Robin Hobb - Blood of Dragons

By the third night, he had accepted it as how things were among the keepers. That was the first night that Rapskal had all but bullied them into weapons practice after their meal. Reyn had thought it a bad time for it. They were all weary, and as soon as he had eaten, all he wanted to do was sleep. But he knew a bit of swordsmanship, more than any of the keepers, he thought, and he agreed with Rapskal that if they were going to carry such weapons, they should have some idea how to use them. In the evenings that followed, he tried not to let his discouragement show. Some of the keepers, such as Nortel and Boxter, were enthusiastic about learning and probably more dangerous. Davvie and Kase tried but were easily discouraged. Both Sylve and Jerd had brought bows, and both were fair but unexceptional shots with them. Rapskal was the one who surprised him. He easily matched Reyn’s level of skill and in some areas he surpassed him. Even so, Reyn tried not to wonder how well any of their talents would hold up in battle conditions. He’d seen men fighting one another and dying on the decks of ships, and had hoped never to witness it again. It was one thing to swing a blade in practice; it was another thing entirely to drive a knife into another man’s body.

Down below them, the late-afternoon shadows stretched longer from the bushes, revealing to him that they were taller than he had thought they were. He did not look forward to spending a night in such a barren place but kept his mouth closed. It was useless to voice an opinion on where they landed. That would be determined by the dragons, and right now they were led by Skrim and Dortean. Their riders sat low in their saddles, leaning forward or dangerously far to the side and shouting comments to one another. Kase and Boxter were as alike as their orange dragons, and had even chosen matching harness and tunics for themselves. He watched them and wondered if he had ever seemed as youthful and carefree as they did. They rode to war on dragons, and seemed to accept it as just another day in their lives.

Behind him, he heard a wild shout and looked back to see that IceFyre had just made another pass at Kalo and his rider. He had only a glimpse of Davvie’s white face and open mouth before Tintaglia tipped sharply to one side. He seized the low arms of his dragon saddle and held tight as his body was thrown heavily against the side of it. They fell away from the formation. Distantly he heard Davvie shouting something about ‘You torn-up old umbrella!’ His effort to insult the black dragon would have made Reyn laugh if he hadn’t been in fear for his life.

He fought to draw a breath against the wind slashing past his face. His fingers hurt from holding on so tightly, and still they fell. He felt blood start to pound in his face and then it dripped warmly from his nose. He could not form his thoughts into words to beg mercy from the dragon; instead he simply pressed his terror toward her mind and held on as tightly as he could as the sere brown earth rushed up at him.

Then the world shifted and he closed his eyes and gripped until his fingers were numb as his body was slammed in the other direction. When he opened his eyes, the wind against his face pressed out tears that ran along the sides of his face. Tintaglia was moving in a long swift glide over the face of the hard earth. Ahead of them, a herd of deer-like creatures were bounding along in high leaps. He feared he knew what was about to happen. ‘No!’ he pleaded, and then the impact came.

Reyn was flung against his chest strap so hard that it drove the breath from his body. He felt something furry hit him hard and then bounce away. For a moment or perhaps longer, he lost awareness. When he came back to himself, dusty air filled his nostrils and the shrill bleating of injured animals assailed his ears. He opened his eyes, wiped at them, and blinked. He tried to climb out of his seat before he remembered that a strap across his chest secured him. He unbuckled it with sore fingers, stood up and tumbled to the earth. He collapsed there, delighting in how still it was, how firm under his hands. Then he felt the dragon move and he got up, first to his knees and then barely upright as he made a shambling run away from her. He passed two bleating deer, their shattered bones sticking out of them like bloody sticks. A third was lying still, and the fourth had its head bent at an improbable angle. He threw himself down on top of it.

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.