As he spoke, I could almost see it. Perhaps my dreams had primed me to it. How often in my sleep had I imagined what it would be to be a dragon as Verity had become, to fly the skies, to hunt and to feed? Something in his words reached those dreams, and they suddenly seemed true memories of my own rather than the imaginings of sleep. He had fallen silent.
‘Tell the rest,’ I prodded him.
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘Something killed them. Long ago. I don’t know exactly what. Some great cataclysm of the earth, that buried whole cities in a matter of days. It sank the coast, drowning harbour towns, and changed the courses of rivers. It wiped out the dragons, and I think it killed the Elderlings as well. All of that is a surmise, Fitz. Not just from what I have seen and heard, but from what you have told me and from what I have read in your journals. That empty, riven city you visited, your own vision there of a dragon landing in the river, and of a strangely-formed folk who greeted it. Once, those people and dragons lived alongside one another. When the disaster came that ended them both, the folk tried to save some of the cocooned dragons. They dragged them into their buildings. The dragon cocoons and the people were buried alive together. The people perished. But inside the cocoons, untouched by the light and warmth that would signal a time of awakening, the half-formed dragons lingered on.’
Rapt as a child, I listened to his wild tale.
‘Eventually, another folk found them. The Rain Wild Traders, an offshoot of the Bingtown Traders, dug into the ancient buried cities, seeking treasure. Much did they find there. Much of what you saw today, offered as gifts to Kettricken, the flame-gems, the jidzin, even the fabric, is the trove of those Elderling dwellings. They also found the cocooned dragons. They had no idea that was what they were, of course. They thought… who knows what they thought at first. Perhaps they seemed like massive sections of tree trunks, or as they refer to it: wizardwood. They cut them up and used the cases as lumber, discarding the half-formed dragons within. That is the material they made their Liveships from and those vessels have the roots of their vitality in the dragons they would have been. Most of the half-formed dragons were dead, I suspect long before their cocoons were cut up. But one, at least, was not. And a chain of events that I am not fully privy to exposed that dragon-cocoon to sunlight. It hatched. Tintaglia emerged.
'Weak and badly formed. I was trying to connect this tale with what he had told me previously.
'No. Hale and hearty, and as arrogant a creature as you would ever wish to encounter. She went searching for others of her own kind. Eventually she gave up looking for dragons. Instead, she found serpents. They were old and immense, for — and again, I speculate, Fitz — for whatever cataclysm that had destroyed the adult dragons had changed the world enough to prevent the serpents from returning to their cocooning grounds. Decade after decade, perhaps century after century, they had made periodic attempts to return, only to have many of their number perish. But this time, with Tintaglia to guide them, and the folk of Bingtown to dredge the rivers so they could pass, some of the serpents survived their migration. In the midst of winter, they made their cases. They were old and weakened and sickly, and had but one dragon to shepherd them and help them spin their cases. Many perished on their journey up the river; others sank into dormancy in their cases, never to revive. When summer came, those that hatched in the strength of the sunlight emerged as weaklings. Perhaps the serpents were too old, perhaps they did not spend enough time in their cocoons, perhaps they were not in good enough condition when they began their time of change. They are pitiable creatures. They cannot fly, nor hunt for themselves. They drive Tintaglia to distraction, for the dragon way is to despise weakness, to let perish those not strong enough to survive. But if she lets them die, then she will be completely alone, forever, the last of her kind, with no hope of rekindling her race. So Tintaglia spends all her time and energy in hunting for them and bringing kills back to them. She believes that if she can feed them sufficiently, they may yet mature to full dragons. She wishes, nay, she demands that the Rain Wild Traders aid her in this. But they have young of their own to feed, and a war that hinders them in their trading. So, they all struggle. So it was when last I was on the Rain Wild River, two years ago. So I suspect it remains.’
I sat for a time not speaking, trying to fit his exotic tale into my mind I could not doubt him; he had told me far too many other strange things in our years together. And yet, believing him made of many of my own experiences suddenly take on new shapes and significance. I tried to focus on what his tale meant to Bingtown and the Six Duchies now.
‘Do Chade and Kettricken know any of what you’ve told me?’ Slowly he shook his head. ‘At least, not from me. Perhaps Chade has other sources. But I’ve never spoken of this to him.’
‘Eda and El, why not? They treat with the Bingtowners blindly, Fool.’ A worse thought struck me. ‘Did you tell any of them about our dragons? Do the Bingtown Traders know the true nature of the Six Duchies dragons?’
Again he shook his head.
‘Thank Eda for that. But why haven’t you spoken of these things to Chade? Why have you concealed them from everyone?’
He sat looking at me silently for so long that I thought he would not answer. When he did speak, it was reluctantly. ‘I am the White Prophet. My purpose in this life is to set the world into a better path. Yet… I am not the Catalyst, not the one who makes changes. That is you, Fitz. Telling what I know to Chade would most definitely change the direction of his treating with the Bingtowners. I cannot tell if that change would aid me or hinder me in what I must do. I am, right now, more uncertain of my path than I have ever been.’
He stopped speaking and waited, as if he hoped I would say something helpful. I knew nothing to say. Silence stretched between us. The Fool folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them. ‘I think that I may have made a mistake. In Bingtown. And I fear that in my years in Bingtown and… other places, that I did not fulfil my destiny correctly. I fear I went awry, and that hence all I do now will be warped.’ He suddenly sighed. ‘Fitz, I feel my way forward through time. Not a step at a time, but from moment to moment. What feels truest? Up until now it has not felt right to speak of these things to Chade. So I have not. Today, now, it felt as if it was time you knew these things. So I have told them to you. To you, I have passed on the decision. To tell or not to tell, Changer. That is up to you.
It felt odd to have Nighteyes' name for me spoken aloud by a human voice. It prodded me uncomfortably. 'Is this how you always have made these crucial decisions? By how you "feel"?’ My tone was sharper than I intended, but he did not flinch.
Instead he regarded me levelly and asked, 'And how else would I do it?’
'By your knowing. By omens and signs, portentous dreams, by your own prophecies… I don't know. But something more than simply by how you feel. El's balls, man, it could be no more than a bad serving of fish that you're "feeling". I lowered my face into my hands and pondered. He had passed the decision on to me. What would I do? It suddenly seemed a more difficult decision than when I had been rebuking the Fool for not telling. How would knowing these things affect Chade's attitude toward Bingtown and a possible alliance? Real dragons. Was a share of a real dragon worth a war? What would it mean not to ally, if the Bingtowners prevailed, and then had a phalanx of dragons at their command? Tell Kettricken? Then there were the same questions, but very different answers were likely. A sigh blasted out of me. 'Why did you give this decision to me?