The dragons hadn’t halted at the river’s edge. Some had plunged into the shallows. Others had tried to walk on the flotsam-littered bank until the undergrowth and river debris had forced them out into the water. But all of them moved steadily and doggedly upstream.
The keepers, including Thymara, had hastened to their small boats and followed. She had hoped to be paired with Tats. It had been a selfish hope; he was well muscled and experienced with small boats and she knew he would do his share of the work and perhaps more. Jerd had been waiting at the shore, standing by one of the small boats. She waved cheerily at Tats as they arrived and called out to him, ‘I’ve already loaded your rucksack, slowcoach. Let’s go! Your green dragon was one of the first ones into the water.’
‘Sorry, Thymara,’ Tats had muttered, red-faced.
‘Sorry for what?’ she’d said, but it was a moment too late for him to hear it. He was already hastening to push Jerd’s boat out into the water. Nearly all of the other boats were already loaded and pushing away from the shore, each carrying two or three dragon keepers. Rapskal sat alone and dejected in the sole remaining boat. His face brightened the moment he saw her. ‘Well, I guess we’ll be partners, then,’ he’d greeted her. And as annoyed as she’d felt with the situation, she still found herself nodding. Tats’ ‘sorry’ was still rankling in her breast. He’d known that what he was doing was rude enough to rate an apology to her, but it still hadn’t dissuaded him from doing it. The scum-rat.
‘Let me get my gear,’ she’d told Rapskal, and had run back to their deserted campsite. She’d grabbed her pack and returned to the canoe. Rapskal sat in it, paddle poised, as she shoved it out into the river. She’d leapt the water and landed in the narrow boat, making it rock wildly but keeping her feet dry. Seizing her heavily-waxed paddle, she pushed them out into deeper water. A spare set of paddles was under her feet. Not for the first time, she wondered how long their paddles would stand up to the river, and how long their boat would last. The river had been mild of late, its water dark grey. Like every child who had grown up in the Rain Wilds, she knew the water was most dangerous when it ran milky white. Then anyone who fell into it might be scalded and blinded from a single dunking. The dark grey water that flowed past her paddle today would do no more than sting, but its touch was still to be avoided.
This was her first time to partner with Rapskal in a boat. To her surprise, he proved to be competent, digging his paddle in rhythm with hers. He guided them deftly around snags and mud bars as she provided most of the power that pushed them along. They kept to the edge of the river and the shade of the leaning trees, moving where the current was slowest and soon caught up with the others. Greft, she noticed, had joined Boxter and Kase in one of the larger boats. Their paddling was uneven; Greft was using his oar mostly as a tiller. She and Rapskal moved easily alongside them and then passed them. She felt a small thrill of satisfaction at that. Rapskal grinned at her conspiratorially, and she felt an irrational lift to her spirits.
The boats of the other keepers were arranged in a straggling line before them. Sylve and Lecter shared a canoe, as did Warker and Harrikin. Alum and Nortel seemed well matched as paddlers. Tats and Jerd had moved up to lead them all, not that leadership was necessary. The trail the dragons had left was unmistakable, both in the river shallows and on the boggy bank. They had trampled the brush into the mucky shore of the river, and in the shallows, their deep footprints streamed a deeper grey water into the slow current.
‘They’re moving pretty fast, aren’t they?’ Rapskal observed enthusiastically.
‘Right now they are. I doubt they’ll be able to keep it up for long,’ she replied as she paddled doggedly. The dragons steadily and swiftly increased their lead. She was astonished to see them move so rapidly. She had expected the small swift boats to keep pace with them easily, but every time she glanced up, the dragons were farther away. Even the silver and the brown dragon were lolloping along after the others. She noticed that the silver was holding his tail above the water, and hoped he’d continue to do so. It bothered her that she hadn’t finished bandaging his injury. It bothered her even more that Skymaw had left without even speaking to her. Apparently she meant little to the blue queen.
‘Did you see your dragon today?’ she asked Rapskal. She was settling into the rhythm of paddling again. First, she knew, her muscles would ache. Then they’d ease into the exercise and for a time, all would go smoothly. What she dreaded was when they’d begin to ache again, because no matter how they hurt, they could not stop paddling until they went ashore for the night. A few days of travelling by boat had toughened all of the dragon keepers and taught them the basics of watercraft, but she had a feeling that her body would hurt a lot more before she was completely accustomed to this. She leaned harder into her paddling.
‘Course I did.’ Rapskal timed his words to his efforts. ‘After I ate, I went and groomed Heeby. Then we did our flying exercises. Then I watched Heeby eat. It made me mad. The big dragons take the best food. She doesn’t get as much to eat as they do. When we stop tonight, I got to catch her a fish or something. But I think that’s going to be a problem. If the dragons go this fast, so we have to paddle all the time to keep up, when are we going to have time to hunt or fish for food for them?’
‘There’s supposed to be some food on the barge for us, and some dried meat for the dragons. We don’t know how long they’ll keep up this pace. Maybe they’ll stop in a few hours and we’ll have time to hunt.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s a lot we don’t know yet. I guess we’ll learn as we go along.’
‘I saw the hunters get on board the barge back there. They’re supposed to help us get meat for the dragons each day.’
‘I didn’t see them. I’m glad they got here before the dragons decided to leave. But if the hunters are on the barge back there, how are they going to hunt anything?’
‘That’s a very good question. What’s that ahead of us?’
She squinted against the sunlight bouncing off the river. ‘Looks like a big snag sticking out into the water, with a lot of driftwood piled up against it.’
Rapskal grinned. ‘We’ll have to go out in the current to get around it.’
‘No. Let’s hug the shore. If we have to, we’ll portage around it. I don’t want to get out in the current.’
‘Are you scared?’ Rapskal sounded delighted at the prospect. When she glanced over her shoulder at him, he turned his wide grin on her. When he smiled, all his strangeness seemed to melt away and he became simply a very handsome Rain Wilds youth. She still shook her head at his challenge.
‘Yes, I am scared,’ she replied firmly. ‘And we are not going out into the current. Not until I’m better at managing this boat.’
But suddenly, partnering with Rapskal instead of Tats did not seem such a poor trade.
Leftrin waited until Alise was aboard the barge before he started up the ladder. He knew he needed to focus his mind on the final loading of the barge and shoving the Tarman back out into the current. No one had expected the dragons to stampede off like that. The plan had been that the barge would lead the way, followed by the keepers in their canoes guiding and encouraging the dragons. Now the dragons were completely out of sight and the last of the canoes would soon vanish around a bend in the wandering river. And here he sat, on shore still, with a cargo of dried meat, hardtack, salt pork and pickled breadleaf still being loaded. If any of the young keepers overturned their canoes, there would be nothing he could do to help them. And from what he’d seen of the youngsters, mishaps seemed more likely than not.
