The Dragon Keeper trwc-1

by Robin Hobb

  Only two of the committee seemed able to meet her gaze. The others looked aside, or past her, or down at the papers on the long table before them. Of the two who could look at her one was Trader Mojoin, the head of the committee. He looked her up and down in a way that plainly said what he thought of her before he asked her bluntly, 'How is it that you were not exposed at birth?'

  She had not expected such a bald question. For a moment, she stood dumbly before him. If she spoke the truth, how much trouble would she bring down on her family? Her father had broken all the rules when he secretly followed the midwife and brought his infant back home instead of leaving her exposed for the animals and weather to finish. She took a breath and hedged. 'My defects manifested as I grew. They were not completely obvious at my birth.'

  Trader Mojoin gave a brief snort of disbelief. One of the other Traders shifted in embarrassment for her. 'Do you understand the terms of your employment?' Mojoin asked her bluntly. 'Does your family accept that after you leave with the dragons, we will not guarantee your safety or even your return?'

  She was surprised at how calm her voice was when she replied. 'My parents both signed the papers before you. They understand, and more importantly, I understand. I am of age to make this commitment.' As Mojoin gave a curt nod and leaned back in his seat, she added, 'But I would like to know more clearly exactly what my tasks are, and what our final mission is.'

  He scowled. 'Didn't you read the contract you were given, girl? The offer states it plainly. The dragons have requested that humans accompany them up the river to their new home. You'll be assigned a dragon or dragons. You'll assist in moving the dragons upriver to a location more suitable for them, in ways the dragons may request or as you are assigned. You will help provide for your dragon or dragons by hunting or fishing. And you will remain at the dragons' new location until they have established themselves there and are self-sufficient, or otherwise no longer need you.'

  She spoke her next words coolly. 'So if my dragon or dragons die, I'm free to return home.'

  Mojoin sat up straight. 'That isn't the sort of attitude we're looking for! We expect you to do all in your power to uphold the contract the Traders signed with the dragon Tintaglia. Your task is to help your dragon or dragons find a better area in which to live, and to become more self-sufficient.' He shifted slightly in his seat and added, almost reluctantly, 'It's no secret that we are hoping the dragons can lead you to this Elderling city they claim to recall. Kelsingra.'

  She bit back other words and questions to ask, 'Is there a specific location that we are journeying toward? Has anyone scouted it out, so that we might know how long we should expect to travel?'

  Mojoin's mouth worked as if he'd tasted something foul and wished he could spit it out. When he spoke, his words were evasive. 'The dragons themselves seem to have some inherited memories of where it might be. They will be your best guides in finding an appropriate place where they can establish themselves. While the ancient city may be your eventual destination, it's entirely possible that you will discover a different area better suited to the dragons.'

  'I see,' she responded curtly. And she did. Her father had been right. This was not an emigration, but an exile. A banishment of both the annoying dragons and an assortment of misfits from the population.

  'You see? Excellent!' Trader Mojoin's response was instant and relieved. 'Then we are in accord.' He picked up a seal from the table beside him and stamped the papers. 'Once you sign, you are officially hired. When you leave this chamber, you will be given your supply pack and taken down to meet the dragons. You will receive half your wages in advance. You should make your farewells to your family quickly, for you depart as soon as is possible.' He pushed a paper across the table to her. 'Can you write? Can you sign this?'

  She didn't dignify that with an answer. She took up the waiting pen and wrote her name carefully. Then she stood up straight. 'That's all, then? You're finished with me?'

  'That we are,' one of the other men said in a soft voice. Someone else made a noise that might have been an uncomfortable chuckle. She pretended not to notice but inclined her head and stepped forward to receive her stamped copy of the agreement. She was surprised to find that her hands were shaking. It took her a moment to master turning the heavy knob on the large wooden door of the chamber, and then she pushed it too hard and nearly fell out into the antechamber. She caught her balance and then completed her humiliation by shutting the door so firmly that it slammed. The other applicants awaiting their turns looked at her with mild surprise and some disapproval.

  'Good luck,' she muttered to them, avoiding meeting their gazes, and hurried out of the room. The doors to the outside were even larger and heavier, but this time she was prepared tor them. She managed to get through them and out into the air. Even so, it was not the relief she had hoped for. This far down the trunks, so close to the earth and the river, the air seemed thicker and more full of smells. The light was dimmer, too, and she felt as if she could not open her eyes wide enough to see clearly. She spotted her father waiting for her at the edge of the large wooden deck that surrounded the concourse. She hurried toward him, grasping her contract. At more than arm's length, waiting for her but obviously not with her father, stood Tats.

  She spoke in a voice intended to reach them both. 'I got it. They stamped it. I'll be part of the expedition to resettle the dragons.'

  Tats grinned at her, and as their eyes met, he waved his own rolled contract at her. Her father had been leaning with his back to the old-fashioned railing that surrounded the deck. He stood up as she approached and smiled. But her father's voice was grave as he said quietly, 'Congratulations. I know you wanted this. I hope it will be what you think it will be.'

