, people whose duty it was to—



She stumbled as a large rock in the riverbed turned under her foot, and the fragile thread of memory snapped. She groped desperately after it. It had been such a sweet thing, something wonderful to recall, and now it was gone. All around her, the other dragons waded on, huffing and grunting with the effort of moving against the current. Closer to the bank, the water was shallower and slower, but the mud at the bottom made it hard going. She decided the sticky footing was less annoying than the deeper water. She waded past several of the others and then deliberately increased her speed until she had passed every dragon except Mercor and Ranculos.



The golden dragon was toiling steadfastly along. He was not as big as Kalo and Sestican, but here in the river he seemed longer. Perhaps it was how he strode along, his neck straining, his long tail lifted above the water. “Mercor!” she called to him. She knew he heard her, but he didn’t turn his head or slacken his pace. Scarlet Ranculos was only a pace or two behind him.