Well, all he could do right now was worry about them until he had all the stores safely stowed. Then he’d have to get his barge back out into the water and headed upriver. He tried to push Alise out of his thoughts. Now was no time to be wishing that he could sit her down in the galley and offer her a quiet cup of tea and some talk. He’d been so proud of her for standing up to Sedric when he tried to bully her into backing out of her adventure. She’d kept a stone face and a stern resolve all the way back to the barge. He followed her up the ladder, wondering if he’d have time to let her know how impressed he was.
But as he stepped onto his deck, he encountered not only a heap of unstowed cargo but three strangers lounging against it. Alise had frozen where she was, just off the ladder, her back to the barge’s rail. Instinctively he moved between her and the men. He sized up their scattered goods in one glance. Spears and bows, one a heavy bow for distance shooting. A carefully folded net. Several quivers of arrows. Hunters’ gear. These would be the fellows they’d been waiting for, the hunters hired by the Council. One turned toward him, grinning, and only then did he recognize Carson. He’d grown a beard. The big man put out a callused hand to him, saying, ‘I’ll bet you’re surprised to see me here! Or maybe I was exactly what you were expecting. This is just the sort of misadventure that always finds us, so it’s no coincidence we’ve both signed on for it.’
Simple words spoken between old friends, yet they suddenly made Leftrin’s heart sink. He desperately hoped there was no meaning layered beneath that greeting, that his use of the words was a true coincidence. He didn’t want Carson to be the one that the note had warned him to expect. Not Carson. He forced an answering grin to his face and asked him, ‘Now why would I be expecting a drunken sot like you on my clean deck?’
‘Because drunk or sober, I’m the best damn hunter this river has ever seen, and I’m exactly what you’re going to need to keep those dragons from eating each other or you before this is all over. This is Davvie here, an up-and-coming bowman who still needs his arse kicked from time to time. He’s my nephew, but don’t let that stop you when it comes to arse-kicking time. And this fellow is Jess, who I only met this morning, but he seems to think he can keep up with me. I’ll soon teach him better.’
The first was a youngster near fresh-faced as a Bingtowner but with the shoulders of a good archer. He bore a strong resemblance to his uncle, with the same unruly brown hair and dark eyes. He shook Leftrin’s hand and met his eyes with an honest grin. If Carson was up to something nefarious, Leftrin would wager that Davvie had no knowledge of it. He still gave the boy a serious look and told him firmly, ‘You see that Skelly? The deckhand with the long black braid down her back? Well, she may look like a girl but she’s not. She’s my deckhand and my niece. And that means that, to you, she’s not a girl.’
Davvie looked properly daunted but Carson just shook his head, a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. ‘I guarantee you, Leftrin, there will be no problems with Davvie in that department,’ he said as the lad ducked his head and blushed.
Jess was an older man with greying hair above grey eyes who scowled at Carson’s deprecating introduction and offered Leftrin only a curt nod. Leftrin instantly disliked him, and felt a thrill of distrust go through him as well. He didn’t offer the man his hand and Jess didn’t appear to notice that lack of courtesy.
Carson demanded abruptly, ‘And aren’t you going to introduce me and explain what a fresh flower like this is doing on your stinking old barge?’
It seemed impossible but he had briefly forgotten that Alise was standing there behind him. He glanced at her then grinned as he confronted Carson. ‘Stinking barge? Not until you came on board, Carson. Alise Finbok, I’m afraid I have to introduce you to an old friend of mine. Carson Lupskip. Hunter, braggart and drunk, not necessarily in that order. Carson, this is Alise. She’s aboard as our expert on dragons and Elderlings, is newly arrived from Bingtown and happily willing to advise and educate us on this voyage.’
He’d thought his words would make her smile. Instead, she ducked her head and abruptly declared in a husky voice, ‘You must excuse me. I’ve a few things to do before we depart.’ And before he could say another word, she scuttled away to her quarters and slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. He suspected it would be dark and hot in there, but off she’d gone anyway. And even knowing as little of women as he did, he suspected she sought privacy for weeping. Damn him for a fool. He should have known that the confrontation with Sedric would upset her. He was just as glad the man wasn’t going to be accompanying them. She’d get over her doubts a lot faster without him around. He wanted nothing so much as to follow her and reassure her, if she would allow such a thing. But he couldn’t, not with this threesome cluttering up his deck with their gear and themselves. When he turned back to Carson, he found his old friend regarding him knowingly.
‘Is she expert on more than dragons?’ he asked teasingly.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Leftrin snapped back at him. Then, embarrassed, he tried to soften it with, ‘Welcome aboard, Carson. Maybe tonight we’ll find some time to catch up on old news. For now, please, all three of you find yourselves some space in the deckhouse and stow that stuff where it won’t be underfoot. Swarge! Did the rest of our cargo come on board yet? Because at the rate those dragons were travelling, we’d best be after them.’
‘They won’t keep up that pace for long,’ Carson predicted. ‘By afternoon—’
The hunter stopped speaking abruptly, staring past Leftrin. The captain turned to find Sedric awkwardly climbing over the rail of the barge. He gripped his supply case to his chest with one arm while he struggled. ‘What do we have here?’ Carson asked quietly. A slow smile spread across his face.
‘Oh, him.’ Leftrin fought for neutrality in his voice. He spoke to Carson alone, saying, ‘He goes where Alise does. Supposed to look after her.’
‘That must be inconvenient,’ Carson muttered quietly.
‘Just shut up,’ Leftrin replied with feeling.
Davvie had darted over to the ladder and attempted to help Sedric by taking his case for him. The man scowled at the lad and held tight to it as he clambered awkwardly over the railing. As he straightened up, he brushed at his clothing, and then came directly to the captain, demanding, ‘Where’s Alise?’
‘She’s gone to her quarters. We launch soon. You’d better round up your gear if you want it to go ashore with you.’ Leftrin kept his voice flat.
The Bingtown man stopped and stared at him. He didn’t quite grind his teeth but he clenched them for a moment. ‘I won’t be going ashore,’ he grated. He turned away from Leftrin and said meaningfully over his shoulder, ‘I wouldn’t leave Alise alone on this barge.’
With you, Leftrin mentally added to his words, and fought to keep from grinning. That slimy little bugger wanted to say he wouldn’t leave Alise alone with me, but he didn’t quite have the spine. Aloud, he said, ‘She’d scarcely be alone, you know. She’d come to no harm with us.’
