‘So, it’s war! Who goes with me?’ Rapskal asked. He looked around at them all. Did anyone breathe? Thymara knew she did not.

He pulled something from his pouch, shook it out and dragged it on over his head. A head covering. A helmet that shaped to his head, making him appear far less human as it capped his skull with overlapping scales. He gave his head a shake and a crest like a parrot’s stood up on the helm. Thymara was torn between a desire to laugh or to gasp in horror as he became even more foreign to her. ‘All of you who desire to be warriors must follow me to the armoury, to see what weapons we can repair and what armour will fit you all. Some of your dragons will accept harness and be willing to bear you.’

‘And others won’t,’ Tats predicted sourly. He stepped forward. ‘Rapskal, we are not warriors. I am good at hunting, and if a man lifts a hand to me, then I will stand up to him. But you are speaking of attacking a city, days and days away from here. A city full of people who have never even thought of coming here to prey on dragons. It’s a completely insane idea. And the dragons have not yet said that they wish to go to battle. They told us, clearly, that it was their decision.’

Rapskal cocked his head. He appeared to listen for a time, then took a breath and looked around with confidence. ‘IceFyre has finished drinking. He believes he will soon be fully recovered. And the others have decided to take Tintaglia’s advice. Strike at their main city, where their duke rules. Remind them that dragons are not river pigs to be slaughtered as they wish, but the Lords of the Three Realms, Earth, Sea and Sky.’ He looked at Tats and said in a voice that was more Rapskal’s than Tellator’s, ‘Tats, will you ride beside me?’

Tats hesitated, looked at Thymara and clasped her hand tightly for a moment before he let go of it. ‘I can’t let you go alone, my friend. I’ll go with you.’

The dragon doors to the baths swung open and Kalo sauntered out. He looked fresh from the baths, but a strand of gut still dangled from the side of his mouth. Thymara reflected that for all their superior claims, not one of the dragons could groom well without a keeper’s aid.

‘Davvie!’ the immense blue-black dragon bellowed. ‘Davvie, fetch harness for me. We fly tomorrow at dawn.’

Davvie stepped forward, eluding Carson’s reaching hand. His eyes were wide but he did not seem altogether unwilling as he objected, ‘Kalo, we cannot be ready that fast. There are weapons to repair, and so much to learn.’

The dragon snorted disdainfully. ‘Begin now and you will be ready when I summon you. Those who come with us will learn on the way. IceFyre has drunk from the Silver. He is recovering swiftly. Once he has hunted and eaten, we will take vengeance to the Duke of Chalced. I fly with him. Ready yourself or do not, as you please. This is dragons’ business. We fly at dawn.’

Davvie stared at him. ‘I thought you were going hunting after you bathed …’ he objected weakly.

‘I am fed well enough for now. To the armoury and quickly. I wish to be first to make a choice of the colours there.’ With a fine disregard for his keeper, Kalo strode away.

Sintara watched the others as IceFyre drank from the Silver well. Tintaglia eyed the black dragon speculatively, as if measuring him against the other males. He was definitely larger than the others but she knew that was not the best criterion in selecting a mate. She lifted her eyes and looked back toward the baths, watching for Kalo. Sintara copied the older female and compared him to Sestican and then looked at Mercor. High summer was the time for mating, but it was never too soon to assess one’s choices.

IceFyre lifted his head at last. His muzzle dripped Silver in languid drops. He stepped away from the well, stretched and then sprawled out on the paving stones. He curled his head and his tail toward the centre of his body, and was abruptly asleep. Mercor advanced a step toward him and sniffed the air around him. ‘He was sickened but he will recover, and quickly,’ the golden dragon announced.

He looked around at the others. Sintara tried to remember the last time they had all gathered in a group. Even when they had been on the other side of the river, they had seldom convened. Cassarick, she thought. Back in the days before we were true dragons. When we were caught at the edge of the river, living in mud, feeding on carrion. Then Mercor had rallied them and together they had concocted the plan that would persuade the humans to help them find Kelsingra. They had thought they were lying when they hinted at a storehouse of Elderling wealth in Kelsingra. Little had they realized that, to humans, the whole city was a vast treasure.