Robin Hobb - The Dragon Keeper

They had emerged from the forest onto the muddy bank of tall reeds. Well, they had been tall when Thymara had last left. The activities of the dragons and their keepers had trampled most of them flat now. From where they stood, the barge with its welcoming lamps was easily visible. A camp-fire was burning; silhouetted against the flames was a large spit threaded with chunks of riverpig. Tats sniffed appreciatively and as if in response his stomach rumbled. They all laughed. The knot of Thymara’s anger loosened. She wondered if she could just let it go. If she did, would that mean Greft had won something from her?

“Let’s go and eat!” Rapskal urged them.

“Soon,” Thymara promised him. “First, this meat needs to go to any dragon that is still hungry. And we should check on Tats’ copper dragon. He said he wasn’t eating much.”

“Well, I’m going to head down to the fire. I only left it to come and find you all. Hey, one of the hunters plays harp, that Carson, and there’s a woman from the barge who plays a pipe, and earlier they were playing some music together. So we might have music after we eat, too. Even dancing, if the mud lets us.” He stopped suddenly, and a slow wide grin spread across his face. “Isn’t this just the best time ever in your life?”

“Go enjoy it, Rapskal,” Tats urged him.

Rapskal looked at Thymara. “I’m starving,” he admitted, but then asked, “You’re coming soon, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. Go and eat.”

He needed no other prompting. He left them at a run. Thymara watched his fleeing shadow as he rejoined the keepers clustered around the fire. She heard a shout of laughter go up at someone’s comment. A chunk of driftwood was thrown on the fire and a dazzling fountain of sparks flew up into the darkening sky.

“It could be a wonderful time,” Sylve said quietly. “Tonight, with talk and food and music.”

Thymara sighed and surrendered. “I won’t ruin it, Sylve. I’m not going to say anything to anyone about the elk meat and Greft tonight. I’d just sound argumentative and selfish. Here we are tonight, out first night with plenty of food and music. My quarrel with Greft will wait for another time.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” the girl said hastily.

But when she didn’t say what she had meant, Tats filled in with, “Let’s take this meat to the dragons and go join the others by the fire.”

Skymaw was sleeping soundly, her belly distended. Fente roused, claimed the meat that Tats had brought, but then fell asleep with her chin on top of it. Mercor was awake. The gold dragon was standing alone, staring toward the fire and the keepers when they found him. He seemed pleased that Sylve had brought him meat. He thanked her for it, something that astonished Thymara, and then satisfied them all by immediately devouring the head and neck portion of the elk. His great jaws and sharp teeth made nothing of the animal’s skull. He closed his mouth on it and the elk’s head gave with a wet crushing sound. They left him chewing and went off in search of the copper dragon.

They found him not far from the silver one. The silver was sleeping, his bandaged tail curled around a distended belly. The copper sprawled near him. But his posture didn’t look right to Thymara. Tats voiced it. “He looks like he just fell down rather than curled up to sleep.” Alone of the dragons, he looked thin and empty. His head was cushioned on his front feet. He was breathing huskily, his eyes half-closed. “Hey, copper,” Tats said softly. The dragon didn’t react to him. He put his hand on the dragon’s head and scratched gently around his earholes. “He seemed to like this earlier,” Tats explained. The dragon made a small huffing sound but didn’t budge.

Thymara dragged the elk section around and halted with it right in front of the copper. “You hungry?” she asked the small dragon and found herself deliberately pushing the thought at him. “There’s meat here. All for you. Elk. Smell it? Smell the blood?”

He took a deeper breath. His eyes opened wider. He licked timidly at the meat, and then lifted his head. “There you go. Meat for you,” Tats encouraged him. Thymara thought she felt an echo of response from him. Tats knelt by the elk and drew his belt-knife. He scored the meat several times. Finally, he sheathed his knife and reached up inside the rib-cage of the elk. He pulled at the guts and then smeared his bloody hand across the dragon’s snout. “There. You smell that? That’s meat for you. Eat it.”

The dragon’s tongue moved, cleaning his muzzle. Then a shudder ran over him. Tats pulled his hand back just in time as the dragon darted his head in to seize a mouthful of the dangling entrails. He made small snorting sounds as he ate, and seemed to gain strength with each mouthful. By the time they left him, he had his front feet braced on the elk carcass and was tearing free mouthfuls of meat and bone. He appeared to be gulping them down whole.

“Well, at least he’s eating now,” Thymara commented as they walked away from him toward the fire. The smell of the roasting meat was making her mouth water. She was suddenly extremely hungry and very tired.

“You don’t think he’s going to survive, do you?” Tats accused her.

“I don’t know. I don’t know about any of the dragons.”

“My Mercor is going to live,” Sylve declared earnestly. “He’s come too far and through too much to die on the journey.”

“I hope you’re right,” Thymara agreed comfortingly.

“I know I am,” Sylve insisted. “He told me so.”

“I wished my dragon talked to me like that,” Thymara said enviously.

Before Sylve could respond, Rapskal appeared out of the darkness. His face shone with grease and a thick slab of meat was in his hands. “I brought this for you, Thymara. You have to try this! It’s so good!”

“We’re coming,” Tats assured him.

“Captain Leftrin says we all get to sleep on his deck tonight, too!” Rapskal told them. “Dry bed, hot food — what could make this night better?”

At the circle around the fire, music as sudden and bright as sparks suddenly burst up into the night.

Day the 2nd of the Prayer Moon

Year the 6th of the Independent Alliance of Traders

From Erek, Keeper of the Birds, Bingtown

to Detozi, Keeper of the Birds, Trehaug

Detozi,

Apologies for any difficulties you’ve experienced recently. Am sending a hundredweight sack of the yellow peas. Keep them from damp, as once wet. They spoil quickly. Always feed them dry to your birds. In the same shipment, I am sending two well-fledged youngsters, both of Kingsly’s line, a male and a female.

Erek.

For three days, their journey upriver had gone better than Leftrin could ever have hoped. Their start had been a bit rough, true, but things had smoothed out soon enough. The dragons had made their own first kill, and that had certainly wrought a change in the beasts. They were still dependent on what the hunters and their keepers killed for them, but now that the dragons knew that they could kill, they attempted to hunt every day. Their successes were uneven, but any food they caught and killed for themselves lessened the burden on their human companions. Their young keepers praised them lavishly for each kill, and the dragons basked in the adulation until they seemed likely to pop.

He leaned on Tarman ’s railing, listening to his ship and the river that caressed it. His rough hands cradled a heavy mug of morning tea. From the small sounds his keen ears picked up from Alise’s compartment, he knew she was awake and dressing. He would not let his mind dwell on the details of that process. No sense in tormenting himself. Soon enough, he hoped, she would emerge. They were both early risers, and he cherished these dawn moments almost more than he enjoyed their evenings of companionable conversation. Evenings were wonderful, with food and laughter and music, but he always had to share her with the hunters and the ever-present Sedric. When Davvie played his pipes and Carson the harp, she had eyes only for the two hunters. Jess, much to Carson’s chagrin, had proven himself to be every bit as good a hunter as Leftrin’s old friend. He also, it seemed to Leftrin, had an eye for Alise. The fellow was a wonderful storyteller, for his dour expression concealed an ability to make himself the butt of every tale, and to win laughter from everyone, even sour Sedric. The evenings were made pleasant with song and story, but he had to share Alise’s attention.