Sedric glanced back at him. ‘She’s my responsibility,’ he said flatly. Then he opened the door of his small cabin and vanished inside it, shutting it nearly as firmly as Alise had done. Leftrin tried to push aside his disappointment.
‘Doesn’t bark too loud for a watchdog,’ Carson observed slyly. When Leftrin scowled at him, he only grinned wider and added, ‘I don’t think he has his heart in what he’s guarding. Appears to me he might have other things on his mind.’
‘Get your gear off my deck. I don’t have time for you now. I got a boat to get back in the water.’
‘Indeed you do,’ Carson agreed. ‘Indeed you do.’
It was stuffy in the cabin and dim. Alise sat on the floor and stared up at the rough ceiling. Lighting a candle was too much trouble, and climbing into her hammock too much of a challenge. The little room that had earlier felt cosy and boldly quaint earlier now seemed like a child’s treehouse. And she felt like a child, hiding from discipline that must sooner or later descend on her.
Why had she defied Sedric? Where did those bursts of audacious bravery come from, and why did she keep yielding to them when she knew she could not back up her threats? She’d go without him. Oh, of course she would! Off, up the river, on a ship full of sailors and other rough folk, headed no one knew where. And when she came back, what then? Then Leftrin would discover that Hest would not cover the debts she had run up while defying her chaperone, and even if she’d gained any knowledge, she’d be disgraced in Bingtown and Trehaug. She would no longer have any home to go to. She thought of what Hest would probably do to her study and her papers when he discovered she’d run away. He’d destroy them. She knew how spiteful he could be. He’d sell the valuable old scrolls, probably in Chalced. And he’d burn her translations. No, she suddenly thought bitterly. He’d auction them along with the scrolls. No matter how angry Hest might be, he never passed up the opportunity to make a profit.
She clenched her teeth in frustration and tears stung her eyes. She wondered if he would find out then how valuable her studies and notes were. Or would some collector just acquire her treasures and hide them away in his library, unaware of what he had? Worse, would someone else claim her work as his own? Use what she had painstakingly learned of Elderlings and dragons for his own profit?
The thought was unbearable. She couldn’t let her work come to such an end. She couldn’t ruin her life in such a headstrong, childish way. She had to go home. That was all there was to it.
The thought choked her and for a time she gave way to wild weeping. She cried as she had not cried in years, letting the deep sobs rise and choke her as they passed through her. The world rocked with her anguish. When finally the fury passed, she felt as if she’d been the victim of a terrible physical mishap, a hard fall or a beating. Sweat had plastered the hair to her head and her nose was running. Her head spun with dizziness. In the darkness she rose, her body aching. She groped around until she found one of her shirts in the wardrobe, pulled it out and wiped her face on it, not caring how she soiled it. What did it matter any more? What did anything matter? She wiped her face again on a dry spot and then sullenly threw the shirt to the floor. She heaved a great sigh. The tears were gone, used up with as little result as they ever had. It was time to surrender.
There was a timid knock at her door. Her hands flew to her face. Reflexively she patted her cheeks and smoothed her hair. She must not be seen like this. She cleared her throat and attempted to sound sleepy. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Sedric. Alise, may I have a word with you?’
‘No. Not now.’ The refusal was out of her mouth before she thought about it. Her deep sadness blazed up and was suddenly heedless fury again. Another wave of vertigo swept over her. She put out a hand and steadied herself on the desk she would never use. For a time, a frozen silence held outside the door. Then Sedric’s voice came again, stiffly correct.
‘Alise, I’m afraid I must insist. I’m opening the door now.’
‘Don’t!’ she warned him, but he did, pulling it open to admit a slice of afternoon light into the small room. Instinctively she moved beyond its reach and half turned her face away from it. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, and in the next breath, ‘I’m packing my clothing back in my wardrobe,’ she lied. ‘I’ll be ready to leave soon.’
He was merciless. He pulled the door open wide. She stooped to pick up the blouse from the floor, contriving to turn her back to him. As she did so, she lost her balance and nearly fell. In two steps he was inside the room, catching her arm and holding her up. She clung to him gratefully, both hands on his arm as she looked over his shoulder. ‘I’m dizzy,’ she admitted breathlessly.
‘It’s just the movement of the barge on the river,’ he said. In the same moment, she realized that the barge was in motion again. Behind him, she saw the stately parade of immense tree trunks as the ship moved upriver. Her vertigo was suddenly the gentle shifting of the floor under her feet. It passed.
‘We’re underway,’ she said in wonder. She found herself clutching his arm and staring over his shoulder at the passing riverbank. She could not quite believe it. She had defied him, and she had won. The barge was carrying her upriver.
‘Yes. We are.’ His response was curt.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and then wondered at her words. She wasn’t sorry, not at all, and yet she could not keep herself from apologizing. When had it become so ingrained in her to apologize whenever she wanted something for herself?
‘That makes two of us,’ Sedric responded. He took a deep breath and she was suddenly aware of how close she was standing to him. It was almost an embrace. She could smell him, the spicy scent he wore, the soap he used. She was surprised that she recognized those scents. They brought Hest sharply to mind, and she stepped back. She suddenly wondered if the two men used the same perfumed oils. She frowned, thinking about that.
His voice was deep and regretful as he interrupted her thoughts with, ‘Alise, this is mad. We’ve just embarked on a journey with no fixed destination, into territory that has never been successfully mapped. We’ll be gone for weeks, if not months! How can you do this? How can you just walk away from your entire life?’
A stillness welled up in her and then a joy as dizzying as the gentle rocking of the barge spun her. He was right. She’d left it all behind. After a moment, she found her voice. ‘Walk away from my life, Sedric? I’d run away from what you think is my life if I could. The hours sitting at my desk, scratching away with a pen, living a life based on things that happened centuries ago. Dining alone. Going to bed alone.’
Her bitterness seemed to shock him. ‘You don’t have to dine alone,’ he said awkwardly.
Her mouth was dry with bitterness. ‘I suppose I don’t have to go to bed alone, either. Yet, when one weds, one expects one’s husband to be her companion for those things. When Hest asked me to marry him, I foolishly thought that I wouldn’t have to worry about loneliness again. I thought he would be there, with me.’
‘Hest is with you when he can be.’ Sedric sounded uncertain, probably because he knew he was lying. ‘He’s a Trader, Alise. You know that means he must travel. If he doesn’t travel, he can’t find the special goods that bring in the prices that allow him to provide you with the life you have.’