  'I know it will!' Tats burst out, and her father gave him a look. He hadn't been pleased to see Tats when they arrived, and although he had greeted him politely enough, it had been without the usual warmth he showed the boy. Thymara suspected that her mother had said something to her father about Tats' earlier visit, and had probably added significance to her report that simply didn't exist. Thymara tried to mend the gulf by moving so that she leaned on the railing between them, linking all three of them into a group. She put her back to the Traders' Concourse and looked out over the river and the swampy land that edged it. It felt odd to be so close to the ground. Behind her, she heard the Concourse door open and shut again. A boy's voice proclaimed, 'I'm signed up!' The members of the committee were not taking long to grant their approval stamps. She wondered if they would refuse anyone. She doubted it.

  'It's hard to know what it will be, Father. But I know it will be me moving out and standing on my own, and beginning a life that belongs to me. That has to be good, no matter how difficult it is.'

  'As for me, I can't wait to go see the dragons! They told me that as soon as they've signed up the rest of the group, we'll be heading down there!'

  Startled by the stranger's voice, Thymara jerked her head to look at him. He had come to lean on the railing by Tats. She had seen him earlier, when she had been waiting to go in for her interview. He was plainly Rain Wilder born, and marked almost as heavily as she was. Despite that, he was handsome in a strange and feral way. His eyes were the palest blue she had ever seen on a man, his hair thick and gleaming black. His black toe-claws clicked on the wood as he tapped a foot impatiently, jittering with nerves. 'It's going to be great!' he assured Tats, grinning widely. He stuck out his hand. 'I'm Rapskal.'

  'They call me Tats,' Tats said, shaking his hand, and for the first time Thymara realized that probably wasn't his given name, but something he'd been called since he was small. The stranger was grinning at her now, and holding a hand out to her father, who took it, saying, 'My name is Jerup. This is my daughter, Thymara.'

  Rapskal shook her father's hand vigorously, and then asked gracelessly, 'So are you going with the dragons, or only her? You look a bit old to be part of this group if you don't mind my saying so. A bit old, and not near strange enoug
h!' He laughed heartily at his own rough jest. Behind him, Tats scowled.

  Her father kept his aplomb. 'I won't be going. Only Thymara. But like you, I've noticed that most of those going are heavily marked by the Rain Wilds.'

  'Yes, that you could say!' Rapskal agreed cheerfully. 'Either they think it makes us tougher, or they're hoping the dragons and river will do what our parents didn't do when we were born.' He swung his gaze to Tats. Except for you, of course. You don't even look Rain Wilds. Why are you going?' Rapskal seemed to excel at asking questions so directly that they seemed rude.

  Tats straightened up, standing half a head taller than the other boy. 'Because it pays well. And I like dragons, and I'd like to have a bit of an adventure. And there's nothing keeping me in Trehaug.'

  The boy nodded cheerily, the light scaling on his cheeks flashing as his lips parted in a smile. His teeth were good, a little too large for his mouth. They showed white in his constant grin. He looked, Thymara thought, like a boy on the verge of a sudden growth spurt. 'Yes, yes! That's me, too. Exactly.' He leaned over the railing, spat noisily, and then straightened. 'Nothing for me in Trehaug for a long time now,' he added, and for the first time he looked less than optimistic. But an instant later, the light came back into his pale blue eyes and he declared, 'I just got to build something better for myself. That's all. What's past is past. So I'm going to get me a dragon and be best friends with him. We're going to fly together and hunt together and always, always be friends and never angry at each other. That's what I want.'

  He nodded vigorously at his own fantasy. Tats looked incredulous. Thymara kept her mouth shut, horrified not by his wild dreams but how closely they paralleled her own yearnings. Flying with a dragon, as the Elderlings of old did. How foolish those fancies seemed when he spoke them aloud!

  Rapskal didn't notice the strained silence. His eyes sparked suddenly with a new interest. 'Look over there! I'll bet that they're looking for us. Time to go get our supply packs. And then down to the dragons! Come on!'

  He didn't pause to see if they were following, but darted off to join the group forming about an officious-looking Trader in a yellow robe with a fat scroll in his hand. He was reading off names and handing out chits.

  'That Rapskal makes me tired just watching him,' Tats said quietly.

  'Reminds me of a darter lizard; never still for more than a minute,' Thymara agreed. She stared after the stranger, wondering if he were more intriguing or annoying. A strange mixture, she decided. She took a deep breath and added, 'But he's right. I think we'd best go find out what we're supposed to do now.' She didn't glance at her father as she crossed the deck. She had the oddest feeling of division; she couldn't decide if she wished he would say goodbye now and leave her to whatever came next, or if she wanted him by her side through this process. All of the others seemed to be alone. No parent watched over Tats or Rapskal, and she saw only one other adult lurking at the edge of the clustered youths. For youths they were, for the most part. One or two of the Rain Wilders showing a contract and picking up a chit looked to be in their twenties, but just as many looked to be only fourteen or fifteen.

  'Some of them are just children,' her father complained. He had followed at her heels.

