THE TEMERAIRE SERIES BY NAOMI NOVIK




Chapter 1

THE BREEDING GROUNDS were called Pen Y Fan, after the hard, jagged slash of the mountain at
their heart, like an ax-blade, rimed with ice along its edge and rising barren over the moorlands: a cold,
wet Welsh autumn already, coming on towards winter, and the other dragons sleepy and remote,
uninterested in anything but their meals. There were a few hundred of them scattered throughout the
grounds, mostly established in caves or on rocky ledges, wherever they could fit themselves; nothing of
comfort or even order provided for them, except the feedings, and the mowed-bare strip of dirt around
the borders, where torches were lit at night to mark the lines past which they might not go, with the
town-lights glimmering in the distance, cheerful and forbidden.

Temeraire had hunted out and cleared a large cavern, on his arrival, to sleep in; but it would be damp,
no matter what he did in the way of lining it with grass, or flapping his wings to move the air, which in any
case did not suit his instinctive notions of dignity: much better to endure every unpleasantness with stoic
patience, although that was not very satisfying when no-one would appreciate the effort. The other
dragons certainly did not.

He was quite sure he and Laurence had done as they ought, in taking the cure to France, and no-one
sensible could disagree; but just in case, Temeraire had steeled himself to meet with either disapproval or
contempt, and he had worked out several very fine arguments in his defense. Most important, of course,
it was just a cowardly, sneaking way of fighting: if the Government wished to beat Napoleon, they ought
to fight him directly, and not make his dragons sick to try to make him easy to defeat; as if British
dragons could not beat French dragons, without cheating. "And not only that," he added, "but it would
not be only the French dragons who died: our friends from Prussia who are imprisoned in their breeding
grounds would also have got sick, and perhaps it might even have gone so far as China; and that would
be like stealing someone else's food, even when you are not hungry; or breaking their eggs."

He made this impressive speech to the wall of his cave, as practice: they had refused to give him his
sand-table, and he had no-one of his crew to jot it down for him, either; he did not have Laurence, who
would have helped him work out just what to say. So he repeated the arguments over to himself quietly,

Page 2


instead, so he should not forget them. And if these should not suffice to persuade, he thought, he might
point out that after all, he had brought the cure back, in the first place: he and Laurence, with Maximus
and Lily and the rest of their formation, and if anyone had a right to say where it should be shared out,
they did: no-one would even have known of it if Temeraire had not contrived to be sick in Africa, where
the mushrooms which cured it grew.

He might have saved the trouble. No-one accused him of anything, nor, as he had privately, a little
wistfully, thought just barely possible, hailed him as a hero; because they did not care.

The older dragons, not feral but retired, were a little curious about the latest developments in the war,
but only distantly, more inclined to tell over their own battles of earlier wars; and the rest had plenty of
indignation over the recent epidemic, but only in a provincial way. They cared that they and their own
fellows had sickened and died; they cared that the cure had taken so long to reach them; but it did not
mean anything to them that dragons in France had also been ill, or that the disease would have spread,
killing thousands, if Temeraire and Laurence had not taken over the cure; they also did not care that the
Lords of the Admiralty had called it treason, and sentenced Laurence to die.

They had nothing to care for. They were fed, and there was enough for everyone. If the shelter was not
pleasant, it was no worse than what even the retired dragons were used to, from the days of their active
service; they had none of them even heard of a pavilion, or thought they might be made more comfortable
than they were. No-one ever molested an egg; the grounds-keepers would take them away, but with
infinite care, in waggons lined with straw, hot-water bottles, and woolen blankets in the wintertime; and
they would bring back reports until the eggs were hatched and no more of anyone's concern; so