‘You don’t understand, Sedric.’ She cut off the spiral of words that she had heard so many times from Hest in the early years of her marriage. The tightening noose of words that inevitably proved how selfish she was to resent being left home alone, night after night, week after week. ‘It isn’t that he’s away so much. I don’t mind that any more. I don’t pine after him. Do you know what I hate now, Sedric? I hate that I’m glad when he’s gone. Not because I like to be alone; I’ve learned a great tolerance for it. I’m very good at it, actually. I don’t think of him when he’s gone. I don’t wonder who he might be with or how he treats her.’ She halted abruptly. She’d made a promise to Hest, never to accuse him of lying again, never to pelt him with such suspicions. Sedric had been there and knew of the promise. She folded her lips tightly closed.
Her words had made him uncomfortable. She felt him shift slightly, as if he wished to move away from her but didn’t know how to untangle himself gracefully. With a leap of certainty, she knew her suspicions were well-founded. Hest did have someone else now, and Sedric knew about her. Knew about her and felt guilty for shielding Hest. She suddenly decided to free him from that guilt. ‘Don’t worry about it, Sedric. I promised I’d never ask again, and I won’t. I don’t wonder any more if other women in Bingtown know how little he cares for our bed. If they like him, they are welcome to him. I’m tired of his hard words, his hard heart, and his hard hands.’
She felt his muscles stiffen. ‘Hard hands?’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘Does he— Alise, he hasn’t … Has Hest ever struck you?’ He sounded horrified.
‘No,’ she admitted in a low voice. ‘No, he has never struck me. But there are many ways for a man to be hard-handed with a woman that do not involve striking her.’ She thought of how he would take her arm and grip it when he wished to leave an evening’s entertainment and she had not responded immediately to his polite suggestions that it was time for them to go home. She thought of how he sometimes took things from her, not snatching them but removing them from her grip as if she were an errant child. She refused to think of his hands on her shoulders or upper arms, gripping so tight that sometimes she had bruises, as if she might flee him even though she had never shown any resistance to his attempts to impregnate her.
Sedric cleared his throat and moved away from her. ‘I’ve known Hest a long time,’ he said stiffly. ‘He’s not a bad person, Alise. He’s just—’ He halted and she saw him searching for a word.
‘He’s just Hest,’ she finished for him. ‘He’s a hard man. Hard-handed. Hard-hearted. He doesn’t strike me. He doesn’t have to. He has a hard, cruel mouth when he’s crossed. He can humiliate me with a glance. He can pound me with words and smile while he’s doing it, as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. But he does. I’m ready to admit that to myself now. He does know just exactly how much he hurts me and how often.’
She turned away from his shocked gaze but kept her eyes on the moving riverbank. ‘I’m not sorry,’ she finally said. ‘I’m not sorry I defied you and I’m not sorry that we’re headed up the river. I know it’s foolish and dangerous. I’m scared. I’m scared of going and I’m scared of what I’ll have to face when I return home. But I’m not sorry to be doing it. I’m not walking away from my life, Sedric. I’m running toward the chance to have a little bit of a life of my own, for a little time.
‘I am sorry to drag you along, Sedric. I know it’s not the sort of thing you’d choose to do. I wish Hest hadn’t inflicted me on you. But I’ll admit that I’m glad you came back to the barge and you’re here. If I’m going to do a hare-brained thing like this, I can’t think of a better companion to have along with me.’
She sensed him fumbling for some sort of a reply. She had told him things that had made him uncomfortable, things he probably should never have heard about his employer. She tried to regret it and couldn’t. She only hoped it would not sever whatever it was between them. Almost she hoped that he would gather her into his arms and hold her, even if it was only for a moment, as a friend. She tried to recall the last time anyone had embraced her with affection. She recalled her mother’s quick hug of farewell. When had a man held her?
Never.
He took her hands in both of his, giving them a gentle squeeze before he released them. Then he made an awkward attempt at levity as he stepped clear of her touch. ‘Well, I suppose that should be a comfort to me. But it’s not.’
His words were harsh but the rueful smile she turned to see was not. It faded quickly from his face however, as if he did not have the strength to sustain it there. He shook his head at her and then said, ‘I’d best go get things settled in my room. It looks as if I may be living there longer than I thought.’
He left her as quickly as he decently could and walked briskly back to his compartment, trying not to appear to be fleeing from her. Even though he was.
He shut the door of the tiny room behind him. Earlier, he had opened the ventilation slots in the upper wall. He refused to think of them as windows. They were too high and too narrow to provide any sort of a view. But they did let in a flow of air, even if was tinged with the river smell, and admitted a murky light in his room. A reflection of the river rippled on the ceiling of the small cabin. He sat down on his trunk and stared at the closed door. His case with its precious cargo was on the floor. A fortune in dragon parts, and he was headed upriver with them. Away from all profit, and away from every reason he had for dreaming of making a profit. He hoped the salt and the vinegar would preserve the tattered flesh. They represented his last, best chance for an honest life. He lowered his face into his hands and retreated into stillness.
Hest. Oh, Hest. What have we done to her? What cruelty have I been a party to?
Hest’s hard hands.
He didn’t want to think about it and he could not stop himself from thinking about it. He didn’t want to envision Hest’s hands on Alise. He knew that Hest must be with her, that he must do his best to father a child with her. He’d chosen never to think of the mechanics of that, never to wonder if Hest was tender and passionate with her. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want his feelings stirred about such things. What would it matter? It had nothing to do with Hest and him.
But he’d never imagined Hest would be harsh with her, or rough. But of course he would be. That was Hest. The man had strong hands, with long fingers and short, well groomed nails. Sedric didn’t want to think of those hands gripping her shoulders and the nails sinking into her flesh. They’d leave little half-moon dents there that would be small bruises by morning. Sedric knew. Unbidden, his hands left his face to touch and then grip his own shoulders. It had been weeks since Hest had left small bruises on him. He missed them.
He wondered in desolation if Hest missed him at all. Probably not. He’d spurned Sedric relentlessly in their last days together. At the same time, he had been sure that his secretary handled all the details of whom Hest would invite to accompany him on his latest trading venture. Hest wasn’t alone right now, and almost definitely, he wasn’t thinking of Sedric. Redding. That damn Redding, always so obvious in his interest in Hest. Redding with his plump little mouth always quirking, and his little hands always patting his curly hair back into place. Redding was with him.
A thick choking lump rose in his throat. It would have been a comfort to weep, but he couldn’t. What he felt right now went beyond weeping. Hest. Hest. ‘Hest.’ He said the man’s name aloud, and it was a comfort that cut like a knife. He was the only one who truly knew Sedric, the only one who understood him. And he’d set him aside, sent him off on this ridiculous errand with the wife he didn’t love. The wife he gripped with his hard hands, the same powerful hands that had held him by the shoulders and pulled him close in that first squirming and desperate embrace.
