Blood of Dragons

He felt the ship’s uneasiness, but he would have had to be stone to be unaware of that. Every one of the crew was moving with a quick nervousness that said that at any moment they could spring into action to save the ship if the anchors dragged or the dock gave way. ‘Not safe here, is it, Tarman? We need a better place than this to tie up on this side of the river if we want you to be here for any length of time. But once we’re unloaded, we’ll get you out of here and across and onto the beach. It will be good to rest, won’t it?’



As he spoke, Leftrin glanced up at the sky. Working with experienced longshoremen on sturdy docks at Trehaug, it had taken most of a day to get supplies aboard. Now crates were being wrestled down a gangplank and onto a rickety, bobbing dock, and then hauled from the dock to the shore. At a quick glance, it appeared to Leftrin that about ten of the keepers were present, and all seemed frantically engaged with the unloading. He saw that Reyn and Malta had made it ashore and that Tillamon was standing with them. And there, in a familiar gown, her red hair an unruly cascade down her shoulders, was his Alise, taking charge of them. He gave a small groan, longing to be there, to pick her up and hold her against him and smell again her sweet scent.



Not yet.



I know, ship. Not yet. My duty is here. And I’ll stay aboard you until you’re safe on the other side.



He glanced up at the sky, calculating time, and realized that he might have to spend the night tied up here. He wondered if Alise would join him, and smiled, guessing that she might be very willing. The ship’s anxiety pulled his attention back.



Not yet. The child is not yet safe.



Alise will help them. She’ll get them to a dragon, perhaps Mercor. Maybe Heeby. One of them will certainly be willing to help the baby.



Maybe. If they can. I have done what I could.



If they can? Leftrin didn’t like the feel of that thought. He had believed that bringing the baby here for one of the dragons to treat would solve everything. Persuading a dragon to take it on had been the only obstacle he had foreseen. Do you think all the dragons will refuse us?



The right one must be there and must agree. The response was slow and Leftrin sensed that his ship struggled to convey something. He decided to let it go. Mercor had been the most communicative among the dragons in the past. Perhaps he would be willing to shed more light on the creation of Elderlings and what the baby might actually need. Yet he was heavy-hearted at the thought of breaking this news to Malta. He ventured another query to his ship. Would the baby be better off if it remained on board for now? Could you continue to help him?



The response was reluctant. As much as could be done, I have done.



And our thanks to you, Tarman.



He felt no acknowledgement from the ship, and no further touch upon his mind. It was Tarman’s way, and for himself, Leftrin was grateful that his liveship was more taciturn than most. He did not think he could have enjoyed a chatterbox like the Ophelia or a moody and dramatic ship like the Paragon. But there, it was probably like it was for children. Each parent thought his or hers was the best and doubtless every captain would prefer his own liveship to any other.



That brought a tiny nudge from Tarman.



I am the best. Eldest, wisest, best.



Of course you are. I’ve always known that.



And again, there was no acknowledgement of Leftrin’s remark. But that was what he’d expected.



Malta looked around her in a daze. A long corridor led off into gently lit dimness. At intervals, doors opened off it, most closed but a few ajar. ‘Any open door?’ she asked wearily.



‘Any open door,’ Alise Finbok affirmed. ‘If a keeper has already claimed a room, then the door is closed. And most of them were long ago locked by their previous owners and we haven’t found any way to open them. I’d suggest one of those last three at the end of the hall. They are larger with several chambers and beds. We think that perhaps they were for visiting delegations from other cities. Of course, we have no basis for that theory, other than it was the only one any of us could imagine.’



‘Thank you.’ The two words were almost more than Malta could manage. Her body was still flushed from a hot bath and her hair was damp on her shoulders. They had been the only inhabitants of the dragon baths. Malta vaguely appreciated that at any other time she would have been awed by the immense chamber with the distant ceilings and the magic of the hot flowing water. But sorrow and weariness had driven all wonder from her heart. In a daze, she had rubbed days of salty sweat from her body. The hot water had drained away the aches from her bones, but also the last of her stubborn strength.