  'And Rapskal was right. All of us are heavily marked. Except for Tats.' She did glance at her father now. 'And that explains why most of us are young,' she said simply. Neither she nor her father needed to be reminded that those who were heavily marked from a young age seldom lived long into their thirties.

  Her father caught her wrist. 'Like lambs to the slaughter,' he said quietly, and she wondered at his strange words and how tightly he held on to her. Then he added, 'Thymara, you don't have to do this. Stay home. I know that your mother makes things difficult for you, but I—'

  She cut him off before he could say anything more. 'Papa, I do have to do this! I signed a contract. What do we always say? A Trader is only as good as his word. And I've done more than just given my word, I've signed my name to it.' She thought of her dreams of a dragon bonding with her. She would not speak those. Rapskal's extravagant fancy still echoed in her mind. She took a deeper breath and added pragmatically, 'And we both know that I do need to do this. Just so I can say that I stepped up and did something with my life. I love being your daughter, but that can't be all I ever am. I need to—' She groped for words. 'I need to measure myself against the world. Prove that I can stand up to it and be something.'

  'You're already something,' he insisted, but the strength had gone out of his argument. When she put her hand over his, he released his grip on her wrist. She stopped where she was. Tats, ahead of them, looked back curiously. She shook her head at him slightly and he moved on.

  'We should say goodbye here,' she said suddenly.

  'I can't.' Her father seemed horrified at the idea.

  'Papa, I have to go. And this is a good time for us to part. I know you'll worry about me. I know I'll miss you. But let's part now, at the beginning of my adventure. Tell me "good luck" and let me go.'

  'But—' he said, and then suddenly he hugged her tight. He whispered hoarsely into her ear, 'Go on then, Thymara. Go on, and measure yourself. It won't prove anything to me because I already know your measure, and I've never doubted you. But go find out what you have to find out. And then come back to me. Please. Don't let this be the last time I see you.'

  'Papa, don't be silly. Of course I'll come back,' she said, but at his words a prickle of dread had run up her spine. No, I won't. The thought was so strong that she couldn't voice it. So she hugged him tightly and then, as he released her, she pushed her small pouch of money into his hand. 'You keep this safe for me, until I come back,' she told him. Then, before he could react to that, she turned and darted from his embrace. She wouldn't need the money on their expedition. And perhaps, if she never came back, it would be helpful to him. Let him hold it now, and think it meant a promise to return.

  'Good luck!' he called after her, and 'Thanks!' she called back. She saw Tats look at her father in surprise. He turned as if he, too, would go back to say his farewells, but at that moment, the man with the scroll demanded of him, 'Do you want your chit or not? You won't get your supply pack without it!'

  'Of course I want it,' Tats declared, all but snatching it out of his hand.

  The man shook his head at him. 'You're a fool,' he said quietly. 'Look around you, boy. You don't belong with these others.'

  'You don't know where I belong,' Tats told him fiercely. Then he looked past Thymara and asked, 'Where did your father go?'

  'Home,' she said. And she avoided his eyes as she stepped up to the man, showed her contract and said, 'I'll need my supply pack chit now.'

  The supply packs were barely worthy of the name. The canvas bags were roughly sewn and treated with some sort of wax to weatherproof them. Inside were an adequate blanket, a water skin, a cheap metal plate and a spoon, a sheath knife, and packets of cracker-bread, dried meat and dried fruit. 'It makes me glad I brought my own supplies from home,' Thymara commented thoughtlessly, and then winced at the look on Tats' face.

  'Better than nothing,' he commented gruffly, and Rapskal, who had attached himself to them like a tick on a monkey, added enthusiastically, 'My blanket's blue. My favourite colour. How lucky is that?'

  'They're all blue,' Tats replied, and Rapskal nodded again.

  'Like I said. I'm lucky my favourite colour is blue.'

  Thymara tried not to roll her eyes. It was well known that some who were heavily marked by the Rain Wilds had mental problems as well. Rapskal might be a bit simple, or simply have an aggressively optimistic outlook. Right now, his cheerfulness bolstered her courage even as his chattiness grated on her nerves. She was baffled by how easily he had attached himself to her and Tats. She was accustomed to people approaching her with caution and maintaining a distance. Even the customers who regularly sought out her family at the market kept her at arm's length. But here was Rapskal, right at her elbow. Every time she turned to gl
ance at him, he grinned like a twig monkey. His dancing blue eyes seemed to say that they shared a secret.

  They squatted in a circle on a patch of bare earth, twelve marked Rain Wilders, most in their teens, and Tats. They'd come all the way down to the ground to receive their supply packs. The contents, they'd been told, should sustain them for the first few days of their journey. They'd be accompanied upriver by a barge that would carry several professional hunters with experience in scouting unfamiliar territory and more supplies both for humans and dragons, but each dragon keeper should attempt to learn to subsist on his own resources as well as maintain his dragon's health as quickly as possible. Thymara was sceptical. As she studied those who would become her companions, she speculated that few of them had ever had to find their own food, let alone consider feeding a dragon. Uneasiness churned in her belly.

  'They told us we were to help our dragons find food. But there's nothing in here that's useful for hunting,' Tats observed worriedly.