Sedric hadn’t been much more than a boy, barely shaving, desperately unhappy, at odds with his father, unable to confide in his mother or his sisters any more. Unable to confide in anyone. Bitterly, he now reflected on how successful Hest had been in returning him to that isolation, the isolation that Hest had once shattered for him. Was that what he’d wanted to prove to Sedric? That he could put him right back where he’d been, all those years ago?
Their first encounter had happened at a Trader gathering, at a winter wedding. The bride had been seventeen, and the young husband-to-be had been his friend Prittus, an older neighbour who had tutored him in the Chalcedean language that his father had insisted he must learn. He had always been kind and patient with Sedric, their lessons much more social and enjoyable than the ciphering and history and basic navigation lessons that he received from his other tutor. The other tutor was a shared master, hired by a group of Trader families to instruct their sons. That man was an ogre, and his fellow students alternated between coarse mockery of one another and sarcastic comments on Sedric’s precise recitations and reports. He hated attending those classes, dreaded the snubbing and mockery of the other pupils. It was a wonder he had learned anything there. But Prittus had been different. He’d been a teacher who cared, one who found readings for his pupil that interested him. He’d treasured his hours with Prittus.
So he’d watched Prittus make his wedding promises in a sullen gloom of disappointment. He’d have no time to tutor Sedric now; he’d be following his father into the spice trade and he’d have all the concerns of a young man with his own household. Sedric’s sole island of company was sinking back into his sea of isolation.
Prittus had stood tall in his simple green Trader robe, the candlelight waking glints in his gleaming black hair. The vows spoken, he turned to the girl at his side and looked down into her face with that smile that Sedric had come to know so well. The girl’s face lit with a rosy blush of joy. He put his hands out and the girl set her small fingers in his; Sedric had to turn aside, choking with jealousy over all he could never hope to possess. The couple turned to face their guests and the applause washed around them like the breaking waves of a gentle sea.
Sedric had not clapped. When the applause ended, he’d finished the glass of sparkling wine he held, and set the glass down on the edge of one of the laden feast tables. The room swirled with smiling, talking people, all eager to wish the young couple well. Close to the door, a handful of young men were speaking in deep good-humoured voices to one another. He caught a leering reference to the night that awaited Prittus, and the round of bawdy chuckles that followed it. He’d made an excuse as he pushed past them to the door and left the crowded Traders’ Concourse to go outside for some air. He didn’t even bother with his coat; he wanted to feel the wind on his face. He wanted to be cold. It would match his mood.
A storm was threatening, one that couldn’t make up its mind between icy rain and wet, driven flakes of snow. The wind gusted and died, and then spat sleet again. The thick clouds were making late afternoon into early evening. He didn’t care. He’d left the shelter of the large porch of the Concourse, strolled past the line of waiting carriages and well-bundled drivers. He’d gone walking in the deepening twilight on the meticulously groomed grounds that surrounded the Concourse.
The gardens were desolate and deserted this time of year. Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and the unimpeded wind blew sharply. Fallen leaves littered the gravel paths. There was a stand of evergreens at the edge of a herb garden that had gone to seed. He headed instinctively toward the protection of the grove. In the circle of their shelter, the wind could barely find him. He turned his eyes up to the cold winter sky and tried to find a single star through the overcast. He couldn’t. He lowered his face and wiped rain from his cheeks.
‘Weeping at a wedding? What a sentimental fool you are.’
He’d turned in shock. He hadn’t imagined anyone else would be out in this weather. It was even more of a shock to realize that the man was Hest, and that he must have followed him. He’d been a part of the group of men by the door. Sedric knew his name and his reputation, but little more than that. The wealthy and popular young Trader moved in a social circle several notches higher than Sedric’s orbit. He wondered why he had followed him out into the night. His long deep-blue cloak was nearly black in the dimming light. The collar was turned up high, framing his face.
‘It’s just rain. I came outside to clear my head of a little too much wine.’
Hest listened to him silently, head cocked mockingly. He raised his sculpted brows in a rebuke for his lie.
‘I’m not weeping,’ Sedric added defensively.
‘Aren’t you?’ Hest came toward Sedric through the wet snow. It was definitely snow now. Big flakes of it spangled the tall man’s dark hair. ‘I saw you watching the happy couple and thought to myself, now there’s a spurned lover, watching his dreams stroll off without him.’
Sedric watched his approach warily. ‘I hardly know her,’ he said. ‘Prittus was my tutor. I’m just here to wish him well.’
‘As we all are,’ Hest agreed smoothly. ‘Our dear friend Prittus enters a new stage of his life now. He takes on the duties of a husbandman. And his loving friends, though we wish him well, will see far less of him now.’ The light was waning from the sky and the shadows of the evergreens made the winter afternoon even darker. The fading light took the colours with it; Hest’s face was a study of planes and shadows. He was smiling. He narrow lips were chiselled into a fine smile as he asked him, ‘And what did Prittus tutor you in?’
‘Chalcedean. My father says that every Trader needs to speak Chalcedean well, without an accent. Prittus speaks it like a native; he had a Chalcedean tutor.’
Hest stopped, not even an arm’s length away. ‘Chalcedean?’ His smile grew wider, baring even teeth. ‘Yes. I agree with your father. Every Trader should know Chalcedean. Some say they will always be our enemies. I say, that is a good reason to learn as much as we can about them. Not just their language, but their customs. Ancient enemies or not, they will be our partners as we buy and sell goods. They’ll cheat the man who is vulnerable to them. But you’ll need more than just the language. A man can speak the language of a place, but if he lacks knowledge of the customs, he will always betray himself as a foreigner. And thus not be accepted. Don’t you agree?’
‘I suppose. Yes.’ The tall Trader was drunk, Sedric decided. He had come close enough that Sedric could smell the spirits on his breath.
His dark eyes roved over Sedric’s face in a disconcerting way. He licked his lips and said, ‘So. Let me hear your accent. Say something in Chalcedean.’
‘What?’
‘That’s not Chalcedean.’ Hest grinned. ‘Try again.’
‘What would you like me to say?’ Sedric felt trapped. Was the man mocking him or trying to make his acquaintance? His conversation walked a knife’s edge between taunting and friendliness.
‘That would be good. Yes. Say, “Please, sir, what would you like?”’
It took him a moment to parse it in his mind. When he spoke, the words came smoothly, but Hest shook his head and made a sad mouth. ‘Oh, dear. Not like that. You need to open your mouth more. They’re a very voluble people.’
‘What?’
‘Say it again, but open your mouth more. Purse your lips out.’
