Blood of Dragons (Rain Wild Chronicles 4)

He waited for his heart to calm. His hearing came back more strongly and he could breathe again. He wanted water but didn’t want to go back to the dragon saddle to get it. He could wait. Never bother a dragon in the first few moments of a kill, he counselled himself.

He heard shouts and dragon roars and then felt the blast of hot air against him as other dragons landed. Riders were hitting the ground, pulling straps free and then standing back as the unburdened dragons took flight again. He sat up slowly, taking care to retain possession of the deer. If nothing else, he intended to have a decent meal out of Tintaglia’s rough treatment of him.

Sylve, her blonde hair a mat of permanent tangles after days of windy flight, came to stand over him. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked him timidly. Her fingertips touched her own lips and chin lightly, and she worried, ‘That’s a lot of blood.’

He swiped his arm across his face. ‘Just a bloody nose,’ he assured her. Staggering to his feet, he seized one of the deer’s hind legs. ‘Let’s carry this off before the dragons take it away from us,’ he suggested.

She seized the other hind leg and they began dragging it over the desiccated earth. The air was hot and dry. The other keepers were already gathering in the dappled shade of one of the taller trees. Most of the other dragons had already left. Tintaglia was still crouched over her kills. He noticed that no dragon had been bold enough to claim any part of it. And that her harness had been removed. ‘Who unsaddled her?’ he asked.

‘Rapskal.’ Sylve looked back at Tintaglia. The dragon was tearing a deer carcass in half, one foot bracing it on the ground. ‘Sometimes I think he’s fearless. Other times, I think he’s just stupid.’

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He waited for his heart to calm. His hearing came back more strongly and he could breathe again. He wanted water but didn’t want to go back to the dragon saddle to get it. He could wait. Never bother a dragon in the first few moments of a kill, he counselled himself.

He heard shouts and dragon roars and then felt the blast of hot air against him as other dragons landed. Riders were hitting the ground, pulling straps free and then standing back as the unburdened dragons took flight again. He sat up slowly, taking care to retain possession of the deer. If nothing else, he intended to have a decent meal out of Tintaglia’s rough treatment of him.

Sylve, her blonde hair a mat of permanent tangles after days of windy flight, came to stand over him. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked him timidly. Her fingertips touched her own lips and chin lightly, and she worried, ‘That’s a lot of blood.’

He swiped his arm across his face. ‘Just a bloody nose,’ he assured her. Staggering to his feet, he seized one of the deer’s hind legs. ‘Let’s carry this off before the dragons take it away from us,’ he suggested.

She seized the other hind leg and they began dragging it over the desiccated earth. The air was hot and dry. The other keepers were already gathering in the dappled shade of one of the taller trees. Most of the other dragons had already left. Tintaglia was still crouched over her kills. He noticed that no dragon had been bold enough to claim any part of it. And that her harness had been removed. ‘Who unsaddled her?’ he asked.

‘Rapskal.’ Sylve looked back at Tintaglia. The dragon was tearing a deer carcass in half, one foot bracing it on the ground. ‘Sometimes I think he’s fearless. Other times, I think he’s just stupid.’

‘Sometimes they go together,’ Reyn observed. His head suddenly spun and he had to stand still. He dropped the deer leg and held his hands over his eyes for a moment. ‘She gave no thought to me at all when she dived on that herd,’ he muttered. ‘No thought at all.’

‘They never do,’ Sylve agreed with him. ‘Oh, Mercor is better than most at considering what might happen to me. But even he dismisses my well-being when it comes to “dragon business”. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here at all.’

Rapskal, having approached them, overheard the last of their conversation. He stooped, gathered the deer’s front and back legs in each hand, slung the carcass over his back and stood up easily under the burden. Reyn’s estimate of his strength abruptly changed.

‘We cannot expect dragons to consider us: it is our duty to consider them. I think we will reach Chalced tomorrow, and see the capital city soon after. We will be flying into battle immediately; there is no point in letting them prepare to meet us.’

They had followed him and now they had reached the other keepers. Rapskal shrugged the deer off his shoulders and it fell with a thud to the earth. He went down on one knee beside it, drawing his belt-knife as he did so. Jerd came to stand at his shoulder and watch him. ‘We cannot expect them to think of us tomorrow during the battle. It will be up to each of us to be sure we are securely fastened to our dragons. While we are mounted, our tasks are to watch for risks that our dragons may not notice. Of old, that would have meant that we had to watch for enemy dragons diving down on us or coming up behind us. That is not the case now, luckily.

‘But the city of Chalced has long been fortified against its enemies. Of old, the fortified portion of the city was upon a hilltop. I expect that will be the Duke’s residence. In any case, it is what we must first destroy. The ballista there will be set to rain missiles down on an army approaching from below. But if some clever commander keeps his head and thinks clearly enough, he may be able to adjust his machinery to fling large stones upward at us. And bowmen with powerful bows on top of towers may be able to speed shafts toward us. Even a small arrow driving deep into tender flesh can do great damage to a dragon, as Tintaglia has shown us. So it is the task of every keeper to watch for dangers to his dragon. That, above all else, must concern you.’

As he spoke, he began gutting the deer. He watched his hands, but spoke loudly and clearly, obviously intending to reach all the keepers. Once he had opened it, Sylve crouched opposite him and began skinning it, pulling the hide toward herself as she slashed it efficiently free of the meat below. Nortel came with a long stick, to spear the heart on a spit. Kase and Boxter were already busy with tinder and broken tree limbs. A thin spiral of pale smoke began climbing skyward.

Rapskal rocked back onto his knees, the liver a dark mass in his hands. His arms were blood-smeared to the elbow. He lectured on. ‘If your dragon lands, you are at his command. He may tell you to go into a building to drive the enemy out to him. If he is injured and unable to fly, it is your task to defend him to the death if need be. He may choose to leave you on the ground so that he can fight unencumbered. It is his choice.’ He flipped the liver to Nortel, who caught it adroitly.