In one building, rows of tiered stone benches looked down at a dais. Bas-reliefs of dragons and Elderlings, their mosaic colors still bright after all the years, cavorted on the walls. In that room, she had finally heard what the others were whispering about. Low, conversational voices, rising and falling. The cadence of the language was unfamiliar, and yet the meaning of the words had pushed at the edges of her mind.
“Tats,” she had said, more to hear her own voice than to call his name.
He had nodded abruptly. “Let’s go back outside.”
She had been glad to keep pace with his brisk stride as they hurried out into the fading daylight.
Some of the others had soon joined them and made a silent but mutual decision to return to the river’s edge and spend the night in a small stone hut there. It was made of ordinary river stone, and the hard-packed silt in the corners spoke of ancient floods that had inundated it. Doors and windows had long ago crumbled into dust. They had built a smoldering fire of wet driftwood in the ancient hearth and huddled close to its warmth. It was only when the rest of their party joined them that Rapskal’s absence had become obvious.
“We need to go back and look for him,” she had insisted, and they had been splitting into search parties of three when he came in from the rising storm. Rain had plastered his hair to his skull, and his clothing was soaked. He was shaking with cold but grinning insanely.
“I love this city!” he had exclaimed. “There’s so much to see and do here. This is where we belong. It’s where we’ve always belonged!” He had wanted them all to go with him, back into the night to explore more. He had been baffled by their refusal, but he had finally settled down next to Thymara.
The voices of wind, rain, and the river’s constant roar had filled the night. From the distant hills had come wailing howls. “Wolves!” Nortel had whispered, and they had all shivered. Wolves were creatures of legend for them. Those sounds had almost drowned out the muttering voices. Almost. She had not slept well.
They had left Kelsingra in the next dawn. The rain had been pouring, wind sweeping hard down the river. They had known they would battle most of the day to regain the other side. In the distance, Thymara could hear the roaring of hungry dragons. Sintara’s displeasure thundered in Thymara’s mind, and by the uneasy expression on the faces of the other keepers, she knew they were suffering similarly. They could stay in Kelsingra no longer that day. As they pulled away from the shore, Rapskal had gazed back regretfully. “I’ll be back,” he said as if he were promising the city itself. “I’ll be back every chance I get!”