It was mockery. Sedric was certain of it now. He made his words brisk. ‘I’m cold. I’m going back to the Traders’ Concourse now.’
But as he strode past him, Hest’s hand had shot out suddenly and gripped Sedric’s left shoulder. He’d tugged him sharply, spinning the smaller man so that Sedric almost collided with him. ‘Say it again,’ he urged him pleasantly. ‘In any language you like. Say, “Please, sir, what would you like?”’
His fingers were biting into Sedric’s shoulder right through the formal Trader’s robe he’d donned for the occasion. He tried to squirm away. ‘Let go! What do you want?’ Sedric demanded, but Hest had responded by seizing his other shoulder. He gave a sudden jerk that nearly pulled Sedric off his feet. He was suddenly chest to chest with Hest staring down into his face.
‘What do I want? Hmm. Not quite the same as asking me what I would like, but it will do. You should be asking what you want for yourself, Sedric. I wonder if you’ve ever dared to ask that question, let alone answer it. Because the answer is very plain to me. You want this.’ One of his hands suddenly grabbed a fistful of Sedric’s robe right below his throat. The other shifted to a grip on the hair of the top of his head. Hest bent his head, and his mouth was hard on Sedric’s, his lips moving as if he would devour him, his hard hands pulling him closer. Sedric had been too astonished to struggle, even as Hest shifted his grip and pulled his body tight against his own. A sudden heat rushed through him, a lust he could not conceal or deny. Hest’s mouth tasted of liquor and his cheek, though shaven, rasped against Sedric’s when Sedric tried to pull away from him. Sedric gasped for breath, smothered between the kiss and the truth of how badly he wanted this. He put his hands against Hest’s chest and pushed but could put no strength into the rejection. Hest held him easily and his deep quiet chuckle at Sedric’s feeble struggle vibrated through them, chest to chest. Hest finally broke the kiss but continued to press himself tightly against Sedric. He spoke by his ear. ‘Don’t worry. Struggle as much as you think you should, or need to. I won’t let you win. It’s going to happen to you. Just as you always dreamed it would. Someone just needs to take a firm hand with you.’
‘Let me go, man! Are you mad or drunk?’ Sedric’s voice wavered uncertainly. The wind blew harder but he scarcely felt it.
Hest effortlessly pinned his arms to his side. He was taller and stronger and he lifted Sedric, not quite off his feet but in a way that let him know he could. He pressed his body against him and spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Neither mad nor drunk, Sedric. Just more honest than you are. I don’t have to ask “What do you want, please, sir?” It was written all over your face as you stared at the happy couple. It wasn’t the bride you were lusting after. It was Prittus. Well, who wouldn’t? Such a handsome fellow. But you’ll never have him now and neither will I. So perhaps we should settle for what we can have.’
‘I didn’t,’ Sedric started to lie. ‘I don’t know …’ Then Hest’s mouth descended again, kissing him deeply and roughly, bruising his lips until Sedric gave in and opened them to him. He’d made a small, involuntary noise and Hest had laughed into his open mouth. Then suddenly, he’d broken the embrace and stepped back from Sedric. He’d nearly fallen then. He’d stumbled back from Hest, and the night grove of trees had seemed to swing around him in a wide circle dance. Sedric had lifted the back of his hand to his mouth, tasted the salt of blood from his stinging lips. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said faintly.
‘Don’t you?’ Hest had smiled again. ‘I think you do. All of this will be easier when you admit you do.’ He stepped closer to him and Sedric hadn’t retreated. He reached for Sedric again and he hadn’t fled. Hest’s hands had been hard and strong and knowing as he seized him and pulled him close.
Sedric had shut his eyes tight then, and again as he recalled it. Every moment of that wild night under the cold and stormy sky was clear in his memory. It was etched into him, defining him. Hest had been right. It had been easier when he’d admitted what he wanted.
Hest had been merciless. He’d teased him, and hurt him, then soothed and smoothed him. He’d been rough and then gentle, harshly demanding and then sweetly urging. The storm swept around them, making the trees bow and dance, but the cold couldn’t reach them. The deep bed of needles in the darkness beneath the low-swooping evergreen branches had smelled sweet when they were crushed beneath their weight. Hest’s cloak had covered them both. Time and family and the expectations of the rest of the world were blown away by the storm’s breath.
Shortly before dawn, Hest had left him at the end of the carriageway to his family home. He’d limped home in muddied and torn garments, his hair wild, his mouth bruised. He’d slept as late as his father would allow him. Later that day, standing before his father in his study, he told a long lie about drunkenness and a tumble down a creek bank in the dark and a long walk home. He’d ached in every muscle and his lips had been puffy and swollen. For three agonizing days, he’d moved quietly about his father’s house. Mostly he kept to his room, seething with shame whenever he wasn’t staring into the darkness and reliving every moment. Regret and lust warred in him.
On the morning of the fourth day, Hest’s written invitation to a riding party had arrived. The large dove-grey envelope with his name written on it in a bold hand contained a note in Hest’s hand on a lighter piece of grey paper. His father had been astonished and pleased that he’d made such a socially uplifting connection. His mother had been sent scampering to be sure his jacket and breeches were presentable. His father had loaned him his horse, the only respectable mount the family had. Just before Sedric had left, his father had warned him not to be the first to depart from the gathering, and urged him to linger if Hest seemed congenial to the idea.
Hest had, indeed, been congenial to the idea of him lingering. Sedric had been the only other member of the ‘riding party’ and they’d gone only as far as a small, deserted farmstead owned by Hest’s family. All the rooms in the rickety little house had been dusty and unkempt, save for a lushly-appointed bedchamber and a sidebar well stocked with spirits.
In the weeks that followed, he’d quickly learned that all Hest’s ‘riding parties’ had little to do with horses. For a time, Hest became his entire world. Light, colours and sound all seemed more brilliant in his presence. Hest plunged him into a world of temptation and satiation, stripped him of fears and inhibitions, and taught him new hungers to replace the half-formed longings he’d never dared to confront. Sedric found himself smiling fondly as he recalled those days. There had been dinners together, and then evenings out with Hest’s friends. Hest’s friends – now there had been an education for him! Wealthy Traders, some young, some older, some single, some married, but all of them committed to a life that included the greatest pleasures that money could buy for them. He’d been astonished at their self-indulgence and scandalized at their headlong pursuit of all manner of pleasures. When he’d expressed his reservations about them to Hest, the other man had laughed. ‘We’re Traders, Sedric, born and bred. We make our livings by discovering what other men want most and getting the best prices for it. So of course we discover what is most desirable, and want it for ourselves. And with the money we make, we acquire it. That’s the whole point of all that we do: to make money, and then use it. What is wrong with that? Why do we work so hard if not to enjoy ourselves with what we earn?’
He’d had no answer to that.
Hest had re-made Sedric, telling him how to comb his hair, what colours to wear and what cut of jacket and where to buy his boots. When Sedric’s modest budget could not keep pace with Hest’s tastes, Hest had first gifted him with the required clothing, and then, when Sedric’s father had looked askance at such largesse, Hest had eventually invented employment for him that required Sedric to live with him. Hest had transformed Sedric’s life; no, he had transformed Sedric himself. He had not only learned the pleasures of fine wine and a well-prepared joint of meat, but had come to expect such things at table. A badly-cut jacket was not to be tolerated. And now what would become of him? If upon his return, he discovered that Hest had replaced him, what then? Sedric closed his eyes tight and tried to imagine life without Hest. Life without Hest’s fortune and life style, yes, that he could imagine. But life without Hest’s touch?
The barge wallowed unevenly in the current. Sedric let himself become aware of the boat. The crew were at their sweeps. Possibly they had put up the sail if the wind was favourable. The barge and how it moved was a mystery to him; it seemed impossible that such a large object could be rowed up a river, and yet they were moving steadily along.
As Sedric must.
He would not give up. He’d take Alise’s stubbornness for an example and build on it. She intended to be remorseless about seizing this opportunity for herself. Well, so could he. Let Hest wonder where they were and why they did not return as scheduled. It would do the man good to have some doubt and discomfort in his life. And Sedric didn’t doubt that Hest’s life would be much less comfortable without a wife and a secretary to manage any unpleasant detail he wished to avoid.
As for his own ambitions, well, those could be better fulfilled, too. If he was forced to keep company with the dragon keepers and their charges, he would find opportunities to collect more merchandise. He sat up slowly and then moved to the floor. At the base of his wardrobe trunk, there was a concealed drawer. Hest had had the trunk made especially, so that exceptionally valuable merchandise and their cash would travel safely. He never would have imagined the use to which Sedric now put it.
He pulled it open and peered at the two glass containers he had filled today. In the dim light he could not tell much about them. In the drawer awaited other glass and pottery containers, some empty, some with preservative fluids and salts already in them. He had planned this meticulously from the first moment that he had realized he could turn Hest’s punishment of him to his own advantage.
There was even a neatly lettered checklist of the various specimens he hoped to acquire and estimates of their worth. Blood. Teeth. Nails. Scales. Liver. Spleen. Heart. He thought of how queasy he’d felt watching the girl cut the tissue from the dragon’s wound. He’d have to get over that. If one of the animals was injured or died, he’d have to find a way to be close to it quickly. His banishment might prove the foundation of his fortune.
He stored his specimens carefully away and shut the drawer. No regrets, he told himself again. No regrets and no hesitation.
Sintara had followed the other dragons down to the banks of the river, and waded right in behind them. Mercor led them. She was surprised that all of the dragons seemed to accept his leadership, but especially Kalo. Hadn’t he been claiming the role by virtue of his size only hours ago? The excitement that had infected them seemed strong enough to inspire them all to action. For now.
They walked all morning in the shallows at the edge of the river. Here the current was gentler and the water offered less resistance. She would have preferred to stay on the shore, but the thick vegetation of the Rain Wild Forest came right to the river’s edge and sometimes ventured into the water in the form of straggling roots or fallen trees. For the most part, the dragons were large enough and strong enough to push past such impediments, but in mid-afternoon, they had to wade out into deeper water to go around one immense snag that projected into the river.
The trunk of the tree was immense, so large that she couldn’t even see over it. The acid waters of the river were already devouring the fallen giant, but going around it still meant wading out so deep that the water tried to lift her off her feet. That was a disconcerting feeling. The first time it happened, she paddled and floundered, splashing wildly. One of the smaller green dragons, Fente, shrilly trumpeted her distress. The current caught her and for a moment she flailed wildly before successfully passing the fallen tree. She hastened for the shallows in a panicky gallop. When she resumed her steady plodding up the river, her breath still came in loud snorts. Sintara was glad she was taller and stronger than Fente. The river had not lifted her. Dragons could swim, but only by necessity.
She thought about swimming, and sluggish memories stirred. One was of a terrifying accident; a cliff’s edge had given way and a dragon had fallen into a deep cold fjord. She had had to swim, and the steep cliffs that surrounded the fjord had defied her attempts to clamber out. By the time she had found a place wide enough to emerge from the water, she had been so chilled that she had barely been able to open her wings and flap them dry before flying away.
There were other memories of being underwater, and with a mental hitch and jerk, she connected them with Kelsingra. She pondered that for a moment, trying to put the pieces together. There had been the city on the bank, a beautiful city that sparkled in the sun, and before it, the wide deep river. The current’s press against her chest seemed to help her remember. Yes. One flew over the city and circled it, once, twice, thrice. It was not just for show, though swooping low or turning a slow roll in flight might win shouts of admiration from the Elderlings who peopled the city. It was to notify everyone, dragon and Elderling, of one’s intent to arrive. It gave the small fishing boats notice to get out of the way. For the best way to land at Kelsingra was to come in low over the water and then clap one’s wings tight, extend the neck and plunge beneath the surface of the water. The river cushioned the landing. Once in the water, the dragons did not swim, but waded to the bank, up and out, scaled hides glistening and gleaming. Once out of the water, pleasure awaited. There were always Elderlings waiting to greet the dragons, people whose duty it was to—
She stumbled as a large rock in the riverbed turned under her foot, and the fragile thread of memory snapped. She groped desperately after it. It had been such a sweet thing, something wonderful to recall, and now it was gone. All around her, the other dragons waded on, huffing and grunting with the effort of moving against the current. Closer to the bank, the water was shallower and slower, but the mud at the bottom made it hard going. She decided the sticky footing was less annoying than the deeper water. She waded past several of the others and then deliberately increased her speed until she had passed every dragon except Mercor and Ranculos.
The golden dragon was toiling steadfastly along. He was not as big as Kalo and Sestican, but here in the river he seemed longer. Perhaps it was how he strode along, his neck straining, his long tail lifted above the water. ‘Mercor!’ she called to him. She knew he heard her, but he didn’t turn his head or slacken his pace. Scarlet Ranculos was only a pace or two behind him.
‘Mercor!’ she called again, and despite how he ignored her, she demanded, ‘What do you remember about the Elderlings greeting us when we reached Kelsingra? I know that we circled the city three times, to let them know that we were arriving—’
‘I remember how they would sound trumpets from the city towers when they saw us. Trumpets of silver and horns of brass, to warn the fishing vessels to clear the depths of the river.’ This came not from Mercor, but from Ranculos. The red dragon’s silvery eyes spun with sudden pleasure. ‘That just now came to me, when you spoke of circling the city three times.’
‘I remember that!’ Veras surged through the water suddenly, struggling to catch up with them. The gold stippling on her green body, so often obscured by mud and dust, shone now.
‘I didn’t,’ Sintara admitted quietly. ‘But I remember landing in the river, and going down into the water until it was dark. The bottom was sandy. And I remember wading out, up onto the bank. There were always some Elderlings waiting for us when we arrived.’
She halted, hoping someone else would say something. But no one did, and Mercor trudged stoically on.
‘I remember that something pleasant came next. Some special welcome …’ She let the thought trail away invitingly. No one spoke. The only sounds were the eternal hiss of the river’s motion, and the splashes of the dragons and their heavy breathing as they moved against it. Another snag, not quite as large as the first, loomed ahead of them. Sintara knew a moment of deep discouragement. She was already tired.
Suddenly Mercor lifted his head. His nostrils flared and then he halted in mid-stride. He looked all around himself, surveying the wide expanse of river to his right and the dense forest to his left. Then he gave a sudden huff of breath. An abbreviated ruff of toxic quills around his neck stood out, blue-white against the gold of his body.
‘What is it?’ Veras demanded. Then she, too, halted and looked around.
‘Riverpig,’ Sestican said. ‘I smell riverpig dung.’
As if by naming them he had summoned them, the creatures suddenly burst from the water. Their hides were grey as the river water, their hair long and straggling as roots. They had been clustered in the lee of the snag, their hairy, rounded backs in the sun, sheltered from the current’s push by the fallen trunk.
Sintara made no conscious decision. Some other dragon, ancient beyond reckoning, prompted her. Her head shot out on the end of her neck, mouth wide. She’d targeted the largest one she could reach. The riverpig reacted an instant before her teeth sank into him. He tried to dive under the water. Her teeth sank into him and her jaws latched shut, but she had not bitten him as deeply as she’d meant to. A correct bite would have sent her teeth sinking into his vertebrae, paralysing him. Instead, she gripped a layer of fat, thick hide and hair. The heady succulence of fresh, hot blood in her mouth nearly dazed her.
Then the riverpig in her jaws erupted in a savage struggle for his life.
All around her, other dragons were similarly engaged. Some still pursued pigs, trumpeting as they darted their heads after the squealing prey. Fast in the water, the round-bellied creatures were less agile in the shallows and up on the foliage-tangled riverbank. Dragons slammed against her as they sought prey of their own, and she was nearly knocked off her feet when three river pigs rammed into her, trying to get past her to deeper water.
Those events barely registered on her mind. Never before had she gripped live prey in her jaws. Her ancestral memories of hunting were mostly of diving onto cattle or other prey, slamming them to the earth so they were half stunned when she darted her head in for the killing bite. The creature in her jaws was desperate, very alive, and in his home element. He struggled madly so that her head whipped from side to side on the end of her long neck. The weight of his body dragged her head into the water. She instinctively closed her nostrils and lidded her eyes. She braced her front feet in the mucky river bottom and struggled to lift her prey out of the water. For an instant, she succeeded. He dangled from her jaws, squealing wildly, his sharp cloven hooves striking out wildly at her. He waved his head with its diminutive tusks at her, but couldn’t reach her. She caught a breath.
But she could barely hold him up.
She should have been stronger. Her neck should have been thick with the developed muscles of a hunting predator, her shoulders heavy. Instead, she thought with disgust, she was as slack-muscled as a grain-fed cow. She should not have any problem with prey of this size. But if she opened her jaws for a better grip, he would break free of her, and while she gripped him as she did, he was battering her with his struggles. She needed to stun him. He pulled her head under the river’s surface and she was not quick enough to close her nostrils. She snorted in water.
Reflexively, she found the strength to snatch him up out of the water. It was part-accident, part-intent that when her strength failed her, she managed to dash him against the fallen log in the river. For an instant, he hung loose in her grip. When he suddenly began to struggle and squeal again, she slammed him against the snag hard. She braced his momentarily still body against the log, and in the fraction of a second she gained opened her jaws wide and then closed them again. He gave one final spasm and then her kill hung limp from her jaws.
She’d killed! She’d made her first kill!
She pinned the meat against the snag with one front foot while she tore into it. She had never tasted anything so delicious. The blood was liquid and warm, the meat flopping fresh. She gulped and tore mouthfuls of guts, and crunched bones. When pieces of the pig dropped into the river, she plunged her head in to retrieve them.
It was only when every last bit of the animal had been devoured that she became cognizant of the scene around her. Many of the dragons had caught prey. Veras had pursued her pig up onto the bank and killed it there. Two of the smallest dragons had a squealing pig stretched between them, tugging at it until the creature’s body suddenly gave way. Kalo was gulping the last of one pig while he had another pinned under his great clawed foot. That sight sent her looking for more pigs.
‘The herd scattered,’ Mercor said quietly. She found the golden dragon cleaning his claws. He licked them and then nibbled a scrap of meat from under one. He had obviously hunted successfully. As she had. The memory rocked her again. She had killed! She, Sintara, had killed her own meat. And eaten it. How could she not have known how important it was to do this? It suddenly changed everything. She looked around at the river and the other dragons. Why was she mindlessly following the others, like a cow in a herd? This was not what dragons did. Dragons didn’t have keepers or depend on humans to kill for them. Dragons hunted alone and killed for themselves!
Instinctively she flexed her shoulders and raised her wings. The drive to fly away from here, to return to hunting, to make another kill and devour it and then find a sunny hillside or a good rocky ledge and take a long nap filled her. It wasn’t the meat that had awakened this in her, though the meat had been very good. It had been the struggle to kill, and above all, the triumph of killing and eating the riverpig. She couldn’t wait to do it again.
But her spread wings were pathetic things that slapped wetly against her back. There was no strength in them. Angrily, she recalled how hard it had been to battle even such stupid prey as a riverpig. Killing it hadn’t felt the way it should have, hadn’t matched any of her dragon memories of a kill. She was a weakling, not fit to live. She’d been kept like a cow in a pen. It was time to end that life.
‘And that,’ said Mercor, as calmly as if he had heard and followed all her thoughts, ‘Is exactly why we had to leave that place. It is why we have to travel together, upriver to find Kelsingra. So that we can become dragons along the way. Or die trying.’
He lifted his head and gave a trumpeting cry. ‘Time to move on!’ Then, without waiting to see if the others followed him or not, he moved out into the depths of the river and around the long snag.
Sintara followed him.